As the days march closer and closer to my return to Canada, the details of the journey - my memories in conjunct with logic - are melding together, fading away. At the beginning it was all so new, I could remember everything. Now I know feelings and overpowering moods, discomfort and flashes of eyes.
Fanny and I parted ways the day before last and the goodbye was short and quick. We hugged at the bus stand and I hopped onto my bus back to Chalakudy where a rickshaw would be waiting to take me back to the village. The buses don't stick around for long and they don't wait for anybody who's doddling. That goes for getting on and getting off. I sat on the government bus for about an hour and a half which was nice, but when we got to the Chalkudy bus stand it seemed the bus hadn't even stopped but was only passing through, and because I had expected it would stop I was still sitting when it left the station. I was down the street when I said I had to get off, so the bus stopped in the middle of the road and I didn't know how to open the door and I could hear the sighs from the back as I struggled, with all eyes on me, and then I opened it, slammed the door and walked back to the station where I'd spotted Nitya with a bright pink shirt on. The experience frazzled me a bit but I was fine. Just one of those things.
I feel like I've lost a supreme all-knowing guardian. Fanny really took care of me and inspired me with her courage. To travel around India for months without a guidebook, taking public transit (which tourists rarely do), and relying on the kindness of others even when so many lie - that takes guts. Fanny's an amazing lady and I hope one day I can get to her level. Right now though, I am scared on my own.
Since I'm moving into my NEW APARTMENT (so exciting) not even 10 days after I get back to Toronto, I figured India would be the best place to buy some wicked kitchenware. I'm not sure about the rest of the country, but the big thing in Kerala is metal. Cups, plates, pots, ladles, everything: metal. I wanted to lynx me some of that metal action so Nitya arranged for a rickshaw driver to pick me up from here and take me around Chalakudy to buy the best in metalware, and anything else I wanted. I could have taken the bus, on my own, with everybody else... but I was scared, so I agreed to the rickshaw. Afraid of interaction, afraid of being stared at, afraid of being alone in an unknown country, even though I've been here for a while. Just generally uncomfortable by myself.
So I took the rickshaw. Never had I felt so precious. "Precious" was the word Fanny used to describe what Indians felt about their lighter-skinned kin, that they never had to work a day in the sun, that they were worth something more because hard labour had escaped them. Precious. I felt stupid and precious alone in the rickshaw, going from town to town to the city having people look at me and my white skin with wide eyes and surprise.
I felt precious when he dropped me off at a giant silverware store and followed me in, and basically acted as my bodyguard. The thing is, employees here don't understand the concept of "just looking" in a store. Someone will follow you around expecting that you're "just looking" for something in particular that they can get for you. I miss the detachment and indifference in Canadian store employees, who don't give a damn whether you buy or you don't. They're making minimum wage anyways, so just come up to the counter when you're ready, k?
Sometimes I feel like a ghost. A visible ghost too, the worst kind. Invisible and yet, everyone can see me. They're pointing like I don't see them, like I'm not there. I feel very sensitive on my own. With Fanny the staring didn't bother me and I tended to giggle and wave back and lap it up. It's fun when I feel protected, but on my own I am scared and unveiled. I am transparent, disgustingly obvious. I am a white girl, and I am here to buy. They know this, I know this. I even have a personal driver to take me around so I don't have to interact with these oriental heathens. There is me and there is them. I feel stupid and precious.
There was a Christmas parade down Main Street in Chalakudy when I was there. I know it was for Christmas because at the beginning of the procession were two or three very stern-looking priests wearing long white robes. Especially stern when they looked at me - I smiled at them, and I got nothing in return. They were walking behind a held banner. Behind them came the real spectacle: a man dressed like Jesus, in a blue sari, painted light brown skin and a wig. A woman dressed like Mary too. But she didn't look as convincing as the Mary I saw in the nun soap opera I saw on TV - who had painted light brown skin, painted yellow hair under the blue scarf on her head, and as a nice touch, blue coloured contacts. She was having a conversation with an extremely comical Satan, who writhed and looked incredibly pained by the Virgin Mary's every word. She was in heaven, he in hell, and when she finished a sentence he would yell, AHHHHH! or UUGGGH! or NOOOOOOO!! I wish I understood Malayalam. It seems like a pretty entertaining show.
Religion is pretty big here, and Christianity has a particularly strong influence in central Kerala. In 52 AD Thomas, the disciple of Jesus otherwise known as "Doubting Thomas," brought the word of the Lord to a port city near Cochin - yes, where I was a couple days ago. His ministry set up eight churches in Kerala spanning from the north to the south where followers are sometimes known as St. Thomas Christians or Nazarinis, but most popularly as Syrian Christians. The couple that helped me out at Chennai airport mentioned they were Syrian Christians and I said, "Oh! Like decedents from the Portuguese Catholic settlers in India?" No, they laughed. Syrian Christians have been around a lot longer than the Portuguese missionaries who arrived in Kerala in 1498. In fact, the Portuguese were quite surprised to find Christians here in the first place!
Hinduism is pretty big too, obviously. There's also a bit of Islam in the mix, but not many where I am. In Fort Cochin there is a neighbourhood called "Jew Town" (my first thought being, "Hey! You can't say that!") which has long been deserted by any actual Jewish people and is now, ironically, the Muslim neighborhood. We walked through there by accident looking for the ferry. I saw many goats. Goats sleeping in the street, goats in trucks, goats walking around. Muslims eat beef and the smell of raw freshly killed cow wafted through the air. It's kind of gross, but nothing I haven't seen in Chinatown. I actually felt kinda weird because we were walking with Fanny's mom's friend who didn't get the memo about dressing appropriately - I mean, a short dress, high heels and sunglasses works in the tourist area, but outside of it - especially in a Muslim neighborhood, I mean... it was a little weird. She didn't seem bothered though, and that's a good thing I guess. I wish I could be unbothered by stares.
In the village here they are building a giant church dedicated to St. Anthony. That guy is a big deal here. He has as many churches as Mother Mary, or, Mary Matha. I had hoped I could take a picture of its construction - they're almost done - because it's kind of spectacular but the batteries died before I could. The church is located at the base of a mountain. At the top of that mountain, with a path that starts beside the church, is another church. Me and Fanny decided to walk the "very difficult" (according to the locals) path to see this mountain-top church.
Along the way there are pictures outlining the stations of the cross. Jesus' burden of the cross after being sentenced by Pontius Pilate is a metaphor for the person taking up the burden of waking this steep and dangerous path to the top. I tried to remember how many stations of the cross there were. Twelve, I decided. At every station we knew we were getting closer. At about the forth station Fanny sped off in front and I was left with my slow self to trudge along alone.
It was tiring. I was so thirsty and sweaty. I paused many times, both for bodily recovery and to catch the view. At the fifth station I could see everything, the coconut trees and the smoke from about eight houses burning their garbage. At the eighth station I was in the realm of birds and thermals. At the tenth, I saw from the view of an airplane - greenery without its details, plots of land and blobs of water. I was at the 11th station and 12 was in view. I was almost there! Almost at the top! I got to 12... and saw 13. THIRTEEN!?! How many more damn stations are there? 13 is where Jesus' family takes him off the cross. Well, great. Then what happens?
I trudged along to 14. They are putting Jesus in his tomb. I begin to see big wooden crosses, and a tin roof, and tassels blowing in the wind. I'm at the top. It is glorious. The wind is strong and my thirst subsides. The "church" is a small area under a roof. No one is up there, but I assume Fanny is around. I take off my shoes and sit down by the edge overlooking the other side of the mountain. It's beautiful and I feel like I could sit up there for years and still not see everything. The wind is so cool. Everything feels good. I get up and walk around and eventually bump into Fanny. We gush about how awesome this church is, but reluctantly agree that we have to turn back because there are no lights on the trail, and neither of us want to be stuck on the mountain in the dark. On the way down I look at the sun, and it is a big orange ball in the sky. I start yelling because part of me really really wishes I could have taken a picture, and the other part knows it's not possible, that only I have had this experience, that it can only be described, and that it's with me and in me. I'll only remember the feeling and the orange ball.
It's Sunday here and that means everyone is just chillin' the F out. I should do the same for a while. I am leaving tomorrow. I need to let some feelings settle. India's crazy! I friggen love this shit, the ups and the downs. Gimme more. The solitary confinement of not knowing the language is okay - at least I'm back here, in this wonderful home with this wonderful food. And soon, back home. Not sure if I'm more afraid of direct interaction or of snow. We'll have to see!
Fanny and I parted ways the day before last and the goodbye was short and quick. We hugged at the bus stand and I hopped onto my bus back to Chalakudy where a rickshaw would be waiting to take me back to the village. The buses don't stick around for long and they don't wait for anybody who's doddling. That goes for getting on and getting off. I sat on the government bus for about an hour and a half which was nice, but when we got to the Chalkudy bus stand it seemed the bus hadn't even stopped but was only passing through, and because I had expected it would stop I was still sitting when it left the station. I was down the street when I said I had to get off, so the bus stopped in the middle of the road and I didn't know how to open the door and I could hear the sighs from the back as I struggled, with all eyes on me, and then I opened it, slammed the door and walked back to the station where I'd spotted Nitya with a bright pink shirt on. The experience frazzled me a bit but I was fine. Just one of those things.
I feel like I've lost a supreme all-knowing guardian. Fanny really took care of me and inspired me with her courage. To travel around India for months without a guidebook, taking public transit (which tourists rarely do), and relying on the kindness of others even when so many lie - that takes guts. Fanny's an amazing lady and I hope one day I can get to her level. Right now though, I am scared on my own.
Since I'm moving into my NEW APARTMENT (so exciting) not even 10 days after I get back to Toronto, I figured India would be the best place to buy some wicked kitchenware. I'm not sure about the rest of the country, but the big thing in Kerala is metal. Cups, plates, pots, ladles, everything: metal. I wanted to lynx me some of that metal action so Nitya arranged for a rickshaw driver to pick me up from here and take me around Chalakudy to buy the best in metalware, and anything else I wanted. I could have taken the bus, on my own, with everybody else... but I was scared, so I agreed to the rickshaw. Afraid of interaction, afraid of being stared at, afraid of being alone in an unknown country, even though I've been here for a while. Just generally uncomfortable by myself.
So I took the rickshaw. Never had I felt so precious. "Precious" was the word Fanny used to describe what Indians felt about their lighter-skinned kin, that they never had to work a day in the sun, that they were worth something more because hard labour had escaped them. Precious. I felt stupid and precious alone in the rickshaw, going from town to town to the city having people look at me and my white skin with wide eyes and surprise.
I felt precious when he dropped me off at a giant silverware store and followed me in, and basically acted as my bodyguard. The thing is, employees here don't understand the concept of "just looking" in a store. Someone will follow you around expecting that you're "just looking" for something in particular that they can get for you. I miss the detachment and indifference in Canadian store employees, who don't give a damn whether you buy or you don't. They're making minimum wage anyways, so just come up to the counter when you're ready, k?
Sometimes I feel like a ghost. A visible ghost too, the worst kind. Invisible and yet, everyone can see me. They're pointing like I don't see them, like I'm not there. I feel very sensitive on my own. With Fanny the staring didn't bother me and I tended to giggle and wave back and lap it up. It's fun when I feel protected, but on my own I am scared and unveiled. I am transparent, disgustingly obvious. I am a white girl, and I am here to buy. They know this, I know this. I even have a personal driver to take me around so I don't have to interact with these oriental heathens. There is me and there is them. I feel stupid and precious.
There was a Christmas parade down Main Street in Chalakudy when I was there. I know it was for Christmas because at the beginning of the procession were two or three very stern-looking priests wearing long white robes. Especially stern when they looked at me - I smiled at them, and I got nothing in return. They were walking behind a held banner. Behind them came the real spectacle: a man dressed like Jesus, in a blue sari, painted light brown skin and a wig. A woman dressed like Mary too. But she didn't look as convincing as the Mary I saw in the nun soap opera I saw on TV - who had painted light brown skin, painted yellow hair under the blue scarf on her head, and as a nice touch, blue coloured contacts. She was having a conversation with an extremely comical Satan, who writhed and looked incredibly pained by the Virgin Mary's every word. She was in heaven, he in hell, and when she finished a sentence he would yell, AHHHHH! or UUGGGH! or NOOOOOOO!! I wish I understood Malayalam. It seems like a pretty entertaining show.
Religion is pretty big here, and Christianity has a particularly strong influence in central Kerala. In 52 AD Thomas, the disciple of Jesus otherwise known as "Doubting Thomas," brought the word of the Lord to a port city near Cochin - yes, where I was a couple days ago. His ministry set up eight churches in Kerala spanning from the north to the south where followers are sometimes known as St. Thomas Christians or Nazarinis, but most popularly as Syrian Christians. The couple that helped me out at Chennai airport mentioned they were Syrian Christians and I said, "Oh! Like decedents from the Portuguese Catholic settlers in India?" No, they laughed. Syrian Christians have been around a lot longer than the Portuguese missionaries who arrived in Kerala in 1498. In fact, the Portuguese were quite surprised to find Christians here in the first place!
Hinduism is pretty big too, obviously. There's also a bit of Islam in the mix, but not many where I am. In Fort Cochin there is a neighbourhood called "Jew Town" (my first thought being, "Hey! You can't say that!") which has long been deserted by any actual Jewish people and is now, ironically, the Muslim neighborhood. We walked through there by accident looking for the ferry. I saw many goats. Goats sleeping in the street, goats in trucks, goats walking around. Muslims eat beef and the smell of raw freshly killed cow wafted through the air. It's kind of gross, but nothing I haven't seen in Chinatown. I actually felt kinda weird because we were walking with Fanny's mom's friend who didn't get the memo about dressing appropriately - I mean, a short dress, high heels and sunglasses works in the tourist area, but outside of it - especially in a Muslim neighborhood, I mean... it was a little weird. She didn't seem bothered though, and that's a good thing I guess. I wish I could be unbothered by stares.
In the village here they are building a giant church dedicated to St. Anthony. That guy is a big deal here. He has as many churches as Mother Mary, or, Mary Matha. I had hoped I could take a picture of its construction - they're almost done - because it's kind of spectacular but the batteries died before I could. The church is located at the base of a mountain. At the top of that mountain, with a path that starts beside the church, is another church. Me and Fanny decided to walk the "very difficult" (according to the locals) path to see this mountain-top church.
Along the way there are pictures outlining the stations of the cross. Jesus' burden of the cross after being sentenced by Pontius Pilate is a metaphor for the person taking up the burden of waking this steep and dangerous path to the top. I tried to remember how many stations of the cross there were. Twelve, I decided. At every station we knew we were getting closer. At about the forth station Fanny sped off in front and I was left with my slow self to trudge along alone.
It was tiring. I was so thirsty and sweaty. I paused many times, both for bodily recovery and to catch the view. At the fifth station I could see everything, the coconut trees and the smoke from about eight houses burning their garbage. At the eighth station I was in the realm of birds and thermals. At the tenth, I saw from the view of an airplane - greenery without its details, plots of land and blobs of water. I was at the 11th station and 12 was in view. I was almost there! Almost at the top! I got to 12... and saw 13. THIRTEEN!?! How many more damn stations are there? 13 is where Jesus' family takes him off the cross. Well, great. Then what happens?
I trudged along to 14. They are putting Jesus in his tomb. I begin to see big wooden crosses, and a tin roof, and tassels blowing in the wind. I'm at the top. It is glorious. The wind is strong and my thirst subsides. The "church" is a small area under a roof. No one is up there, but I assume Fanny is around. I take off my shoes and sit down by the edge overlooking the other side of the mountain. It's beautiful and I feel like I could sit up there for years and still not see everything. The wind is so cool. Everything feels good. I get up and walk around and eventually bump into Fanny. We gush about how awesome this church is, but reluctantly agree that we have to turn back because there are no lights on the trail, and neither of us want to be stuck on the mountain in the dark. On the way down I look at the sun, and it is a big orange ball in the sky. I start yelling because part of me really really wishes I could have taken a picture, and the other part knows it's not possible, that only I have had this experience, that it can only be described, and that it's with me and in me. I'll only remember the feeling and the orange ball.
It's Sunday here and that means everyone is just chillin' the F out. I should do the same for a while. I am leaving tomorrow. I need to let some feelings settle. India's crazy! I friggen love this shit, the ups and the downs. Gimme more. The solitary confinement of not knowing the language is okay - at least I'm back here, in this wonderful home with this wonderful food. And soon, back home. Not sure if I'm more afraid of direct interaction or of snow. We'll have to see!
3 comments:
Wow. Safe journey home, boo...
yeah there's no snow
there's snow here in Brussels...
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