Semester Break 2010 (Part 1)

Varanasi:

In 1898 American author Mark Twain wrote about his visit to Varanasi: "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."

Considered the center of the earth in Hindu cosmology and the holiest place in the world, Benares lies in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, 200 miles southeast of Lucknow. It is one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.

I realized earlier this year that I hadn't really travelled outside of Chennai in the (almost) three years that I have been living here (gasp!). The first year I was trying to get used to Chennai, period. The second year, I was fortunate enough to get some wild gigs outside of the country and travel with my parents and friends around the south.

I decided this year that I would focus my attention on the north: northern cuisine, culture, and religion. For the semester holiday, I booked my ticket and pilgrimaged to Varanasi; the center of Hinduism; the religion I grew up with. We flew to Delhi and then took an overnight train to Benares. I am not quite sure what I was expecting. The city of Varanasi is revered as the center of Hinduism and given quite a bit of importance in the country - I was expecting a small ancient town, well preserved and immaculate. I expected to see a city that was protected by the public; its significance and honor maintained by government protocol. The city of Varanasi is described in both the Mahabharat and Ramayana and should be preserved as a national religious and tourist destination.


It's not. It's actually a giant heap of poverty, disillusioned temple-goers, and death.

I was told by many who went before me, that once I reached the holy city, I would feel an 'energy in the air'; that I would feel hopeful and optimistic; energized by the spirituality. I didn't. Don't get me wrong. I am not one of those westerners who criticizes everything unclean; who carries hand sanitizer in their back pocket; who brushes their teeth with aquafina, and who cringes at everything uncomfortable. But I live in Chennai and I feel the optimistic energy of Chennai on a daily basis. I did not feel that in Varanasi.

While the ghats were spectacular and extraordinarily interesting for Kavita the tourist, Kavita the Indian felt sad and lost at the sight of women and men bathing in one of the most polluted water bodies in the world. The odor of waste and the stench of death hangs low over the river. We took a canoe through the river and watched the activity: men and women washing clothes, bathing, holding poojas, throwing ashes into the water, burning dead bodies covered in orange cloth. I watched fly covered stiff corpses float by our boat and saw demonic crows pecking at dead children floating face down in the opaque brown water. And I saw the navwallas dip their hands into the same putrid water and aggressively take a sip to quench their thirst. I was simultaneously fascinated, disgusted, and impressed.

We paid Shankar-the-auto-driver (let's call him S.T.A.D.) 300 rupees a day to take us around the city for three days. We visited temples, took boats out onto the ganga, drank bang lassi, and even watched a snake charmer, but the best part of the entire trip was by far the street food. Oh. My. God. We asked S.T.A.D. to take us to eat a typical street breakfast and he took us to eat poori bhaji at a roadside stand. Dripping with oil, the thick moist pooris were incredibly satisfying to dip into the bowl of bhaji. We ate with our hands on dishes made of dried leaves and then washed our hands with water from a bucket sans soap. The stand owners eyed us curiously as I awkwardly took pictures of the situation. We then walked across the street and ate sweet pan which was fragrant and delicious.

The trip was worth it, but I left three days later feeling unsatisfied. If you are a religious person, Varanasi might have had a different effect on you. But walking through temple lines; being squashed by hoards of people on every side of you pushing and shoving to get through, and having angry monkeys throwing food and flowers left and right, was not exactly what I consider to be a spiritual experience. Plus, because of the recent bombings and terrorist attacks on temples in Benares, the security at every temple was fierce. We were frisked, prodded, and searched thoroughly before entering. Not fun.

Next stop: Mumbai. Stay tuned.

Diwali 2010

The astonishment never ceases! India continues to surprise, bewilder and amaze me regardless of how long I have been here. What starts off as a typical day can turn into the best or worst day ever. What I normally see as mundane and average, suddenly becomes new and exciting. Relationships that I thought were a lost cause suddenly spark into respectful and happy friendships. And the religious holidays that I had lost interest in experiencing, unexpectedly become the most wonderful and memorable moments of your life.

That is India – unpredictable, chaotic, and beautiful.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that last year I didn’t have the best time during Diwali. What was supposed to be an exciting time with close friends and roommates during the Festival of Lights turned into a hellish nightmare of fire, flooding, and a grueling legal battle with an angry landlord. A neighboring child had lit a firecracker on the street that hit our roof – our roof made of straw. (A roof made of straw you ask? My roommates had covered the open roof deck with a thatched hut). The stray firecracker hit our roof, burst into flames, and when my roommates, friends and I returned to the house after dinner, we found our blackened, charred roof on the street – water flooding the house, and no electricity. With candles, towels and brooms, all of us pulled up our sleeves, got on our hands and knees and mopped up the mess. All I can say is: thank god houses in India are not made of wood!

This year however, my friend Ayesha invited me to Delhi and invited all of my friends from KMMC. So we set off: Jimmy, Brian, Christy, Emily and I to Ayesha’s house in Vasant Vihar. I finally experienced my first real Diwali in northern India – (I chuckle to myself as I reflect on my only experiences with Diwali: Konkani Diwali functions dancing to Bollywood songs hardly having any religious or cultural relevance to the Festival of Lights – then eating Dhalitoi and sheeth). We arrived on Friday morning and after taking some time to rest, we went to Ayesha’s parent’s office where they were holding a Lakshmi pooja for prosperity, wealth and good health. That evening we came home, dressed up, and spent the evening lighting firecrackers in their front yard and on the street. It was truly the most exciting Diwali I’ve ever had.


The next day Ayesha took all of us out to Chandni Chowk to experience Old Delhi. I’ve been to Delhi many times now and honestly, up until that point I hadn’t been very impressed with it. To me, it has always looked and felt like suburbia hell. It doesn’t have the bustling energy of Bombay, or the small town feel of Chennai. But when Ayesha took us to Chandni Chowk – I understood. The streets are filled with kind, good-natured people. The architecture is interesting, and differs greatly from one building to the next depending on religious origins and British influence. The Red Fort is majestic and stately. And the food – oh the food! We stopped at the famous Parathe Wali Gali and feasted on stuffed fried parathas that ranged from aloo to banana. Oh. My. God. The banana paratha was probably one of the most heavenly things I’ve ever eaten. Then at the end of the street we shared a pista kulfi falooda. I don’t even like kulfi, but man! That was amazing.



We spent the next day relaxing at home and having an amazing home cooked lunch of baingan bharta and rogan josh.

All in all the Diwali weekend was a blast. Unfortunately, we all had to leave on Sunday and prepare for another grueling week at KMMC. But there was light at the end of the tunnel. Next stop: Varanasi.

To be continued…

Ayayooooo

One of the things that will never cease to amaze me about India - There's never a dull moment. The minute you think.. "Ah! I can relax now" Something really crazy happens.

Let me start from the beginning. I know I haven't been blogging as frequently as before, and when I do.. the entry is 18 pages long. Well let me warn you - this is another one of those. Sorry:)

Student Concert
Venice was one of the most inspiring experiences of my life. I had a couple days to rest once I returned to India, and then almost immediately, had to start stressing about my students. I had planned a student recital for October 5. It was time to bring out the whip. It's funny how in the beginning of the year (this happened last year as well) the students are sooo excited to begin learning Western Voice, not really knowing what that entails and not at all prepared for the hard work, concentration, and work ethic it involves. Then once they realize it's not what they thought it would be, about half of them begin to lose enthusiasm, stop coming to class, constantly have "the flu" etc. etc. The other half on the other hand, really start to blossom into musicians. As a teacher it is so exciting to see potential - it's really what motivates me every day and it's what I love about my job. I don't know if all teachers feel this way, but I seem to have somewhat bipolar reactions to all my students during the day. Of course I try to be as neutral as possible when I'm talking to them; always a smile on my face, always trying to motivate and inspire. But in my head I'm thinking "You make me want to die. What is this life? This hour is a waste of my life. I wonder how much a flight to San Francisco costs right now...." And then when a student has clearly been working hard and understands the basics, I want to jump for joy and parade them around like a trophy. Is that normal? I don't know. It certainly gives me a bit of insight into my education though.
Anyhow, the recital went well. I was a nervous little mother duck in the back of the room mouthing the words. I think everyone was happy:)
Three of my students: Mugdha Hasabnis, Azaan Khan, and Rituraj Sen.
Photos by Claire Ronsin

Paris
One of my friends from UCI, Alicia, recently got married in San Francisco to a Frenchman she met a few years ago. I couldn't go to the wedding, but Sylvain's side of the family threw a reception in Paris. I, as well as two of my close friends from college went. It was a mini reunion of sorts, and definitely worth it.


Diwali
I came back from Paris last Thursday and immediately the Diwali celebrations began. I know I wrote about the experience last year, but this year... was....absolutely....crazy. To top it off, Archana, Vaman, and Sumeeth came in from Bangalore so I was excited to party it up with some familiar faces. Everything was going wonderfully... until Saturday. The city was ablaze in lights and color. It sounded like a war zone outside - all the neighbors were lighting crackers and fireworks. We hung out on the street with the neighbors and did our share of lighting crackers. Once we ran out we realized we were really hungry and decided to go to Royapettah for dinner. We got on our scooties and left. Apparently, five seconds after we turned the corner, a firecracker, which was lit by a kid from a neighboring slum, hit our thatched roof which immediately caught on fire. We had just reached the restaurant when Claire got a call from the owner shouting "The house is on fire! The house is on fire!" When we got back to the house, the entire roof was destroyed. Nothing happened to us or our belongings.... but if we had stayed on the roof for 10 more minutes we would have been hit. A neighbor took a video on his cell phone:




If you just watched that... don't freak out. No one was hurt and none of our valuables got damaged. But how crazy is that? Arch, Vaman, and Sumeeth helped us clean up the mess - (THANK YOU!) And by the end of the night we got the electricity back on, and cleaned up most of the mess in the house.

Needless to say, the owner was beyond pissed off. And now it's become a moral/financial issue: If you point the finger at the slum kid on the street, the only thing that'll happen is he'll be severely beaten by the crooked cops and thrown in jail. It's not our responsibility because it was an accident caused by someone else. The owner is technically financially responsible for the damage, but it was Claire and Viviane who covered the roof deck with a thatched roof. So what now?
We wait and see.
I have a feeling we will end up negotiating 50/50 but regardless, the fire caused about a lakh of damage. So 50,000 divided by three is not SO bad, but still... One of the moments in my life that will stick with me forever: the sinking sensation of coming home from the restaurant and seeing the black, charred roof on the street, seeing the house completely flooded with water, and thinking "there are no landlord/tenant laws here. We are responsible for this." - one of the first times I've felt proud to be an American.

It seems that as you get older the space between high and low, happy and sad, tends to get bigger and bigger. The highs are really high and the lows are really low. 10 years ago my life circulated around a midpoint - a status quo - which was... well... ME. The older you get the more you realize how much else there is to consider when making a decision; and how many other people that decision will affect. In some ways I love that. But in some ways I want to be 16 again - where my biggest problem was wondering who I will ask to Prom.

Sigh...

Ahh... I'm sitting at Logan airport, waiting for my flight and pondering the last tumultuous 24 hours. Do you ever have one of those days where it feels like the entire universe is against you? One of those days where everything just goes wrong... one thing after another... leaving you feeling dumbfounded and questioning how you got this far in life with minimal scrapes and burns? What a roller coaster.

So my story begins at 12:30 am in Boston. My friend Susannah and I were meeting friends and going from Washington Square to Commonwealth and Harvard. Instead of taking the T, we figured it would be faster to take a cab. 8 dollars later, we reach. We pay the driver. Susannah steps out first and heads to the nearby ATM. I, with my sweater in hand, step out of the cab, shut the door, and realize... I don't have my purse. I reach for the handle as the cabby speeds off with a violent squeal. UM. Seriously? I proceed to stand on the corner for the next 2 1/2 hours hoping that the man will sympathize and return. No such luck. I repeatedly call my phone.. which.. he actually answers multiple times, but eventually turns to silent. I yell over and over... "Pleeeeeaaaasseee... I'm standing where you dropped me off, I will pay you if you bring my purse back! For the love of humanity, pleeeeeeeaaaaase come back!" I hear him clumsily pressing random buttons and then.... the line goes dead. I call every Independent cab company in Boston, but to no avail. [freak out moment]

The damage?
Mobile phone
IPod Mini & Earphones
1 Credit Card
2 Debit Cards
California Driver's License
Social Security Card
Health Insurance Card
India Employment/Resident Pan Card
8 dollars
1500 Rupees
A good luck pyramid that my hand reader gave me to ensure responsible money spending.
My dignity
And.... drum roll please... Susannah's apartment keys. [Nooooooo!]

We get home and call a locksmith. He tells us over the phone that the charge will be 30$, which Susannah has. [Victory moment]. The guy comes after 40 minutes and we head upstairs. We reach the door and he says.. "Ohhhh... you didn't tell me there would be a dead bolt. I'm going to have to drill through them... it's going to be 200$ each lock... 400$ total." [Freak out moment]. We think, "HAHAHAHAHAHHA". We say, "Um, we don't have that." 'What do you have?" "40" long pause. "Ok. That should be fine." [India moment ???????????!] He pulls out the drill and Susannah says, "Wait a minute, if you drill through, I'm not going to be able to lock my door, and I'll have to get my locks changed!" "uh.. yeah." We say nevermind and tell him to scram. We still have to pay him 30$ for coming over. We then call the management company and the guy says it's going to cost 50$ to send someone over. We say "we don't have 50$" and plead with him to let us in. "How much do you have?" "30$" "Hmm... alright I'll be over in 15." [Again, India moment ???????????!!!!]. 45 minutes later, he comes, opens the door in about 2.5 seconds, and we're in. [Victory moment]

Total damage:
60$
4 hours of sleep

I go in, and with a sudden sinking feeling, realize that I can't fly to DC at 10:30 am in the morning because I don' t have ID. [Freak out moment]. I call my parents who are sleeping peacefully at 4:30 am and ask what I should do. They tell me to sleep in, stay put, and we'll worry about it in the morning. I frantically call Liz who is picking me up in the morning and tell her it probably won't happen and to stay at home unless something changes.

I miss my 10:30 flight, but spend the morning calling every cab company in Boston for an update, filing a report with the Boston PD, calling Airtran Logan airport, and airport security repeatedly to figure out my options and they take me on a whirlwind of finger pointing: Airtran - "It's the jurisdiction of the airport to let you get through security." Logan - "You need to call the airline, it's their decision." Airport Security - closed on weekends. [Freak out moment]. Airtran - "It might be worth a shot to try and get through security with a copy of your birth certificate and passport on standby. But there are no guarantees." Ah! Finally an answer. [Victory moment]

I pack and go to Kinkos where my mom faxes me both documents, borrow 60$ from Susannah, and head to Logan airport by public transportation. We take the green line to the blue line and low and behold.... the blue line is under construction and is closed. [Freak out moment] But! We realize that there is a blue line shuttle that leads to the airport shuttle which takes you to the airport. [Victory moment]. 45 minutes later we reach the terminals. We're sitting on the edge of our seats with clenched fists because the next flight is in an hour. The bus then decides to make 3 extra stops than normal. We finally get out at Terminal C, and run to the airtran counter. [Freak out moment].

Damage:
60$
4 dollars at Kinkos
5 dollars at Starbucks
My mind

We get to the counter, I put on a sugary smile, open my eyes real wide, flutter my eyelashes, and look like I'm about to cry and relay the sob story to the dude. He barely looks at my documents and gives me the go ahead. [Finally! Victory!] He confirms my seat on the 7 o'clock to DC. With a smile I walk confidently to security.

They have to call a supervisor. "You can't get through with these documents, I'm sorry, he says coldly. I sputter... "But.... but.... the guy said... I talked to....but..." "No. I'm sorry, he says. I can't let you go through." [Freak out moment]. They must be told to be difficult at first but eventually let you through upon interrogation. By my slumped shoulders, maybe he figured I wasn't a terrorist. I was asked all the normal questions, "where are you from, what's your full name, birth date, birth place, who lives at your current address, what is a street leading off of the road I live on? etc." After being searched extensively, I finally, FINALLY got in. [Victory moment]

---------------------------------------------------------------

Where am I now? Still at Gate C40 in Logan airport. My flight is delayed 2 hours and counting.... [too tired to freak out anymore.] Hopefully this is it and I don't have to add more to this entry. I would have documented my updates on Twitter, but alas.
No cell.

Photo Shoot/Recording/Home

A few weeks ago, the faculty of KM was approached by an organization called Global Adjustments that helps expatriates in India assimilate to the local culture. Founded by Ranjini Manian, the organization helps expats integrate by helping them with basic language skills, offering a range of different classes including cooking and yoga, and helping expats find housing in cities such as Chennai and Bombay. After the Martin Luther King tribute concert in February, Global Adjustments contacted Ariel Howard, a consul for the American Consulate in Chennai, and asked if we might be interested in being their feature story for the month of April. We agreed.

Eilidh, Michael, Josh, Alison and I went to their corporate office in the RA Puram area of Chennai for the interview. Ariel got to conduct the interview and her questions were concise and delightfully thought-provoking. (At this point, we were dreading interviews because for the whole month of February and the beginning of March we were only asked questions like "how do you feel about Rahman's Oscar win?" Well, duh. How do you think we feel? Disappointed?) We came back to the office a couple weeks later for the photo shoot. The article was featured in the ex-pat magazine, At a Glance.
It ended up being quite a fun experience.
_________

In other news, I had a brief but exciting project to finish for Rahman that was challenging and incredibly fulfilling. He was working on a leitmotiv for a specific character in a Telagu film called 'Puli'. A leitmotiv is just a recurring theme that is associated with one character, or idea. The theme was going to play every time the Hero made an entrance. He wanted it to be dark, intense and include the KM Chamber choir which I conduct. This experience was incredibly challenging because I had to go into the studio and try and figure out what kind of sound he was looking for, take the sound clip, dictate the notes and transcribe it onto manuscript paper and THEN teach the choir the piece, and record it. We had to do this in two days. I have never been good at taking dictation. I don't have perfect pitch and when there are multiple harmonies going on, it can be quite difficult. Alison helped tremendously with the choral part - we worked on it together for a few hours and then she stayed up all night transcribing the harmonies. Then the next morning I transcribed a two part melody and added English and Latin text. The students were ecstatic. I feel like they finally started to understand why I harp at them for the smallest details. Especially when you're recording, the microphone picks up EVERYTHING, and what it picks up, is not necessarily accurate. Some exquisite live singers sound horrible on recordings and most of the time, people who sound great on recordings, suck live. In any case, we all had a good time, the students were thrilled, and Rahman said it was a job well done. Nice.

When Alison and I were in the studio trying to figure everything out, Rahman came in and asked us to step out for a second. He said "I want you to meet someone." Outside was an older, very dignified woman, sitting on a bench wearing a white and red cotton sari. She looked proud and distinguished. Of course, I had no idea who she was and when that was obvious Rahman introduced us. "This is P. Susheela. She is my favorite singer by far."
She was very sweet.
_________

And finally,
I'm HOME I'm HOME I'm HOME!

As much fun as I've had this year in India, I have to say, it's good to be back. Today is my second day at home and I'm feeling a genuine mixture of emotions that range from total relief to utter confusion. My body first of all, has no idea where it is or what time it is - I know this because I'm writing this at 5:30 in the morning with a splitting headache. It'll take a few days I guess.

I have already begun binge eating my favorite foods - let the weight gain commence. Taco Bell and Konkani food down, Sushi and In n Out to go...

A Break

My mom and Veena auntie have arrived!!!

Plus it's finals week.

So I will be taking a break from blogging till I return to Chennai on the 23rd; although finals week may go so horrendously wrong that I will have to ease the pain somehow. You never know.