Telangana Update

It seems as though 2011 is the year for political upheaval.  Though I'm woefully out of the loop in international news, there has been plenty going on right here in Andhra Pradesh to keep me occupied.  Andhra is the fourth largest state in India, stretching all the way from the Bay of Bengal into the Deccan Plateau. The Telangana movement that has currently captured Indian headlines is a push to separate the western region of the state, Telangana, from the rest of Andhra, and to create two distinct states, which would recognize the political, cultural, and linguistic differences between the two areas.  In Hyderabad, the supporters of the Telangana movement declared that today and yesterday would be days of bandh, or shutdown—closing down the city’s public transportation, stores, and campuses.

My program director sent us all an enigmatic email two days ago saying that due to the political situation, we shouldn’t leave campus during the bandh.  Of course, I don’t live on campus, so I was slightly confused on whether or not I was supposed to go to school at all. My professor, however, hadn't canceled class yesterday, so I headed to Hindi as usual.  I encountered the first signs of the bandh on my way down to the building where my class is held: to get down to the building I had to carry my bike over the barricade that some students created out of tree branches and cement pillars.  The creators of the barricade did nothing to stop me, and so I went on to have a regular Hindi class. After getting back over the blockade on the way out, I quite literally rode my bike through a protest of about 20 students chanting “Jai Telangana” and carrying black flags on my way to history class. Once again the protestors were loud, organized, but didn’t make attempts to stop me from going around them.  Before reaching my class, I found out that all classes had been canceled for the rest of the day. All of my encounters with the protest on campus had been peaceful, though a bit disconcerting, and I had no trouble getting home. The guy that had been selling catfish on the side of the road for the past week was at the bus stop as usual.

Later that afternoon, I went out with my host brother, Alok, to run some errands in the nearby town, Lingampali.  After picking up Uncle’s ayurvedic medicine, Alok and I hung out at a local coconut stand, drinking coconut water. Though there were some roadside stands still open for business, almost all of the stores were closed, with their metal gates down in the front. One biryani restaurant behind the coconut stand, however, was still operating. While we were sipping on our coconut water, a group of men entered the restaurant, and we could hear the sounds of broken glass as they vandalized the inside. We decided to leave pretty quickly. The whole experience was very surreal.  There I was, standing on the side of the road with my coconut (by the way, I don't usually hang out eating coconuts, this was a first), and then the coconut man was covering up his coconuts with a burlap tarp, and I was witnessing something that I've only ever seen in a movie. The bizarreness continued that evening when my roommates and I decided eat dinner at the Domino's down the street. (I never thought I would enjoy eating Domino's pizza, but it tastes exactly like it does in the U.S., which was exactly what I was craving.)  Some stores had opened back up at this point. Domino's reconciled the bandh by keeping their metal security gate about halfway closed, but functioning like normal inside. After ducking under the gate, we sat down and ate pizza like it was the normal thing to do. This morning I went back to school, on the off chance that my classes were being held today, which they weren't because all of the classrooms were still locked.

I’ve never witnessed such a extreme form of political protest before. While I've seen protest marches back home, they aren't as disabling as the bandh (not that I'm discrediting legitimate forms of protest). Because I live on the outskirts of the city I didn't see the more violent bandh activities (at the downtown university, students were setting cars on fire), but I was still amazed that all of the Indians seemed to take it all in stride. Maybe most of the store-owners around here support the Telangana movement, but I can't imagine a political group in the U.S. mobilizing enough support to shut down a city. (I'm not exactly sure what that says about American politics.)  Things are apparently back to normal tomorrow, but my passive-participation in this 48-hour bandh has really highlighted for me that India is a developing nation, not only economically, but also politically. 

The Taj Mahal

This past week I took a long weekend, and with four of my friends, journeyed to the North for the first time. We did a condensed "golden triangle," visiting Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, with the Taj Mahal as the centerpiece of our trip. Though it's completely stereotypical, the Taj was my favorite part. We woke up at 5:45am so we could buy our tickets when the Taj opened.  All of the Indian monuments have a separate ticket price for foreigners, which tends to be drastically more expensive than the Indian price.  The Taj was no exception. I paid Rs.750 while Indians pay Rs.20. My ticket, however, included a bottle of water and these red booties to put over your shoes for when you actually go into the Taj. They made me look like I was wearing elf shoes. Somehow, I decided that I didn't need to save them as a souvenir. Originally I wasn’t considering visiting the Taj. Hyderabad is in South India, where there is plenty to see, and so I figured I would see this half of the sub-continent while I was here. I’m so glad I changed my mind. I first started reconsidering my travel plans when Indians—my host-brother and his friends—told us that me that I couldn’t come to India and not visit the Taj Mahal (though ironically my host parents have never seen it). Now I understand why.

At 7 in the morning, the Taj is shrouded in mist—the off-white marble melting into the grayish fog surrounding it. After going through security you pass through a large gate and suddenly the Taj is in front of you. The monument is much larger in person than you would think from looking at pictures. Its sheer physical massiveness just descended upon me. It rendered me speechless or more like thoughtless—the only coherent thought that crossed my mind was, “I can't believe that I’m at the Taj Mahal,” which wasn’t exactly the most sophisticated reaction.We gradually made our way across the grounds—first to the reflecting pool and then up to the mausoleum itself, taking an absurd number of photos as we went.

As I've been thinking about it afterward, the Taj, embodies the continual streams of dichotomies that is India. On the one hand, it is the symbol of India—a majestic architectural marvel from one of the high points in Indian history—that is recognized across the globe as one of the 7 Wonders of the World. The Taj is one of the first images that appear in someone’s mind when they think of India. While I was actually experiencing the Taj, however, I felt like I had stepped out of India into this carefully manicured version of what India wishes it actually were. Entering the Taj grounds was like entering an enclosed bubble, while the smells, sounds, and people of India remained outside. At the Taj I could breath in and not inhale the combination of urine, exhaust and the occasional whiff of incense that I have come to know and, not exactly, love. I was suddenly transplanted form the world where men (because women rarely seem to drive) use the horns on their trucks, cars, rickshaws, and motorcycles to communicate: “hey, I’m over here,” “hey, I’m going to pass you,” “hey, get out of my way,” or most often, it seems like their general frustration with the world; a world where I am continually being invited to look at the unique merchandise being sold by one shopkeeper that happens to share a remarkable similarity with what’s being sold next door; a world where people actually move their cell phones from their ears to directly in front of their mouths—all the better to yell in. At the Taj, I didn’t do a double take each time I saw a white person, assuming that I knew them, but instead, there seemed to be more foreigners than Indians. I’m not suggesting this break from reality was a bad thing. I enjoyed myself immensely—it was like I was in that magical, mystical India that the Orientalists used to write about, but I had yet to actually experience.

One of my friends made a great observation: she said that we were able to appreciate the wonder of the Taj more than the typical Western tourist because this wasn’t our first Indian experience. Many tourists step off of a plane in Delhi and head directly to the Taj because it is the thing to see when you come to India. I’m sure it fulfills everything they imagined (I don’t think the Taj could ever disappoint) because the Taj is exactly what India is supposed to be. I, however, have a very different view of India after being here for almost two months. I’ve moved beyond my initial disbelief, when I couldn’t really comprehend that I was in India. I think the Taj Mahal exceeded my expectations because now I am living in and not merely visiting India. My understanding of India has evolved as I experience India through my day-to-day interactions with my surroundings.  Because I am gaining an intimate knowledge of the smells, sounds, and people of India, I can appreciate what a departure the Taj Mahl is from the very real, not always appealing, India.

Ok, end of my philosophical digression. If you couldn’t tell, I loved the Taj Mahal. From a distance, its massive size is imposing. Up close, however, you are able to see all of the intricate details on the marble itself—how the stones in the archways entering the mausoleum are carefully cut in a countless number of angles, creating a sense of texture on the marble, while different colored stones are inlaid in the inner walls forming delicate flowers and geometric patterns. Sometimes monuments are meant to be seen from a distance, and up close they lack the details that continue to inspire true wonder. The Taj, however, is stunning from any distance, far or near, demonstrating its genius. It’s amazing.

Yoga with Papa Om

To set the record straight, this isn’t my nickname for the yoga guru at school, it’s my friend’s. Papa Om is a short old man, with a white beard, hearing aid, and a very pronounced belly. I can’t actually imagine him doing yoga, though he must have been good when he was younger. To begin with, I’m not a yoga person. I’ve tried in a handful of times, at various places back in the U.S. and it’s just never struck a chord with me. It’s the whole breathing thing that tends to get me—I’m a fidgeter by nature, so sitting absolutely still just concentrating on my breath isn’t very appealing. Oh, and there’s the fact that I’m not the most flexible person in the world. But, I’m in India after all—the birthplace of the yogic philosophy and practice—so I figured that it’s the place to give it another shot.

The yoga center on campus is in the “old sports shed”: a sizable concrete building with metal sheeting for the roof. Today I went with one of my friends who is in a class to get her teaching certificate, so I figured I could steal a glance at her to figure out what I was actually supposed to be doing. We started off with a breathing exercise, which seemed pretty comical to me, but then again, I’m not a yoga person. With our thumbs we closed our right nostril and inhaled through our left nostril. Then we closed our left nostril with our ring finger and exhaled through our right. This happened for a while. I don’t think I’ve ever paid so much attention to my nostrils outside of blowing my nose. Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised by the number of poses I could do reasonably well. I would tell you what they were expect the teacher only used the Sanskrit names for them. I did recognize the tree pose, however, and only fell over once!

To conclude our class, Papa Om had us lie in the resting position that my high school gym teacher called the “sponge,” not to get all technical on you. Papa Om, by the way, has this deep vibrating voice that would be perfect for those meditation tapes that are supposed to help you quit smoking. Starting with our toes he had us relax every body part. When we got to our calves, he told us to let them “sag.” After our knees, we were supposed to let our thighs “sag.” Papa Om, great leader that he is, should work on his word choice because instead of relaxing like I was supposed to I was internally cracking up. As we proceeded to sag the rest of our body I decided that this exercise was a cross-between that scene in Zoolander where Ben Stiller gets hypnotized by the song “Relax” and the game we used to play at slumber parties: “light as a feather, stiff as a board.” Papa Om told us to “relax” about every other word—hence the Zoolander connection—though in a much less frenzied manner. After completely relaxing our body, we were told to imagine ourselves light without connection to the ground, which except for the whole being limp rather than tensed up because a bunch of 10-year-old girls were about to lift you from the floor, brought back the sleepover memories. In sum, I failed to do anything at all that Papa Om told me to do because I was mentally composing this blog post. I am planning on going back tomorrow. Papa Om must know what he’s doing after all…