My too short trip to Kerala

My friends and I were greeted by a small figurine of the Virgin Mary that was lit with neon flashing lights at our homestay in Ft. Cochin this past weekend. In India, it seems, any light is auspicious, and so everything from Hindu temples to the many churches in Kerala are decorated by florescent lights that I would normally associate with Las Vegas. Disco Mary was just one of the many fun quirks that made Kerala so charming. To start with, our flight to Cochin was the first flight that I have been on where the pilot announces the current cricket score along with our estimated arrival. (In case you didn't know, India is playing Pakistan in the semi-finals of the World Cup today and campus has basically shut down to watch the match.)  The Cochin airport emanated a tropical vibe, as its red-stucco roof made it look more like a Caribbean villa than an international airport. One of my favorite parts of the trip was all of the fresh fruit I ate throughout.  On Friday morning my breakfast included fresh papaya, pineapple, orange, and a banana. On Sunday, I tasted my first ripe mango in India.  It was dripping with juice and tasted like it had just been plucked from a tree. Plus I got it all over my face, which made the experience that much more enjoyable. 

Other highlights of my magical trip included a journey to a nearby beach where I went swimming in the Arabian Sea! Even though I wore my most conservative life-guarding bathing suit, I was still exposing more skin than I had in months, which felt both liberating and slightly uncomfortable as our exposed legs and shoulders attracted a lot of attention from the Indian men at the beach.  Even though we were at the beach for over 5 hours, I didn’t see a single Indian woman go into the water, though there were plenty walking up and down the beach fully decked out in their saris, which seemed a bit out of place in my opinion.  Unfortunately, I did have to witness quite a lot of Indian men swimming, which meant seeing a lot of Indian men in their underwear, as they seemingly forgot to bring their bathing suits to the beach.  It was an unfortunate sight to behold. On our bus ride back, while listening to the dulcet tones of Michael Jackson on the bus stereo, I came to the conclusion that Indian bus drivers are crazy.  The little Keralan roads didn’t exactly seem to be constructed with the width of the bus in mind, which didn’t phase the driver as we sped down the dark streets, with the bus horn blaring to prevent someone from getting run over.

My other favorite Keralan experience (I realize that the whole point of having a favorite is that there is only one, but I had such a good time in Kerala, it's too hard to narrow things down) was the day I spent in a boat on the backwaters. Sitting under the overhang on our lovely wooden boat, watching the palm trees and water lilies go by, I decided that I could stay on that boat for the next 3 weeks rather than the next 3 hours. It's really the way to travel in India.  Rather than inhaling exhaust fumes, getting a headache from all of the car horns, or sitting on a train that's about 3 hours behind schedule, I got to read my book, take a short doze, and just soak in the nice sea breeze as 2 strong, but incredibly skinny Indian men poled the boat down the channels. The only time I got off the boat during our tour was to eat a traditional vegetarian lunch on a banana leaf, which wasn't exactly a hardship.

Sadly my time in Kerala had to come to an end, but not before breakfast at the Teapot. There are teapots hanging from the ceilings, paintings of teapots on the walls, and cabinets full of teapots all throughout the restaurant.  The menu also boasted of about 20 different kinds of tea, which just happens to be my favorite hot drink. After breakfast we headed over to Jew Town—yes, there’s actually a section of the city called Jew Town. I didn’t see anyone Jewish looking while I was there, but I did go into one of the oldest synagogues in India, built in the early 1500’s.  The synagogue had a beautiful blue and white mosaic floor, different shaped lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and had the cantor’s podium in the very center of the building.  However, the highlight of our visit to the synagogue had to be the pants-less tourist we saw there.  Apparently, Sunday is the day when all of the big tour buses bring their groups to Jew Town, so the place was inundated with elderly Westerners and girl’s school groups.  One older woman was wearing a knee-length white kurta, but here’s the catch, with no pants underneath!  I’m not sure if she thought she was wearing a dress, but the slits up to her waist on both sides probably should have clued her in.  Two of my friends first spotted her inside the synagogue, so we decided to all wait around to see her before leaving. It was worth it!

So ended my lovely weekend journey to Kerala. To conclude our experiences with random American music on the trip (in addition to the MJ on the bus from the beach, Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys serenaded us over one of our dinners), Shakira came on the bus’s sound-system on our way back to the airport.  While I don't miss Kerala's humidity, this state with the highest literacy rate in India, a self-elected communist government, and historical matriarchal society gets my vote for one of my favorite areas in India!

“Your nose is too clean,”

explained the guy who promptly smeared Holi colors down my face. This weekend is Holi, the Indian festival of colors, which corresponds with the full moon. Though Holi is primarily a North Indian holiday, I managed to “play Holi” both today and yesterday in Hyderabad. Playing Holi basically means covering each other with colored powder or with a water-powder mixture. Though I’ve heard that the more intense Holi celebrations can get a bit dangerous because sometimes people mix acid in with the Holi powder, my Holi experiences have been fun, surprisingly polite, and of course, very colorful. I think we should celebrate Holi back in the U.S. It’s basically an excuse to act like little kids again. You get together with your group of friends and yell “happy Holi” as you give them hot pink streaks in their hair, turn their cheeks green, or make sure that their clothing is completely ruined. Any suppressed vendettas, secret crushes, or more likely, strong friendships, can be expressed all in the name of Holi. Holi also brings together random strangers. On my way to campus this morning, three young men armed with water bottles full of pink dye ambushed my friends and me. Normally I might be a little uneasy if a group of men approached me with rakish grins spread across their faces, but today I knew that it was all in the name of fun and color. At school my friends and I played Holi with a couple groups of Indian students. We didn’t know one another, and to be honest, I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I saw them tomorrow, we were so covered in color.
Nonetheless, guys and girls who normally wouldn’t be seen holding hands with one another in public, showed no mercy as they attacked each other with color. I don’t know if my favorite part of Holi is the trill of playing, the link between strangers that the festival generates, or just the sheer rainbow of colors you can see throughout the city. Coming home yesterday I saw a green and yellow richshaw driver zoom by, soon followed by a man sporting purple hair and a pink complexion on a motorcycle. Right now the pavement outside my house bears a resemblance to a Jackson Pollock painting, though with neon splatters rather than somber browns and blacks. Presumably my hands will regain their normal color…

Banana Phone

Don't get too excited, Raffi hasn't come to Hyderabad. I'm currently listening to the kids at the preschool next-door sing the Indian version of "Frere Jacques," so I'm momentarily reliving my childhood. Anyway, "Banana Phone" isn't just some random reference, it's just the best song I know about bananas. For the past two weekends, I've gone on trips in the state of Karnataka, which I've dubbed "the land of bananas." Seriously though, I have never tasted such delicious bananas before, or seen so many different kinds. I'm not claiming to have become a banana connoisseur or anything, but I am now convinced that you haven't tasted a banana until you've tasted a banana in Karnataka.  My new favorite bananas only share a basic resemblance with the bananas that you buy in American grocery stores. These Karnatakan bananas are about 3-inches long and at their widest point, have about a 1-inch diameter. (While I've become accustomed to the whole driving on the wrong side of the road, I have yet to develop an affinity for the metric system.) The banana peel is so thin that on the really ripe bananas it takes a little effort to separate it from part that you want to eat. Did I mention that these bananas were probably just cut off of a banana tree at the edge of town that morning? These bananas are the banana-y tasting bananas that you'll ever eat. As my family can attest, I'm pretty picky when it comes to fruit. I don't do bruises or squishy bits or anything of that sort (though India has taught me not to judge a banana by its peel). These delicate little bananas, however, are ripe and delicious and are a beautiful firm texture that passes even my hyper-sensitive quality check. To top it all off, you can buy a bunch of about 10 of these wondrous mini bananas for Rs.10, the equivalent of about 20 cents. I wish I could bring you all some of these amazing bananas so you could try them for yourselves, but somehow I don't think U.S. customs would take to kindly to that idea.

Ok, I promise that's the one and only banana rant that I'm going to put you through. Karnataka, is in fact, much more than just bananas. On my first trip in Karnataka I journeyed to Hampi, which is the ruined city of Vijayanagar, and could easily be described as the land of the dreadlocked-hippies. Really, they were everywhere. Sometimes I wonder what Indians must think of these dreadlocked tourists, since in Hinduism only extreme ascetics, the sadhus, dreadlock their hair. Anyway, Hampi was this very cool combination of impressive temples, relaxing roof-top cafes, funny-looking rock formations (which, legend has it, the monkey-god Hanuman and his monkey army created by dropping boulders to show off their strength), and elephants. Or actually one elephant in particular--Lakshmi. (Ok, one more digression. This was about the third or fourth elephant in India that I've met whose name is Lakshmi. You'd think they could be a little more creative or something.)  Lakshmi is the 21-year-old temple elephant at the main temple in Hampi, the Virupaksha Temple. She's quite remarkable. If you catch her at the right time, and give her the correct amount of money (Rs. 2 for Indians and Rs.10 for foreigners), she will bless you with her trunk. To be more accurate: she takes the monetary donation in her trunk, gives it to her owner, and then bops you on the head with her trunk. I've discovered that elephants are sort of prickly--they have these very stiff hairs on their trunks sort of like whiskers. To make a full circle, Lakshmi is a big fan of those little bananas too!

Lakshmi taking a bath in the river.

If Hampi is the Jungle Book-esc version of Karnataka, than Mysore is the regal, Aladdin-like version.  Except it sort of, actually is: Mysore's last maharaja is still in residence in his palace in the center of the city. I didn't actually spend too much time in Mysore itself, but my favorite part of the city was the Devaraja Market, which is full of fruit, flowers, and the brightly colored powder called kumkum. It smelled amazing, which is saying quite a lot because in India because your nose tends to be assaulted by less pleasant aromas. My favorite part of my Mysore trip was our day trip to the nearby town of Bylakuppe, where a community of Tibetans in exile live. As soon as we entered the town there were fluttering Buddhist prayer flags attached to almost every building. The town also boasts of a large Buddhist monastery and temple.  At the monastery I got to witness the monk's prayer session, which was incredible. About 100 monks sat in the temple in very straight lines while a head monk chanted in this beautifully deep voice. To accompany the chant, monks in the first rows beat hand-drums in unison along with two huge drums.  The effect was overpowering. I felt like I had internalized the drum-beat and could feel it beating inside of me. I've never felt anything like it.        

The Halfway Point

It’s March, which back home means that it’s the start of college basketball tournaments while here in India, it’s the cricket world cup; in Connecticut, the last of the winter snow will start to melt, while in Andhra Pradesh, the summer heat is beginning to descend. March also means that my time in India is halfway over—a fact that I’m having a hard time comprehending.

The Delhi skyline=Indian endlessness

Over the past two months, I’ve gone on four amazing, and incredibly unique, trips to different parts of India. I have continued to grow closer to my host-family and the girls that I live with. I’ve become more accepting of India-time and how it takes about twice as long to do anything in India than it would back in the U.S. I feel like a have a comfortable handle of Hyderabad’s public transport, though I don’t think I could ever claim to understand how it works completely. I no longer feel the need to take pictures of every cow that I see. At the same time, I still don’t understand how I’m supposed to find out what material I’m supposed to know for my exam when my professor doesn’t actually tell us in class. I haven’t mastered the Indian way of standing in line/pushing your way through a mob of people, so you aren’t completely ignored. My slight tan isn’t enough to fool people into thinking that I actually belong here, and so I’m finding it hard to overcome the whole foreigner-card. As much as I’m learning about India every day, there’s still so much I don’t really understand. I guess it’s a good thing I still have 2 months left to figure everything out!