Jaipur

From June 21^st through 25^th, we visited Jaipur, the famous pink city in the western desert state of Rajasthan. We saw many of the sights (city palace, jantar mantar, gaitor, amber fort, monkey palace, etc) and even dabbled in little jewelry shopping.

My favorite place in Jaipur was gaitor, the sight of the royal cenotaphs, “empty tombs” erected in honor of the dead rules after cremation. Many of these beautiful monuments have “chhatri”, or dome-shaped pavilions, beautifully carved in honor of the Maharajahs. In contrast to the rest of Jaipur, a bustling, crowded city, gaitor was a peaceful paradise, a haven just outside the city walls set amongst a beautiful backdrop of hills.

Pictures from other sights in Jaipur:

city palace, home of the old Maharajahs of Jaipur

Alex sitting in front of the peacock gate (representing autumn) in the Pitan Niwas Chowk courtyard of city palace

The largest sun dial in the world, located in Jantar Mantar, an observatory built by Maharajah Jai Signh in 1728. The sundial is 27m high and the shadow cast by the sun moves up to an incredible 4m per hour.

more astronomy instruments at Jantar Mantar

baby monkey begging for food at Monkey Temple

Alex cautiously feeding a macaque monkey a peanut (notice the "monkey stick" in his right hand, use to swing at monkeys getting too close for comfort)

gate leading into Amber Fort, the old site of the capitol city of Rajasthan. The capitol was moved to Jaipur 1727 after the old city, crammed into the hillside, ran out of water

Alex looking at bats living in an underground tunnel beneath Amber Fort

-Christina

Let the Monsoon Begin!

Our second week in Faridabad Alex and I were lucky to witness a Cloudburst (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloudburst). We were inside playing with Derek when we saw the first flashes of lightning. We all ran outside, at which point another burst of lightning sent Derek running inside in terror. After eventually coaxing him outside again, we all watched the storm and were thoroughly soaked within a matter of seconds. Lightning bolts ricocheted across the sky almost every second, and the raindrops were larger than peas. Alex, Derek, and I danced and splashed in the rain yelling “bijli!”(lightning in Hindi) as the courtyard filled with water – a memory I won't soon forget! During the 15 minute storm, it rained over an inch, causing a miniature flood.

These cloudbursts usually occur when a “pregnant” monsoon cloud floats north and eventually “bursts”. These storms occur high up in the sky, resulting in enlarged raindrops as the water droplets bead together during the time they fall to the ground. The lightning also occurs high up in the sky – many of the bolts we witnessed didn't appear to even touch the ground, and the thunder wasn't audible. As a Seattleite who rarely witnesses anything but a soft drizzle of rain, a storm of this magnitude was exciting.

-Christina

White Celebrities in India

I was advised before our trip to India that Alex and I, as white Americans, would be celebrities. I was skeptical at the time – not so anymore.

The first time we walked to the clinic (Thursday the 9^th), Alex and I were both aware of the immense amount of attention we were receiving. It seemed as if everyone I looked at was staring right back at me – and even when I caught someone blatantly starting, they were not dissuaded. I was bemused, but thought it was only because we were in Faridabad, a suburb 30 km from Delhi and unlikely to be hosting many tourists.

Through the past 3 weeks though, I have discovered the staring and attention is actually much worse at tourist sights – probably because the locals in these areas are tourists on vacation who have their cameras at the ready. For example, the other day sightseeing in Jaipur we visited a water temple. While peering through the monsoon rains at the palace seemingly floating in the middle of the lake, a group of teenage boys comes up to us and asks for “one picture”. “No, no, no!” we say, but their pleading looks and “pleeeases” cause us to relent. “Only one!” we say emphatically. So one of the boys comes and stands between Alex and I and wraps his arms around us. His friend takes the picture, and instantly another boy jumps in in his place. It was too late to say no at this point, and eventually all eight boys had their picture snapped with us. We quickly walked off in another direction, only to be bombarded by another group wanting pictures. Having enough at this point, we said “no” quickly and ran back to our rickshaw to escape the rain and our persistent Indian fans.

"Please, Ma'am, one snap?"

We have an innumerable amount of similar stories, but another that comes to mind was also in Jaipur, but at Amber Fort (pronounced Amer) - a beautiful maze of old buildings tucked away in the hills that used to be the center of the city before Jaipur was built. We had finished wandering through the fort, having been successful in avoiding any picture-taking encounters with Indian tourist groups, when a couple caught us by surprise. As there weren't any other people around to witness and want a picture as well, I conceded “one picture! Quick!” - but instead of having Alex and I pose with each person, the wife only wanted a picture of me with her husband! One picture turned into two so she could take it in better lighting, and Alex and I escaped, perplexed at why the wife would want a picture of her husband with his arm around a white woman.

Three weeks into our journey I am well accustomed to the attention – it is all basically harmless curiosity. It can be tiring to be constantly stared at, waved to, and yelled at, though, and sometimes I miss the anonymity of being able to walk on the streets of Seattle where I am one white woman in a sea of many.

• Christina

Factory Tour

Before we left Faridabad, Dr. Sharma took us to see a factory he works at. He has a small (non a/c) office where he takes care of the hundreds of workers there. He also claims he is a “senior legal advisor”...who knows if that's true or not, what is certainly true is Indians love their titles. This side job pays for his mobile phone, his gasoline, and his car, and he gets all this for only working here for 30 min/day one day a week—28 minutes of which he sits in the air-conditioned front office, sipping chai and eating biscuits.

But that's not the interesting part. That would be the actual factory itself: Shubham Flexibles Packaging Machines, Ltd. The workers here assemble packaging machines that put labels onto plastic bottles. The factory warehouse is huge, with people working on maybe 50 or 100 machines on the main floor, all at various stages of assembly. The completed machines are then brought into an air-conditioned room where they are tested by engineers, who run large aluminum rolls of labels through them to make sure everything is working properly. Touring a third world factory was quite trippy.

-Alex

Adventures with the Cornelius Family

Two weeks ago, on a Friday evening, we climbed in Deepak's new Hyundai (a “very nice Maroon color, very good quality” he is quick to point out) with Derek and Reena, and headed out to Town Park. The park was massive and it was nice to see some green stuff growing, an oasis in comparison to Faridabad's dry and dusty streets.

But when we arrived, Derek's excited pointing and shouting made it clear that we were not here to go for a stroll and enjoy the greenery—we were here for the rides. In a corner of the park there was a small amusement park, maybe 15 different rides. Some were clearly Indian rides, covered in Hindi, but most were covered in English or Spanish lettering. These appeared to be rejects from amusement parks in North America and Europe, perhaps too old or unsafe for use in other countries. Deepak paid the ticket teller 20 Rs and Christina and I climbed onto one of those flying saucer rides, the kind where a big disk spins around while simultaneously gyrating up and down. We locked ourselves into our seat (I don't think I need to tell you that they don't make sure you're secured into your seat here) and off we went. It was terrifying. The metal bar over our laps did not secure us well at all, and I spent the entire ride making sure my left foot stayed didn't stray outside the cart—so that it wasn't snapped off by the ride's sharp metal track rotating just a few inches away. Afterwards, Deepak offered to pay for one of those swinging “boat” rides, but Christina had had her share of Indian amusement parks, and my arms were sore from the death grip I used to keep use from flying out the side of the cart. I think we were wise to call it quits—that Sunday we read an article in the Hindustan Times about a lawsuit being brought against an amusement park where a young girl recently died.

The following day, Saturday, the Corneliuses took us to their Church, a one and a half hour drive into Delhi. The church was Catholic (Reena's family is Catholic, Deepak comes from a Protestant family). Also attending were Reena's father (Joseph), mother (Teresa), brother (Henry...her other brother is Alex!), aunt (Vimla), another aunt (?), and some mysterious other man.

Although the church was Catholic it all seemed very...Hindu. Shoes were left outside the entrance. Shrines to the Mother Mary covered three walls of the church, the front wall had a Jesus shrine complete with flashing multi-color lights—substitute a Ganesh for a Jesus, a Lakshmi for a Mary, and a Krishna for a Joseph and you could have been in any Hindu temple. We all brought flowers and candles up to the altar area, where they were received by a priest who then blessed us with a silver cross. We kneeled in this area and gave prayers, then made our way around the walls of the church, stopping at the various Mary shrines to say our Mother Marys and light candles (which were placed in Coconut shells). No sermon was given. We sat in the altars, silently prayed some more, looked lovingly and longingly into White Jesus' mellow eyes, then made our way outside.

Outside, in the church's courtyard area, the Corneliuses opened up a huge pot of Chicken Biryani and a small container of a sweet red rice dish (think licorice-flavored rice). Many street children and beggars, who had been waiting impatiently in the courtyard, came running forwards to get their bowl of food. Awkwardly, Christina and I, being the guests, were handed the first plates, directing twenty pairs of hungry eyes upon us. We waited till most had a bowl and then ate. I went back inside the church and bought a holographic Jesus poster for 50 Rs.

On the way home from church we stopped at a gas station for some beer (a major perk of having a Christian host family). We assumed we would drink these when we got back to Faridabad, but Henry popped four 650 ml bottles of Carlsberg malt liquor open with his teeth, and handed one to me, one to Christina, and one to Joseph (his father) who was riding shotgun. The last bottle he kept for himself for the drive home. When we got home, we had only made it halfway through our beers, so Joseph suggested Henry drop off him and his wife, and drive us around while we drank the rest. This was strange logic, but no one died and the car's a/c was quite nice. What was not nice was Henry's music selection—I think Clare would have enjoyed it much more.

Still living, but having to pee, we again returned to Joseph and Teresa's home (50m down the street from Deepak and Reena's). We were tired and wanted to nap, but Joseph immediately brought out a bottle of Smirnoff vodka and some awful Indian-made whiskey. He made us drinks of vodka, whiskey, pepsi, soda water, regular water, and ice. We had quite a few—Indian hosts never take “no” as an acceptable answer to anything food or drink related—and then took a nap on the beds in their living room (which converts to Henry, Alex and Vimla's room at night).

When we woke up a few hours later, Teresa was preparing a big dinner. Joseph had bought beef earlier in the day in Delhi, something that surprised us since it is obviously a taboo to slaughter cattle in Hindu communities—and illegal to do so in all but a few of India's states (incluidng the area we were in, and all surrounding states), leading me to suspect Joseph's butcher is dealing in black market bovine (read more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_in_religion#In_Hinduism). Knowing both that Christina is “shakahari” and that Americans eat lots of beef, they asked me to help “prepare” it. Not wanting to disappoint, I obliged without telling them my experience cooking meat is limited to hamburgers on a barbeque or George Forman grill. Thankfully, Teresa had already done all of the real preparation work (marinating and boiling), so all that was left to do was for me to fry the cubes in about 3 inches of very hot mustard oil. I did alright, and only sustained one minor burn on my finger.

I had found some goat hair in the “mutton” I was served the other day but no such problems this time around. Cow Mother was very good.

-Alex

On Streets and Street Food

Here are some rules for driving in India:

• The lines in the road mean nothing. It is perfectly normal to drive between two lanes of traffic. This turns a 3 lane highway into 5 overlapping lanes.
• When changing lanes, do not look over your shoulder or check your sideview mirrors (in fact, it is best to have sideview mirrors folded in, so you can squeeze through tighter spaces without losing them). Instead, just merge over; if you are in front of any cars to your side, you have the right-of-way.
• If a car in front of you merges into your lane, it is your duty to slam on your brakes to avoid being hit. But don't honk in anger, that would not be very cool.
• Use your horn to inform the next car/bike of your intent to pass; when passing a car, and especially a truck, honk your horn for the entire duration of the overtake. “Dippers” are to only be used at night when overtaking trucks.
• It is perfectly acceptable to drive the wrong way down a one way street or highway, especially if you are just a motorcycle or auto-rickshaw.
• Do not stop for red lights, unless it is a large intersection with many cars coming. If you absolutely must stop, it is best to try to go around the intersection (by driving on the curb) if possible.
• For uncontrolled intersections, just pull out in front of oncoming traffic. They will slam on their brakes and allow you to cross.
• When crossing the street as a pedestrian, it is important to realize that cars will not stop for you unless they absolutely must. Therefore, it is best to SLOWLY inch your way across the street, this allows drivers to steer around you. Stepping out in front of an oncoming car while showing the palm of your hand in a “stop” motion may also persuade them to break.
• Only wear your seatbelt when going through areas where there are police check points. Even then, only the driver and front passenger may put them on, since hardly any cars have functioning seatbelts in the backseats.
• For every 200 meters of driving, there will be 10 dogs, 3 goats, and 6 cows in the road. Cows are not at all afraid of traffic, and will stroll through the middle of any road or highway. Dogs will wait at the side of the road for traffic to clear, look both ways, then dart across the street.
• Do not hit cows. People may mob and hurt you. There are stories of people being burned alive in their cars by angry mobs for running over cows.
• Do not get in the car with young men trying to impress their new American friends, especially when he has a loud sound system and CDs filled with Kei$ha and Katy Perry songs.
• There are no rules.

As you can see, driving in India is not for the faint of heart. Our first taxi ride from the Delhi Airport into Faridabad, an hour and a half drive, was absolutely terrifying. But in the past few weeks, we have both become quite familiar with the above rules, and catching a ride in a rickshaw is not at all frightening anymore, though it is always a little exhilarating. And people actually drive pretty slow here—too much congestion and poor quality roads mean it's very hard to pick up much speed.

ATTN TO ANY MOMS READING THIS: STOP READING NOW

Then again, just when I thought I was comfortable with the driving here, I took a motorcycle ride with a nurse from the clinic, Riyaz. I needed to go to a certain market to pick up a USB modem so I could get internet on my old HP, and this market can not be accessed by rickshaws or taxis, only bikes. We had seen a motorcycle accident in Delhi a few days earlier, so I was a little nervous to get on the bike, but this was the internet after all—well worth risking death for. The traffic is much more terrifying when you are on a bike and the trucks and cars you are squeezing between are 6 inches from your legs, rather than from the exterior of your vehicle. To add to the excitement, we were also transporting Auntie, another nurse who is a very full-figured older Indian woman. Riyaz's Honda is 110cc (fuel economy: 70 kilometers/liter!) and meant to be ridden by one man and maybe a small Japanese woman on the back. There were of course no helmets (Riyaz puts a lot of effort into styling his hair). We dropped off Auntie at her house first, then made the 15 minute journey to the market.

Riyaz was actually a very safe driver by Indian standards, and was incredibly helpful with translating at the telecom office. He even refused the 100 Rs commission they offered him for bringing me in, a very nice gesture considering he makes only a few hundred rupees a day. Afterward, he took me out to his favorite chicken biryani street food place, which was very spicy and delicious. I tried to pay for lunch but he of course refused. I then tried to pay for our Mountain Dews, but again he swatted my money out of the way and paid for them. He even insisted I take the chicken leg from his plate (again I refused, again he didn't listen). 

We talked about his family, and how his parents, 2 brothers, and 3 sisters have all disowned him since he married a Hindu girl—even though she converted to Islam, his religion—he had been dating for 5 years (she is now 19, he is 27, they have a 2 month old son). He said he feels sad sometimes that his family has not spoken to him in over a year, but that he does not need them. He showed me a picture of his wife and son, Rihan; I said his wife is very beautiful and I think she was worth losing his family for.

-Alex

Me and Riyaz at the clinic

Our Indian Family

Our host family:

Deepak – father

Reena – mother (30)

Derek – son (4 in July)

 Derek and Christina at Krishna Balaram Temple in Vrindavan

Deepak and Alex

Extended family (all living together):

Joseph – Reena's father

Theresa – Reena's mother

Vimla (Vimmy) – Reena's aunt (Theresa's sister)

Alex - Reena's brother/Theresa's older son (21)

Henry – Reena's brother/Theresa's younger son (20)

From left to right: Vimmy, Theresa, Derek, sad Aunt (potentially going through a mid-life crisis), Reena, Alex, mystery family member

There were many other aunts and siblings and friends to come by and meet us, but this was enough for us to keep track of!

Our biggest surprise was that our family was Christian, not Hindu – but that does explain all of the English-sounding names. While the reason our particular family was Christian remains a mystery, many of the Hindus that converted to Christianity did so because of their low caste in society.

Our family lived in a modest middle-class home with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom (squat toilet). Even though this house seems small by American standards, servants came by most days to wash clothes and clean the bathroom, and the family had new appliances and a fairly new car. Alex and I were in one bedroom, with Deepak, Reena, and Derek using the other bedroom as a place to sleep, eat, hang out, and watch TV – very crowded quarters! The extended family lived a few houses down, where they had one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Joseph and Theresa (the parents) shared the bedroom, with the sister-in-law (Vimmy) and two sons (Henry and Alex) all sleeping in the living room on sofa beds. Indian children live at home much longer than most American children, and are fully supported by their parents until they move out. Alex (21 yrs) and Henry (20 yrs) both lived with their parents, and had never had jobs before. Joseph told us that it was his duty to provide for his children while they studied, and he didn't want them to have jobs. He was shocked to hear that we didn't live with our parents – we actually had to tell him multiple times before he understood. To him, living in a society where family is paramount, us living away from family was almost shameful. But to us, growing up in a society that values independence, living away from family is a measure of success – it shows you are self-reliant and can support yourself.

During our time with the Corneliuses, we were wholeheartedly taken in as part of the family and shown true Indian hospitality. This came with its positives and negatives. On the plus side, we were truly part of an Indian family, and learned about how they dress, eat, sleep, wash, relax, etc – and they were able to learn from us as well. The food was AMAZING and Derek was a doll. They gave us head massages with nice smelling oils, and gifted me 1 salwar kameez, 2 "pyjama" tops, 5 pairs of leggings, some shorts, nail polish, a necklace, a set of bed sheets, and many glass bangles (poor Alex only got his own gift of bed sheets). Family members were constantly bringing over fresh fruit and ice cream at all hours of the day. 

But being used to our personal space and independence, sharing a small home with three strangers had its difficulties. We were given enough food for an entire family of people each meal, and often the food would be dished up for us so we had very little control over portion size. Not wanting to be rude, we felt compelled to eat everything on our plates. The first few days, when we were still jet-lagged and miserable in the heat, it was physically hard to finish our food. We also found it hard to ask for any advice on how to do something, as they would then try to do it for us in order to be as hospitable as possible. For example, we asked Deepak where we could buy a TATA photon+ (a USB internet modem for our laptop) – he told us Alex would come take us in an hour. Two hours roll by, and we ask again – Alex is coming soon he says. We wait, and when he does arrive he comes with the TATA in hand instead of taking us to the store. This would have been helpful, except it was obvious that it came from his computer as it was without a box or case of any kind. We ended up buying one later so he could have internet again. 

We also asked them to take us shopping our first night there, so that we could buy some local clothing to fit in. Instead of bringing us to one of the many cheap stores nearby, they brought us to a very Western, very expensive store, and talked us into buying our salwars and kurtas there because they were "very quality". I'll just say the price we paid for all 4 outfits could pay a month's rent for a comfortable 2 bedroom home in Delhi...

All in all, it was an unforgettable experience living with our Indian family, and I am grateful to have learned so much about Indian culture firsthand.

-Christina