you can call me coconut water

Last night I went up to the roof where the wind was blowing and it felt simply splendid, a much need relief from the sweltering heat downstairs. The two neem trees adjacent to the house catch whatever scant breeze is available in the area and multiply it. Meenambalpuram is very arid and dusty and doesn’t have many trees, and I think if it did folks would be a lot happier. Well, at least they would be cooler, and for an American in India this translates to happier. Of course these trees would have to be mighty hardy, seeing as how this place is basically a desert.

In the evening hours while I usually head up to the roof for some heat relief, older gentlemen in the neighborhood usually pull a plastic chair out into the dirt road and just sit there in the evenings, relaxing. Most women around here come and sit out on their front porch, chatting for hours. Sometimes they brawl about money, but usually it’s friendly conversation and gossip. Last night the funny joke was that the ladies across the street couldn’t really pronounce my name and it ended up coming out as “coconut water” – which is what my name sounds like if you leave off the initial “m” sound. I told them it was no problem if they wanted to call me “coconut water.” There are worse names like “rat” or “pig”, which is how some American names translate into Tamil.

It’s nice to see folks sitting outside their houses, especially women. Because in my experience in middle to upper-middle class neighborhoods, women usually stay pretty much locked up in the house. They definitely don’t sit outside on the front porches idly chatting away with neighbors, I guess partly because there are walls surrounding their homes. In my own personal experience in such a middle class family, the woman of the house (or, I should say, the daughter-in-law) had nary an idle moment to spare whatsoever. In fact, she never sat down that I saw. Folks around here in Meenambalpuram don’t bother with such things. The women seem to sit down whenever they have a chance. This isn’t to say they aren’t working like crazy 95% of the time while their husbands mostly lounge nearby smoking beedies, but they do seem to have some free time around these parts.

I have finally started to recover from the dreaded mango disease. I noted that in 2 ½ days I drank 20 liters of water. Drinking that much water is supposed to kill folks, but I’m still thirsty. That evil mango pretty much knocked me slam on my ass.

Yesterday Tamilarasi took me to the town library. This was certainly a interesting experience. I've been to some of the local university libraries, which are quite good, but I've never been to a public library. First off, there were no lights or fans turned on, I guess to save money. So it was quite dark. The first room you walk in to was full of only men, all reading newspapers -- either standing up at special newspaper reading stations, or sitting down at three very long tables. It was pretty quiet in there. Then you walk up some stairs into the "library" section. This was full of mostly women, reading quietly or looking for books. The books were arranged by various topics. One such topic was "stories". The whole shelf was supposedly full of stories, which ranged from fiction to non-fiction biographies to poetry to religious stories. I say "supposedly" because there are no titles on the bindings whatsover. Furthermore, there is no classification system. There are just hundreds of books thrown onto the shelves, all looking exactly the same. When I asked about a card catalog folks looked at me blankly.

I met a very nice woman there who is doing her M.A. in Tamil. She was looking for poetry, which is what her thesis is on. She told me that you must just "take a risk" and grab a book, hoping it's something useful. I was pretty baffled, trying to imagine doing research under such conditions. Tamilarasi couldn't understand why I found the "system" a bit difficult. She just simply started taking all the books off the shelf, one by one, looking for something useful. While I wanted to jump on the tables and start screaming about the wonders of the Dewey decimal system, others simply searched for books with all the patience of Job. They would grab a book and walk to a window where some light was getting in to open it up and see what it was. There were plenty of avid readers there, and everyone seemed to find what they were looking for, so I guess everything is working out just peachy at the Simhakal public library.

Come on folks, is the Dewey Decimal System really necessary?

warning: evil mangoes of death en route to U.S.!

Remember how I said y'all should run out and buy Indian mangoes, just as soon as they hit U.S. shores? Well, you might want rethink that one. I just saw in The Hindu that the first shipment of Indian mangoes is on its way to the U.S. They had a picture of the U.S. ambassador to India, sitting there smiling in front of a table holding a bunch of big juicy Indian mangoes. Little does he know that these could very well be evil mangoes of death. Let me explain.

As I had mentioned earlier, one of the best things about summer in India, perhaps the only perk of 105 degree weather, is a delicious in-season Indian mango. They are expensive as hell, but delicious, and there are literally about 500 different varieties. Just the other day I bought a kilo of these enormous mangoes. I cannot remember the name of the variety, but I think it probably translates to "evil death mango" in Tamil. There was a lady selling these on the street. It was super hot that day and I got home and after resting for a little while I decided to pick out the biggest one and eat it. I rinsed it off and dried it and then peeled off the skin, chopped it up and ate it. About one hour later the problems began, and for the next 36 hours or so I was in total hell with a bad case of "the boths" -- which for the uninitiated means an illness characterized by liquids coming uncontrollably out of both ends of your body.

I think this mango was marinated in raw sewage before I got my hands on it. I guess the only way to safely eat a mango is to wash it in chlorine bleach before you peel it. There really must have been some majorly raunchy sewage on it if it was enough to cross-contaminate the mango as I was peeling it. By the time Chellapandi showed up, I was in the full throws of "the boths." She informed me that the reason I got so sick was because the mango is a "heating" food and I ate it right after being out in the hot sun. Furthermore, the mango had been sitting out in the sun. Here in Tamil Nadu pretty much all foods are classified as being "hot" or "cold," and this has little or nothing to do with actual temperature of the food, but something about the qualities of the food and what people believe they do to your body. My friends have now concluded that the "heat" of the mango does not "sit well" at all with my body and they've told me to stay the hell away from mangoes. I tried to explain to them that probably the mangoes had been marinated in sewage but they weren't buying the germ theory whatsoever. And you know what, maybe they are right. It's situations like these that can serve as evidence both for the validity of germ theory as well as local theories about foodstuffs which appear somewhat mystical to Westerners.

Other items in the news of late: The Indian authories have issued an arrest warrant for Richard Gere, who grabbed Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty at an AIDS awareness rally and kissed her multiple times on the cheek, attempting to act out a scene from his movie Shall We Dance for the entertainment of the audience. Well, the audience was pretty shocked, or at least the right wing politicians who were there. And now he could possibly serve 3 months in PRISON. That's right. Shetty has been charged as well, because she didn't STOP HIM. Both Gere and Shetty have been charged with "doing obscene act in a public place" and "indecent representation of sexual activities." The magistrate who viewed the video footage observed that the demeanor of the actors during the incident was "highly sexually erotic" and "transgressed all limits of decency with the potential to corrupt society." One of my lady friends here in Madurai said they shouldn't throw Richard Gere in jail but they should definitely throw Shilpa Shetty in jail because she didn't try to stop him engaging in what was tantamount to "rape." As much time as Richard Gere has spent in India, you'd think he would have learned a few things. At the same time, if folks here think a public kiss on the cheek is bad, they ought take a stroll on the South Street Bridge in Philadelphia sometime. Speaking of that bridge, hopefully that godforsaken thing has been torn down by now.

Richard Gere and Shipa Shetty's "highly sexually erotic" and "obscene act" with potential to "corrupt society." It would have been better if they had just acted out your run-of-the-mill gang rape scene from a Bollywood or Kollywood movie. Then no one would have batted an eyelash.

elephants and alcohol do not mix

I've been living here in Meenakshipuram/Meenambalpuram/BB Kulam/Ambedkar Colony/Mullai Nagar for going on two months now. Sometimes I'm ignored when I walk down the street, and those moments I cherish. But there are still plenty of folks in this area, I figure somewhere in the millions, who haven't set eyes on me yet, which is going to ensure that I continue to hear screams of "whitey". Can't I just "get over it" and give up feeling objectified? Don't think so. But I can at least try to stop taking it personally. It could be worse, I could be the Dutch girl of Anaiyur who showed her ankles, and whose legend is still being kept alive and well by the residents there.

I think the key to "fitting in" here is to stop trying to fit in. I don't know why I haven't realized this sooner, like 8 years ago maybe. One the one hand, it seems a bit closed-minded to maintain a completely different standard for foreigners. For example, foreigners can reveal their ankles but if an Indian woman does it she is considered morally bankrupt. On the other hand, this attitude towards foreigners could be considered very open minded. People here accept foreigners and their habits as being a completely different beast, and they sometimes don't apply the same standards of judgment that they would to locals. In other words, they sometimes seem to tolerate difference in foreigners quite a bit more than I think Americans would. This is sometimes freeing for me. At the busstop, for example, I often feel that if I would just stand in a certain way, hold my head down in a certain way, try to be as inconspicuous as possible like a good Indian girl, then maybe the pack of young men at the tea stall across the street won't gawk at me as much. Realizing that I am considered to be an alien here, and accepting this fact, can make one more relaxed. Why not just stand however I feel comfortable? Why be afraid to draw attention to myself? Because the fact of the matter is, my skin color does that for me. It doesn't matter what I do, or don't do. I am never going to completely fit in and I am always going to stand out and be considered very strange. Better to act appropriately, but to also remember that you simply cannot hide.

This being said, it is true that it is much better to try to blend in here than to go your own way and stroll around half-naked, for example. Wearing the local clothing seriously reduces the static on the line when trying to interact with folks. Despite being an American, the more time one spends in this place, or any place for that matter, the more one starts to judge oneself by the local standards. I find myself completely obsessed with covering up as Indian women do. Can they see my shoulder? My ankle? Is my incredibly annoying dupatta covering me completely? One begins to become ashamed of one's body, which I don't really think is healthy. You start to realize just how incredibly arbitrary local modes of "modesty" can be. For example, in the US I think it is still considered fairly risque to walk around with your midriff hanging out. Here the midriff is about as titillating as an ankle is to us in the US.

The more you think about it, the more "modest" one dresses the more one actually titillates. Covering up actually becomes a sort of advertisement for what is underneath. For example, the dupatta's entire purpose is to cover boobs when all it really does it draw one's attention to them. Think about bras. What is the point? It's considered improper in the US to go without one, and they are seemingly there to control boobs, yet bras seem to do nothing but foreground the breasts. Think about cultures where women walk around without shirts on. Do you think that is considered risque? The sari is considered the most demure and modest garment that a woman can wear here in Tamil Nadu, yet it is also considered quite titillating for men. Here it is very important to cover up appropriately, yet you will often see very old women walking around without blouses and with their breasts hanging out. This isn't considered wrong or risque, and not just because they are old but because they CHOSE to take off their blouses years ago, in an effort to be less "sexy." In the old days some women would take off their blouses after the birth of their first child. After this point they considered themselves to be of a certain age and point in life at which it is no longer important to attract the male gaze. By taking off the blouse, they achieve this. As someone pointed out to me, if you hold something in your hand so no one can see it, others will try their best to find out what it is.

I didn't expect to go on so long about clothing, especially because I wanted to address animals today. Just yesterday an elephant just showed up outside our house. It's funny because in the US we pay about 25 bucks to see an elephant. Here men rent them out like rickshaws and ride them around neighborhoods, begging for change. Some people were afraid of this elephant and they had good reason. Elephants often go nuts and stomp people to death and I think it's a good policy to keep a safe distance. Wild elephants are a different story, especially the alcoholic elephants of Assam. In Northeast India they storm into villages, destroy huts looking for rice beer, drink to their hearts content, and then go on drunken rampages, killing local villagers. If you don't believe me, just go to the BBC News site and search for "elephant beer" or "drunken elephants amok in Indian village." There was an article also in the NYT magazine a few months ago, talking about how stressed elephants around the world are right now and how are simply going crazy. In Assam they are, no surprise here, losing their habitats and are being forced to forage in human settlements. Unfortunately for elephants and humans alike, the creatures seem to have become addicted to alcohol in the process.

Later I will talk about the cricket den underneath my floorboards. I am convinced the crickets are getting revenge on me because I ratted one of them out to Chellapandi who broke it into 5 pieces with a broom and then swept it out the door. Now at night there is this cricket underneath the floor who makes so much noise I really cannot sleep. I think Chellapandi must have killed his friend. People here aren't afraid of bugs like many hysterical Americans, myself included, and you won't find Indian children fascinated much by animals either. But we'll leave that analysis for some other time.

Peaceful sacred animal or drunk rampaging killer?

Cost for locals to get blessing from elephant: Rs. 1. Cost for white girl? Rs. 10.

Where's Waldo? Can you find the 100% organic sewage fed chickens in the cesspool?

once upon a time there was a Dutch girl...

Today is Sunday which means it's time to make the difficult decision about what to do for fun in Madurai. It's really a torturous decision because there are so many choices. Well, actually there are two choices: temple or cinema. Though I did see in the newspaper today that the "Russian circus" has come to town and we are so starved for entertainment here I think I might just go. In any event, today I opted for the cinema and I brought Tamilarasi and her 14 year old son along. Turns out we really should have opted for praying to god instead. I have to say that today was simply one of the most uncomfortable and unpleasant movie-going experiences I have ever had. If it hadn't been for the A/C, the main reason I went in the first place, then it would be the worst movie experience ever. In fact, the A/C is the only thing that kept me there. Let me explain.

Since there weren't any good Tamil movies out right now, today we had to opt for an American movie, dubbed in Tamil. The movie "300" is running here, and I had read somewhere that it was pretty good. Boy, was I wrong. I mean, maybe it's okay in an American theatre, in English, but it simply does NOT translate in Madurai, and I'm not just talking about the language. First off, before we went, Tamilarasi asked her husband and sons if "ladies" could go to this movie. I was like, well it's an American movie and I'm an American lady so I'm going. When we stepped into the movie theatre I got why she had a doubt. It was pretty much like stepping into a den of hungry wolves. Though I haven't been into a porn theatre, I'm guessing that the atmosphere was identical. It was packed full of about 200 whistling and howling men who turned to stare at me pretty good when I got in there, under the dim glow of blue lights. Appropriate because they call porn films here "blue films". We were the only two females in there at first and I considered leaving. Fortunately three other women did come in, but I think they were considered to be of low moral standing. See how difficult it is to watch a freaking American movie here? Women just do not go because it is a major hassle. When the men, young and old, weren't whistling, howling or yelling, they were talking at top volume on their cell phones to God knows who. At one point people starting meowing and making cat noises throughout the theatre. I have no idea why. Overall, a wonderful environment to watch a movie.

Apparently American movie equals porn movie here, and they were ready for some skin. I was thinking, what exactly are they going to see in this "300" movie? Keep in mind, folks, that some of the scenes we watch in American movies are super scandalous here, and I felt really uncomfortable during kissing scenes, etc. People were whistling and shouting at top volume the whole time, especially when there was any chance of seeing some skin. The male audience especially enjoyed the rape scene, as per usual. This "300" film is a "historical" film about the Spartans, and their clothing was appropriately spartan to say the least. The women wore togas/glorified rags pretty much falling off their bodies. In one scene this absolutely hideous hunchback monster man steps into a brothel where women with nothing but coins covering their nipples start grinding all over him. In another scene a very attractive woman allows herself to be licked on the face by a monsterous beast of a man. Someone asked me if American women are like this, not caring if a man is hideous and just grinding on him and letting him lick them. Also, do American women walk around with coins covering their nipples? These scenes are incredibly embarassing because the audience members equate whatever white people are doing on screen with white people in "real" life. Never mind that this movie is supposed to take place thousands of years ago or whatever. People see the white folks running around on screen with spears wearing rags and coins, and they think we are doing this today itself. But let's also remember that 99% of Americans have concluded from watching "Indiana Jones" that Indians regularly eat monkey brains as part of a healthy diet.

Basically "300" totally sucked. They dubbed it completely in literary Tamil so I understood hardly anything. The film was entirely in this horribly depressing sepia tone which I suppose the director thought would lend some feeling of historical authenticity. How many more of these bullshit ancient battle movies are going to come down the pike? There was "Troy" which was TERRIBLE and some other movie pretty much exactly like it. Oh, I think it was "Alexander." "300" is in the same vein, and it totally lifted scenes straight from "Gladiator". "Troy" and "Alexander" both ran here and they were simply terrible. I'm sick of these stupid battle stories where the women are pretty much only there to get raped or assaulted and otherwise stay in the background. Furthermore, how many more movies do we need with people chopping people to bits with swords and spears for 2 hours? So they did some special effects with the blood in this movie. Disgusting and pointless, if you ask me.

Needless to say this is the last time I am going to watch an American movie in Madurai. Except maybe Spiderman. That I really want to see, but not if there is any nudity. If there is any nudity they need to just go ahead and put it in a porn theatre here and be done with it. People cannot handle it otherwise.

After the movie I headed back to Tamilarasi's neighborhood. Today I've been hearing all about the "Dutch girl" who was in that neighborhood a few months ago. People cannot stop talking about her, and of course because I am also white there are invariably going to be comparisons drawn between us. I really started to feel sorry for this Dutch girl, because apparently she was the first white person they'd seen in that neighborhood and from what I heard packs of people surrounded her everywhere she went. I heard that she wore pants that exposed her ankles (SCANDAL!) as well as a tank top. She rode around on a bike with an UNMARRIED MAN. This seemed to be the biggest mistake she made, bigger than walking around half naked.
Apparently this man told her her clothes weren't acceptable so she started wearing a sari. But this didn't make up for the fact that she was going around with this guy who was 30 years old and apparently already a spinster. Oh yes, and she smoked cigarettes outside as well. Basically this Dutch girl was a walking disaster. And today everyone was looking to me for comparisons. I seemed to pass muster, however, because I was covered up. Furthermore I spoke Tamil which she did not. As per usual my hair and skin and every square inch of my body was inspected. Every way that I differed from the Tamil standard was pointed out and commented upon. Keep in mind that freckles and moles do not readily appear on dark skin, and on fair skin these items become objects of intense curiosity and indeed concern, as they appear to suggest some sort of disease or insect attack. Lack of gold jewelry was addressed; earrings were inspected and nose ring was duly noted. Hair color was observed; it was noted that some foreigners, while all looking exactly alike in the face, appear to, on occasion, have differently colored hair.

Overall it was a good day. I really liked that neighborhood and think I will go back there as often as I can. It is very calm and quiet during those rare moments when my mere presence does not encite chaos.

Tamilarasi and sons

Further evidence that cooking in India should be left in the hands of trained professionals.

yellow fever

There's something about a culture with a special day set aside in the calendar intended just for buying gold. That something would be "crazy." I don't think you'll find any country on this earth where gold is so important. It's not just decoration but money as well. Women are given gold as dowry and it's a backup reserve and source of financial security in times of need. It's always valuable, it's indestructible, and it cannot be produced, hence making it highly useful as a form of currency.

Yesterday was Akshaya Tritiya, day which falls on the third day of the new moon of this particular lunar month. It's a highly auspicious day, especially for buying new gold and jewelry. If you invest in gold or other major assets on this day, it is considered lucky and you will get higher returns over the long haul. We've been in the middle of an advertising maelstrom the past couple of weeks. Banks want you to come in and buy gold coins and bars, and jewelry stores are trying to draw folks in to purchase some major bling. And if you drop thousands of rupees they'll even throw in a free gold coin for good measure.

It is a source of great confusion and consternation to the folks of this country, especially the women, that I don't wear very much jewelry and I absolutely never wear gold. Not only are my clothes considered out of style, but I look like a pauper because I wear so little "decoration." I try to explain to people that 24-carat gold looks absolutely hideous on fair skin. This explanation is accepted more readily than the "I just don't like jewelry" argument which simply doesn't fly here. Or even more blasphemous, the notion that jewelry is simply a waste of money. This is certainly an American idea. Last night Tamilarasi and I strolled around the jewelry district, looking for instances of drishti paranoia during this busy shopping day. I told her that I might need to look for a silver chain and it was really comical to her, the notion that I would walk into one of the major jewelry stores on Akshaya Tritiya and ask for a silver chain. I think you cannot get more low class than that!

Over the next few days I'll add more snaps from Pondi.

Better wear a helmet or you might look like this guy.

Pondicherry is not Madurai

I just spent the past few days in Pondichery, catching up with Roos, a friend of mine from Holland who is in town for a few weeks. She took some time away from her work to tool around town with me for a few days. We first met back in summer of 2002 at the Tamil Summer School of the French Institute of Pondicherry. Way back then we stayed with two Polish girls in one room at a VERY shady guest house near the Government Park. Turns out that the Hotel Qualithe, known for hosting a number of sketchy foreigners in its downstairs bar as early at 7am some mornings, apparently was the scene of a prostitute murder not too long ago. Last time I stayed there a couple of years back the place was busted by the police for serving alcohol on a black day. Needless to say, I didn't stay at this place this time but instead opted for A/C luxury on the other side of town.

Back in the good old days of the Tamil summer school, we commuted by cycle. None of us had any cell phones and had to reach one another the old-fashioned way, by cycling or walking to someone's house. There were just a few restaurants catering to tastes other than South Indian idlis and dosa. These were also the days of traveler's checks, not ATMs, and super slow internet. How did we manage? Just fine, I guess. But now when I visited Pondi I was simply bowled over.

Pondicherry, now "Puthucherry" as it has been renamed, is POSH. There are lots of amazing places to eat now and the food is some of the best you can find anywhere. New restaurants and hotels have been constructed on the ocean front, some with views of the ocean. Coffee shops are offering iced mochas and wireless internet, for example, and Pizza Hut has even made it to Pondi, and though I wouldn't really call this a victory I certainly wouldn't be above patronizing this establishment after two months of eating rice. The city was simply overflowing with tourists, most of them Indian (it's tour season) though there was the standard contingent of hippies and expats. Some things in Pondi never change. Foolish Westerners were walking around half naked, but since it's Pondi the locals didn't really bat an eyelash. EXCEPT for the woman at the tea stall who was wearing SALWAR PANTS and a t-shirt. Salwar pants are meant to be covered, at least down to the knee. Basically she looked half naked and would have been better off wearing shorts or a mini-skirt. Kids were pointing and laughing and adults, including me, were staring. But she was smiling from ear to ear, getting a tea in the middle of the men's domain of a tea stall and sitting herself down right on top of a rock next to the gutter to drink it. Guess she was loving the attention.

Yesterday Roos and I took a couple of bikes and rode several kilometers out to Auroville beach on one of the most dangerous roads I've seen in India. The entire time you've got a white-knuckled grip on the handlebars, pretty much. Because we are white we simply sailed right on in to the private Auroville area. A quaint place where white hippies and ashramites play guitar and contemplate world peace under the shade of palm trees. Meanwhile the brown-skinned locals serve drinks and clean the place. Sweet, isn't it? Enlightenment really doesn't have to be a lot of work, especially when you bring your Euros to a third world country.

Overall, Pondi was a super amazing vacation. I fell in love with this place all over again. I even went around without a dupatta. Now I am back in the dustbowl of Madurai. I think I will go eat some rice now.

Many more pictures to come, but for now feast your eyes on this one, which I think is a nice reversal of the tourist gaze.

Toasted Buns:
Frenchman tans his ass while local woman/
beggar reclines on beach, looking on.

enormous cockroaches are incredibly difficult to murder

Ladies and gentlemen, here you have photographic evidence of the largest cockroach I've seen outside of zoos. This roach is living (and now [mostly?] dead) proof that the evil eye is REAL, folks. Just the other day I was thinking to myself, "Wow! I am really lucky. I haven't seen one gigantic enormous cockroach in this house yet. Guess there aren't any horrifyingly ginormous roaches here. Hahahaha! LOL" Well, guess what. I just walked into the bathroom, going to innocently wash some clothes, and this beast was in there. I pretty much went into hysterics which is what I do when I see roaches, especially on this scale. I *hate* roaches more than anything. I won't kill mosquitoes that potentially carry viral fever, malaria, or dengue, but I will kill roaches. I've only ever murdered one other roach in my life, and that was back in 1999. I've killed other roaches I am sure, but this was grisly murder I tell you. Many of you have already heard the Roscoe story. One day I will share it with others. This story, however, is not so quaint. It took about 10 minutes of jumping around with a broom, beating it with all the force I could muster, before he pretty much bit the dust. Then again, I am not sure he is dead now because once he seemed somewhat immobilized I covered him up with a plastic cup. Basically this roach did not want to die. I beat him so many times and then he would fall down and look dead for a few seconds. Then the antennae would start to flutter and damned if that sucker didn't come back to life over and over again. It was a pretty awful situation for me, as a supposed vegan, to be murdering a creature, even one as ugly as this. But I found that rage, fueled by pure disgust and hatred, was an effective catalyst.

Did you know? Roaches have nine lives.

Motorcycles for Mangoes: GW has finally secured his legacy

Happy (Tamil) New Year! Today there has been some truly wonderful news, fitting for this festive holiday season. In a truly spectacular development in bilateral trade relations, India and the United States have finally hammered out a deal: we give India Harleys and they give us mangoes. Splendid! So prepare yourselves, folks, for the Indian mango. It will be on your store shelves within a few weeks. Tis the season right now for mangoes! Fully-irradiated, delicious, juicy, decadent Indian mango flesh. There's nothing like it.

You see, for the past 18 years Indian mangoes have been banned from American shelves. This is because the Department of Agriculture felt that Indian farmers dumped way too many pesticides on the mangoes and that they were unhealthy. Well not to worry, Indian farmers are now radiating the mangoes with a super duper X-ray gun, thereby killing all pests and making them safe for American consumption. GW has finally secured his legacy. He visited India last year and tasted the mangoes. He was hooked immediately and said he wanted to liberate the Indian mangoes and allow them to come to the United States! As the Indian Commerce Minister put it, "The U.S. has far too long deprived itself of the taste of the Indian mango." So folks, I hope that you will write to President Bush and thank him for freeing the Indian mangoes. I know that he will appreciate hearing from you. After all, his dream has always been to serve as a liberator.

Tomorrow I am heading for Pondicherry for a few days. For my faithful blog readers, I should be back online by Thursday, if not before. Perhaps I will find something interesting in Pondicherry to write about.

Taking a snap with my Tanjore painting guru and his wife and grandson
at the "who's who" of Madurai event of the year: SITA farewell tea.

Making a speedy getaway: This morning I was chatting with my identical twin over Skype when I heard someone come in the front door. I thought it was Chellapandi, but I couldn't figure out why she would be coming in at that time. Then my internet connection went out and I was hearing all sorts of switches in the other room being switched off and all kinds of commotion going on. I went into the other room to see the front door wide open and some random kids just going wild through my house. They just came right on in and made themselves at home! Looks like the 3 year old knew exactly how to go and switch off a modem. Very clever.

some of my favorite things

I was thinking lately about some of my (new) favorite things. I thought I would share them with you. As I write this, I can hear rats squeaking. Rat squeaks will not make it on to this list.

1) Running water. After sweating all night, there is nothing better in the morning than dousing oneself in cold water and washing away the sweat. But because being in TN makes one obsessed with water conservation, I use the water very sparingly. Furthermore, water used to wash clothes is utilized for flushing the toilet. Unlike those hellish days of Alagappan apartments a few years back, there is actually water here in this house, and it runs. It can be tapped via bore well, which goes down into the earth about 150 feet. Having a bore well at home is a true miracle. I know bore wells are screwing up the water table something awful, but I really don't see any alternative in a place that is looking to be more an arid desert than a subtropical region. Rain-water harvesting is always an option but no one seems to do it, and no one wants to/is able to pay for the technology. And then again for rain harvesting to work, it has to actually rain. And you know how that goes.

In Alagappan Apartments/Hell, I would lay awake at night wondering when/if the water would be turned on. IF water came it was pumped in for about 15 minutes per day, and the times would not be announced to those of us "not in the know." The landlord/rowdy apparently clashed quite often with the water lorry guys which basically meant some days the water didn't come. I ended up buying a huge plastic trashcan and multiple buckets and vessels. I would keep the trashcan under the faucets, keeping the spigots open at all times. When the water came on, I would rush into the bathroom and start filling up the buckets. This is how I lived for a year. Of course most people (read: women) have to go out and either wait in long lines in the sun, clashing with one another to get their three buckets of water from the lorry. Or else they wait by the corporation water pumps and then pump out the water by hand once the city decides they can have some. And I thought Alagappan apartments was bad.

2) Washing the dirt off my feet. There's nothing better than coming home after walking around outside and running some water over your feet. Suddenly they go from filthy to simply dirty. Many of you who have dwelt in such a dusty place know that the dirt never really goes away. Just rub your fingers vigorously over your skin a few times and the dirt starts to come off. But rinsing off filthy feet gives the feeling of full body clean.

3) Clean drinking water. There is nothing like having a couple of big cans of clean drinking water at your disposal, 20 liters each. You feel pretty good because the drinking cans are recycled and you aren't using plastic bottles. It's also incredibly cheap. And I relish every drop. There's nothing like filling up a bottle of water and then chugging the whole thing. AHHHHHHHH.

4) Cold water. Cold water is one of the absolute best things in my life right now. I simply cannot understand how cold water and cold drinks have not caught on around the world, especially in a place that's regularly over 100 degrees with about 90% humidity. It just simply cools your entire body down, but this is precisely the reason why people here avoid it like the plague. Cool drinks are considered dangerous. (And with Coke and Pepsi putting heavy metals in Indian sodas, I guess they kind of are.) I recall fondly my host family days when I would come down with a case of the amoebas and I'd be interrogated about whether or not I had consumed a "cool drink." Because if you get sick, a good culprit is a cool drink. I think that Americans are pretty much the only people on this Earth who are in love with cool drinks. And they are truly a miracle. Cool drinks might be the one good thing that America has to offer the world at the moment.

Well, that about raps it up. Right now my favorite thing is pretty much water, from the looks of this list. I also really like mangos. One day I will write an ode to the mango.

tackling the beggar/cow "menace"

Beggars, cows, what's the difference?

Those of you who have visited Madurai, or indeed many other cities throughout India, would have noticed the many stray cows wandering throughout the streets. Cities such as Chennai have banned stray cows within the city limits, as has Delhi where folks have come up with the clever idea of installing computer chips in stray cows so that owners can be identified and fined. Well, this week orders came down from above for Madurai police officers to start herding up stray cows, loading them into vehicles and hauling them off to some holding location. You might also have noticed that there are many beggars roaming around Indian cities as well. Just two days ago the police swept the city and hauled the beggars off to jail in a paddy wagon.

"The police commissioner who took disciplinary action and arrested the beggars, who are posing a nuisance to the public, similarly yesterday ordered that stray cows be snatched up from the road," read today's Dinamalar. Beggar nuisance. Cow nuisance. Same shit, different day for the public it would seem. I know that I will sleep better tonight, knowing that the cows and beggars have been hauled off to their respective holding facilities, no longer posing a nuisance to the public.

I can understand arresting the beggars and hauling them off to prison, but the poor, hungry, defenseless cows? Isn't that a bit inhumane?

Doppelganger strikes again!

Unbelievable, folks. But it would seem that my doppelganger has struck once again...this time on the other side of the earth. In Washington DC of all places! Turns out that people who have known me for *years* thought this doppelganger was me! I saw them just a few months back yet this doppelganger royally fooled them. Never mind that I am supposed to be halfway around the world at the moment. I mean, when people you went to college with and indeed shared a residence with for a year or more, think that your doppelganger is you, and start conversing with the doppelganger as if she really were you, you really start to wonder. Here I already have a doppelganger in Madurai, and now I've got a twin in Washington DC as well? Amazing! The fact that she can move back and forth from Madurai to Washington DC so quickly is a feat in itself. I really want to try and meet this doppelganger! Besides looking so much alike that people I have known for years get us confused, it would appear that we have very similar backgrounds and interests, both being from SC and frequenting the same places in Washington DC as well as Madurai, India, of all places! The only thing is, however, that the Washington DC doppelganger is about six inches shorter than me. Not sure how that played in to the calculations of folks who mistook her for me. Turns out Indians aren't the only people who think all white people look exactly alike.

The Washington DC doppelganger couldn't possibly be my sister, LL, because she and I are exactly the same height.

"The seemingly impossible, made possible."

I am going to suggest this as BSNL's new motto. I will explain....Currently I am not sitting in a internet cafe being hounded by men about whether or not I know how to cook sambhar. I am not waiting outside the phone booth/sauna waiting for over an hour for the selfish foreign #$@&* to get off the phone so I can talk, only to have to give up and turn around and go home. Most importantly I am not standing at the Mullai Nagar bus stop right now for 45 minutes in the blazing hot sun, with toddlers screaming "whitey" and other obscenities at me as per the direction of their elders. No, I am not getting to experience any of these things as I am currently sitting *in my home* in Meemabalpuram, using wireless internet!

How is it possible, you might ask? I would say it is quite easy, but I'd be lying. Yesterday they said they would come so I waited at home all day and no one showed. This morning I called again and was told they would come. After 15 days of waiting and running from pillar to post, and nearly being thrown out of places because I didn't register my name with the security guard, etc. etc., finally today three men showed up from the phone company and hooked up this blasted internet. I couldn't be happier! Now the possibility exists to talk with people at home for free. So please crank up your Skype programs.

Today I had a chat with Tamilarasi about the general habit here of "flaking," as we call it in the US. This custom often poses serious problems for the researcher. Folks will tell you that they are definitely coming to your house at 11 AM on Sunday, for example. You get really excited because you just might be making a friend and you are going to get to host someone. So you crank up the kerosene stove and with great difficulty make some coffee. Pretty soon 11am rolls around but you don't expect them to be on time. Then it's 12PM and they could still show up; one hour late is pretty standard. Then by about 1 PM you realize they are a total no show and you are left wondering, "What went wrong here?" When can you ever believe what people say here? VERY often folks say that they are going to do something when they have absolutely, positively no intention to or even *ability* to do so. (Recall, for example, the promise of a gas cylinder when it didn't exist; the repeated promise over the course of a month that the window and fan would be installed "tomorrow" when no money existed and hence, no possibility of installing said items; ETC. ETC.)

Something here isn't translating properly. I tried to glean some sort of information from Tamilarasi, like maybe there is some magic decoder for deciphering when people really intend to do something and when they do not. But all she told me was that people here are "used to it." So I think that people just flake on people all the time and it's acceptable. People here are generally just more patient than Americans, and furthermore Americans' expectations are way too high. For example, I got irritated when the internet people said they would come but didn't. My day went waste. I had wanted to go out but was unable. There isn't a housewife or househusband sitting at home waiting for people to show. But then I decided that I shouldn't expect anyone to show up when they say they will and that I should then be thrilled if/when they do. For example, this morning I didn't expect the fan to be put in because they flaked and didn't show yesterday when promised. But then, when they did show after I had been sweating buckets over my food for the past month, I was thrilled. Similarly with the internet guys. I had just resolved that my Rs. 1800 I paid for internet had been stolen and that no one was ever going to come and install the connection. This was liberating. But then today when they actually showed, I was ecstatic. And sitting here right now typing as I listen to BBC news doesn't hurt much either.

Basically I have resolved that there is really no secret code for knowing when people are serious and when they aren't. I really wish I could read people's minds, though. When they say they are definitely going to come and then never do, what is the thinking there? Did they just change their minds at the last minute or did they never have any intention of showing in the first place? I have finally started to pick up on when people are bald-faced lying, however. Like when an auto driver says he knows where something is but he has no clue. I've been honing my liar-detector skills in that department. But I still cannot figure out the flaking thing.

Other things that I have been tripping on lately are just how incredibly different cultures are from one place to the next. This sounds really obvious, but lately I've been thinking about the differences that aren't so transparent to us on first glance. Things which are entirely culturally conditioned but which we take for granted as unconscious habit. I'll give you some examples. How often have you crossed your legs without thinking? Folks here do not do this. You'll never see women in Madurai crossing their legs. Whistling. This one is a bit different because here there is actually a cultural proscription against whistling, but nevertheless, we often whistle songs when we are happy or just without thinking. People here don't do that. Do you ever roll your eyes when frustrated? You won't see that here. Someone told me once that this means you are dead, not frustrated. Want to say hello to someone at a distance? We wave. But I did this yesterday and Chellapandi did not understand what I meant. Furthermore, think about kissing and hugging. It might come as a surprise to Americans that these things are not universal. But they aren't. In lots of cultures people don't kiss at all, apparently. And I think that South Asia is a place where kissing is something of a foreign introduction, hence the proscription against it in movies. Formerly I had mistakenly taken this anti-kissing thing as a mark of a very puritanical culture. This isn't the right way to look at it. It's not that people don't kiss because they think it is dirty; it is just something that people don't do. It's an entirely culturally conditioned thing.

Those are just some of the things I've been thinking about lately. I'm going to go sit under my new fan now.

Before the ear-piercing cermony the children have their heads shaved. Then sandalwood paste is applied to the scalp. A professional photographer was on hand for pictures, but people were very insistent on my taking photos of everything, especially the goats/lunch.

Tamilarasi's youngest son and Chellapandi's son touching the goats, of which they were pretty proud. A goat goes for about Rs. 2000, or one month's salary for many people.

Goat doesn't want to take a bath.

They say if the goat shivers, then God accepts it as a sacrifice. Pouring cold water on the goat is a good way to get it to shiver. Once the goat shivered, people were happy and were saying "ummmm, nallaa kulichchaachu!" meaning "it's bathed nicely." After this photo the goats' heads were cut off. Fortunately I was spared this scene. Later on, I was the only one who wasn't eating any goat meat at the communal meal. One lady remarked, "She's not eating any goat!" and pretty soon it started to spread around the room like a game of telephone, "Did you hear? She said she doesn't want any goat meat!" I was sort of embarassed. Already I'm weird here, and here I am not eating any goat. Vegetarianism is pretty much for the Brahmins and stodgy upper castes here.

We only had to wait 6 hours in the heat for everyone from the village to show up. Pretty soon the trucks rolled in with everyone crammed in the flatbed like sardines. People came bearing all sorts of gifts like raw rice, paddy, salt, bananas, etc. The women carried these items on their heads. Once everyone arrived the ear piercing began. The children sit in the laps of the mother's brother, or maamaa. He is the individual who is financially responsible for the functions of his sister's children. Often this is merely a nominal position as others may step up to pay if he is unable and has a "prestige problem."

Once it was over Parthipan was pretty relieved. Both boys and girls get their ears pierced as it is a rite of passage. However, the boys have their earrings taken out 3 days later.

In the lap of the mother's brother's son. As a girl you might either marry your mother's younger brother, or more likely, your mother's brother's son. Marrying your father's brother's children is generally considered taboo here, however it does happen.

loudspeakers have been turned off; folks are now permitted to go on with life

Thankfully the loudspeakers have been turned off and packed off to the next Mariamman function in some other neighborhood, allowing more people to experience the joy of music blasting 18 hours a day. We people in Meenambalpuram wouldn't want to hog this all to ourselves.

Now a certain "peace" has descended over Meenambalpuram, where at night the only sounds to be heard are the sweet chirping of crickets and the neighbors clashing with one another, yelling into the late hours of the evening. Last night there was a power cut and moments later there was such a commotion next door that I seriously thought someone was either being burned to death or murdered. I remained locked in the house. but I peeked out the window to see a crowd of spectators gathered outside. This morning I didn't hear any bad news so I figured there were no casualties as a result of the brawl.

Here in Madurai I see people yelling with one another and fighting in public all the time. But sometimes when people are having an argument it is hard to know. Often people do not make gestures or angry facial expressions as you might expect, but merely raise their voices to really loud levels. Sometimes it's also hard for me to know when people are arguing because sometimes people just speak at very loud volumes in general, and not just when they are angry. But nevertheless, you do see people arguing, trying to fight but being held back by others, or just straight up fighting quite often. I think that this must be a side effect of a very high population density. When you have so many people virtually living on top of one another with little personal space, fights are going to result.

This weekend I attended an ear-piercing ceremony which was very interesting and enjoyable, and I'll post some pictures and a description of that sometime soon. We only had to wait 6 hours in the 100 degree heat for it to get started, so things were really quite organized. I also heard some more news of my twin at this function! A few weeks ago a woman in my neighborhood had indicated that she had seen me at my landlady's housewarming ceremony. I told her that I was in the US at that time and therefore was not there. She did not believe me. This foreigner at the ceremony looked just like me and it must have been me. Then, this weekend at the ear-piercing function, I met another woman who said she saw me at the same housewarming function! She also could not believe it when I told her I was in the US. This might just be the same foreigner who frequents the same internet cafe as me, has the same name as me, looks just like me but doesn't speak Tamil! Wow! I really hope I get to meet my doppelganger! But since every white person looks exactly alike, I am sure I will run into her sometime soon.

Me, Tamilarasi, and her husband at Pandikovil.

VIP access to the sprouts...

That's a benefit of being a foreigner in Meenambalpuram. On Tuesday I was given top secret access to the sprouts (known as mulaippaari) being grown for the Mariamman festival. A special house is chosen for this purpose and it just happens to be the one across the street from my house. I had noticed an old grandma going in and out of this thatched hut on the root all week. (And you can see this thatched hut in one of my previous photos of the Mariamman temple view from my roof) I had no idea what she was up to. On Tuesday the only other woman besides the grandma with access to the sprouts took me up there and let me inside to see. You cannot just grow them anywhere. Someone very clean has to do it and the area has to be very clean and sanctified and free of pollution (ritual and otherwise). Menstuating women cannot go in there; hence, having a grandma growing them is a good idea.

I had no idea where I was being taken until we were inside the hut. It was a pretty amazing sight. They had a tube light set up in there but the sprouts have been growing in the dark. There was about an inch of water on the floor. They even let me take some pictures which are below. I was pretty honored to be given access to this place. When Chellapandi heard I had been in there she was really shocked and wanted to know what it looked like. But then later on in the evening, before they took them out for all to see, she got to have a peek at them when they brought me back up there for a puja and picture taking time. The grandmother officiated at the puja on the roof, and everyone went there to take her blessings. Also, the mulaippaari are considered very sacred and people very much want to take their darshan.

The first pot of sprouts was taken to the temple by a woman across the street. She was taken up to the roof where she witnessed the mulaippaari and once she touched one of the vessels she became possessed with the spirit of Mariamman. Chellapandi and I were on the roof across the street so we witnessed all this. She then began to eat the leaves of the neem tree, or veeppamaram as it is called here, because Mariamman is associated with these leaves. She was swaying to and fro and Sumati, the important woman with access to the sprouts, put the pot on the woman's head, took her by the arm and led her to the temple where the sprouts were deposited. The woman was still possessed and Sumati literally dropped her on the ground outside her house across the street where she lay writhing around for quite some time.

Later on in the evening all the mullaippaari are taken out of the hut and the names of women and girls are called who have taken vows to Mariamman to carry the mullaippari in procession. The women approach the stairs up to the roof and their individual mulaippari is lowered down by relay. The men handle them at this point, but only to transfer them to the women. Then all the women and girls line up at the temple and carry the mullaippaari pots on their heads to the Aiyannar temple in BB Kulam. About 2 hours later they arrived back to the neighborhood, at about 12:30 AM, where they deposited the mulaippaari at the temple. Then the loudspeakers got cranked up again and people started blasting fireworks.

The next morning all the women and girls returned again to the temple and again took the mulaippari in procession, this time all the way across the city to the river's edge at Simhakal. They walked all the way across the city barefoot, in the blazing heat. Some young girls were carrying pots as well, but they were accompanied by their mothers who later on took over for them. The grandmother who was in charge of growing the sprouts led the procession. She is very important in this festival. She is also the one who has been leading the songs at the temple every night throughout the festival.

I very much enjoyed the mulaippari part of the festival, because I'd never really witnessed this before. I'd seen women carrying these pots downtown, but I had no idea about their significance. The festival has been educational and enjoyable for me in that sense, however the constant and unrelenting blare of the loudspeakers has cast a pall over the festivities. When so many people here HATE the loudspeakers, I simply don't know why they continue it. But fact of the matter is, it's tradition. But as of yesterday I really lost my patience because they stopped with the god songs and have now started up with cinema songs all day and night. When it was all about devotion to god, it makes one more understanding. But when you are constantly hearing songs like "We're gonna sing and sing and party like crazy" and "Last night.....UMMMMMMM YEAH" and "Do it like that, do it like that with your hand," you don't really feel like worship is what's on people's minds. And you want them to turn the freaking speakers OFF. Further, this one guy seems to have knighted himself the MC and will not shut up with the microphone. All day today he's been shouting into it. I'm not the only one who doesn't understand what he is shouting about, something about dinner tonight. Chellapandi says he is incomprehensible. But when he gets on the microphone, my lights go dim in the house. Seriously.

Tonight the festival is going to be over! I figure by 11:30 PM the loudspeakers will be turned off.

The woman in the middle is the one in charge of growing the mulaippari. To her left is a woman who seemed to be second in command. The woman in blue was an interloper as far as I could tell.

Mulaippaari

Mulaippaari outside the temple before the second procession

Patti (grandmother) leading the way

Procession across the city

Neem Tree: Nature's Air Conditioning

red moon, second night of the festival

when your house is made of solid concrete and it's shaking at the foundations...

...then the music is too loud. I deciphered this yesterday. Living next to a Mariamman temple is injurious to health. Or at least to your hearing. Definitely injurious to hearing. Already my hearing isn't the greatest to begin with. And with the loudspeakers in the neighborhood blaring for a week straight now, day and night, it cannot be good. Then you've got your airhorns blasting, whistles blowing in your ears on the bus, etc. It's a recipe for premature deafness.

I knew that Mariamman temples were notorious for ear-splitting music at festival times. Nevertheless, I have located myself near one. Chellapandi warned me about the noise. It's funny because over the last week it's been really loud and annoying, especially because they are planning the same high-pitched and squeaky song sung by a grandma over and over again until the late hours of the night. But I actually thought, "This isn't so bad!" Well, I spoke too soon. Yesterday evening when I came home, they had set up the REAL speakers all throughout the neighborhood. And they've set up a command station close by to the temple so that experts can monitor the sound output 24/7 in case there is any danger of some malcontent like me sneaking up and turning the volume down to a semi-tolerable level.

My house, made of a solid slab of concrete, has been shaking at the foundations. And tonight only they are going to "start" the festival! I laughed when they told me this. Last night I almost ran away to a hotel. Largely from the noise, but also because it was the absolute hottest night I have thus far experienced on this trip. Unbearable. The thought of air conditioning is titillating to say the least.

It's not just foreigners/wusses like me who cannot bear the ear-splitting noise. It turns out that a lot of Indians don't like it either, which leads me to wonder why on earth they do it? Last night while the house was vibrating I was feeling frustrated, especially once midnight started to roll around, but I started to think that perhaps the degree of volume from these speakers is comparable to the amount of faith people have in Mariamman. I think this is some way of showing devotion to her, so I got myself calmed down by thinking this way. Furthermore, Tamilarasi pointed out that it has been scientifically proven that music makes plants grow better. For this festival they are growing sprouts in some secret location next to the temple, and the height and health of these sprouts at the end of the festival will provide some indication of Mariamman's dis/satisfaction with the people. Tamilarasi is right about the research on music facilitating plant growth, but if I recall correctly it was CLASSICAL music, and it probably wasn't played at a deafening volume. I'm surprised that these sprouts don't shrivel up a die on the spot.

Tonight there is a procession, and I look forward to seeing this. Women have been growing sprouts in vessels for the past few days. Tonight they will be carrying them on their heads in the procession. According to Tamilarasi, those with the tallest, healthiest sprouts will be praised as virtuous. Those with sprouts of pitiful growth will feel shame.

Temple at night.

These are the speakers which have been put up all around the area. Here's a huge sign announcing the festival and featuring the faces of the important people who are sponsors of the festival, and who are perhaps graciously supplying the speakers. I sort of felt sorry for the many cattle that were tied up next to the speakers. Then I surmised that they are most likely deaf by now so the noise mustn't bother them whatsoever.

The bus stop in Mullai Nagar. I spend a lot of time here each day, waiting.

A very nice full moon last night.

My new "bed". Think glorified lawn chair.

Due to a minor security breach of late, I went out yesterday to purchase a bureau, which is considered essential here for safeguarding valuables. I dropped about $50 on this thing so hopefully it can keep thieves out. It has a lock box, featuring an image of the god Tirupati, and it also features two "secret" lockboxes. I really don't think they are that secret, however, considering that every bureau of decent quality in this country comes with these exact same features. The girls at the shop offered to change the Tirupati picture to one of Jesus, but I declined. Was nice of them to offer, however.

YAY! More mass-produced plastics to consume!

While "strolling" through Anna Nagar the other day, I stumbled upon the newest "cash and carry" supermarket in Madurai: "Spencer's Daily". The very friendly cashier told me the name of the company which owns this chain, but I forget. The Spencer's in Madurai is trying to be something of a Bangalore mall, what with an A/C movie theatre attached to it. Suffice it to say, there are a number of corporations here in India that are getting into the retail, so-called "cash-and-carry", market these days. The most demonic corporation of all, Wal-Mart, is also positioning itself to get into the Indian market.

Needless to say, small shopowners and traders across India have been protesting the entrance of these various corporations, particularly Wal-Mart, into the retail business because it is going to put thousands of people out of business. Imagine the Wal-Mart machine taking over India as well! Do you really think the vegetable sellers are going to survive?

Your traditional shop here is about as far away as you can get from the cash-and-carry scenario that we are familiar with in the States. You walk up to a counter, usually with a list, and hand it to an employee. All the goods are behind the counter, out of reach of the customer. You dont browse around. They go and gather all the items you want and bring them to the front. This is for staples like rice, dals, and other non-perishables, as well as items like soap, shampoo, snacks, etc. If you need vegetables, you go to the vegetable market which doesn't need explaining.

But now we've got shops like Spencer's where everything is in one place. Even though I am sort of slamming cash-and-carries here, I did patronize this store and I rather enjoyed it. I wouldn't buy vegetables there, because the prices are too high, but for other things it is convenient because it is a shopping style that is familiar. And no surprise, the cashier told me that foreigners and others really like the store for the very reason that it is "cash-and-carry." Spencer's, a national chain, seems like one thing, but WAL-MART? (Unlike most liberals I have a good reason to hate them and hold a personal grudge seeing as how I worked for them as a cashier during my teen years). I can see why folks are protesting in the steet, trying to keep these devils out of India.

I took some clandestine photos of the place and bought some coffee powder. While waiting for the bus I got to see a family brawling on the street in front of the Apollo hospital.

Yay! More mass-produced plastics to consume! Just like home!
I think I'll take them home and then throw them in the cess pool behind my house.

The complex is known as "Majesty Cine Mall"

And the best part about the Majesty Cine Mall
is the drishti pumpkin hanging above the entrance!

BANDH !

The funny thing about Tamil newspapers here, especially the Dinamalar, to which I subscribe, is that almost every single day there is a huge one word headline on the front, screaming something or another. Favorites seem to be "CLASH!" "DESTRUCTION!" "ANGER!" or some variation of these words. Yesterday the state government called a bandh (strike) across Tamil Nadu and this was headline news. The bandh was called because the Supreme Court refused to rule in favor of reservations (affirmative action, in this case specifically within educational institutions) for the OBCs (Other Backward Classes, as they are known here). OBCs represent underprivileged groups that are not under the umbrella of the so-called STs and SCs (Scheduled Tribes and Scheduled Castes, groups which are listed in the Constitution as being entitled to reservations of numerous sorts, especially government jobs, spots in educational institutions, etc.)

Because of the bandh, all businesses (other than ones deemed essential) were to remain closed from 6am to 6pm on March 31st. Further, flights were grounded and trains and buses remained at a standstill. At first I was irritated, because I couldn't go anywhere and was pretty much locked up at home all day long. But then I got a grip on myself and realized my selfishness. The point of this strike is to support the OBCs and here I am irritated that I cannot use the internet for one day? Sadly, many members of the privileged sections of society were celebrating the court's verdict, which is always disturbing to see. Students at the premiere educational institutions were particularly gleeful. Meanwhile, the cynical media couldn't help but point out that the OBCs have remained silent. After all, if the OBCs aren't demanding reservations then they mustn't need them! That's the (il)logic, and you can see the problems with it.

I have to say that I was very impressed with the bandh. Unlike in the US, more often than not, the public at large is India is actively involved in issues. People across the state of TN banded together and struck in favor of OBCs yesterday. In the US, can you imagine a statewide strike over any social issue? Forget it. People are too passive and resigned. Every day in the media you see groups mobilized all over India, standing up to issues such as corporations taking advantage of the people, police atrocities, government malfeasance, lack of drinking water, global warming, you name it. Hell, women travel by lorry from the villages and stage sit-ins in Madurai because they want the free color televisions the goverment has promised. We're lucky in the US if we're able to get people off of their asses to protest an illegal war that's been dragging on for 4 years.

Because of the bandh I wasn't able to do much yesterday except sit in my house sweating and reading, mostly sweating. But Friday, on the other hand, was much more interesting. Tamilarasi called and wanted to go to this Mariamman temple that an astrologer had encouraged her to go to for solutions to some family problems. I'd never been to this place before. We went by auto, but were unable to go by the main road to the temple because it was blocked. We ended up going down this dark and smoky back way. Turns out that the smoky back way was through the cremation grounds which I had never seen in their active state. Bodies were burning all around and it didn't smell so nice. Women aren't supposed to go to cremations, so there were only men there and curiously enough, dozens of goats. Some men were shaving their heads.

We arrived at the small temple and, not surprisingly, my presence incited complete chaos. It somewhat died down in time for me to see a rooster get its head chopped off at the entrance of the temple. A family was there seeking some solutions to a problem and they offered a rooster to Karappusamy. The temple was packed and there were lots of people there suffering from evil eye problems and also ghost possessions. The priest divined the problem by placing a burning camphor tablet into the sanctified water and watching its movements. Then the afflicted individual was made to get down on his/her knees, facing Karappusamy and praying. The priest then lit a small piece of sanctified cloth on fire and held it about 2 inches away from the individual's face. He says some mantras and then takes some sanctified coconut water and suddenly splashes in onto the flame, and the person's face, making the drishti go out the back door of the temple. Individuals are made to vacate the doorway for this purpose, lest they fall pray to the dispelled drishti. The priest then drops another flaming camphor tablet into the water to assess the situation once more. He then prescribes actions for the family to remedy the situation. Often families were taken outside for a private consultation. One girl with the IV needle still in her hand came in and the pujari told her family that she was possessed not by one ghost, but two. It was interesting to note that the family didn't seem to be aghast or really the least bit perturbed by this. It was simply a fact that two ghosts had possessed her and the pujari had a remedy. Simple as that.

The father of the girl asked my name. In the hubbub and commotion he misheard me and thought my name was "tender coconut water" which was pretty freaking hilarious. We had a good laugh over that one. His wife asked if I was married. This was the first question out of her mouth. No surprise there. There was all kinds of interesting stuff that happened when I got home. In particular I came to learn that I had been robbed of Rs. 100. I ended up getting it back, but it was a really strange situation! After this strange experience I went up on the roof for some cool air and when I came down there were 3 youths of about 17-18 years old just standing on my front porch like a bunch of dummies, waiting for me. It was 9:30 at night and I was more than a little miffed to see them squatting there, stalking me. I'd never seen them before, but apparently they had heard that a white girl was living there. They wanted to question me about how far away the United States is. Right now it's feeling farther away than ever.

Today I was instructed to keep to myself in the neighborhood and to only associate with "high society people" in other sections of town. My caretakers have said that they will vet individuals from my own neighborhood for me to associate with. Right now I think I will take their advice considering that two of the individuals I have made acquaintance with so far have turned out to be a prostitute and a "man of very bad character" (Read: rapist?). Further, I've been informed not to go back to the Mariamman temple because the priest will work black magic on me and not to take tea or any food from individuals in the neighborhood because they will put magic potion in it and try to bewitch money out of me. It's going to be an interesting year in Meenambalpuram!