visions of A/Cs and T.V.s dancing in my head...

As of this Saturday, the Vellaikkaari blog is going on a brief hiatus. White girl needs to go home in order to procure a research visa. Then it's back to Meenambalpuram to readjust all over again. Four weeks should be enough time for the neighborhood kids to forget about me, which isn't really what I am going for. Just today chaos ensued when I stepped outside to buy some ginger. Nevertheless, I am feeling sad about leaving, and particularly anxious about it.

I do, however, look forward to indulging in only the most grotesque excesses of American culture, including but not limited to: extreme use of air conditioners; extended periods of time watching only the most brainless and revolting television programs; reading trashy celebrity gossip magazines; cheesy pop music, etc. If only I ate junk food, I'd indulge in that as well. About the only thing I'm going to do every day that isn't useless is read the New York Times. I am really looking forward to that one.

In the off chance that this sudden immersion into the excesses of American culture proves traumatic, I will certainly blog about it. Thanks for reading my blog the past few months. It has proven to be of immense therapeutic value. I hope you will come back for more in July!

Fun times buying meen (fish) in Meenambalpuram.

wormhole detected

Thanks to a postal wormhole opening up between Washington, D.C., USA, and Meenambalpuram, India, I am currently getting up to speed on how Ricki Lake went from a size 22 to a size 4 without surgery as well as getting an up close look at Paris's jail cell. It's incredible but I am reading the CURRENT issue of gold-standard US Weekly magazine, courtesy of my idenitical twin. It only took 5 days for it to get to my house! Whatever happened to those days back in 1999 when we would wait months for packages or letters, only for them to never arrive, or if we were lucky, stripped, crushed, or destroyed? Whatever hapened to the letter that would saunter in after 3 months in some postal purgatory, with the whole envelope and contents missing except for a scrap of charred paper bearing the address? Oh those were the days! Back when it took 30 minutes to open an email at the one internet cafe in town and phoning home was an expensive and frustrating joke. Now I sit in the middle of nowhere Meenambalpuram, blogging with high speed internet. If I want to call the U.S., or even (literally) the middle of the Amazon jungle, I use Skype and 9 times out of 10 I have an excellent connection. Ahhh, the miracles of developments in telecommunications. The only downside seems to be that snail mail starts to lose its luster. Except when that snail mail contains US Weekly magazine!!! Thanks, identical twin!

different worlds

Yesterday as I was preparing my speech for the Rotary meeting, I noticed an announcement in The Hindu: "Melanie Dean speaks about 'My Experience in Madurai." I got pretty nervous seeing that, especially because I was in the midst of trying to figure out how to not to garble "pure" Tamil words in my speech. I feared a central Pennsylvania Pongal celebration repeat, in which the audience turned out not to be fifty but something like five hundred people. But there were only about 25 people there last night, and they were all super nice and happy to hear me speaking Tamil.

It was a totally different world I stepped into yesterday evening. The world of "high society" people, as Tamilarasi calls them. It was the first time in three months I've been in an English- medium environment. They were all speaking English, in fact the entire meeting was conducted in English. Then the American girl steps up to the podium to give a speech in Tamil! It was funny, actually. They liked it though, and at the end people had a lot of interesting questions. But I was pretty taken aback by one older gentleman's question, "In America men marry men and women marry women! We are afraid that is going to come here. What do you think about this?" I responded in Tamil, and I was trying to say that I didn't have any comment, but I think what I really said was something like, "I really don't have an opinion one way or the other." I of course do have an opinion, but I think it's an opinion that isn't going to be understood or well-received in such an audience. I think my response could have potentially irritated the audience or could have made them happy. Fortunately other members of the audience started in with other questions, so I dodged. They wanted to know how I was going to go about finding a husband, and they found it comical (but understood) why I would never consent to living with in-laws, as is the custom here. I managed to crack some jokes too, which made me pretty happy. Overall it was a nice experience. But when I was reading the speech, I was pretty darn nervous. It's always intimidating to speak Tamil in an English medium environment.

What really impressed me, after living in Meenambalpuram for the past three months, is how completely separate worlds exist here, with very little contact between them. This meeting was taking place maybe one mile from where I live, but it's a universe away. I guess it is kind of like going from small town South Carolina to some snooty, Ivy League, northeastern U.S. blue blood social function. Except the people at the function last night weren't the least bit snooty or entitled. They just live in a very different world from the folks in Meenambalpuram. And they gave me a pretty awesome gift: a set of six glass tumblers. I am trying not to admire them too much lest they shatter like my late coffee mug.

I'm afraid there's no photographic evidence of the event because my drishti sari was so powerful it broke the camera. Well, not really, but it would have if there had been a camera. In fact, this sari invited so much drishti I am sick YET AGAIN. After the talk I went to the fancy (A/C!) restaurant downstairs for dinner where there was a fan blowing cold air on me. My throat started to hurt immediately. I got scared and asked the waiter to move it, but it was too late. There you have it: evil eye + air conditioning = deadly. This stuff is REAL folks. I really don't understand how it is possible to get sick "again" when I've been sick for two solid weeks, but it's happened. To make matters worse, on the way home I got compliments on my sari, compounding the drishti problem. I came home late so there was no one there to rotate camphor tablets around my head, make me spit on them and then burn them. So I did this myself. I don't think it works to do this evil eye thing on yourself, but I was desperate. I've been hacking my lungs out for two weeks and I cannot handle another round. Then I started gargling with salt water and made lemon and honey tea as a double whammy. Somebody needs to tell the Milan store that this "Drishti collection" can be dangerous to health!

Happy Birthday, Julie!

Hope you have a great birthday, Julie! Wish I could be there to celebrate. But I'll have to sweat it out here for another week. Guess your early birthday present was a Sarkozy victory!

I had to go to all the way to Pondicherry for this baguette.

Hope you don't mind Swiss cheese!

warning: high snark factor.

Lately I've been pondering a certain type of, shall we say, neo-colonial American who comes to India. Let me sketch out the psychological profile for you: This type of American just loves India for how quaint it seems, and revels in the attention that a foreigner gets here. She doesn't seem to notice the half-naked man passed out (or perhaps dead?) on the side of the road, or the guy with no legs rolling past on a skateboard asking for rupees, but if there's a homeless puppy around she will cry her eyes out. Said American seeks out the "feel good factor" of working with street children at prominent NGOs, but mistreats the very hardworking, poor servant woman in front of her face. She secretly enjoys the feeling of power over inferiors, especially servants, while simultaneously feigning discomfort at being served. In fact, the servant-boss relationship makes this American very uncomfortable, not because it seems wrong to be waited on, but because the American deep down "feels sorry" for the servant -- a feeling that is really based on the idea that such a person is doing inferior and demeaning labor, rather than making an honest living and having no need for pity. Instead of trying to adapt to the local culture which sees the work of servants as honest labor and labor which provides for families, said American seeks a way to avoid interactions with servants as much as possible. But because she doesn't have the ovaries to confront the servant and fire her herself, she instead resorts to dirty tricks. Why not just lay a trap for the servant? Like perhaps leaving thousands of rupees laying around to tempt a person who is honest and upstanding, but who is in tens of thousands of rupees of debt and has moneylenders banging her door down? Who has to sometimes feed her kids leaves from the drumstick tree because they have no money for food? Why that would be a wonderful excuse to fire someone! Rather than facing up to your inability to value said servant's labor as productive and honorable, why not trap them into stealing and ruin their reputation instead of making yourself uncomfortable? Brilliant!

Speech!

Tomorrow evening I'll be giving a speech to the Rotary Club of Madurai. Wish me luck! Somehow or another I ended up in this situation. I just hope there aren't tons of people there. The speech is going to be in Tamil -- but spoken, not "pure" Tamil, so I hope they don't throw tomatoes at me. It's *possible* for me to read it in literary Tamil, but it will sound stilted as hell. Tamilarasi has been coaching me the past few days. My friend and fellow Tamilphile Costas and I once gave speeches, in literary Tamil (!), at a Pongal celebration held by Tamils living in central Pennsylvania. I was expecting 50 people or so but there were several hundred. I'm hoping that this function is smaller somehow. Otherwise I will be crazy nervous.

A few weeks ago I went to the upscale Milan store in Madurai to check out their "Drishti Collection." The idea behind this ad campaign is that the clothing is so fancy and awesome that you'll need to carry evil eye prophylactics around with you just to keep the evil eye off. A pretty awesome ad campaign to investigate for my research! I met the store owner who was super nice and really keen on getting me to speak Tamil at his "club." So a few days ago his lawyer and professor friend called me up and invited me to give this talk. I'm nervous but I think it will be good to meet some "high society people", as Tamilarasi calls them, because they tend to be quite concerned about mitigating the ill-effects of the evil eye, considering they've got plenty of property to defend.

I'm going to be wearing a sari from the "drishti collection" -- but sans the protective evil eye pumpkin. I might need a fire extinguisher, though, because the sari is so cool I'm sure it will burst into flames from all the drishti it's gonna attract.

astrology is real.

Yesterday was the last day of agni nakshatram (or the time of the "fire star"). It's a 14 day period in May when the temperatures soar in Tamil Nadu. I've heard super hot May days explained as agni nakshatram but I didn't know until this year that it's calculated by astrologers according to the stars, moon phases, etc. And let me tell you folks, it's real. I didn't know you could predict the weather according to astrology, but now I'm a believer.

The past two weeks have been the hottest weeks I've experienced in my life. My house has turned into a concrete oven. Concrete really isn't the best material to be constructing your house with in this kind of climate, unless you want it to double as a kiln.

Yesterday the high was 106, on the last day of agni nakshatram. Today, I already notice that I don't feel like my body is going up in flames. This is because the high today is only going to be 102. Agni nakshatram is over! Astrology is real!

Say hello to Agni, god of fire. Looks like he is pretty capable of generating 106 degree temperatures to me.

racism sucks.

What's the opposite of vellaikkaari? I get so upset at being called whitey all the time, but I think it's time to think about the flip side of vellaikkaari. I think I've got it bad being called whitey? That's nothing. Because white skin is what is privileged here; "fair" skin is all the rage. Fair skin is what is considered beautiful, and the whiter the better. We in the U.S. might pay hundreds of dollars and risk skin cancer to get a tan, but that concept is completely foreign here in a place where dark skin is very much looked down upon. The opposite of vellaikkaari is karuvaaci ("blacky"), kaakkaa ("crow"), and even karu vandu (black bug). There are hundreds of other bad names as well. I could probably do my entire dissertation on such hate speech against dark-skinned people.

From literally the moment a person is born here, their skin tone is made an issue. If a child is fair, it is praised. If a child is "black," some folks can't help but be disappointed. You're a woman and you want to get married? Are you very black? Then you'd better have a shit load of gold because you're not going to find a husband without it. If you are a man and you are very black, it might also be difficult, but if your wife is more fair than you it's considered a point of pride, an advantage for the man. Fairness seems to be about the only category in which the woman can "best" the man, as the groom must necessarily be taller, older, more educated, and earn more than the woman. The bride shouldn't be too much fairer than the man, however, as she will be egotistical and difficult to manage.

A friend of mine here is considered very "black." Her mother-in-law has discriminated against her from day one. I guess if you are an evil mother-in-law with low self esteem a good person to bully would be a darker-skinned daughter-in-law. In the beginning of my friend's marriage, her husband bought her gold, as her mother-in-law had stolen her jewels from day one, and she was a happy housewife in the neighborhood, enjoying life. Her mother-in-law, and others in the neighborhood, began to resent her saying, "She's so black and look at how she is wearing that gold and nice clothes! Look at how her husband is keeping up that blacky!" ETC. It's basically looked at as tantamount to throwing pearls to swine, for such a dark-skinned woman to be wearing gold. Why should such a dark-skinned person be enjoying life so much in the midst of persons not as dark as her?

Well the evil mother-in-law got her wish, and sure enough they put enough of the evil eye on my friend that her husband went completely rotten and her entire family life went to hell in a handbasket. Now her in-laws have completely cast them out, and her husband has run off with a prostitute, leaving her to raise two kids pretty much alone. But the greatest insult of all has been the fact that in order to survive she has had to pawn off all her gold. And let me tell you folks, if you aren't wearing a shred of gold and you are dark-skinned, people of greater means than you will often treat you like total shit here. And I've seen it first hand, going around the city with my friends who don't have any gold. It's like seeing an entirely different side of this culture. If you are black and are wearing tons of gold, your skin color can be perhaps overlooked because you are wealthy. Gold can buy you some respect. But if you are black and you have no gold, don't expect to always be treated decently.

I told my friend about racism in the U.S. which she was very interested to hear about. There are a lot of similarities between Jim Crow laws in the U.S. and the practice of untouchability as it still exists in many parts of Tamil Nadu. Remember separate water fountains for blacks and whites? Dalits in Tamil Nadu villages are still fighting for the right to drink water out of cups and not coconut shells. There are human rights groups in India fighting for untouchability to be considered as a form of racism. This is a pretty loaded concept that I won't get into right now, but I bring it up because I think it is something to think about.

It is incredibly distressing to comprehend the self-loathing involved in this sort of racism. My friend was looking at an Entertainment Weekly magazine that my identical twin sent me. Inside there were many African American singers and movie stars featured. Firstly, she was surprised because most people here think that all Americans are white. She was amazed to see African Americans featured in the same pages as white people, just as famous and rich as white people. "Even though these people are black, look how much self respect and self confidence they have," she said. "We don't feel that way here."

Another distressing manifestation of racism here is the fact that many people seem to take heart that "there are people who are even darker than Tamils," meaning Africans. Many of the people who have referenced this to me do not know about Africa, where Africa is, or who Africans are, but they tell me that they have heard that there are people on this Earth who are certainly blacker than Tamils. One time a friend's mother was telling me this, after she praised my skin for being white. Then her daughter said, "But mother, we are just as black as they are." I feel particularly badly for the many African students who are studying in Madurai. I can only imagine how they are treated. As my friend pointed out, "People here will stare at you because you are white, but it is out of surprise. They like what they see. But they will stare at the Africans to make fun of them."

I do think that things will eventually change here over time, but it's going to be slow. There is actually a certain resistance brewing towards this kind of racism within Tamil cinema, but only insofar as the heroes are concerned. The hero of the Tamil cinema gets darker while the heroine gets fairer. There was an interesting scene in a recent film in which they hero is very dark and the heroine incredibly fair. When he flirts with her she scoffs, "Will someone this fair ever love someone as black as you?" to which he replies, "Hey! My color is on the top of your head, and your color is on the bottom of my foot!"

agni nakshatram

Turns out the sweat lodge(s) might not have been such a good idea after all. After suffering from a case of black lung for a week, I finally went to the doctor on Saturday. Dr. Dheep is probably one of the best doctors in Madurai, and he didn't accuse me of any cool drink or ice cream consumption. He did, however, kindly offer me an injection but I opted for tablets instead. He confirmed a respiratory infection as well as dehydration. Looks like 106 degree temperatures don't mix too well with sweat lodges. And by sweat lodge, I mean my house. It's so hot in here that everything, included paper and books, is hot to the touch.

This time of year is known as agni nakshatram in Tamil, which literally means "fire star." And it's an apt name as it does feel as though a fire were burning in the sky. Considering that I simply cannot sleep at night from the heat, and the illness is showing no signs of retreat, I reluctantly went to a hotel on Saturday night so I could get some rest in an A/C room. It was a gamble, though, because as we all know it was ice cream and A/C which caused my disease in the first place. I didn't really want to go to the hotel because I felt like some sort of failure: after all, are the Indians around me having heart palpitations because of this heat? I decided, however, that this is foolish thinking, as I think that people here are genetically predisposed to be perfectly jolly in heat that would otherwise kill an American.

So I did what any self-respecting American would do in my position and I lied to everyone around me and told them I was going to a "friend's house" for the night. "Friend's house" meaning the brand new, super sleek hotel right across the street from the railway station. On my way out the door, people across the street inquired as to the status of my black lung, and asked whether or not I had consumed any ice cream recently. I told them that I certainly had consumed an ice cream and look where it landed me. Instead of fighting the ice cream hypothesis, I'm embracing it happily now. It actually makes people happy to hear that I realize my folly and will never repeat it again.

So on Saturday night I slept soundly, making sure the A/C was as cold as possible so as to get my money's worth. But I ended up feeling lonely and I came home yesterday. I guess I'd rather be getting annoyed the hell out of in this crazy zoo than relaxing in a quiet, cold, posh hotel room with television and room service. My "welcome back to Meenambalpuram" moment occured this morning when, inexplicably, the loudspeakers were dragged out yet again and the nagaswaram music started blaring at 5:30 AM. At first I thought it was Sunday, because people sometimes like to blare music on their one day off, but then I realized it was Monday with seemingly no holiday to explain the loudspeakers. Music at this decibel level usually indicates God is involved, but Chellapandi told me that folks are opening a photo studio in the neighborhood. This time the reason for neighborhood glee appears to be secular in nature. People's happiness appears to be directly proportional to the degree to which they can make homes in the area shake through the use of loudspeakers.

sweat lodge

Over the past 5 days my cold has ripened into a nice respiratory infection. It is especially pleasant to experience such a condition when it's 105F outside, let me tell you. Apparently this ailment was precipitated by the wreckless, foolish decision to consume an ice cream. As we all know, eating and drinking cold things is likely, if not guaranteed, to kill you. Curiously, about 200 people besides me ate an ice cream at the cinema theatre on Sunday, but I'll bet you that not every one of them got bronchitis. If you eat and ice cream and nothing happens, great. But if you eat an ice cream and you get bronchitis, the ice cream definitely caused it and you shouldn't eat ice cream ever again.

But henceforth I'm going to stop poking fun at the eating restrictions here, because while they may not seem at first glance to gel with "science" (at least what Westerners think of when they think "science"), I've decided that these guidelines are there for good reason. I now most certainly believe that mangos do not mix with a hot body, and they will in fact nearly kill you if you eat one after being out in the sun. Same goes for papayas, apparently. Because as I said before, these fruits are considered "heating" foods that will make your stomach explode if consumed during moments of vulnerability. Further, I cannot count the number of times that air conditioning in India has made me deathly ill. Any attempts to make sense of this within the American paradigm of understanding illnesses fails every time, so I am going to go with the local method for interpreting such things and conclude the A/C makes you sick. And just this past Sunday, my consumption of an ice cream precipitated my rapid decline from a cold into what appears to be full blown bronchitis, providing further evidence for the maxim that cold things make you sick. Especially when your body has been in a minimum 85F, maximum 105F ennvironment every day for 3 months, except for those brief moments when you've be able to enjoy some deadly air conditioning.

As is the case with most "folk" beliefs, as well as supernatural beliefs, people don't just believe these things without evidence. The scientific method can also apply to "folk" beliefs and supernatural beliefs, even though most Westerners don't like to think so. In many cases, an event can be understood according to both "scientific" explanations and "supernatural" or "folk" explanations. For example, when I ate that mango that made me deathly ill, my illness could both be understood according to the germ theory and according to the more local theory that mangos have "heating" properties. We cannot see the germs with the naked eye just as we cannot "see" the supernatural properties of the mango. My ailment could be explained either way. Another example: Just today I bought a great coffee mug for Rs. 70. As I was riding home I was thinking to myself, "What a deal! I love this mug! I cannot wait to get home and drink some tea from this mug! This is a great mug!" And what happened the moment I got home and washed the mug, admiring it the whole time? It fell and shattered into a million pieces. How to explain this? It looks an awful lot like I put the evil eye on that mug, and that's why it broke. And how could you possibly prove to me that this isn't the case? What I am trying to say is that people do not always believe in things on pure "faith" alone, but also because there is all kinds of evidence in daily life to support these theories, whether they be "scientific" or "folk." You envy and admire things; they get destroyed. Simple as that.

Nevertheless, I've avoided the doctor because the first thing they are going to ask me is did I have a cool drink or did I have ice cream. If I confess that I did have an ice cream, that will be the end of discussion. If I refuse to admit that I consumed an ice cream, they will look at me as if I am lying. Then they will try to give me an injection, which is often the local solution to every sort of ailment from colds to headaches to stomach pain to feelings of sadness. If you feel the slightest bit ill, friends and strangers will enthusiastically suggest that you go to the doctor and "uusi poodunga!" Which means, "get injected!" If you say you went to the doctor, people will invariably ask, very excitedly, "uusi pooddaangalaa?!" meaning "Did they inject you?!!" The one thing about the doctor here that gets people super excited is the notion that they might get an injection. They don't care what the injection is; the action of getting a shot in the arm is the important thing here. More than any actual medical value, this shot appears to give people a phychological boost and the feeling that something is being done. I figure doctors are probably injecting people with sugar water and making a killing.

It turns out that if injections are not available, or if the foolish foreigner has inexplicably refused to seek out an injection, people do rather enthusiastically embrace local home remedies which, no surprise, work pretty damn well. Today Tamilarasi came over and saw me looking in pretty sorry shape. She immediately procured the necessary materials and began construction on what can really only be described as a eucalyptus sweat lodge. She boiled water in a big pot and dropped a eucalyptus gel tab into it. She wanted to create a tent over my body using a heavy bedsheet or synthetic saree, but all we had was a cotton saree, which somewhat thwarted her plans to create intense heat through the use of polyester. I was a bit worried about the heat, considering that it was already about 90F in my house. She covered my body with the saree and instructed me put my head over the pot and huff in the vapors. It was so strong that I immediately began gasping for air. I didn't think I would survive but she told me to keep at it. Meanwhile she was outside the tent asking very excitedly, "ARE YOU SWEATING YET????" Apparently the key was to sweat bullets. I found it very difficult to breathe and feared falling unconscious. But I stuck it out and when I emerged from the eucalyptus sweat lodge I could breathe some better. I was then instructed to bathe with the water from the pot for added benefit.

Tonight when Chellapandi came over, she noticed that I had purchased some ZANADU balm, as instructed by Tamilarasi. She decided it was time to create another sweat lodge using this Zenu I mean Zanadu balm. I don't know what the hell they put in this Zenu balm, but it's about the strongest shit on earth and it would probably kill a gladiator in the right quantities. When she covered me with the saree, I was gasping for air and could not breathe, the fumes were so intense. My lungs burned like they were on fire. I started to cry. Chellapandi peeked into the tent and confused the tears with sweat, taking this as a sign that the treatment was working swimmingly. Then she realized I was crying and not sweating, so she closed the tent to let it continue to work. She told me to huff it in but it was so strong I couldn't manage. Eventually I started to sweat and snot started to pour from my nose. Success! I emerged from the Zenu sweat lodge victorious. Or at least my lungs were much more clear. My whole face was red, not surprisingly. Chellapandi had been hesistant to introduce this treatment as she thought I would be "afraid." And let me tell you, the Zenu sweat lodge is a powerful treatment and one should be afraid. But Chellapandi wants me to try it again in the morning. Hopefully I can handle it.

Despite the lack of pitchfork accessories,
my sweatlodge managed to be way cooler than this guy's.

prickly heat powder: don't leave home without it

Ah, the lovely refreshing month of May. Springtime! Nothing like a May in Tamil Nadu, let me tell you. The feeling of having just had a full bath in hot salt water after one minute outside. The invariable hours-long power cut which leaves one contemplating the true miracle of ceiling fans. The moment in which the power returns and the ceiling fan begins to spin, making the room even hotter than it was before, leaving you to wonder if a ceiling fan is really so great after all. The fresh night air, with the "low" clocking in at around 83F. It's bliss, let me tell you. And let's not forget the prickly heat. There's nothing like a good case of prickly heat to make your face feel like it's being poked all over by needles.

Chennai clocked in yesterday at a startling 108F, while we in Madurai were wrapping up in woolen scarves and stocking caps as the mercury only managed to crawl up to 102F. Fortunately the humidity is only at 80%. Surprisingly, while the foreigner is sweating so much even her FOREARMS are dripping, the average Madurai citizen stands smiling in the 102F sun seemingly without a drop of sweat on their body. Maybe a drop of sweat will drip down their forehead, but that's about it. What gives? What is the secret here? Are white people less evolved and biologically incapable of dealing with the heat? Locals are cafeful not to let the foreigners walk too much in the sun, etc., as foreigners "just cannot manage." It's true, but there's got to be something else going on here! How is it that one can be so used to extraordinary heat that he or she appears not to sweat??

I've discovered the secret! It's prickly heat powder! Sprinkle this all over your body, and it absorbs the sweat. All along I thought the powder obsession here was just about making one's face look ghostly white; it turns out it serves a dual purpose. Unfortunately I took the prickly heat powder a little overboard and broke out in a rash, so I might have to lay off it for a while. But it was nice while it lasted. Now if I could just do something about this ringworm on my hand.* **

Prickly Heat Powder: Comes highly recommended.

Except for the little allergic reaction detail.

*joke.
**kind of.

Madurai rampage

Little did I know yesterday, while I was laid up from a case of bronchitis (apparently precipitated by the consumption of an ice cream in an A/C theatre on Sunday), Madurai was going up in flames. It all started when yesterday morning, the Dinakaran (a DMK newspaper) published the results of an opinion poll which asked people across Tamil Nadu who should succeed the current Chief Minister, M. Karunanidhi (a.k.a. Kalaignar). The poll itself did seem to be politically slanted, with the choice basically being between "M.K. Stalin" and "others." Kalaignar's son, M.K. Stalin (currently the Local Adminstration Minister), got 70% of the vote. Meanwhile his oldest son and Madurai powerhouse, M.K. Azhagiri, registered only 2% of the vote. Kalaignar's daughter Kanimozhi also registered 2% of the vote. The rest of the votes went to "others."

When Madurai DMK cadres saw this poll, they went on the rampage in defense of their local man Azhagiri. Protestors demonstrated outside the Dinakaran and Sun TV Network offices here, burning copies of the Dinakaran newspaper. Eventually the mob stormed the building, hurling petrol bombs and burning the offices to the ground. Government buses and vehicles were stoned. Three people were killed in the blaze.

Dinakaran and Sun TV offices on fire

Sun TV employees blocked the highway in protest of the attack, alongside the body of a fallen co-worker.

Protestors burn the Dinakaran newspaper.

Kalaignar (right) with his son, M.K. Stalin. Can you guess who his son is named after?

i [heart] aravanis.

The Chittrai festival finally wound up yesterday morning as Alagar began to make his way back up to his temple on the mountain, about 15 km away. I got up at 3:30 AM and got ready because I thought we were supposed to leave at 4 AM in order to make it to Tallakulam in time to get darshan. Of course we didn't leave until 5 AM, reminding me that I've got to stop thinking in American time. Because we left late, we basically had to run around Tallakulam, asking people where God was. We made it just in time and got great darshan right up close. This part of the festival was known as puuppalakku or "flower palanquin," which Alagar is carried around on. The priests throw blessed flowers from the palanquin to a lucky few devotees. As Alagar approached, some people in the huge crowd offered up small steel tumblers filled with sugar, on top of which a camphor flame was burning. After Alagar passed by, some people passed out the sugar to us as prasad. There was a rush among the people when Alagar got close, and it's something you really have to experience to appreciate. According to my friends, this was my opportunity to ask God for my research to go along swimmingly, and to have my wish granted, but I was too busy watching the people praying to Alagar to think about my own wishes. Hopefully I'll get some merit for being there, though.

Today it was back to our baser needs and desires, as we made our way to the cinema to watch Spiderman 3, dubbed in Tamil of course. If you read my blog on the misadventure that was watching "300" in a Madurai theatre you can understand my hesitation about going to another American (local translation: porn) movie. I actually did some research on the internet to see if there were any sex scenes, or other scenes that might make the male audience go into a state of hysterical excitement, but it seemed that the Spider-Man 3 would be pretty tame even for local tastes.

When we sat down in the theatre, we were happy to see that several women had showed up with families to watch the movie, though the audience was still about 95% young males. And as such, the audience did not disappoint as far as crazy movie-watching antics go. Firstly, it was total chaos getting everyone to find a seat. It was 30 minutes into the movie before people managed to get themselves seated in a chair. Ever seat in the theatre was eventually taken. People wanted to see this movie so badly that handicapped individuals were being carried in on people's backs. During the entire movie people were whistling at ear-splitting volumes, not surprisingly when there was any kissing or clothing on women that could be construed here as revealing. Some front-bencher had one of those red-laser lights which he used to point out any breasts on-screen for the benefit of visually impaired individuals in the audience. It was interesting to note the uproar among the young men during certain scenes. In any scene in which masculinity appeared threatened, such as when Peter Parker cries when Mary Jane dumps him on the bridge, the entire audience burst into an uproar of heckles. Not surprisingly, everyone started to get up and leave 5 minutes before the movie was over which was frustrating to me because everyone was standing and preventing me from getting my 40 rupees worth. I have never quite understood how people here can sit still for 3 1/2 hours to watch a movie, only to leave 5 minutes before it's over. I did, however, particularly enjoy the first 5 minutes of the movie when everyone burst into applause after Mary Jane sang a song on stage. People seemed pretty happy to see a song sequence in an American movie.

A friend of mine had a lot of questions about American culture based on this movie. Firstly, when Peter Parker puts the engagement ring in the glass she asked me what "champagne" was. Then she asked me if I had tasted it and was pretty shocked to learn that I have consumed alcohol in my life. If you aren't already familiar with this taboo, women here aren't "supposed" to consume alcohol, and if they do they are considered really bad. Furthermore, drinking in general, even for men, is considered degenerate. (Even though recent data show that 250 million people in this country regularly pound whisky and 1/4 of those are women!) She also noted that America is "very dark." I think she got this impression because a lot of the scenes were filmed at night. I sort of got frustrated at this question. I told her that the sun shines in the U.S. just as well as in India, to which she replied, "Really?" I bring this up not to make my friend look stupid, because she is incredibly intelligent. But I tell you this just to highlight how vast the gulf between Americans and Indians sometimes seems. It's sometimes very hard to communicate the realities of one's life back at home to people here. The difference between India and the U.S. appears quite literally to be the difference between night and day, as far as my friend is concerned. It's hard to explain that what people are seeing in a movie simply isn't true, just as it is incredibly difficult to get backward notions about India out of the heads of most Americans.

Tonight at 8:00 PM I dared to go to the ironing man's shed to try to pick up my clothes. 8:00 is supposedly a perfectly legitimate time to be outside. In fact, people encouraged me here that I could be outside as late as 10 PM without problems. The fact is, however, that herds of young men loiter around the Ambedkar statue next to the ironing man's shed. And they simply cannot resist harassing me, night or day. Today I just completely ignored it because I am so very tired of it all. I am sick of feeling intimidated any time I have business on the main road. These youths didn't really do anything bad, but it's really frustrating to always be singled out and targetted with these absolutely infantile and childish tactics. One gets the feeling of wanting to prove to them that you can speak Tamil, to put them in their place, but there is also the feeling of absolute exhaustion which results in one just remaining silent. As I was walking past I really wanted to pelt them with stones, but here comes this woman walking down the road with her arm around this man's shoulders and she scolds them for me. I really just wanted to go and hug this woman. Finally, someone standing up for me in this place! But then I realized, wait a minute! This woman has a pretty deep voice. This woman has her ARM AROUND A MAN! Impossible! You see, this woman was really a man. An aravani. Aravanis are a community of men who dress as women. Some of them are castrated or have sex change operations. Some of them are prostitutes, and I think this one had just landed herself a customer. She was pretty much my hero of the evening. Indeed, the month. Maybe the year. Looks like aravanis, who are themselves sort of living at the fringes, are the only folks around who will stand up for the white girl.

Besides aravanis, I also majorly heart Vijaykanth and Kalaignar right now. Vijaykanth is a famous actor turned politician whose party won in the constituency of Meenambalpuram. As I mentioned before this area doesn't have a proper road. In fact, it's the worst "road" I have ever seen in Madurai. The government has been promising a new road for years but it's never materialized. Flash forward to Vijaykanth and now he has got Karunanidhi (Tamil Nadu's Chief Minister, known as Kalaignar or "the Artist" for being a famous cinema script writer) to see to it that a road is finally put in here. A couple of months ago they had put in new manholes, the first step before laying the road, but these became completely destroyed in a matter of weeks. As a result, there were huge gaping holes in the middle of the road several feet deep. A few days ago they put a bunch of tree branches down in those holes and the local goats were feeding on them. I figured that nothing was ever going to happen. But sure enough, yesterday the bulldozers started rolling! Looks like we are going to have a road running out to Meenambalpuram. And Tamilarasi told me it might even last six months before it's destroyed!

I've never been so thrilled to see a bulldozer.

I think I will join the Vijaykanth fan club.

Kalaignar got the bulldozers rolling in B.B. Kulam!

biggest event of the year

The Chittrai festival has been going on this past week, and it's the absolute biggest event of the year here in Madurai. When there is absolutely nothing in the way of entertainment (save cinema) for a city of nearly two million, and perhaps for the district as a whole, the Chittrai festival becomes a major draw. Thousands of devotees from surrounding villages throng to Madurai to witness the various events. Many people walk long distances to the various venues. Along the way, philanthropists and members of political parties set up pandals (thatched roof huts) offering free drinking water and buttermilk to help beat the scorching heat.

People travel miles from surrounding villages in bullock carts, camping in the city and sleeping in the streets. The first part of the festival is the celestial wedding of Meenakshi and Shiva, which happens in the temple. Thousands attend. The priests officiate this wedding and two male priests also exchange garlands, standing in for Meenakshi and Shiva. During the ceremony, when the tali is tied around Meenakshi's neck signifying marriage, all the married women in the audience retie a new string around their own necks.

Next day is the chariot procession, which is a spectacle to behold. These chariots are several storeys high and are pulled on huge wooden wheels. People by the hundreds drag the chariots with huge ropes. The chariot wobbles back and forth as it is heaved forwards, giving the impression that it could crash and fall down any moment. Some people do die in these chariot processions. This is where we get the word "juggernaut" in English: it's actually a name for Krishna. And a long time ago devotees in Orissa supposedly flung themselves underneath the chariot as it passed by. This doesn't really happen anymore, as far as I know, but individuals do sometimes accidentally get crushed by the wheels when placing coconuts underneath as offerings, for example, and misjudging the speed and strength of the chariot.

A few days after the chariot procession downtown, Alagar comes down from his temple about 15 KM away to Madurai to take a dip in the Vaigai river (which is bone dry). He is supposedly coming for Meenakshi's wedding but misses it by 3 days. He realizes this at the river's edge and then turns back on his golden horse and goes back to his town. He takes several days to get here, and people follow him down to Madurai in bullock carts and on foot. Along the way, devotees squirt water on the statue and on the devotees, keeping them cool. Alagar's festival was most likely a completely separate festival at one time but it has become conflated with the Meenakshi part of Chittrai.

Alagar stops at a number of different places along the way to the Madurai, resting for the night and allowing folks to get darshan. In another interesting twist, he is said to have a Muslim mistress and one night he stops at a Muslim area to "sleep" with her. Basically this festival brings together lots of folks, worshippers of Shiva, Vishnu, and also Muslims. The whole city is simply buzzing with energy with everyone waiting to receive Alagar as pretty much the biggest VIP in existence. A carnival atmosphere prevails, and the fair goes on all night long in Tallakulam, while Alagar is holed up in the Perumal temple there. For the very select few among the thousands, it may even be possible to grope the foreign girl's ass while waiting to get darshan of the Lord. Killing two birds with one stone, I suppose: the carnal needs as well as the spiritual ones.

You'll never see faith in human beings like you see at this Chittrai festival. When Alagar arrives on the golden horse, making his way to the Vaigai, you can feel the rush and the surge of faith among the thousands in attendance. You simply cannot imagine a religious tradition more different from the Judeo-Christian or even Islamic traditions. Here God is not imagined to be up in the sky and out of physical reach. He or she is very much in the presence of people here, manifesting all the time. Just a few days ago the city Collector and other important high-level VIPs were photographed at the venue where Alagar would be entering the Vaigai, assessing the preparations. The headline above the photo read: "Getting ready for the Lord." Imagine a culture in which God actually shows up in front of your face on a regular basis. This is the religious tradition here. This is not a statue riding on top of a golden horse, it's God. And it is for this reason and many more that I think Westerners completely miss what is going on in Hinduism. There is too much apology, too much trying to cram Hinduism into a monotheistic box, making it more palatable to a Judeo-Christian audience. To much tiptoeing around "idol" worship. We need to stop trying to understand Hinduism in Western terms and start trying to understand this tradition on its own terms. Westererns spend too much time on texts and not enough time trying to understand practice. There is a huge difference. I could go further, but there are plenty of apologists who would get very angry at what I have to say. Don't believe me? It's happening right now. Books are being burned and careers are being destroyed as we speak.

Meenakshi's chariot

Huge ropes for pulling the chariot

This gentleman from a surrounding village was kind enough to let me take a picture of his boom boom maadu. There were quite a few of these at the festival, and folks took darshan of them. This gentleman and his family were camped out on the side of the road outside someone's house.

View from the kitchen window.
Cess pool not pictured.