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on Anouck's Blog (India), 10/Nov/2009 06:11, 34 days ago
Almost a month into my Indian adventure and I’ve not yet fully engaged in my reconnaissance of the country - its people, its psyche, its culture. Instead, I’m simply taking the time to focus on trying to feel more comfortable in it. This involves: a) acclimatising to the heat and the unflattering humidity - average 38-40° with 90% humidity – b) getting both mind and digestion system to accept that dahl, roti, rice will be my staple meal for the next 2 years; and c) constantly doing what comes quite unnaturally to me: to do everythingslow-ly. Perhaps not such a bad thing for myüber-stressed nature? I figure: more patience, more laid-backness, heck I’ll drag my own feet, and I will be a saner, happier version of me. I've even started yoga (no joke); I'm hoping it'll help with my breathing, my inner calm and all. Though it is hard to keep my eye on the prize as I stick my tongue out and groan like a lion (the lion position) and do the laughing yoga (“endorphin-releasing”? I say “ridiculous-looking") at 5.30 every morning...My time in Delhi is a smooth transition, the perfect way to slip into real life in India. There are 9 of us (volunteers) attending VSO’s In-Country Orientation, by the end of which we head off to our respective placements. India is divided into 28 states and every state has its own language, dialect, or its own version of Hindi. Oriya is the language spoken in Bhubaneshwar (state of Orissa, East India near the Bay of Bengal) - where I’m headed. Every morning as part of the orientation, I plod through 3hrs of Oriya lessons. "Plod" is justified for several reasons1) My teacher Bimal is a sexist oaf who in addition laughs at his own jokes. I do think he means well so I indulge and smile politely when he tries to be funny - sometimes. I’ve met 3 other Oriyis who are exactly like him and I hope they aren’t representative of the entire Orissa population lest their offensive remarks should affect me in the long run.2) Bimal’s instruction method is questionable so I supplement lessons through self-teaching with a book - written funnily is written by none other than a Dane! I’m learning the essential vocab, verbs, as well as the language structure and I definitely enjoy the nitty-gritty of it. A typical Oriya sentence is structured as follows: Subject + adjective + verb. For instance: ‘He tea likes’. Easy. But add prefixes, suffixes, prepositions, place/time modifiers then translate back into English and there is scope for a laugh.Ex:‘I yesterday friend with market to went’ (got it? - I went to the market with my friend yesterday). I findmu garam au jhala laguchhi(I’m feeling hot and sweaty) andmo sango ku jhada heuchhi(my friend has diarrhoea) come in most handy.The rest of the training is a series of (mostly) insipid lectures and presentations on the caste system, tribal groups, security/terrrorism, social dos& don’ts… Some of the briefings are interesting in terms of content but are either banal and repetitive or so despairingly difficult to understand because of the speakers’ pronunciation. (Apologies to the Indians or Hindu-philes among you - just hear me out). India has one of the world’s most complex societies and I’m fairly certain that a two-year exposure to it merely constitutes a superficial graze of its many facets and layers. With that in mind, I was hoping that the month-long training would provide a pertinent and comprehensive insight into some of the major social issues in the country. But the presentations are trite and lack the depth& analysis needed for us to better understand the society in which we will live and work. My frustration grows with every unanswered question.Take the caste system. It’s an obscure social hierarchy that has officially been abolished but whose deep-rooted origins continue to divide and destroy Indian society from within. So I wonder: where do Indians stand vis-à-vis the caste system – what will it take to abolish it in the national psyche? How is the anti-casteist legislation implemented and what are the implications of such laws for the social mobility of lower castes and outcastes? I've received no satisfactory answer to any of the above. While I appreciate that as a foreigner I can’t grasp the intricacies of such nebulous issues, eager to learn andperhaps naive as I am, I was secretly hoping to gain more from my interaction with sociologists from “Delhi’s prominent research centre”. Perhaps my bad for being so impatient?As for the accent bit: I refuse to indulge in any clichéd interpretation of the Indian accent for the sake of entertainment, but I will say that I often understand no more than 40% of what is said. Rs rolled, Ws become Vs, Os sound long& deep, and the one but last word is systematically a short and high-pitched sound followed by a dramatic pause:“Vi should rrreally learn to foocus on theee - (high pitched then dramatic pause) mainstrrreaming”. I do find it charming and endearing, but admittedly it’s a real effort to concentrate to capture every word. Having said that, this is also a convenient excuse for taking a blissful powernap inthe course of our afternoon briefing sessions (the Powerpoint provides the dim lighting and the beating of the fan provides the lull. I blame the early morning yoga, too).Until my ear becomes more attuned to the local lingo, I’m working hard on mastering the art of non-verbal communication: the head wobble. The key is to know that the gentle sideways bobbing of the head can translate as yes, no, maybe, or I have no idea. Its meaning is simply context-specific. Sounds easy. Hmm. Just a few days ago a waiter wobbled hishead to indicate ‘no’ to my ‘is this dish spicy?’ question; and the chilli burn that still lingers on my tongue is a humbling admission that I haven’t quite grasped the nuances of the wobble.Delhi is like most big capitals in the southern world: there isn’t much soul or character in its green avenues or its stone tributes to occupiers past, but hit the old part of town and you’ll find it come alive with scents, vibes and colours that lay bare a fascinating blend of cultures and influences. Old Dilli’s narrow passageways feel like Damascus’ central bazaar, London’s zones 3-5 and the back-alleys of Venice all rolled into one. Or something like that. Pedestrians, motorcyclist, cows (aah the cows - I’ll get to them later), beggars, book-yielding brahmanas (broadly, the intellectuals), labourers, merchants, amputees, touts… all shapesand forms weave through the spaghetti lanes of the spice market with survival of the fittest as only creed. Kilometres of loose cables hang intertwined without sense or direction above the flat rooftops, a messy mesh draping the clutter below.I've put up some pictures of Delhi and last weekend's trip to Agra on facebook for those of you who want to take a sneak peek!