What is Your Good Name?

The opening remark for most people trying to have a conversation, or just have some little interaction with the foreigner, is this quaint question. Quaint, until it becomes boring, intrusive, interrupting, or rude, depending on the circumstances and the questioner. But now I've found a satisfactory answer when the question annoys: "Angelina Jolie". Everyone knows that name; everyone. I thought of this after a shop keeper, in all apparent sincerity, asked, after "Where are you coming from?" ("USA", my stock response), "You are a filim [sic] actress-star?" Pause, consider, what would be the international implications of saying yes? I just couldn't bring myself to this particular outrageous lie, so I told the truth: "No, advocate." Turned out to be almost as impressive to her. So satisfying!

Trying on Sarees

Check out the pictures of me in a couple of sarees at my photo blog (RCOBO2.blogspot.com) My host mom & daughter have HUNDREDS of them, both being avid collectors, from finest silks to trashy synthetics. Mostly they wear the latter, which are the equivalent of house dresses, for doing housework. But they always wear the gold chain, which is, among other things, the equivalent of a wedding ring. Under the saree is a cotton skirt with drawstring, tied tightly, for tucking in the yardage (6 meters)and the blouse is meant to be tight also. Under all that are a bra and underpants too, and the modern secret is safety pins: a pin at the shoulder to keep the long end in place and usually a pin at the front of the waist, to prevent the tucked-in material from coming untucked. Before safety pins, a woman was always having to adjust the material to prevent it all falling apart. The underskirt is quite narrow, preventing any long strides; indeed, causing quite a hobbling effect. This should be the worst thing women here endure! Oh yes, and the spelling "saree" is pretty universal here, so I've adopted it for now.

False Consciousness

In reading about the history of the movements to end caste abuse I came upon the following: “The Mahar [the highest rank of Untouchable] takes pride in the duties required of him as government messenger; for he is often entrusted with the transport of large sums of money remitted to the district treasury and he has inherited from his fathers a tradition of faithfulness in the discharge of such duties.”
Meanwhile, the Mahar also traditionally was required to wear an earthenware pot around his neck into which he would spit, to prevent defiling the ground upon which a Brahmin might walk, and “…had to sweep the earth behind him to erase his footsteps or at least maintain a good distance from Brahmins to avoid contaminating them with his shadow."

The Offending Hole, Partly "Repaired"

The slab on the right was not there when I stepped into the hole.  Now I've found they move these things off and on all the time.  I actually saw some men pushing this into place as I turned the corner, looking for the culprit. And I've also now noticed that the edges of the paved roads are always dirt, compounding the problem.

Floods in the Road, Swimming Lessons

The rains keep pouriing down and the roads quickly flood.  Mostly they're paved, but there also are dirt paths leading off the main streets, and there are many big holes in the roads - construction projects of unclear purpose.  The "sidewalks" are large paving stones quite a bit higher than the road level - curbs as high as a foot up - but with many of the stones missing or removed for who knows what reason.  Last night it began to pour just at 6 pm, when I planned to leave the office, so I waited and waited, listening to the roar of the water, but finally I got fed up and went down to see how bad it would be to walk home.  At the front of the office there are 3 small steps up, and the water was up to the third step, making it about mid-calf deep. I waited some more, with a nice young German fellow who has a 15 minute bike ride home, discussing our options.  The rain lightened, I turned my pant-legs up to my knees and set off, leaving him behind.  Slosh slosh, trying not to think about what was in the water (of course making that the only thing I could think of), passing a cow right outside our gates which was mooing unhappily.  I commiserated briefly and kept going. I congratulated myself on remembering the big hole in the intersection down the road a piece, which was totally covered in water.  Another few hundred yards along I was attracted to the sidewalk, because it was above the water level, so I stepped up onto it, and walked another few feet, and then came to some water at the level of the stones, just too wide to step over.  So I stepped into it...and fell into a hole up to my chest.  In my alarm I instinctively raised my arms up high, saving my bag with my laptop from going in as well, (shrieked, no one came) and I'm not sure how I got out, but I did, very quickly, with the help of lots of adrenaline.  My fears about the computer trumped my disgust with the contents of the water.  As soon as I got home, in another 3  minutes, all at the same time the clothes came off, the computer got wiped down and turned on (Yes!) and I ran to the bathroom to shower off.  This morning, all the water is gone and I inspected the hole, confirming that it's really a sewer, and finally really noticed the configuration of the sidewalks. The place to walk is down the center of the road.  And the laptop should always be in a couple of plastic bags, though that would not have saved it if it really had gone down with me.  Through the night I had bad dreams with swimming pools prominently featured.  (The malaria meds cause nightmares; oh happy day.)  Also on the way to work this morning a large coconut fell out of a tree, landing a couple of feet from me, causing quite a fright.  Wouldn't that be a shitty way to go?

Going to the Dentist

I need a crown and an implant and I decided to get them here, for a fraction of the cost, after researching Indian dentistry and seeing totally modern, clean, Western offices, in Madurai, on-line. Off I went today for my first appointment with a highly qualified fellow (lots of letters after his name, lots of memberships and fellowships listed on his card) recommended by one of the lawyers here. Well, the office looked mostly OK, and he certainly seemed to know what he was talking about as he looked in my mouth and expressed concern about whether or not he could find an implant compatible with the threading of the post I already have embedded in my upper jawbone. Then he called in his assistant, a pretty young woman, and directed her to take an x-ray. Upstairs to the x-ray room, an old-fashioned looking machine, young woman puts on big lead apron, does not drape me with any such thing, and then, before I knew it, she sticks the little card thing in my mouth, and HOLDS IT IN PLACE WITH HER RUBBER GLOVED THUMB and takes the x-ray. I was so upset at what this means for her I couldn’t care about what it might mean for me. I told her, ‘’This is very bad for you – very bad to give so much x-ray to your thumb.” [I talk this weird simplified English which seems to help communication.] She understood I was concerned about her and replied something like “Oh no matter but thank you for concerning of me.” I said “Yes it does so matter; please please, you must stop this. You must protect your whole body. You should go out of the room for each x-ray.” That was lost on her. I keep thinking of the dentists in the ‘50s who did the same thing and lost their thumbs, and sometimes their lives. What to do?

Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar

Anyone ever hear of Dr. Ambedkar? I certainly hadn’t before I got to India and he was a marvelous man!Born an Untouchable in 1891, he became the first leader of any movement to end caste discrimination. He invented the term “Dalit”, meaning “low caste” although it’s usually translated as “former Untouchable”. He got a masters degree in economics from Columbia in 1915ish, and a law degree at Gray’s Inn soon thereafter, but when he tried to pursue a law practice in India no one would retain him because of his caste, so he became a political activist. He and Gandhi did not agree on much: he wanted separate electorates, which would have given Dalits real political power, but Gandhi feared this would impair “Hindu unity” (a fiction when you consider caste abuse), and when the British were agreeing to Ambedkar’s position, Gandhi went on a fast. (The only one he ever used against another Indian, knowing Ambedkar was also a believer in non-violence.) Ambedkar gave in to prevent the Mahatma’s death, signing the Poona Pact in 1932, which promised no separate electorates, just “reservations” for low caste people, which are not places for them to live off on their own (after all, who would do the work?) but are seats in the legislature, jobs in the civil service, places in schools and universities, reserved for people of low caste origin. Sometimes it’s called Indian affirmative action, but that’s a serious misnomer. The reservation system continues today, and is a fine tool to divide and rule: most caste violence is by the low upon the lower. Meanwhile, Ambedkar converted to Buddhism shortly before he died unexpectedly in 1956, having asserted he would not die a Hindu, with its “vile” [his word] caste system. He also rejected as patronizing Gandhi’s term “harajin” (children of god) for Untouchables. The more I read about Ambedkar, the less I care for Gandhi. How come Ambedkar has been lost to history in the West?

Photo Blog

I've created a second blog, for pictures, because there are too many I want to post for this one.  Check it out at www.RCOBO2.blogspot.com

Quiz

Who knows the reference "Rootless Cosmopolitan of Bourgeois Origin"?  There have been several queries.
Answer:  It was Stalin's pejorative for Jews, which I always felt was a compliment, in fact, and fits me very well.

AND THEN THE RAINS CAME

Buckets, pails, tubs, jugs, ewers, all at once, first intermittently, then steadily, on and on, delightful! Amazing! Temperatures actually in the 70s, not the 90s any more.Fresh air, good smells (well, not in some places – cows win out when there have been enough of them standing around doing what they do). Amidst the deluge we went off to Pondicherry for the weekend, for me to train another group of human rights activists, at a beautiful conference center outside town, by the ocean (the Bay of Bengal to be precise).Banana groves, coconut palms, frangipani in full bloom (one of the best smelling flowers ever) little ponds, little lizards (so much nicer than the thumb-sized cockroaches at the other place), thatched roof, bamboo-siding meeting room with giant rooks (a very big crow) flying in and out.Of course the roads are flooded something fierce, making the already crazy driving even crazier. Dark night, no street lights, everyone keeps their brights on all the time, except for when they turn off the lights altogether. The explanation for this strange behavior had something to do with “macho”, but I didn’t get it, so mostly I closed my eyes.Finally out of the car, barefoot, walking in deep water on sandy paths, warm, sweet, the Indians laughing at me for enjoying it so much. Lots of people on motor scooters with plastic bags on their heads, some covering their faces too, just like the warnings say you shouldn’t.One scooter with a family of 5, entirely covered in a plastic sheet with a hole cut out for mom’s face – the driver. After an apparently successful day of training I went off to town (the poor trainees had more meetings they had to attend) to see this former French colony’s attractions: shopping, cheap alcohol, and sweet pastries, none of which do I enjoy. But the few hours were great fun, because in fact there was some brie and baguette, and ridiculous sights. Several shops affiliated with Auroville, a nearby sort of ashram community full of westerners seeking freedom from their cellular nature, selling products labeled “Eco-Chic”. Several things with six-pointed stars on them, I’m guessing to appeal to the large number of Israeli tourists.The most unusual thing about these shops was the prices: could’ve been home. No bargaining, boring bags for $35, even worse jewelry for same. Better stuff in Madurai for $5, (or if you’re Indian, $3.)And raingear, for adults, covered in Disney characters: Mickey Mouse is everywhere!

Menachi our Fish Monger

As thin as a rail, carries on her head pounds of prawns and something that looks like barracuda and a balance to weigh it out, laughing at my interest to take her picture. 

Whose Job Is It?

A two day training for human rights monitors, investigators and activists in mediation and negotiation skills turned up some really interesting material, but the most interesting of all had nothing to do with the training. After each meal (delicious!) each person clears and washes their own plate – takes it into the sink area, dumps any bits left into a bucket, then washes under the tap, using a plastic scrubby with soap, leaves plate in the drying rack. After lunch on the second day I came to the sinks – 4 of them – and found them all filled almost to overflowing with dirty water. For a moment I thought there must be something wrong with the drains, but then reached into the first one with my already food-covered right hand and found that the drain was merely stopped with little neem leaves (like bay leaves but smaller) that were in something we'd had for lunch. In a second I’d cleared the drain, the sink emptied, and my plate was done. I then did the same to the other three sinks. As this was happening, quite a few of the others saw me and a couple commented “social service”, with the perpetual big smiles. I thought nothing of it (except a vague feeling that others were rather passive to have left the problem unattended) until the end of the day, when they were giving “feedback” - heaping praise and thanks. One woman said how great I was, even to have shown them that such an important person could have cleaned the sinks! She had learned that they must be prepared to address ANY problem!! [applause] Then I remembered something I’d read about the hierarchical society of India: cleaning is for cleaning people [low caste people] and higher-ups will not clean anything, to such an extent that if something is spilled in the office in the morning it will be left, walked through, dirt spread everywhere, for the cleaners to deal with in the evening when they arrive. Likewise this group of social activists, strugglers for equality, were ready to have the sinks overflow rather than clean. My example impressed them beyond imagining. Here I was the most important person in the place – Madam – and I had cleaned!

Transportation Choices

Bicycle rickshaws very common; intensely thin, sinewy men drive them.  Auto rickshaws also abound, making smelly exhaust.

Divali Hands

Henna decorations, wonderful, dramatic, mostly left hands because they do it themselves and everyone is right handed.

Temple Tower

Menakshi Temple is the major sight of Madurai, and quite a sight it is!  Four of these towers loom over a large temple complex, with elephants, camels and supplicants.  Also the only place in town where one sees foreigners.

Divali Dress-Up

Everyone gets new clothing for Divali and the little girls are the best.

Fast Food In Madras

Madras has lots of interesting colonial-era architecture and some unfortunate British habits.  Truth is, though, Indian hot chips are better than English ones.