Back in Bangkok

I've been thinking a lot about the ideal of the romantic lately. Not romantic love exactly, but the kind of idealism we impart to all aspects of our life. Like spiritual growth. If life is a journey towards expanding, and accepting people for what they are is a part of that, then in moments of inspiration, I find myself so enthusaistic to do so that I sit still and can almost feel myself simultaneously absolving and absorbing the world. And then I actually go out into it and the illusion shatters. The self-satisfaction one feels when one is ready to forgive the evil man is suddenly gobsmacked when it faces an even worse enemy- the stupid man. Not as in less intelligent, but as in less evolved. Especially the ones that cannot laugh at themselves or the world.

What is it about pompous people?! How can a person exist without an inclination to humor? I made a joke recently, a small harmless one aimed at a co-worker I knew only by name. He responded with an offended "What are you saying?" It fell flat. Do you know why jokes fall flat with people like that? It's because they take the five foot pole out of their ass, beat the joke with it till it's as flat as can be and then shove the pole back in. This pole also works horizontally to keep people from getting too close to them. It is a multi-purpose pole.

I'm glad kids don't have it. It's why I like teaching them. You've gotten to them before they grow the pole and there's a slim chance you can make sure they don't. This is my classroom-

Teaching is a roller coaster ride. Good sessions and average ones keep you going up and down emotionally, but there is always, always humor. And times when I have burst out laughing...

"Ma'am Poornima, he called me a bad word!"
"What was it?"
"He called me Poo-Poo girl."

"Chuti, you need to add -ing to make sing into the present continuous tense- singing."
"No, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"Because sing already have 'ing'"

They laugh themselves silly for the oddest reasons and they make you see this invisible humor somehow. The weekdays rush by in a flurry of lesson planning- I create activities and games that make learning English fun, with a smattering of that pesky grammar.

The weekends rush by even faster as I explore with friends. I did a quick search for offbeat locations and zeroed in on, um, uh, a phallus shrine dedicated to fertility.

Yup. Now, stop snickering and being all judgy so that you can gawp at these!....

Bows and ribbons don't help, not really-

Dildo offerings. I was speechless-

 This has got to be the most bizarre thing I've ever seen! Unfortunately, my brain instantly named it. Meet 'Double-shooter'. Please don't try to shake hands....

Know your vowels, people. BELLS....BALLS....oh, what's the use...

Coz sequins make everything pretty :) -

Pongal 'O Pongal

I believe festivals are important because symbolism is part of how we express ourselves. Sometimes, its a conduit, sometimes an outlet. Pongal is a festival steeped in respectful symbolism. It is rooted in the land, which is why it has truer and deeper meaning in the villages where people still mostly live off the land. Spread out over four days, the festival is an expression of blessing and gratitude- a day to pay homage to the sun which nourishes life, a day to thank the creator of animals and plants, and the most sacred animal of them all, the cow. A day to burn old things, a metaphorical act of hope to bring in the new, and a day set aside to visit and revel in people- to enjoy the bonds that tie us together.

There are very few festivals that still retain their original intent and have not been totally swamped in the religious rituals which have overtaken and even blurred the very reason for celebration. Pongal is one of them. Since it is a celebration of nature, it is also my favorite.

We headed to our village, laden with gifts of clothing for the workers. I had a few extra things. Isn't my shiny fan toy beautiful? But alas, it wasn't mine for long...

"Listen, you people. I bought these shiny fan toys for myself. I love 'em. I want 'em. I don't care if you're a little human or a big one, just KEEP YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OF 'EM, I SAY!" - that's the gist of what I said and I was happy.

A few seconds later...

This is why I fear for the world- where's the honor in this act, hmm? I'll keep an interested yet suspicious eye on the child's future career especially, for sure... Moving on,...

Maatu Pongal, the one for cows is the most important of all the four days in the villages here. We celebrate  it with passion, I'd say. So, here's an account of how that day went down. First, here are the stars of the show getting their make up on-

Next, the stage is set up. On an open flame, pots of rice and grains are cooked.

Meanwhile an archway is constructed using the branches and leaves of trees that are auspicious- neem, banana, sugarcane...Under the archway a miniature cow dung temple is put together. It's a square partitioned into four smaller squares and filled with water, tender coconut water, milk etc. Flowers adorn it and the smaller lump of dung placed in front of it stands for the God Ganesha- it holds his favorite grass- arugam.

The stone leaning against one of the posts making up the arch represent the God Shiva. It is believed in the village that on the days of pongal, the Gods do spot inspections of the households and farms and see that we aren't mucking up things down here. I'd like to have a word with them about the other 361 days.

Once all the preparations are done, the feast is laid out and camphor and incense are lit. The entire family stands around in a few moments of silent prayer. I was thanking everything I could think of. Then people walk around the arch banging plates with sticks shouting 'pongal o pongal'. The din is simply awful, but people enjoy it anyway.

Then one of the cows is led under the archway. As she crosses it, she must step on the cow dung temple with her right foot- which signifies a good year ahead. That's something about our culture- a reverence for the right limbs while the left are shunned; poor poor side! Anyway, the production is quite riveting. And  funny. The guy leading the cow will be perspiring as he tries to maneuver the creature so that it literally puts the right foot forward. People around him shouting instructions, all tense. He backs it up, encourages it forward, this way and that, and finally, it's done right. There's a chorus of 'aaaaahs' and everyone smiles at their assured good fortune in the coming year.

The after party- once the praying is done, the cows get to feed on the cooked rice, mixed with ripe bananas and jaggery.

Then the humans get to eat. After that, we just laze around, talking and laughing, enjoying the rarity of having diverse members of the family together.

This villager stopped by for a brief visit. The reason I mention him and took pictures is because his conversation was amusing. He was talking about jalli kattu, the Tamil 'sport' that is called 'bull taming'. The amusing part was how animated he got as he recounted one year in particular. As you can see from the before and after shots, his hands started flying and ofcourse, the wastee (lower garment) had to be folded in half. So for the story.

He was a lad when the headman of the village, an extremely affluent and therefore revered, powerful man, brought in a bull renowned for his viciousness. It was taller than a man and horns so sharp they could cut cloth. It was so intimidating that when it turned its head to on side, the people gathered to gawk at it would take a few steps back in fright, even though it was secured with ropes. To this bull, as is the custom, many threads bearing gold and silver coins were tied on its horns before the jalli kattu. Men were prepared to try their hand even though no one had tamed this bull for years. But one man was more than prepared; he oozed confidence. It was said that before he left his village, he went to the police station there and told them that he would return victorious, so he wanted the Government to keep his prize money ready. He approached the affluent headman and told him he would tame the bull. The headman told him, "If you do so, half the gold and silver coins tied to its horns are yours."

So the jalli kattu started and the bull was let loose. It trampled and maimed men as it ran. But our hero was a strong man. He ran alongside the bull, out of its reach, then suddenly he leaped onto its back, his hand found its horns and he managed to wrap his legs around it and lock them in place. In this way, they ran till the bull tired and he was able to tame it. He led the bull to its pen and triumphantly went to the headman. He told him, "I cannot find anyone who will approach the bull to retrieve the coins now. You take them and give me my share." So the hero did so and was praised all around. And that's the story of the toughest bull ever seen in these parts and how it was tamed.
 (*I despise any sport in which animals are forced to participate, this is just a recounting of a story that caught a villager's fascination)

Signing off with...
The newest arrival on our farm-

Cleaning up weed plans in the groundnut field- a worker and Mom

Body Language

To me, being a teacher is about sharing my love for words, and so much more. It's how we share life. We charge words and release them and that gives us so much power. But the physical world plays a big part in how we communicate, no where more so than the Chinese language which takes the word 'literal' to a whole different arena. I used to wonder why a people would choose to take the hardest path and create a language that's more art than structure. But you know, there is an immense beauty in their choice... The Chinese word for wisdom has two symbols. The one above is a broom. Below it lies the heart. When the broom sweeps the heart clean, it makes it free of anger and negativity, then there is space for wisdom to enter. Isn't that so very special?

Animals have a language that can be very vocal. But there are times that they rely on their drool to do the talking for them. Then again, you can't say they aren't creative. Like when I returned home this time after a two month absence. I opened the door, saw a blur, a tongue, two eyes, and then suddenly it started raining inside the house. I thought it was a miracle. It wasn't. You've seen those rotating sprinklers in gardens? Pivot an upside down puppy on one of them, one that's apparently lost bladder control and you'll understand what chaos the next few minutes were. Afterwards, once we'd disinfected the house, and me, I looked around and noticed things like the new paint job on the walls, the flower arrangements and my family. This canine re-defined 'body language' for me.

Speaking of which, isn't it funny how we've brought physical distances into our vocabulary to describe relationships? It's like we use distances to measure what we feel-  some people you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, you'd rather hit them with it. Or you want to keep someone at arm's length. For some, you'd go the extra mile or there are some you feel close to. And then there's the parable about a sage who explains that the reason we shout at someone when we're angry with them is because at that moment, our hearts are so distant that we shout to be heard across it.

It reminds me of a word I like- communion. It's what I was trying to express once when I said "friends, soulmates, kindred spirits- we all find each other in a place beyond words...." because to me, one of the best times of my life were moments of such connection. I was in the first year of college, sharing a house with my cousins- a brother and sister. He was an intern at a hospital nearby and he'd mostly come home in the middle of the night- 1 or 2 A.M. A few times a week, he's shake me awake and gesture silently. We'd slip out and take off for a ride on his bike. Most often, we'd take the roads that led out of the city to remote villages, changing from tar to dirt to tar again. On roads that he knew like the back of his hand, he'd switch off the headlights and there'd be nothing but the stars, and the fields, the night and us. And silence. We almost never talked. Just two bodies hurtling towards nowhere in particular. To this day, I can close my eyes and go back there easily and I always feel peace.

Of course, we had our share of stories from it. Like the time we got hopelessly lost and there wasn't a soul to be seen. We were driving along this narrow dirt trail in a deserted field and finally, we saw a man in the distance. An old man, squatting as he brushed his teeth with a neem stick. This was the savior who'd lead us back home. So my cousin stopped about 2 feet away from him and as he started to ask for directions, we realized that the old farmer was doing more than brushing his teeth. He was taking care of ALL his morning ablutions, if you know what I mean. Undeterred, as is the way of my people, he enthusiastically pointed this way and that and we thanked him, choking on our words, just waiting to go a respectable distance so that we could cry laughing. Another instance of 'body language' I'll never forget ;)

It's something we pick up even as children, maybe especially then; looking for clues and cues into the mysterious ways of adults. My father was never mysterious though. Any time he found anything funny, Boom! A large hand would descend to whack the back of my head. When I resurfaced, I'd crawl away, disoriented but determined to save myself.

When I moved to Chennai, there were roads that I named solely on their effect on my body. It started when an acquaintance called a bridge 'The Bridge of Love'. I didn't understand, until the day I drove on it. Small speed-bumps at regular 10 feet intervals.  Drive any vehicle on it and your mind and body start sending confused signals to each other. 'Wait a minute- what's happening? Should I start making noises now?' My advice- desist. You'll respect yourself more in the morning. Another excuse for a road that I had the privilege of naming- 'The Anti-Boob-Job road'. Gaping pits leading to hell followed by mountains that made you giddy- all within centimeters of each other. Driving on that road, I used to wish for reinforced steel bras as well as shock absorbers for the rest of my body.

There's a lot we learn by just looking at each other and the world around us. I like looking.... Ahem :P

Listen...Can You?!

People talk a lot. I prefer listening. You'd think it was a perfect set-up but it's not. Listening is often under-rated when it comes to its level of difficulty. It's all coming back to me now as I prepare to leave for home. Sitting in the car, right in the middle seat, all alone, I'm looking around me bewildered. My family, you see, is standing around the vehicle, and each one of them is declaring where they will sit and where each of the others should sit...They're postulating and reasoning and gesticulating, and the voices are getting louder. As what started as consideration quickly escalates towards violence, I am reminded of other instances where people have pushed the boundaries.

My colleague in a previous job was a pleasant, efficient lady. We had similiar duties and she loved to talk to me about them and anything else that came up during work. There was only one problem. A few wires in her brain had short-circuited at some point in her life, and she had lost most of her sense of personal space. She'd get so close to you when she was talking that you could see the pores on her face. Magnification, a process that used to interest me, lost all lustre after these encounters. It would take a superhuman effort to focus on her eyes because they'd be so close to yours. As I tried each time to uncross my eyes, I'd wonder if she went through life thinking that most people are sadly cross-eyed. So complete was this woman's need to get up-close that her subconsious had been programmed to compensate for and match any shift in the other person's spatial trajectory. My need to step away and breathe always led us in this totally unromantic dance down the corridor. I'd lead, she'd follow. We did the two-step, the fox trot, the jig. At desperate times, we've even moved through the samba, and touched on a bit of salsa. But nothing worked. My biggest comfort was that she never articulated her 'p's or 't's with any amount of force, so I was saved from the pain of spittle at least. Not that the errant projectile never found its mark.

I found a different type of person waiting for me at my next job, a different sort of challenge. She was a passionate, inspiring woman. Except when she slept through our conversations. Always polite, I never knew if I should stop talking or become a more interesting person. Sometimes she'd wake up and nod and it planted huge seeds of doubt in me. Was she bluffing? Could a sleeping face be a poker face? I never found out. I'd just continue talking, gradually tilting my head and body down and sideways, trying to point my words at her ears as her head slid steadily. When she awoke, we'd both jerk up.

I moved on to a job where my acting prowess was tested sorely. A boss with one foot in the world of movies is not such a great thing. Especially when he got me in the seat opposite him and dropped names and places as easily as the peanuts he was paying me, followed by a look of expectation. 'How awesome am I?', his eyes asked me every other day. How many expressions of admiration or being impressed can I make? Hah! I know the answer to that one. Zillions. One combination is right eyebrow up + lips pressed together + head tilt left 30 degrees. Another is both eyebrows up + mouth half open + 2 nods. The simplest is three rapid blinks + leaning backward. I got so good at it that after I quit, he couldn't live with the void I left behind. I considered his proposal of marriage with awe- a lifetime of that? I refused mainly because I feared my eyebrows would never descend again.

So yeah, all these gurus who talk and talk about the art of talking? I can teach those fellas a thing or two about listening. It's my turn to talk now. Just as soon as my family figure out that any butt can fit in any seat and we finally make it home.

The Way Back

I'm back in brown town! Here are 3 things that helped me know I was home before I even got here.

 1. The Search-for-Peace Lounge

 (At the airport in Bangkok) I changed seats the first time because I had this group of men sitting right behind me loudly tallying an endless list of expenses that they'd apparently raked up in Bangkok. My new seat gave me the vantage point of observing a very young couple. I hope I'm forgiven this unkind generalization, but it's a common dynamic I've seen. He's this spindly fellow who can't believe she's letting him do things to her, if you know what I mean, as you can see from his eyes that follow her and fingers that pick at her hair or corner of her dress. She knows she's the better looking one and therefore, has most or all of the power in the relationship, as evidenced by the fact that she barely acknowledged his attentions and when she does, there's this slight disdain on her face. I remember being fascinated by symbiosis when studying Biology in school, and as I grew up, the kinds of symbiosis that human psyches are capable of have become equally fascinating. But there's only so much of that one can take. I changed seats again. The couple I sat next to this time cruelly pulled out a two year old from between them who decided his life's work would be to bang metal things together and if denied that pleasure, scream. The lady had a high-pitched nasal voice which she used to beg her son. Together, their symphony was like the musical I'd imagine accompanying a specter of death. I didn't change seats again. Buddha, or some other nirvana success story, said that if you have inner peace, outside disturbances do not matter. They won't affect you. So I didn't move. I tested myself. So basically, I just sat there and prayed for the apocalypse. Then I got on to the airplane.

 2. The Imported Swiss Mountain Echo

When things happen to me, I don't get subtle. I get swamped. So of course, there were men on board,chock full of fascinating conversation separated from each other by the pesky aisle, who of course weren't about to let that deter them. I heard a lot. I'm really truly glad, because I found one of them fascinating. He was the listener and this other guy was enlightening him with that air of having been blessed with divine knowledge. Listener guy apparently acknowledges people by echoing them, with emphatic head nods. The conversation, translated from Tamil, was like this-
They take a straight 5 hour flight which is non-stop.
Listener: Non-stop
They even have a hotel called transit
Listener: Transit
They mainly prefer Germany
Listener: prefer
Everything has changed
Listener: changed
.....
(The exact moment the flight landed, the oracle spoke again)
Ah, In Chennai, we have landed.
Listener: Landed

I hope they didn't see me hunched forward, shoulders shaking. It was a hilarious exchange. I can't wait to try it out on an unsuspecting someone and see how they take to being echoed this way.

3. The Gender Swap

I had the aisle seat on the plane, and it was next to a couple. When I reached it, the woman was near the window and the man was in between. He looked at me, had a whispered conversation with wifey and with great difficulty they switched seats. Therefore, I remained pure throughout my flight.

 Like I said, I'm home, and truly loving it ;)

Poo! And Adieu!

The Poo:
 
Poo, to clarify for the non-south-indian population, means flower. It is NOT one half of what kids call their, well, poo-poo. That's why its the title of this post. Flower. That's Poo!.......Stop giggling. Honestly, I don't know why I bother.

Pak Khlong Talat. Sounds like Klingon for 'your bottom end' to me. It's the place where the flower market is, the one I despaired of getting to coz I just couldn't say it right! Seriously, you know why I like my native language? We pronounce all our syllables. We don't leave some of them hanging in the air. But this 'Pak Khlong Talat', when repeated back to me by the enlightened tuk tuk driver, was half of what its supposed to be. The only reason he got it was because I had literally drawn the name in Thai on a piece of paper and taken it with me. The Thais have taught me that much- be prepared to the point of paranoia.

Did you notice I said tuk-tuk? Yeah. I thought it'd never happen, not when motorbike taxis are around everywhere, but I stood around waiting for so long and no two-wheeled savior came to my rescue. So finally, after 2 months, I got properly fleeced by a tuk tuk guy and completed my initiation as a tourist in Bangkok.

The flower market was very beautiful, everything the websites promise it to be. I took some side lanes and found the vegetable wholesale sections, with heaps of vegetables in run down lanes- scenes that just transported me back to India, in a good way. I can't get over how we use the same vegetables everyday in such different ways. The same eggplant and ridge gourd and even sundakkai (turkey berry)!

The Adieu:

I'm leaving Bangkok for a couple of months, now that I've finished the TEFL course. Going back home to face some pretty loud music. Not all celebratory, once the folks hear the news. Soon, with the new year, this blog will become all about the experiences of an English teacher in Bangkok. Once I escape from the attic my father will lock me in, that is. So, I'm going to be leaving for awhile and I'm looking back at two months here that have been quite interesting.

The things I've learnt... A lot about myself. That I could live for months in a space that's approx. 8' by 7'- lesser than 56 sq.feet, most of it taken up by the bed. This from a woman who used to draw sketch after sketch of a future home that was more like a small village. My room-

I've never liked the adage 'people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones'. It's got the right message, but I find the image disturbing. Maybe I'd have liked something better involving wooden houses and stomping ;) It's had its message too, for me. Somehow, living here, having to make sure my feet touch the floor lightly has seeped in and made me tread through life more gently. I'm calmer.

I've learnt a lot about people and life; travel sometimes fast-tracks experiences, I think. I've seen beautiful things. I've mapped out a tentative dream for my life, when before everything was just a haze. I've made friends, some for life. I've learnt to be happy. I've learnt to be even more 'me'. Don't shudder- it's a good thing! :D

So, as tempted as I am to burst into song, with perfect rhymes that include 'me', 'free' and 'happy', I'll spare you the torture and simply end with this pic I did one night (crudely, on notebook paper) when I was thinking about where I am in my life...

Anger.

I am not a parent, now will I ever be one. But I know how to teach children, and I know that what's important often doesn't get taught.

I was in a park; beautiful green grass, a shimmering lake and a bevy of pigeons everywhere. They've become so used to humans, they think us feeding them is their birthright, lol. I had the most wonderful time.

Then I saw a child, and another, at different times, doing their very best to scare these beautiful birds. Kicking, chasing, running after, laughing at the way the birds tried to escape... their parents sat there, uncaring. And I'm thinking- see, this is the moment when you're a parent. This is the moment when you gather your child in your arms and teach them that compassion is a way of life, that sharing the earth is more natural that grabbing for it. That there is never, NEVER any joy or sport to be had from any other creature's fear. Ever.

I've seen a lot of parents where I grew up raise children who grow up to be jerks. They hurt people, beat their spouses, their parents even, disrespected and abused others, fell in with the wrong crowd, became addicted to substances, lived life with very little dignity. And most, if not all their parents would wail, 'But I raised him well'. No, you didn't. You might as well have put him in a pig sty and thrown food at him three times a day. You raise your children right by equipping them with a moral compass. You teach by example and by words. You teach compassion, respect, truth, equality, honor.... If at any point, they decide to throw away their compass, then that's their choice, but you did what you had to do. You parented. I shudder at the number of people I've known who brought children into this world out of duty, unthinking, or because 'babies are cute'.

And if anyone thinks I'm over reacting and says, 'children will be children', I'll say think again and think hard, because children will be adults.