The Brideless Wedding

Summary: Elizabeth and I are excited to take advantage of the opportunity to attend a pre-marriage function for Praveen, a coworker’s brother. Of course, we get more than we bargained for, and, as usual, find ourselves awkwardly in the center of attention.

We were invited to one of many pre-marriage functions for Praveen, Pratyush’s (coworker) brother and incidentally also principal of Educational Academy, a DSH school. Elizabeth and I arrange a ride with TK, our go-to autorickshaw guy, and we make our way to this open-air venue about 15-20 km from our house.

Elizabeth and I walk “in” dressed in our very best kurtas at 8:30, 30 minutes after the official start time (per the invitation). There are about 300 chairs arranged in rows, facing a decorated stage. Stage right found a small dance floor and a Sikh DJ.

We cautiously sit down in the back row on the ladies’ side, and wait another 30 minutes, at which point we notice a lot of men (but no women) heading toward the food stations. So much food, and yet this was only the beginning. Dinner was to be served after the ceremony.

Pratyush spots us around this time, and leads us to a table in the front, stage left. As if we really need more attention. We make the best of being at the center of attention; luckily, most folks were more drawn by the food. (Though we do see a few village men walking around with rifles strung over their shoulders!) A few snacks here and there, and at around 9:30 (30 minutes before we want to leave), the groom-to-be enters and the rituals begin.

Elizabeth and I, along with about 30 other folks, clamor to the side of the stage to observe. While the series of rituals is being performed, we anxiously await the bride. The rituals continue, but still no indication of the bride to come.

Around 10 pm, Elizabeth and I decide to move to the other side of the stage, as we were opposite the cameras and didn’t want to be in all of the wedding pictures. We both think we should leave (so as to reach home at a reasonable time), but we want to see the bride! It is then that Nikita, Pratyush’s daughter, spots us and pulls us both onto the dance floor. Pratyush notices and tells the DJ to blast the music (it was turned down during the ceremony).

Like deer caught in the headlights, I freeze for about 15 seconds before I realize what is happening. I suddenly can’t hear anything other than Indian music, I find my feet on the wooden dance floor, and I see that the ceremony is still going on.

It all feels wrong. This function isn’t about us. I realize I should know by now that it’s silly to hope I can just hide in the back. But this?

The dance floor has suddenly been surrounded by 30 Indian men, and that the rest of the 300 people in attendance have turned their attention from the stage to us.

I want to run. I want to hide. But, what else can you in a situation like this but oblige? Elizabeth and I took out our cameras, and “danced.” It reminded me of my childhood, when I had to dance and perform on stage. Deliberate, self-conscious movements.

Then the first Indian man steps on stage, and I’m free. I have absolutely no desire to dance “with” any of the guys, and I imagine it’s tabooed. So we inch off the corner of the dance floor, and make a quick escape out the back.

But the damage is already done, and we’ve been caught on tape(s). All of them.

Did I mention we never saw the bride? Turns out this was the tilak, what I understand to be a dowry ceremony. The bride’s brother was performing the rituals on stage with the groom-to-be, and the numerous boxes of sweets and baskets of fruit were part of the dowry. The auto or motorcycle would probably be somewhere in the back. Of course, a tilak. Why would I have the audacity to expect to see the bride at a pre-marriage function?

A Family Affair: Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, and Lucknow in 10 Days (Part III)

Summary: Agra and Lucknow were relatively uneventful. Taj Mahal was, of course, incredible, and Lucknow was, well, Lucknow.

Day 7, Agra: Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, rest, Sadar Bazaar (Panchhi Petha), dinner at Park Restaurant. We spent a few hours at the Taj Mahal complex (sneaking in a nap on the actual Taj structure), basking in all its splendor. Migrate over to Agra Fort, where we see not one, but two Chinese tours (Taiwan and Hong Kong)! We return to the hotel mid-day and make the most of our late checkout. Visit Sadar Bazaar to buy Panchi Petha (as I promised my landlord’s son), and an early dinner. Return to the hotel, kill 2 hours vegetating in front of the TV in the hotel lobby, and catch our overnight train to Lucknow.

Day 8, Lucknow: Visits to Sahara School and Mavaiya, lunch at Royal Café, Janpath Market, Saharaganj (the mall), dinner at Elizabeth’s. My parents got to see the office and how DSH works in a school setting! My plan for them in Lucknow was mostly a culinary one, and Royal Café never fails. (I lucked out; because they were “touristed out” by this point, claiming they’ve already seen the best of India with the Taj, the parentals decided to forego Bara Imambara and the Residency.) To retreat into AC after lunch, we head to Saharaganj, the ever-popular air-conditioned mall nearby. They search for “Indian” clothes to buy, and both score in Big Bazaar (the Walmart of India). And no trip to Lucknow would be complete without a taste of Deepmala’s cooking (our diet).

Day 9, Lucknow: Lunch at Tundey Kebab, Aminibad, Barista (café), dinner at Urvashi’s. Thanks to a 4-hour power outage and the heat in the dead of night, my parents and I sleep in. I take them to Tundey Kebab, a famous, hole-in-the-wall establishment in Aminibad to taste the Lucknow mutton kebab. After doing some focused shopping in Aminibad, we retreat back into AC at Barista, where we meet Elizabeth before heading to Urvashi’s for dinner. Over dinner, Urvashi not only gives us the quintessential linguistic Hindi lesson, but also shares personal stories about the dangers and perils of India.

Day 10, Lucknow: House visits, lunch at McDonald’s, airport. My parents’ visit comes with formalities and expectations. (We are, after all, in India.) I meant for them to visit both my current and former landlords, but there just wasn’t enough time. My parents decided skipping the former landlords was a minor offence compared to not meeting the current ones, so we spent our morning upstairs. My plans for a nice farewell lunch were ruined because the taxi showed up an hour late, and we ended up at McDonald’s (fast and safe!). (Luckily, my parents have, by this point, learned the meaning of “Indian time.”) I send them off, but not before a final layer of bureaucracy at the airport (“No, visitors can’t enter check-in.”).

Throughout the trip, my parents couldn’t stop talking about how India reminded them of Hong Kong / China in the olden days. And the fact that they ate more Indian food those past 10 days than they’ve eaten in their entire lives.

A Family Affair: Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, and Lucknow in 10 Days (Part II)

Summary: My parents get the “real” India experience, where nothing goes as planned yet there’s always another way. As I always say, no trip in India is complete without a train fiasco.

This day deserves its own entry. Sorry, mom and pop, for a wasted day and a miserable 6 hours.

Day 6, Jaipur: The day of heck. I had planned for us to take an AC deluxe bus to Agra (again, new experiences), reaching Agra by mid-afternoon. Murphy’s Law, or a series of unfortunate events, took over.

Unfortunately, there was no AC bus leaving for Agra at our identified time.

Fortunately, there was a non-AC bus. Fine, we’ll roll with the punches.

Unfortunately, the bus moves a foot, before driver turns off the engine and steps off. Passengers gradually follow suit. I have no idea what’s going on; the few words communicated to us are in Hindi.

Fortunately, I find someone (Puru) who can explain the situation to me in English.

Unfortunately, he tells me the bus is cancelled, because the road to Agra is closed due to violence, a byproduct of the recent elections (déjà vu!).

Fortunately, he also needs to get to Agra and finds out there’s a train leaving in 3 hours.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to buy tickets on such short notice. Either General Seating (everyone I know cringes at the thought) or Tatkal (expensive, and also probably not available).

Fortunately, there’s usually a tourist quota for Tatkal tickets, making it a somewhat feasible option.

Unfortunately, nothing, not even Tatkal, is available. The train is completely overbooked.

Fortunately, I’m able to buy waitlisted tickets, with numbers 430, 431, and 432.

Unfortunately, the seats are in sleeper (non-AC) class, which may be moot since there’s no way we’re getting pulled off the waiting list, and hence we can’t officially board the train.

Fortunately, I visit the tourist office, which confirms that buses started running again an hour after the initial cancellation announcement. We can still catch the next bus.

Unfortunately, we don’t know if the roads will close again, and we might be stranded midway.

Fortunately, I’m still holding onto our waitlisted tickets. This is India, and there’s always another way. We’re still going to board the train, and I’m going to “talk” to the conductor to work things out. Puru will be boarding at the next station (15 minutes away), and he’ll help make the arrangements.

Unfortunately, we still don’t have confirmed seats.

Fortunately, we hop on as soon as we can to try to find seats and space for our luggage. We manage to find a completely open berth (bench) and claim it.

Unfortunately, the actually belongs to another family.

Fortunately, the family doesn’t say anything to us, even though we’ve clearly usurped their seats.

Unfortunately, this means we’re all very cramped, and it’s 120°F outside.

Fortunately, the conductor comes around, checks my ticket, and doesn’t say a thing.

Unfortunately, we have 120°F wind blowing in our faces for the next 6 hours.

Fortunately, we make it to Agra at ~9:30 pm (only 5 hours after planned!) and check into our air-conditioned 5-star hotel (again, thanks to Monitor). Upon checking in, they give us drinks and chocolate! We don’t bother leaving the room to search for food.

My parents somewhat aptly describe the experience as “going from hell to heaven.” When such highs and lows are experienced in succession like this, it really makes you appreciate what you have.

A Family Affair: Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, and Lucknow in 10 Days (Part I)

Summary: My parent’s first 5 days in India were spent in Delhi and Jaipur. We did the normal touristy things, though made a point to chill in air-conditioned venues in the heat of mid-day.

My parents recently decided to visit India “on their way” to Hong Kong. After my experience with Varanasi, having a good time was secondary to not getting sick.

The photostory of our trip can be seen here. In short, the trip was full of juxtapositions, of new experiences. The longer version is as follows:

Day 1, Delhi: Killed time by meandering through the mean streets of Delhi, soaking the non-Lucknow atmosphere. Collected the parentals in the evening with a makeshift airport pickup sign and fake flowers. Night consisted of unpacking the goodies they brought over (it was like the Christmas I never had!) and unwinding.

Day 2, Delhi: Old Delhi, including Red Fort, lunch at Karim’s (amazing!), Jama Masjid, Chandni Chowk, Barista (café) at Connaught Place to cool down, Janpath Market, India Gate, and dinner at Saravana Bhavan (a South Indian restaurant with a branch in NorCal). I’m trying to give them all sorts of experiences here, including what Southern India has to offer.

Day 3, Delhi: World Heritage Sites galore! Qutb Minar, Lotus Temple, Humayun’s Tomb, early dinner at Pindi Restaurant, Paharganj (backpacker’s hideout). Basically we vegetated for a few hours at Qutb Minar, enjoying the grass, the trees, and the breeze. Lotus Temple was closed so we took pictures from outside. Humayun’s Tomb was a glamorous prelude to the Taj Mahal. And, I was able to talk the guy into selling me a local (aka cheaper) ticket, using my broken Hindi (the first of many attempts to come)!

Day 4, Jaipur: Train, City Palace, Hawa Mahal, shopping, dinner at Choki Dhani. The day of luxury. Took the Shatabdi Express to Jaipur (What service! What copious amounts of food!), and vegetated in our 5-star hotel room (courtesy of Starwood points from my stint at Monitor) before finally venturing out into the Pink City, where we were stereotypical tourists, sightseeing, photo-taking, and shopping. Choki Dhani is a recreated Rajasthani village and resort, with a traditional Rajasthani meal and all sorts of fun, festive, cultural, and bizarre performances. It was like going to a middle-school carnival.

Day 5, Jaipur: Breakfast, Amber Fort / Palace, nap, dinner at Handi. Breakfast is worth noting because it was an incredible 5-star hotel buffet breakfast, on the house! (I must’ve eaten half my weight in yogurt, mushrooms, and fruit.) Spent a few hours at Amber Fort, being harassed by guys who learned enough Chinese to sell us things (yi bai kuai), where even my Hindi couldn’t save us (Nahi chahie! Jao! Choro!). We wanted to also see Jaigarh Fort, a 1 km walk from Amber, but different things (i.e., heat) precluded it, so we instead went back to the air-conditioned hotel room with the dangerously comfortable beds and napped. The only thing reason we got ourselves up for dinner was the thought of waking up hungry in the middle of the night (not to mention a lost chance at continuing our culinary adventure).

I pause here, because I need a breather before I try to relive Day 6.

My 15 Minutes Year+ of Fame

Summary: Being different in any way makes you stand out. Some things you can hide, others you can’t. In my time in India so far, I’ve experienced three different types of reactions to my being “different”: the subtle, the fearless, and the indifferent.

Which does not belong?

As a foreigner in a place that’s as homogenous as India, you’re going to get attention whether you like it or not. This issue is compounded by being a female in a place as conservative as India. There are, of course, differences in how people give you that attention, and often this correlates with how familiar the locals are with foreigners. Here are the three “buckets” of experiences I’ve had (usually with men):

Subtle: Characteristic of places that doesn’t get much foreigner action (e.g., Lucknow), subtle attention consists of incessant staring, leering and photographing. In public places (especially railway stations), we’ll often find men sneak pictures and videos of us by holding up their phones “indiscreetly,” but the phones inevitably track our every move. Sometimes the attention is out of cautious curiosity; other times, it’s out of malice. Cautious curiosity, though often exhausting, can be fun and invigorating, as I’ve often found in our visits to villages. Malice, on the other hand, is enraging and manifests itself in sexist / racist comments or groping.

Fearless: Men in places that see more foreigners, such as Varanasi, are braver. They’re not afraid to approach you, talk to you, and touch you. Despite seeing millions of tourists every year, they somehow never get used to us. Walking along the ghats not only involved endless touts from peddlers, but also in countless “greetings” by men, the intent of most I’m unsure of. For me, this was more exhausting than the subtle attention I get at Lucknow, because I couldn’t hide from it simply by looking down. Groping occurs far more frequently in places like this, because we’re no longer “aliens” to be approached with caution, but are rather pieces of meat free for all.

Indifferent: No attention at all. “Westernized” and “modern” places like Delhi are familiar with Westerners and their culture. Heck, they might even have foreigner friends themselves! As such, folks in Delhi see foreigners on the street and often don’t even give us a second look. To them, foreigners are just like anyone else, only more clueless. (Of course, the first and second types also exist in Delhi, in significantly smaller numbers.) For the brief time I was alone in Delhi, the only thing that made me aware that I was a foreigner was myself.

Even as I write this, I know I’m over-generalizing and that I’m not being fair. Racism clearly exists everywhere, and I’ve had countless positive interactions with locals in all parts of India (and the world). It’s unfortunate that even one negative experience can often cloud all the positive ones, but sometimes I actually think that each eyeball takes away a piece of my soul.

Varanasi II: "The Real Deal"

Summary: On the banks of the Ganges, Varanasi is one of the oldest and holiest cities in India. It’s a photographer’s dream, and unlike anything I have seen before. Yet all I vividly recall is the aftermath, as Elizabeth, Anna, and I all get deathly ill. And, of course, no trip is complete without a train fiasco.

Will the real Varanasi please stand up? Wait, no, please sit down again.

The morning we left the Krishnamurti Retreat Center, we took a day trip to Sarnath, the place where Buddha gave his first teachings. There are lots of temples around this area (some which you can stay at), and an archaeological site.

Migrating to the main town afterward, we settled in at Assi Ghat and changed out of our kurtas into more touristy, less conservative, non-Lucknowian attire. We spent the rest of the day alternating between meandering along the ghats (platforms/stairs leading into the river) and eating and relaxing. And, of course, being attacked by monkeys and nudged by buffalo.

Let me pause and tell you a little something about Varanasi. Varanasi sits on the banks of the holiest river in India, the Ganges. As such, Varanasi itself has become one of the holiest places in India (for Hindus). Hindus visit Varanasi from all over India, to bathe in its water and to bring back bottles of holy river water, which is believed to cure illness. The only hitch is that the Ganges is one of the most polluted rivers in India.

Why? Because bodies are burned and cremated on the ghats, and then dumped into the river. Only, the bodies don’t completely burn, meaning you may be lucky enough to see remains of the corpses floating down the river. There are also 6 types of bodies, such as children and sadhus, who do not need to be cremated because they are already deemed “pure;” these bodies are tied to a rock and dropped into the river. The rope falls apart in 3 days, and the body resurfaces. Two or three hundred bodies per day are cremated and/or directly deposited into the river. In spite of all this, people continue to bathe in it and drink its water to cleanse themselves physically and spiritually.

My impression of Varanasi revolves around the ghats and the Old City. The ghats is a great place for people watching, if you don’t mind being harassed. Constantly. The Old City, home to the Golden Temple, is itself a chaotic mess of narrow lanes, filled with pedestrians, store owners, and the occasional cow and motorcycle. Everywhere you look, there is life and color. But I also frequently found myself frequently approached by aggressive Indian men. It was tiresome, and in many ways made me miss Lucknow.

Varanasi begins kicking our butt around midnight our second night, when Elizabeth bolts out of bed to throw up. Her body is so weak she lies face down on the bathroom floor; she can’t even muster the strength to crawl back into bed. She continues to throw up / diarrhea through the night, and Anna joins her about 3 hours in. They (barely) manage to survive through the morning, when I go downstairs to call a doctor.

Enter the doctor into a room that reeks of vomit, and he proceeds to diagnose each of them. Pulse, stomach tenderness check, symptoms, etc. Temperature. Elizabeth is 101 F, Anna is 97 F. On each of their prescriptions, he writes, 99 F. I guess he didn’t learn about the flaw of averages.

They stay in bed the rest of the day, alternating between states of consciousness and unconsciousness. In the meantime, I’m trying to enjoy my last day in the city. I start feeling nauseous that evening, my entire body breaking out into hives. We manage to catch our 5 am train, but it was not easy. I’m quite weak by this point, with a fever and continually on the verge of vomiting.

We board the train, and I think we’re home free. All I have to do is pass out for the next 5 hours and we’ll be okay. I can’t think or do anything else, other than push away the nausea and try to fall asleep. Suddenly, I feel a body loom over me. A deep, man’s voice: “Ma’m, what’s your seat number?” One eye squints open. Pause. “Sir, these are our seats.” “Are you sure you’re in the right car?” “Yes.” Another man chimes in: “Let’s see the tickets.” “Here you go.” “Ma’m, your reservations were made for April 11.” The helpful teenage girl sitting next to me: “Today is the 13th.”

At this point, all I can think is, You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t happening. Of course this is happening. This is India. I just want to go home. Maybe if I ignore them they’ll go away. But of course, I had to face reality, and we got up and inched to the back of the car. It takes all my mental and physical energy to stay vertical.

Anna looks at us and says, “I’ll talk to the conductor. Stay on the train, we’ll figure this out.”* We can make a last-minute decision to spend the day or another night in Varanasi, given the fact that we may not have seats. But the thought of staying in Varanasi another day makes me even more nauseous. The train starts moving.

I’m not sure what happens next. All I remember is finding chained suitcases occupying the seats at the back of the car, and me gradually pushing them aside. I remember Anna coming over and telling us we now have seats, and I proceed to sit down and pass out. I remember wanting to open the train’s side door and to stick my head out and vomit, but worrying about getting my head chopped off. I remember realizing that the bathroom is always an option, but I would rather try to control the nausea than gag there. It’s all too much; we finally reach LKO.

The autorickshaw ride back to the apartment was tougher than the train ride. We were so close, and I was awake and as conscious as my current state allowed. The heat and incessant honking penetrated my core and reverberated in my head. We finally get into our apartment, where I pass out for the next 8+ hours.

In fact, I’m pretty much useless for the next two weeks. I have a relatively high fever and diarrhea (silver lining: no vomiting!) for the next 2-3 days, and the girls talk me into getting my urine, stool, and blood tested with them. (I usually think my body will work itself out, and I don’t fret about it. Basically, I’m a doctor’s worst nightmare.) I find myself horizontal and inadvertently anorexic for the next week. And basically under house arrest for the week after.

I have no desire to return to Varanasi ever again.

Note: When Anna finds the conductor, she says, “Sir, mai dosti bimar hai.” [Sir, my friends are sick.] Him: “Apko Indian hai???” [You’re Indian???] Let’s try again: “Sir, mai dosti bimar hai.” [Sir, my friends are sick.] Leave it to folks here to know what's important.

Elections in India: Mayawati’s Evil Plan

Summary: National elections, held in phases across India, occurred in Lucknow yesterday. Crazy Mayawati (Chief Minister of UP) and her BSP party devised an evil plan to keep the educated, urban Lucknowites away from the polls, resulting in a dismal 34% voter turnout.

I’m lucky enough to witness two very different national elections occur first-hand in a period of six months. Politics in India is nothing like politics in the U.S., partly because of the drastic difference of scale, and partly because of different foundations that have been laid.

There are two major national parties in India – Congress and BJP. However, neither is powerful enough to win majority votes / seats in the election, and as a result must form alliances with other parties to reach the majority. Uttar Pradesh’s Chief Minister Mayawati and her regional BSP party, being in the largest state in India, is in a strong position to strike an alliance with one of the key parties. For her to agree to an alliance, however, she has but one demand: That she or another party member be given the position as Prime Minister.

I’ve been here less than three months and even know that’s a scary thought. Though she is of the dalits, the “untouchables” caste, she has defied all expectation and risen through the ranks to rule India’s most populous state. As Chief Minister of UP, however, she has, in reality, squandered the people’s money and made outrageous promises. She is erecting stone monuments across Lucknow, in some cases destroying historical monuments to rebuild her own. She has promised slum dwellers that they own the land they dwell upon, which has resulted in an expansion of slums around the state. She claims to stand behind the interest of dalits, but in reality, she cares about no one but herself.

Her latest ploy surrounds Lucknow’s recent elections. (India is so large that elections have to be held in phases; Lucknow’s elections were held on April 30, when the entire city seemingly shut down. No public transportation was available, as in the past, parties had manipulated the use of autorickshaws to increase their voting base.) At the last minute, the District Magistrate overseeing Lucknow mysteriously mandated that schools be shut down on Tuesday and Wednesday (preceding the Thursday elections), citing “heat and the elections.”

Why?, one might ask. Let’s evaluate the week. Monday was already a state holiday, Thursday was election day, and Friday is May Day. With the addition of Tuesday and Wednesday as holidays, students (and parents) essentially had a full week off, which encourages them to take a short trip and skip the voting altogether. With educated urbanites away from the polls, Mayawati and her party were sure to win critical seats necessary to fulfill her evil mastermind plan to take over position as Prime Minister.

And, succeed she did, as voter turnout in Lucknow was a mere 34%, a new low. I think my faith in India may simultaneously be reaching new lows.