My Calcutta Shaadi (Marriage)

Summary: Having recently attended a friend’s wedding in Calcutta, I now have a greater understanding of Indian weddings. While the execution tends to differ by region, the specific couple, and the couple’s families, the consistent theme still seems to be food.

I made a bold claim in my last post – namely, that I was starting to understand this wedding business. What I really meant was I was starting to understand how weddings in Lucknow work. I just returned from a trip to Calcutta where I partook in festivities for a friend’s Gujarati wedding, and it was a bit different. For example:

• The sangeet was not ladies only, and consisted of organized performances and choreographed dances by both the bride’s and groom’s party. (Attendees were also from both parties.)
  
• The baraat (procession) occurred in the afternoon, and was followed immediately by the wedding ceremony, which includes exchanging garlands, pooja, and walking around a fire seven times.
  
• The bride and groom stood and smiled for pictures during the reception, greeting and interacting with the guests (versus looking somber and acting passively while everyone else moved around them).
  
• Through all of this, the bride and groom had physical contact (e.g., they performed a dance number together).

Part of this might be because the bride and groom had known each other previously, so this wasn’t a completely arranged marriage in the traditional sense.

Goodness there are a lot of functions for an Indian wedding! I attended probably only half of them, but that was still four different functions. The first night was the sangeet, which included choreographed dances. The second night was another dinner, and the third day was the marriage function, followed by the reception after a costume change (or, as my friend calls it, a “recovery period”).

Since we were from the groom’s side, we participated in the baraat (music and dance procession) in the streets. Our friend the groom sat in a chariot in the back with a few others (I believe one is his brother-in-law) while we helped him celebrate this glorious day by dancing our way to the venue.

When we reached the venue, the bride emerged, wearing a beautiful sari and who knows how many pounds of gold on her. She was covered in one thing or another (bangles, mahendi, makeup, gold, etc.) from head to toe; oh, she looked stunning. They exchanged garlands (each had to shy away the first time or two, before allowing him/herself to be “caught”), and, after a few rituals, the bride retreated to change saris. At that point, the bride’s ‘mother’ steps in for some fun; her task is to pinch the groom’s nose. (I’d explain further, but I myself don’t understand.)

The rest of the ceremony involved other ritual and pooja, etc. We (my friends from America and I) were given front row seats, as our hosts kicked out others to make sure we were sitting close to the events and comfortably. (Oh, it was an awkward situation!) Food (appetizers) was of course served to us, and plenty of pictures were taken of us.

Mind you, not a minute during this entire ceremony was there silence. Little attention was paid to the bride and groom; most of the hustle and bustle was about food and discussions among guests. It’s as if the bride and groom were doing their thing “on stage” just in case you wanted to watch.

This was, of course, followed by food, after which we left to prepare ourselves for the reception (read: more food) to follow a few hours later. The reception essentially involved a quick interaction and picture with the bride and groom on stage, and food.

The theme of the wedding was: food.

It’s strange. At American weddings, the attention is all on the bride and groom. In this case, the bride and groom seemed peripheral to the events; it was as if they were part of a force bigger than each of them, and they had no choice but to comply to what was requested of them. It really is a celebration not of the couple, but of the families and their friends. The bride and groom just happened to be the casualties of this union.

The Brass Band

Summary: Attendance at another wedding adds yet a different perspective and provides a better understanding of this wedding business.

I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of this wedding business. Unlike weddings in the U.S., celebrations and functions differ depending on whether you know the bride or groom. With the exception of the actual marriage, one would normally attend events hosted by the side you know.

As a refresher of events attended thus far:

• Event 1: Tilak hosted by the groom’s family, attended by the grooms’ acquaintances. Elizabeth and I were pulled onto the dance floor in front of an audience of a couple hundred, plus 30 men + cameras in close vicinity.
  
• Event 2: Ladies’ sangeet hosted by the bride.
  
• Event 3: Marriage, from the bride’s side. We paid the bride a visit in her bridal room and left shortly after the groom arrived.

Now we can add to this list events 4 and 5. Event 4 is a marriage, invited by the groom. Event 5 is a sangeet, hosted by the groom’s family (though unlike the bride’s ladies’ sangeet from earlier, this sangeet occurred after the wedding).

We arrived a little late to the marriage, but early enough to participate in the procession to the venue. In this procession (parade), the groom sits in the car while his family and closest 100+ friends walk behind a vehicle that’s blasting brass band music through megaphones. After a few steps of walking, the vehicle stops and everyone dances in the streets. And, in case you’re wondering, yes, it does clog up the streets a little bit.

Having reached the venue, the groom is carried to the threshold from the car, where he proceeds to engage in a series of ceremonial activities and pooja (prayer). While he is doing so, my landlords and I sit inside the venue, enjoying the appetizers / chaat being served to us. About 45 minutes later, we migrate downstairs for the dinner (buffet style, as always) before heading back upstairs to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom sitting on the couch on stage while others shift behind them, posing for pictures.

This is longer than we stayed at the other marriage; I finally saw the bride and groom together. But where’s the actual wedding ceremony?

Two days later was the ladies’ sangeet. This function has its roots in the time when women didn’t dance (or even attend) the marriage; they needed another venue to celebrate. This sangeet involved a central “stage” where various friends and family members danced and performed. (This is also the event where the bride showcases her talents to her new family.) Although I stayed only for an hour at the sangeet, I was pulled onto stage to perform (of course), and did my bit for the cameras before running away as far as I could.

After all, as a guest, you have to make your presence worthwhile. And now they have me caught on tape, though I have a hunch you won’t find it on YouTube anytime soon.

The Chinese Invasion

Summary: The Asian Table Tennis Championships was recently held in Lucknow , and I was a faithful supporter. During this weeklong event, I managed to walk across the floor during opening ceremonies and meander into the players’ practice arena. No one even attempted to stop me either time.

A few weeks ago, Lucknow, for the first time in history, hosted an international event – the Asian Table Tennis Championships. Now, I’ve never seen a table tennis match live before, but I’m in Lucknow, and if you throw me a bone, I’ll bite. Aside from this being a fun pastime and the chance to experience the most diversity Lucknow has ever seen, other critical pros of this event was that (1) it was in my neighborhood, and (2) it was free.

After seeing a wildcard match preceding the opening ceremonies, I was hooked. My attendance record was impeccable; for that week, I scheduled my other events around table tennis. (One evening, I left work at 5 pm, attended a post-wedding ladies’ sangeet until 6:30, stopped over at table tennis until 7:30, and headed over to a birthday dinner at 8.)

The Chinese ended up sweeping most of the medals (the men and women’s singles and the men’s doubles championships consisted only of Chinese players). Furthermore, turns out that the Singapore (and probably also Hong Kong) team was formed by ex-Chinese players. My friend and I deliberately sat behind the Hong Kong team one day so I might be able to sneak in a groupie Cantonese conversation with them; imagine my disappointment when I heard them all speaking Mandarin!

Regardless, I had a lot of fun there every day; when I wasn’t joined by a friend, I made one. There are, however, two events that summarize the haphazardness of the event, keeping in mind that this is an international championship event.

Firstly: The low-energy opening ceremonies consisted of a walk around the gymnasium by the players, a few speeches, and a kathak performance. When the players were lined up in the center of the floor, my friend and I realized that from where we were sitting, we wouldn’t be able to see the performance. The only way to reach the opposite side was to walk across the floor where the players were all lined up. This being an Indian event, we decided to just casually walk around the divider next to the players; as I walked past the Hong Kong team in the middle of the opening ceremony, I wished them luck (in Cantonese).

In what other major international sporting event would you be able to casually walk past the players in an opening ceremony? No one even tried to stop us; I probably could’ve stood there talking to the Hong Kong team for another five minutes without anyone battering an eyelash.

Secondly: During a match, my friend Elias and I decided to search for food. We followed signs that led to another gymnasium in the back; still searching, we walked past some security guards carrying big rifles, through a few switchbacks and official-looking people, and into the players’ practice court, which consisted of about fifteen tables arranged in a grid. Writing about this still boggles my mind. There were three Japanese players practicing at a table ten feet from us. I even picked up and handed them their ball twice. For over half an hour, Elias and I stood there, watching them, gaping at them, and laughing at the ridiculousness of Indian security measures. In this time, he considered asking to join their game, then reconsidered, and reconsidered again. I actually think they might have said yes, too.

It’s events like these that make you realize how big a role your own fear often plays in limiting your experience. Had we been deterred by the entrance to the players’ gymnasium or the sight of guards, we never would have seen the practice arena. Asking for forgiveness, not permission, certainly can allow one to accomplish more sometimes. Only I never did have to ask for forgiveness in this case.

Perhaps these security breaches are acceptable for an inaugural attempt at hosting such an affair; on the whole, however, rules and restrictions are quite arbitrary in Lucknow. While I was able to carry a big backpack cum laptop into these supposedly restricted areas without even a bag check, I am reminded of an episode where my boss literally had to fight to bring a camera into the movie theaters. I guess you can count on folks to catch things when it counts.

Gems of Lucknow

Summary: In many ways, living in Lucknow is like living in history, with many old, historical buildings that few people pay attention to, and even fewer know about. But if you take the time to look around when you walk, meander through less common streets, you’ll find something that just amazes you because of its simple, quiet presence. And, if you stay and listen long enough, it just might tell you a story.

You never know what you’ll find when you wander the streets of Lucknow. A few Sundays back, my friend Will and I spontaneously decided to search for a eunuch’s tomb, which he had read about in a newspaper. So we set out on our treasure hunt, and started by trying to locate the general colony. The folks we asked included baristas at Barista, a local travel agent, and Google (courtesy of a friend). About 30 minutes into our search for fool’s gold, we decided to delay our search until further information can be found.

It was at this time, standing on the main street in Hazratganj (the “downtown” of Lucknow), that I saw an architecturally fascinating structure beyond small arched alleyway. We walked through the alley, which opened up to an imambara.

But Lucknow is full of such gems and surprises; there’s so much history embedded into the nooks and crannies of everyday life, though much of it is poorly maintained and documented, and generally withering.

Of course, when I tried to tell my coworkers about it the next day, they immediately tried to convince me that I was wrong, and that I must have been talking about a more famous imambara in a nearby area. It was only after hard proof (a picture on my camera of the sign that said “Imambara Waqf Sibtainabad. Mubarak, Hazratganj, LKO” that they relented, claiming that my imprecise description of the location threw them off.

You may not be aware of this, but it is a fact. As a foreigner, I must accept that I know nothing, even when I know that I know.

A Time for Thanks

The world is far from perfect, but there’s still a lot to be grateful for. These past 9+ months in Lucknow have shed light on many of life’s dichotomies and injustices, and the irony of being grateful for what you have is the often accompanying sense of guilt and sadness for those who lack those exact things.

This year, I also feel the tension between appreciating what I have in Lucknow and acknowledging the things I took for granted back in the States. There is, of course, also a sense of gratitude for the basics of life (e.g., food, shelter, health, family, friends, etc.) that is much stronger this year.

Other things I am grateful for that stand out this year:

• Knowing that my friends and family love me, despite the physical distance and sometimes sporadic communications
  
• A worldview that I can shape my own future
  
• A family who valued education and teachers who taught me how to analyze and think for myself
  
• The freedom to choose, whether it be about my job, my marriage, or my dinner
  
• A sense of self-worth and identity as a female that is independent from my relationship to other members of society
  
• The kindness of strangers, whether it be trainmates or villagers
  
• Patience, friendliness, and hospitality demonstrated by so many I’ve encountered here in Lucknow
  
• Living in a place where I feel safe
  
• Platonic physical contact between males and females
  
• Modern real-time communication technologies such as Skype and Gchat

If I were back in the States, I would advocate a big kumbaya hugfest right about now. I think it’s about time teleportation were invented, if only so I could hunt down those who just squirmed at the thought of a hugfest.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Baby Steps

Summary: “Every journey begins with a single step.” In a recent visit to some of the newer DSH spoke schools, I saw uncomfortable and clumsy this first step can be. I also saw, once again, the potential that lies in the DSH program.

In the beginning of this academic year, DSH launched in eleven government schools as part of an evaluation study. These schools have come with their fair share of baggage and problems, though one of the biggest barriers to regular usage is lack of electricity.

One of the lead researchers from the University of Washington recently visited Lucknow to check in with the schools; I tagged along on six of these visits. Of those six schools, we were only able to observe the teacher take a DSH class in two of them; in one other the teacher taught on her own without the system, and the rest had one excuse or another.

These two visits were very interesting to me, because my previous field visits had been to schools that were more or less familiar with the equipment and concept of DSH. It was fascinating to see the teachers struggle with using the system, because it brings another sense of realness to the work.


Take, for example, Teacher A. Teacher A is a class three English teacher, but her command of the English language is poor at best. In a “pre-test” visit to the school (before DSH was installed), I had the pleasure of watching this teacher teach the poem, “Rain Rain Go Away.” She sat in her chair at the front of a classroom of children sitting on floormats and read the poem timidly, the children repeating line by line. Then, she called individual students to the front of the classroom to recite the poem; she nudged them along if they were stuck and sent them back to their seat if they were absolutely clueless. The entire class was very low energy and uninspiring.

This time around, she was teaching students the letters “P” and “Q.” Despite her efforts, she was clumsy in both her use of technology and style of mediation. Instead of pressing the “Pause” button on the remote, she pressed “Open/Close” which interestingly achieved the same goal. In her mediation, she let the DVD run through the entire letter P and halfway through Q before finally pausing the DVD, at which point she tried to recite the previous 5 minutes word for word.* As a result, she left out certain vocabulary words and forgot lines to the song.

I found such clumsiness very amusing and endearing; she is exactly the type of teacher DSH wants to work with. Although she lacks subject matter knowledge, she is open minded and has a positive attitude. In this one visit, I saw early signs of improvement. Her English is improving, and her students are more engaged.

Granted, she still has a long way to go, the point is, she’s going.


* For teachers unfamiliar with the DSH system and activity-based learning, we tell them to mimic the DVD teacher, verbatim, as the first step. Though this sounds simple, it has tremendous impact, especially for teachers teaching English. As they adjust to this new way of teaching, they can start expanding on the material in the DVD and even incorporating their own activities. In the beginning though, having DSH is like having a little birdie whisper specific lines and instructions into your ear.

Western Classical Music in Lucknow

Summary: Western classical music is a rare occurrence in Lucknow, and I had the pleasure of partaking in the festivities. There was, of course, an Indian flavor to the night (and it wasn't just the hors d'oeuvres of gobi and chicken tikka).

Last night, I had the honor of attending a Western classical (chamber) music performance by musicians from Europe, courtesy of my boss. Held in the Taj Hotel, this was a classy event attended by many famous faces in Lucknow. And me. (Look carefully.)

This is the first time any event like this has been held in Lucknow. The musicians played pieces by Schubert and Brahms, plus a medley encore. It was a stunning performance that transformed me to another place altogether – a place devoid of honking, temples, fireworks, and words. The music cut through all of the barriers in language and elicited in me feelings of serenity and utter calmness.

In spite of this, there were two things that made this a very Indian/Lucknow experience. The first is the back story behind the upright piano. Apparently the truck transporting the grand piano broke down, and they had no way of getting the piano to Lucknow. At the eleventh hour, a man offered up his brand new standing piano for use. Such is the story of misfortunes and accompanying generosity that pervade Indian society. Murphy’s Law is nowhere truer than in India; because this is so, there are usually people on standby that offer to help to alleviate the situation (whether solicited or not).

To me, the second uniquely Indian aspect was the unrelenting paparazzi. The first piece was over halfway through before the photographers with their loud, professional cameras took a break from their snapping. A viola player joined for the second piece, and he was much less tolerant than the others. His angry glaring and scowling did not deter the photographer one bit. In response to the musician’s physical “no more” finger wag, the photographer turned his attention and loud snapping to the audience. But even that was only a temporary distraction, as the photographer was snapping at the stage again in five minutes.

These quirks make even a “Western” experience in Lucknow interesting, and add a unique charm to the city.

A Jenma-Din [Birthday] Party

Summary: Reflections on a recent desi birthday party focus on (1) the formality of the setup, (2) the lack of pre-determined children’s games, and (3) the process of cutting and eating the cake.

My neighbor’s son recently celebrated his 10th (?) birthday, and I was invited to the celebrations. Instead of going out to Chuck E. Cheese (or the equivalent), they organized a catering service. This is because the equivalent of Chuck E. Cheese hardly exists in Lucknow. And apparently when catering service is ordered here in India, the restaurant actually sends guys (yes, usually males) to your location with raw ingredients, and the preparation and cooking is done on site.

Cooking in our driveway aside, the birthday party was a “big” event. Diwali lights were strung, fancy cloth-covered banquet chairs were brought in, and spotlights were kept outside. Women donned beautiful, sparkling saris and lots of makeup, while I entered make-up free and in my cotton FabIndia kurta.

There was a lot of mingling; the invited guests seemed to reflect the parents’ social circle just as much as it reflected the child’s. I quickly found myself connecting with the children, and was drawn into the kids’ self-organized activities. Instead of running around, jumping around in a bouncy house, or playing in a ball pit (none of which were available), these kids entertained themselves with a series of games, from “link the songs” to “telephone.” Even at a young age, there was a clear gender divide; teams were split by sex and clearly delineated by physical space.

I forget that things here happen in reverse order (relative to what I know). Instead of play, food, play, cake, the order that emerged was play, cake, food. It’s as if the food is the reward for sticking around, after which everyone is free to head his/her separate way.

I also particularly appreciate the cake cutting and eating process, something I first experienced in Tamil Nadu when one of my favorite kids picked up a slice of cake with his hand and fed me. On this day, the birthday boy engaged in a mutual cake-feeding process (not too unlike that which occurs at Western weddings) with various members of his family. To me, this tradition is simply another manifestation of the fundamental underlying sense of interconnectedness and the strength of familial bonds prevalent in Indian culture.

After the birthday boy completed this cake exchange ceremony, cake was shared with the rest of the partygoers on a communal plate. Individuals picked off a small slice from the plate with their fingers, and enjoyed it as such (without napkins). While I realize this tradition is unrelated to environmental concerns, let’s think about how many paper plates and plastic utensils are saved in this way (at 1+ billion birthdays in India per year)!

Some might call that an unintended consequence.

Nipped in the Bud

Summary: A new partnership between DSH and district-wide teacher training colleges presents an opportunity for DSH to improve the quality (and type) of training teachers get even before they enter the classroom for the first time.

Imagine a factory that manufactures teachers and places them in schools. At the government school level, these are called teacher training colleges, or DIETs (the District Institute of Education and Teaching).

Current DSH efforts focus on working with teachers who have already been placed (and theoretically trained). However, so long as the manufacturing facility remains unchanged, teachers will continue to be inadequately trained, and the need for interventions like DSH will remain. And many nonprofits would prefer to run themselves out of business, meaning solve the problem they set out to solve so that they become redundant.

Now, being adequately trained does not directly correlate with more training. Currently, teachers in the field are required to have at least 20 days of in service training per year, and trainings often occur while school is in session. These trainings are not only ineffective, but are also actually detrimental, taking teachers out of the classroom without providing a viable substitute.

To improve the quality of training these teachers get even before they first set foot into the classroom, DSH is intervening in pre-service trainings through a recent partnership with DIETs in twelve districts. Through this program, lecturers at these DIETs will use DSH videos to demonstrate effective teaching practices in an actual classroom setting. Furthermore, the teachers-to-be can use the lessons to improve their own subject matter knowledge (especially English).

This program presents a fundamentally different way of using DSH lessons. Instead of mediating the video, lecturers will lead a discussion analyzing the lesson from different pedagogical perspectives. In this way, both lecturers (many of whom have little or no actual teaching experience) and teachers-to-be will benefit.

I truly appreciate the versatility of our content and the noble goal of this initiative. However, my observations in the field have also told me that knowledge and ability of teachers is only half the battle; the rest lies in motivation, or lack thereof.

I am hopeful, if skeptical, about our current ability to influence the latter. Two observations from the DSH-led two-day training held for selected lecturers inform my opinion: (1) The first day, scheduled to begin at 10 am, did not commence until well past 11 am, and (2) The best-ranked session of the entire training was a singing energizing activity.