Catch Up

It’s been a damn long time since my last entry, and a lot has happened. For one, my class schedule is essentially finalized, which means I am taking:

Kuchipudi Dance
Indian Philosophy
Yoga Theory and Practice
Anthropology of Religion
Indian Society

In addition to my academic classes, I’ve also enrolled in a 3 month Yoga Certification course, held Monday-Saturday from 6am-7am. Assuming I go every day and pass the 3 tests in October, I will be a certified yoga instructor when I get back to the states. So between two yoga classes, a dance class, and riding my bike everywhere around this huge campus every day, I better have the thighs and ass of a goddess at the end of this semester. I’ll be pissed if I don’t.

As far as life in the hostel goes, I am more than comfortable adjusted. Comparative to the rest of India, I have it VERY easy. I’m pampered here, really. Breakfast food in the morning AND English-style toilets?? This is practically heaven on Earth.

And speaking of food…the adjustment has been relatively painless. I will tell you that solid shits were a rare commodity here in the Tagore International House for awhile, but all is now well. South Indian food can be very tasty, it just takes some getting used to. A lot of lentils and potatoes, tons of rice. The only thing I’ve come across so far that I really HATED were Idlis and Wadas.

I tried to insert a picture, but blogger sucks. Go type them into Google images.

Deceptive-looking, I know. From the picture they look delicious. Some people like them, but to me they are tasteless, strange textured little bean cakes that should be abolished from the entirety of India. The sauce doesn’t really make it any better.

I’ve had a couple of really good dining-out experiences. The Chinese and Thai food here is amazing, of course. If I ever get tired of Indian I default to those. It used to be that when I was hungry, I was still craving things like grilled chicken sandwiches and waffle fries. Now when I’m riding home from class I think, “Oh man, I hope they have those cauliflower and noodles again today”. I gotta tell you, it’s really nice to be mostly adjusted to the food. It can also have it’s downfalls, though.

There is a Hard Rock Café here. The Hyderabad Hard Rock, if you will. I had the pleasure of dining there on Saturday night for my friend’s birthday, my first Hard Rock experience ever. I was really hoping for a salad; it’s been such a long time since I’ve had lettuce. But you still have to take your precautions:

“Excuse me, sir? Do you know if the kitchen washes the lettuce in tap water?” I say this very slowly, because while English is widely spoken in India, the accents are completely different and hard for both parties to understand. Sometimes I wonder if slowing down my speech actually helps them, or if it just makes them think I’m mentally challenged.

“Why yes madame, they do. They always wash!” And the waiter says this very proudly, like it’s a good thing, something comforting every white customer wants to hear.

“Ok…thank you.”

I ended up ordering a chicken burger with avocado and salsa. I’m sure the waiter told the bus boy to take it to the retarded girl in the gray top. (Consequently, that was the most meat I’d eaten collectively within the past two weeks, so afterwards I felt disgusting.) We all waited for our food while watching the waiters dance on the counter to the Village People. We sang along, too, but mostly out of a feeling of obligation. Every time it got to the chorus, the DJ would drop out the music so the crowd could sing

“Y-M-C-A!”

But the Indian crowd of the night just was not having it, so when the music dropped, all you could hear was a lone table of 15 whiteys singing along to a very homosexual rock song that, for some reason, maintains popularity even in the Eastern Hemisphere.

And SPEAKING of homosexuality…well, there isn’t any in India. No gays here, nope. Don’t exist. But if you want to find some Hijra, you’ve come to the right place.

I finally figured out their loophole. I kept wondering where the hell the gay community was in India, how they communicated, etc. A Hijra is not a gay man. It is a “third sex” (usually born physiologically male or sexually ambiguous), or a man who has renounced his lifestlye as a man. Hijras undergo a ceremony of emasculation (total removal of penis, testicles, etc) and live out the rest of their days as females. But, as I’m sure you can imagine, they are not especially popular here. Job opportunities for them are scarce, and most make their money by begging.

And there is a lot of begging here in India. It really breaks your heart. Especially when it’s children. And they’re never aggressive, they just smile up at you and tug on your shirt, or lightly touch your arm, saying “Madame, please, Madame”. The best thing you can remember in those situations is that a lot of beggars belong to rings. A lot of them don’t end up with the money you give them, it all goes to someone else at the end of the day. If you really want to help the poor in India, a charity is honestly the best way.

The class divisions between rich and poor are just as bad as you’ve heard. There are people living in tarp huts cooking their food with fire on the side of the road, while limousines with private drivers go by, taking men and women dressed in expensive American clothes to clubs and pubs in the richer parts of the city. Banjara Hills, the High-Tech area, these are all places that are very popular at nights and on weekends. I went to a bar for a Ladies’ Night the first Thursday I was here, and it was pretty interesting. The drinks are all very American. None of the people would be caught dead wearing Indian clothing. From 8pm-10pm all that plays is old music from the 90’s and early 2000’s, and they sing along religiously, knowing every word and some looking over at us, like they’re saying, “Yeah, we can do it, too.” Then when the dance floor opens, you’ll hear things you heard right before you left, except in super-trendy techno remix form… When it comes to American culture, India seems like it’s about 10 years behind. It’s almost there, but not quite… Most people with T-shirts in English have the ones that say things like,

“Sexy Girl”

“My Girlfriend is Out of Town, That Means It’s Not Cheating”

Or my favorite so far:

“Teamwork is Best! Together We Can Do It!”

That last one was actually quite endearing. I wanted it.

Also in Banjara Hills is the nicest movie theater I’ve ever had the pleasure to sit in. Movie theaters in India are much nicer than ours. The seats are more comfortable, and in all of them you can order food and have it sent to your seat. I recently had the pleasure of seeing Inception with Mysore Suresh (awesome movie, by the way) and he reserved a few backs seats for our party. I basically watched a movie in a Laz-E-Boy recliner. It. Was. AWESOME. I wish that American movie theaters had that option.

I’ve yet to see an Indian movie or a Hindi play here, but I’m jumping on it the first chance I get. I DID go to see “Waiting for Godot”, though, as weird as that it. It was being presented as part of a High School film festival that’s apparently pretty popular every year. The production wasn’t very good…but it was still interesting to see a South Asian interpretation of Western Theatre. I could barely understand the actors, however. This wasn’t just because of their Indian accents; they thought it necessary to try and attempt French accents, as well. Needless to say, it was almost unintelligible. The style was very Vaudeville-esque and overplayed, but I suppose I’ll accept that as an actual directorial choice, no matter how much I disagreed with it. And then again, I have to remember, these are young kids and non-professional adults. I’ll let you know once I see something professional.

As for the people I live with, they’re all pretty awesome. Everyone here is so laid-back and always up for an adventure. Intelligent, very into spirituality. An average conversation with the girl down the hall will end with,

“Ok, I’m going to go chant. I’ll see you at dinner!”

And that’s that. And it’s totally normal. No one questions it.

There is so much I’ve been learning from the people here. Not to mention my classes themselves. We learn nothing about Eastern Literature in school growing up, but we should. The Vedas, the Bhagavad Gita, all are things that Indian culture is based off of. It’s my goal to read as much as I can before I get back, and then keep reading even when I’m there.