Ganesh Chaturthi

His name is Naveen.  He has a cousin who lives in California.  He supplies our vegetables.

He asks us what we call the vegetables in American English as we select our bounty.  He speaks three languages (Telegu, Hindi, and English) and uses the British terms for most vegetables – coriander for cilantro, aubergine for eggplant, lady fingers for okra (ok, that one might be a purely Indian English thing). He’s curious and nice and a joy to buy veggies from.

And he’s got some mad dance moves.

 

He invited us to celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi with him.  He had a blast playing this pinata-esque game made more difficult by colored water being thrown in the face of the batter while the drums kept time and the neighbors kept watch. 

The city has been reverberating with drums and vibrancy for the past ten days. Even from our 12-storied rooftop, the energy and noise from the festival is fantastic. And constant.  

Today, the remaining Ganesh statues will be submerged into the lake near our apartment.  Sitting on my bed in my apartment I can hear the processions already.

Tuesday is a new holiday. Isn't India grand?

Scenes from the Expat files

From time to time, there are moments that seem so much to define the stereotypical expat life* that it seems that I must share that these are, in fact, real.

Yeah, that happened:

•  Sitting in a semi-furnished apartment playing guitar and singing as a large group
• The Conference after-party which includes dancing to super-fantastically-cheesy pop/hip hop music combined with conversations about international relations, philosophy, and relationships – over the blaring music
• Making travel arrangements for free-time
• Crashing weddings  (ok, fine, everyone has been invited at least informally)
• Crashing festivals (ok, fine, being obviously out-of-place, but warmly welcomed observers/forced-participants of religious and national holiday festivities)
• “What are your future plans” discussions
• Finding the best coffee shop in town
• Finding the best “real” local hangout in your neighborhood (and it’s cheap!)
• Becoming enthusiastic about yoga
• “That one time I was in (fill-in-the-blank-with-an-endless-number-of-countries)” stories
• Always a celebration (7 birthdays, 4 holidays, and 4 weekends this month alone)
• A constant mix of insight, idealism, and a sense of independence

Also, going out at least once a week is apparently compulsory – 3 or 4 times per week seems to be the more acceptable expectation.  I, however, can’t hack it.  I should ask Hillary how she does it.  Obviously, she knows:

The music- and the story- and the celebration-sharing, the experience building, the cultural exploration – it’s about building a community, I think, in a place where our families and friends are faraway, where things get uncomfortable, where so much is new. 

It creates the space to grow and to vent and to learn and to cry, as it comes.  It builds relationships quickly and deeply, as this is essential.

It is compulsory.  It is necessary.  It is good.

Tonight was the best Yom Kippur break-fast I've ever helped host... ok, fine it was the only one I've ever helped host. But it was lovely that so many people came and shared food and friendship.

*I know this links to an expats in Hanoi reference, but there aren’t any good ones for India.  Seems like there would be a market for it though… “S#*! Expats in Hyderabad Say” – anyone?

A rose by another name

It is customarily advisable (in cliché) for people to stop and smell the roses when they pass by them.  In the same way, I always stop to watch the monkeys; they make me smile. 

I hear that in other parts of India the monkeys are more populous and an aggressive nuisance.  In Hyderabad, they are relatively rare though.  In fact, unless you are looking up in the trees that hide behind crumbling walls and small shops, you are likely to miss them.  Occasionally they will be on a sidewalk, but even then, they keep their distance from humans – so much so that when they notice me take out my camera (and they are perceptive!), they usually climb behind the nearby wall.  

So usually, I stop a few yards away and watch them for a minute or two before I continue on my path.  They are pleasant to watch.  And because they are not as common as the chickens, goats, dogs, cows, and buffalo, they are a sweet surprise on my walk to work from time to time.

 On my daily commute, these are the thoughts that have become routine:

• “Hey buffalo, you are coming toward me at an uncomfortably quick pace.” 
• “Aww, aren’t you such a cute little boo?” (Usually directed at a dog, but occasionally at a cat or a child.) 
• (In response to a man saying ‘good morning’ to me at 6 pm.) “Why, good evening, sir.” 
• “The garbage smells particularly rank today.”
• “OMG, I must resist the irresistible smell of fried peppers.”
• “Haha, the traffic police exist.  So much irony.” 
• “HEY! I’m walkin’ here!” (As I suppress the urge to pull a Dustin Hoffman and slam my palm across the hood of the vehicle that has inevitably cut me off.) 
• A particularly foul swear word.  You know, the first one you learn as an adolescent when you learn to speak a new language from a native speaker – I used to know this one in Greek. My Greek friend Ioanna says this one with some authority in English, too.  I stick to muttering it under my breath in English, every time a man climbs onto the sidewalk to relieve himself in front of God and women and children alike.   
• “Urgh, the pungent, distinctive smell of man-urine makes me want to vomit.”  
• “I wonder what that billboard is advertising.”   
• “No, strange sir I’ve never met, I would not like a lift on your motor bike.
•  “I hope I get home before it starts to rain.”
• “Buses are such bullies.” 
• “Man, I need a break from this city.” 
• “My feet are disgusting.”

All of these things I think in passing.  But when I see a monkey, I stop and I observe and I enjoy the moment before they see me and climb up the tree and over the wall.  Monkeys are my roses.

Images from the commute:

Where all the cows come from.

Sweet little boo

"Just one picture, please madame"

Billboard for stylin' cricket sandals?

I didn't get home before it rained.

Chicken and solar panels