It was clear that culturally I was a bit
out of my own element. This was something that I had willingly chosen and in my
best effort to adapt I did so respectfully and without much fuss. At the same
time, I couldn't help but find humor in so many of the situations where myself
and the other American girls found ourselves culturally torn. Everyday there
was something new to laugh about!
To begin with, had I known what
"appropriate dress" meant in southern India I could have spared
myself half the time spent packing and all the energy I exerted lugging my
suitcase through three different airports. Nearly all of my clothes, considered
classy and respectful by Western standards, were labeled provocative and
inappropriate by Kerala standards. A dear friend of mine told me that dress is
a language and that what we wear expresses the type of attention we hope to
attract. It seemed my wardrobe was sending invitations to men to make advances
towards me. And so rather quickly and with a bit of hesitation at having to let
go of what I felt was a small part of my identity, I tucked my clothes under
the bed and went shopping!
It took some time for me to realize that
even though it initially appeared that women were more or less wearing the same
thing, I came to understand that this sea of vibrant colors was in fact unique.
Despite having to wear one layer too many under a scorching tropical sun and
sweating profusely for most of the day, I eventually came to appreciate and
admire how elegantly and beautifully the women were dressed. I liked the fact
that what lay beneath a woman's sari or kameez was left to the imagination and
that each color and pattern was thoughtfully chosen to represent who they are.
Secondly, regardless of what your eating
habits are, I refuse to believe that any amount of preparation can prepare you
for the mounds of thick-grained rice that you are expected to devour at each
meal. During the first week, myself and the other girls obediently and
respectfully ate every last rice grain on our plates. Without exaggeration each
person received a serving of rice fit for a family of four. Our stomachs were
stretched to the max and by the time lunch came around the rice consumed in the
morning hadn't made any attempt to move on. We were left wondering where would
all the rice go? By the end of the month, the outcome of consuming this much
rice would either leave us overweight, with diabetes or feeling incredibly
backed up and sent off to travel home on a plane for nearly twenty four hours.
This was not to say that the food wasn't
delicious. There were so many new flavors and textures to try and I did so
happily. I especially enjoyed the abundance of fresh fruit! But even though
this type of rice was considered a staple in Kerala, by the second week we had
to make it known that although we enjoyed the rice, it needed to be done in
smaller quantities, so as not to be wasteful (or require hospitalization).
Ironically, one of the main concerns for travelers to India is avoiding getting
sick and having diarrhea. Yet due to the diet in Kerala we were faced with just
the opposite. Who knew we'd be desperate to go to the bathroom in India.
The third challenge was mastering the art
of eating with my right hand only. I was surprised to find no utensils or
napkins on the dinner table. It was just me, my plate and my cup of boiling hot
water. At first, I thought it best to grab food with my fingertips and throw my
head back as I simultaneously attempted to get the food in my mouth. This poor
technique only left a mess on the floor and most of my food nestled in my
scarf. Through observation, I learned that the trick is to pack the rice using
curry and create a sort of rice ball. Then while leaning forward use the
strength in your fingertips to scoop the food and toss it in your mouth. I was
impressed to see Keralites maneuver their food with such ease, but at the same
time as someone who habitually speaks with exaggerated hand movements, I never
knew what to do with my curry hand. Needless to say, my utensils and I shared a
loving embrace once I returned to the States.
Lastly, what I found to be the most
challenging of all was my experience on an Indian bus. A true test of my
patience! For a society that shies away from most public displays of affection,
it seems that as soon as you step onto a bus all rules go out the window.
Several times a day I found myself packed tightly between people, my body
contorted into positions I didn't know were even possible on a vehicle where
all you can do is sit or stand. People managed to create space even where there
was none. If ever you thought a bus was full, think again! Indians have an
impressive ability to utilize space, a result of living amongst so many people.
The bus environment was a mad rush of people, everyone fighting for a spot. And
without a steady breeze it would become unbearably hot and smelly. There were
times I became desperate for air. It didn't even have to be clean air,
something hard to come by in Indian cities, just circulating air.
Each morning the four of us would arrive at
the bus stop, mentally prepared for what would be required of us to find a seat
on the right bus to take us twenty minutes into the city. We stepped into the
crowd, frantically asking numerous people if this bus was going to our stop and
trying to interpret a head bob that could mean a number of things! I needed a
quick response before the bus pulled away, and yet each time I became
dumbfounded, not knowing whether the head bob meant yes or no. Utter confusion!
And worse yet, all of my polite words were lost on people. There was simply too
much commotion to even bother.
In the end, whether it was clothing, food
or bus chaos, I managed to survive. All of these experiences were character building, teaching me new ways to adapt. I left India with beautiful clothes
bought at great prices, a heavy but happy stomach and not a care in the world
if someone preferred to sit on my lap on a San Francisco bus.
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