So much stuff

The first time I came back from India, I carried a 100 pound suitcase with me full of things I had bought here - clothes and bedsheets and fabrics and spices and jewelry and paintings and gifts galore... I know it was 100 pounds because Southwest wouldn't check the bag through on my last leg of the trip, and I spent a good 30 minutes in the Baltimore airport unpacking the bag and putting stuff into trash bags to check through to Providence. 100 pounds of stuff. Yes, I gave a lot of it away. Yes, I used almost all of it, and am now using all the clothes again. But 100 pounds is a lot of stuff. An unjustifiable amount of stuff.

Most of it, at the moment, is sitting in nice, white, labeled boxes in my parents' house in Natick, MA. Along with God-knows how many other pounds of stuff from other places, accumulated over my lifetime. Clothes and books and movies and decorations and jewelry and hairbrushes and mirrors and clocks and watches and bags and shoes and knick-knacks and stuffed animals and gifts and toys and candles and winter jackets and umbrellas and go-go boots and make-up and games and folding chairs and small stools and cords to electronics i don't own anymore and electronics i have never used and batteries and utensils and cushions and stuff.

At times the thought of all these white boxes makes me feel sick.

Our housekeeper, Tamilarasi, gets paid rs. 2000 a month, which is a good salary for a housekeeper in Madurai (especially since we don't have her working full-time.) Rs. 2000 is less than $50. I drop rs. 100 without a second thought - on pretty bangles for my sister, on a large frozen coffee ("Coffee Nirvana") at the hip Western-style coffee-joint Coffeeday, on my favorite Autodriver taking me downtown and waiting while I do errands because it is so much more convenient than taking the bus. Tamilarasi can't do that. Tamilarasi needed a rs. 300 loan last week so that she could make it to the end of the month, feeding her two boys. Of course I gave it to her, would have given her more, would have told her to not worry about paying me back because I make more than that an hour working at a toy store in Amherst, would have told her all of this if it was culturally acceptable, if I knew it wouldn't cause problems later, if I had any inkling, even now, even after all the time I have spent here, of how to bridge that gap, of how to come to terms with what I am and what I am not and what I have and what other people will never have. But instead I told her to pay me back next week when she had to money, and not to worry.

I understand that there are vast wealth discrepancies in this world, in just the USA, in just Massachusetts, in just Amherst or Natick. And I know that in the grand scheme of things, I am incredibly, incredibly privledged. And that is who I am and that will not change. Even if I lost all of my money, lost my credit card, lost my passport, lost all contact with anyone in the USA, I would be worlds better off than many people I meet here because of the education I have had, because of my ability to deal with such a situation. I know that. I think I have come to terms with that, though it grates on me, silently, slowly...

But then I think of those white boxes and feel sick. I am living perfectly well over here without those boxes. I obviously do not need them, I obvioulsy can survive without them. I don't need more jewelry, or more skirts, or more sarees. And yet when I think of throwing out the stuff in those boxes, or even giving it away, I hesitate. I fear it - I fear letting go of the material things that carry immaterial meanings to me. I fear throwing away the cardboard star that Erin gave me for x-mas sophomore year that has lots of silly quotes on it, for fear that if it is gone, I will not remember. I fear giving away my giant wall-hanging, embroidered with colorful thread, for fear of a blank wall and possibly an unsatisfied heart. I fear getting rid of that patchwork skirt, for fear that someday later I will want it and it will be gone.

I wish I could get over my need to own, my need to possess, my desire to perpetually accumulate new things. I am trying my hardest, trying not to buy things anymore, other than my weekly food and my cell-phone recharge card. (But how many people can't buy that?) But still...

Lauren and I just got back from Ganesh's house. Ganesh is our favorite Autorickshaw driver. He and his wife and their two children live in a one-room house on the second floor of a grungy old building in a neighborhood of similar buildings. They bought us cold drinks, and then Ganesh took us out for lunch. To an AC restaurant. To celebrate his birthday. And refused to let us pay, or to give him anything.

He has nothing to give, and still gives us lots. And I have much to give, and don't give nearly enough.

But I know it is all much more complicated than that.

Second Tour

So a week ago we returned from the second of the semesters' two tours - this one to Bangalore, Hampi, Hyderabad, and Chennai. A much-needed break, an opportunity to spend some quality time with the students, and a chance to see some really amazing new places.

Dr. Arun and Harmar contemplate the setting sun on the top of the Golconda fort in Hyderabad

Students gaze up at one the mausoleums at the Qutub Shahi Tombs in Hyderabad

Ramesh and Krishna, the young boys dressed up as Hanuman (the monkey-faced God) who took Lauren, Trudy, and I on a full-morning tour of their favorite places in Hampi. Ramesh spoke excellent English - he has never gone to school but has learned it all from foreigners who have come to Hampi.

Gazing out over the boulder-strewn landscape of Hampi

Finally...updated pictures!

These are just some photos that correspond to earlier blogs...

Above and Below: The Meenakshi Temple lit up for Navratiri

Above: A better picture of an MGR film - notice the hands clasped in prayer, the fire burning above the worshippers' heads, and the thousands of tiny pieces of paper confetti floating through the theater. Imagine it is accompanied by shouts and squeals and chants...

1008 Names

So it is Navratiri again. The nine nights of the Goddess. And oh how I love it. Each day I have taken a small number of students to my amma's temple to sit on the floor with the other women as they chant the 1008 names of the Goddess. For some it is boring, for some it is hard to sit still on the hard floor in a sari in a crammed-full temple, but for me it is soothing beyond belief. Rhythm. A name. A sigh. Another name...Peace.

I would by no means characterize all Navratiri events as soothing and peaceful, however. I took Lauren to the Meenakshi Temple on Saturday night, as she was never here in the fall before and thus has never seen the Meenakshi Temple lit up like Las Vegas. It was, like 2 years ago, awesome. Each gopuram (the high parts of the temple that stick up into the air vastly higher than any other building in Madurai) was lit up with Christmas-light-like lights. And then the East Gopuram, the main one, had all these intrictate moving light displays - of Murugen, and Meenakshi, and a Shiva linga. Of movie theater curtains opening to reveal dancing Gods behind them. Of elephants playing ball and rabbits playing drums. Blinking, pulsing, flashing.

The temple was packed. It took a good half hour just to push our way in admist the crowd of temple-goers and the police trying in vain to retain order. (And trying to occasionally grope women in the packed crowd, apparently. One certainly had sore shins Sunday morning after a misplaced hand found itself on my chest.)

And of course, my favorite part of Navratiri (or of any holiday for that matter, no matter about the culture or religion or anything) is the dancing. The Jain community in Madurai gets together every night during the nine nights to dance traditional Gujarati folk dances - and it is beyond fun. Lauren and I accompanied Ambika and her family one night, and danced all the way til 1 am (a late night by Madurai standards!) And the weekend before, I attended a benefit arranged by a women's organization in Madurai called "Dandiya Night" which was really just an expensive night of Gujarati folk dances. But it, too, was a blast - I attened with 6 of the students, some of whom were as willing as me to jump right in and join, regardless of whether we knew the steps. And at the end of that night, the DJ (see, I said "expensive") decided to have a "free for all" rather than continuing with the folk dancing. He began playing Hindi and Tamil pop, interspersed with bad old American pop (Aqua's "Barbie Girl" definately made an appearance.) Enter Indian club scene. This may happen in Bombay, or Delhi, or Bangalore. But this does not happen in Madurai. So we danced and danced and danced. Mary and I did the macarena to Tamil pop songs, much to some spectators' amusement. Audrey won an award for being the "Most Ethnically Dressed Foreigner" (she wore her one of her host sister's traditional Gujarati mirrored and embroidered dresses), and Justin won an award for being the "Tallest Man." (He's tall.)

At the end of the day, when all is said and done, there are few things in this world that make me as happy as dancing. Any kind of dancing.

And this week was full of it. Full of dancing. Full of chanting and singing and visiting friends and eating sweets, full of lights and colors and sounds. Full of the Goddess, and her 1008 names. Full of life, I guess. Even more so than usual.

Back from Kerala

So I'm back from our week-long tour through the neighboring state of Kerala (actually, I've been back for about a week but have been too insanely busy to write!) Kerala's slogan is "God's own country," and everytime I go, I understand why. Beautiful.

Highlights include stumbling across a wild elephant at a watering hole on a trek through a tiger reserve, watching students try to climb coconut trees, being offered a teaching job at a convent school in Tekkedy, sharing a couple longed-for beers with the students, and chilling out with Kashmiri vendors who remembered me from when I was a student two years ago! All in all, a fantastic time.

SITA students Mark, Ambika, Cori, Lizzie, and Brendan smile for the camera during a day trek through Periyar Tiger Reserve. That dot in the background is a wild elephant. (It was cooler in person.)

Move Over Arnold...

So a couple weeks ago a new Madurai event was brought to my attention - it involves a movie star from the 1970s, 1980s Tamil Nadu politics, and present-day hero worship at an unfathomable level. I went to my first MGR film.

MGR was a ridiculously popular Tamil movie star in the 1960s and 1970s. Even 18 years after his death in 1987, his movies still top the charts as the most popular and successful Tamil movies ever made. He ran for political office under his own party of the ADMK in the 1977, and was Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu until his death in1987. He was insanely popular - my Tamil tutor recalls how whenever he visited Madurai, no one would do work all day, as they would be waiting on the streets for the slight chance that MGR would drive by and wave to them.

He died 18 years ago, but his legacy is far from dead. The current Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, Jayalalitha, is also a former actress. She acted opposite MGR in many of his later films. Vijay Khan, a contemporary Tamil actor, just launched his own political party two weeks ago - there were parades, flags galore, banners, decorated rickshaws, lots of hooting and hollering. Because I have become so interested in MGR, I have asked a number of people about Vijay Khan's bid for entry into politics. Without fail, this is how the conversation goes:

"So lots of Tamil actors later get into politics, yeah?"
"No, only MGR. And now Vijay Khan is trying, but he won't succeed."
"What about Jayalalitha? [I mean, she is your CHIEF MINISTER]"
"Oh she isn't in office because of her, she's in office cause MGR handpicked her as his successor when he chose her to act opposite to him. She's in office cause people love MGR."

Well then. 18 years after death, he still controls Tamil politics. Need more evidence? MGR is famous for his "MGR cap" - a white ridiculous looking hat that he wore with sunglasses. Yesterday I saw a poster of Vijay Khan, wearing sunglasses and an MGR cap. Fascinating.

There is also this whole socioeconomic aspect of MGR worship - he is called the "poor man's hero," and his fan base is predominately lowerclass and lower caste, so I am told. But my Tamil teacher is a very well educated upperclass Tamil woman, and she adores MGR. (We had to stop on the way to buy flowers to put in our hair to honor MGR.) And one of the guys up there in the front, dancing away - he's a Brahmin priest.

You may think that this happens lots, that politicians leave legacies behind them...but can you think of other politicians who are worshipped - as God? By choice? How about actors? How about actors-turned-politicians?Let me clarify.

Every Sunday night, a different movie theater in Madurai shows an MGR film. This was unbeknownst to me until a couple weeks ago. The location rotates, but you can usually ask people at the other theaters, and they will point you in the right direction. The one I attended 2 Sundays ago was a 1965 black and white film with MGR starring opposite to 60s starlet Saroja Devi. A small group of us attended, including my Tamil tutor, who herself is a HUGE MGR fan. We sat in the back row so that we could watch what happened. And I don't mean watch the movie. I mean watch the fans.

It was a 2 1/2 film. The theater erupted in cheers EVERY TIME MGR came on the screen, or every time another character talked about MGR. EVERY TIME. They stood on the armrests of the chairs and danced. They threw bags and bags of chopped up confetti into the air until we were all covered with it. They chanted - during the film, during intermission outside, after the film was over and people were starting to wander out onto the streets to catch buses home - they chanted (in Tamil of course):

"Who is the best Tamil actor?"
"MGR"
"Who is the only Tamil actor?"
"MGR"
"Who is our God?"
"MGR"
"Who is our God?"
"MGR"

And - my favorite - they lit camphor lamps and circled MGR's face on the screen with the flame. This is how you worship deities in Hinduism. Also, just like you put flower garlands around deities in temples, before the film started and we were waiting outside a huge cheer erupted from the crowd - the giant poster of MGR hanging outside the theater was being garlanded. Likewise, just like at Hindu temples you place your hands over a power source (the flame, the foot of the God, etc.) and then bring your hands to your eyes in a quick motion, and then repeat - just like that, fans stood on the backs of chairs and screamed and possibly even cried and put their hands up towards MGR's face on the movie screen, and then brough their hands quickly to their eyes. Again and again and again...

Worship. At the most basic, most human level. And not of some statue or symbol or idea. Of a man, a man who died around the time that most of these young men were probably born.

Why?

I don't know. All I know is that dear old Arnold out there in California has a long way to go. That and, of course, that I can't wait til this Sunday rolls around.


Fans stand and hold up camphor flames in the movie theater during an MGR film. The white color above the flame on the right is falling white paper confetti. Pictures can not do it justice - but it's a start!