Photos, Part 2

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, [wherever you are,] you need one. --Jane Howard

My two sets of parents meet...Amma, Mom, Dad, and Appa

My whole family (families.)

Mom and Carolyn try some tender coconuts...ah, South India.

Photos, Part 1

The night lured me on, and I decided to take another walk along the great avenue that ran beside the docks. It was a zone of calm. In the sky the stars burned silently. I sat at the foot of a huge tree, a statue of the night, and tried to make an inventory of all I had seen, heard, smelled, and felt: dizziness, horror, stupor, astonishment, joy, enthusiasm, nausea, inescapable attraction. What had attracted me? It was difficult to say: Humankind cannot bear much reality. Yes, the excess of reality had become an unreality, but that unreality had turned suddenly into a balcony from which I peered into -- what? Into that which is beyond and still has no name... " -Octavio Paz, Visions of India

Hana and I on our bike ride through the craggy hills around Pushkar - one of the most charming places on Earth.

Devotees of the Sufi saint Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti gather for worship at His Dargah in Ajmer, Rajasthan

Brendan, Mary, me, and Dave after waking up in the Thar Desert during our camel safari. I suddenly understand why there are so many legends about genies and sorceresses and magical beings that come from desert lands - there is something truly mystical about it.

A cow saunters by some traditional Rajasthani fabrics in Jaisalmer.

A young woman and her son look out over the Great Thar Desert towards Pakistan.

Dusk - my favorite time of day in India - at the Jaisalmer fort.

Identity. What the hell is that?

So I'm back in Madurai now, after 6 weeks of traveling all over the subcontinent, with a whole lot of very different travel companions! My trips, all in all, were amazing - covering extraordinary deserts and breathtaking mountains, adorable little seaside villages and huge international cities. And where do I even begin to summarize that for you? Maybe I'll just wait til I upload some photos in the next few days, and let the pictures speak for themselves.

For now, though, the new students have arrived and I've resumed my normal ("normal?") life in Madurai.

I've been thinking a lot about identity lately - and how my actions change, my expectations change, as my identity changes. From teacher/resident to traveler, from long-term occupant to one just floating through. And then about ethnic identity, and cultural identity, and what the hell do those words actually mean???? Traveling in North India is a great way to learn about South India - just as traveling abroad is a great way to learn about the USA. And I thought that the perceptions of South India were very interesting, in say, Rajasthan or Sikkim or Uttar Pradesh, or any number of states in North India. Without fail, this was a very standard conversation with shopkeepers, hotel staff, people I met on the street...

random person: [something assuming I know nothing about India]
me: Actually, I'm living in Tamil Nadu right now.
random person: Really? What are you doing?
me: I'm a teacher [It is just easier to say this than to explain a job I can't even explain to myself.]
random person: Oh! How long are you there?
me: This time, one year.
random person: You must know Hindi.
me: [thinking, "no you idiot, absolutely no one knows Hindi in Tamil Nadu."] No, they don't speak Hindi in the South.
random person: Oh. right. [dismissive sigh.] They speak Tamil.

or

random person: [something assuming I know nothing about India]
me: Actually, I'm living in Tamil Nadu right now.
random person: Really? What are you doing?
me: I'm a teacher [It is just easier to say this than to explain a job I can't even explain to myself.]
random person: Oh! How long are you there?
me: This time, one year.
random person: Do you like it?
me: Oh yes very much.
random person: Hmmmm. Very dark. The people, they are very dark.

And then I think about how these comments have parallels in South India - how when I talk about certain parts of North India my host mom just says "oh, lots of Muslims." Or how people routinely tell me that I look like a Punjabi girl. I don't. I'm the whitest white girl ever. And at first I thought that people were paying me a compliment - saying I looked Indian in some way. But as I get to know people, and know the nuances of how they speak, know how to read between the lines, I don't think that is a silly little compliment. I think they often mean it. I think that, to them, I am the image of a Punjabi girl. That to them, Punjabi girls are so much lighter skinned than Tamils that they look like me.

And I've been thinking about how much identity here is tied to ethnicity - how the Southern states are Dravidian in heritage, and how much that separates them from Northern states. How you are Tamil first, and then you are Indian. Not the other way around. And for me, my identity has never been very tied to my ethnicity - hell, I can't even tell you what I "am," ethnically. Welsh, English, Scottish, German, Irish...American? And how, in some ways, the American identity is much more fluid than national identities in other parts of the world. Maybe. How if a Tamil girl moved to the USA, and lived there for many many years, she could - if she wanted to - claim to be American. But would she? I don't think she would. Her children, however - I do think that they would. They could be completely ethnically Tamil, but they would be American in their actions, in their speech, in their self-identity, which is what I find the most interesting.

I can never be Tamil. I can never be Indian. No matter how long I live here, no matter how perfect my spoken Tamil becomes, no matter how comfortable I become in this environment, I will never belong here. And take it a step further. If I married a Tamil man, and we had children. And they grew up here, speaking Tamil from day one. Would they be Tamil? I've thought about this long and hard (a hypothetical situation, I promise!) and I don't think that they would. They might identify as Tamil, but I don't think that they would ever belong.

Rereading this, it sounds like I am coming dangerously close to exalting the USA and putting down India - which if you know me at all is not very likely to happen. I think in a lot of ways it would be much much much harder for an Indian girl to come to the USA than for an American girl like me to come to India. But just speaking identity-wise - I guess I just have never been so forced to tie who I am to where I am from. To not only my skin color but also my language, my ancestors, and to their ancestors. When you are a white girl of Brisith decent in a country like India, when you stop to think about it, that is a whole lot of years of oppression and weight that you have the responsibility of answering for, even if no one ever questions you about it.

I don't have answers, I guess I don't really even have questions. Just random thoughts, observations, gut feelings.

And one more thing - lots of the tourist places in North India have admittance fees. Usually there is a fee for Indian nationals and a fee for foreigners. There is often a HUGE discrepancy between these fees. Humayun's Tomb in Delhi is 30 rs. for Indian nationals and 250 rs. for foreigners. The Taj Mahal - the queen of tourist attractions in the world - is 50 rs. for Indian nationals and 750 rs. for foreigners.

I'm not trying to say that I am an Indian. Not trying to make a ridiculous claim to that at all. But I find the division interesting. They don't check passports - it is not a division of national boundaries, which is a division I find ridiculous in its own right...it is a division of ethnicity. Let me create a hypothetical situation: Let's say a girl of Indian heritage was born in the USA. She was adopted by two Irish-American parents, who name her Jenny (or Mary or Sarah or Elizabeth.) She has grown up in a suburb of Chicago, or LA, or Boston, or New York. She likes macaroni and cheese and hamburgers and is a baseball fan and went to a State University. She has never been out of the USA. When she is in her early 20s, she takes a trip to India with some friends from college. They are all white.

Now let's say that a Dutch couple is working in India - let's say South India - and they give birth to a baby girl. They allow their landlady to name the child, and she chooses to name the child Lakshmi, after the Hindu goddess of wealth. Lakshmi grows up in South India - she wears the little school girl uniforms and her dad - Hans or Johann or whoever - drops her off at school each day on the back of his Enfield motorcycle. She speaks fluent Tamil, is bilingual from early childhood. She goes to university in her city in South India. She gets a job working as a computer analyst for an local bank. In her early 20s, she takes a trip to North India with some friends from college. They are all ethnically South Indian.

I am willing to bet big money (and no, I can't actually bet, since it is a hypothetical situation, but know that I am very good at picking my bets, I routinely win rupees from Trudy) that when Jenny (or Mary or Sarah or Liz) approaches the ticket counter at the Taj Mahal, fashionably clad in low-rise jeans and a fitted GAP tank top, she will be asked for 50 rs. And I am very sure that when Lakshmi approaches, with her blond hair and blue eyes, wearing her favorite salwar kameez, she will be asked for 750 rs.

I'm not complaining (though I fear it may sound like I am.) I just think that this is fascinating. That the idea of who you are can be decided before you are born, just by looking at who your parents are.

Fascinating.