Heading (or Leaving?) Home!

     Today is the first day back in the good ol' USA and I am feeling a bit strange, but otherwise just plain old tired, from the jet lag that is. After about seventeen hours on three different airplanes, and another 8 hours in a combination of buses and a ferry, not to mention the handful of hours spent in layover time, I stumbled home at around 9 o'clock last night, and felt right asleep after a nice big bowl of pasta and my mom's homemade tomato sauce. 

      After going to the eye doctor this morning I noticed a lot of differences in my feelings and experiences. There are a ton less people on the streets of Staten Island, mostly because there are so many less people period on Staten Island. There is a ton of space in-between houses, and in general. The streets are much wider than in Pune, and there is a lot more greenery everywhere. While Pune has its spots of greenery, almost everywhere you turn there is greenery on "the Island" as many locals affectionately call it. And, the air is a lot cleaner, as are the streets. I realised I missed my hometown  a bit, or at least the scenery. While Pune, and India were marvellously wonderful experiences in and of themselves, I think one of the biggest take aways I feel right now is the perspective shift I gained. I felt it today, and I even felt it last night.

     Last night on the ferry there was an elderly disabled woman singing to Jesus on the ferry, and when I heard I sang a bar of a common song, and smiled as she sang the rest (I had forgotten the words), and I listened as she sang and sang different things the whole ride. Most everyone else around me either ignored the singing, was completely oblivious to it, made fun of it, or was visibly annoyed by it. All of these reactions hurt me. If I was in India, someone singing to God would be celebrated, but in NYC, it is perceived as "mental illness." Little things, little things like this, give me some pain and make me miss being in India. I rather have less than squeaky clean toilets, no AC, and deal with auto-rickshaw drivers, than be surrounded by people who are hating on a woman of God. 

A Pune Village: Mulchi

     Samuel Parker, a fellow Alliance student in Pune this semester, and I have decided to join together in the documentary film process we embarked on, to create one documentary film together. We have decided to do a film in tribute of the 17 people who lost their lives in the Februaury 2010 in Pune because of the bomb blast at the German Bakery.

     One of the people we were able to contact to help be a part of the film was a frequenter of the bakery before the attack, and was out in Korageon Park, the neighbourhood in which the German Bakery is located, the day of the attack. The said person had lost a friend in the attack and after giving a brief interview for the documentary film, the person invited Samuel and I out for a trip to an NGO founded in the name of the friend lost in the attack.

    Samuel and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into when we said yes to the invitation. For uncertain yet ultimately unimportant reasons, Samuel found ourselves at a Shiv Sena rally/political protest/ swim in Mulchi, a village outside of Pune, one morning, and stayed there well into the afternoon. After watching as a man swam about ten miles from one side of the hills to another, we learned that the town of Mulchi is still suffering from an almost one hundred year old dam, originally planned and built by the British, which raised water levels, flooding housing, and currently forcing some residents to travel almost an hour just to get to the hospital, or to get to the road to Pune city. We also filmed the events, and were told our film was aided on television.

    My heart goes out to the struggles people in Mulchi have faced for generations. They claim the government has yet to act on a promise to build the bridge that the residents have demanded, from one side of the river the dam made to the other side, potentially saving lives. I hope that the bridge gets built, but it is a 5 million rupee project, so I can only hope.

(Not so Hindi) Mindi

     Whew! These last few days have been packed with travel, events, and work! New people, new experiences, new insights, and new situations. During the working week, my Alliance program peer and I have been traveling around Pune filming our documentary, and this last weekend only I attended three Hindu ceremonies.

     Two of the ceremonies were thread ceremonies. As an earlier post described, a thread ceremony is a traditional ceremony performed by Brahmins, for seven year old Brahmin men, to mark their transition from one stage of life, childhood, to another stage in life, scholarship. The first thread ceremony I attended this week was that of my tabla instructor's son. There I witnessed rituals I didn't quite understand at the time, and was given a handful of uncooked rice at one point and told to throw it at my tabla instructor's son, which I did. I also met Pria, a host mother to another group of young American woman in the Alliance program this semester, as well as Pria's father. Pria's father and I got to chatting and I learned that the practice of actually sending male children to a teacher's house stopped "a thousand" years ago, but the day long family gathering ritual remains.

       The second thread ceremony I attended this week was that of my host mother's sister's daughter's son. I know that relation may seem like a mouthful, so I will give you some time to think if over as you look at this lovely photo I snapped of myself:

Me, a young woman with long dark brown hair, 

smiling, with an Arabic Mindi on the back 

of my left hand.

This photo was taken a day before my host family's thread ceremony. The night before the photo, my host family threw a dinner party, with music, dancing, mindi, and bangle selections, and pani puri. Pani puri is a wonderful dish, which consists of small hard flour balls being pricked with a hole and filled with water, spices, lentils, and marvellousness. Mindi, also known as henna, is actually mind flower paste applied artistically to the body, most commonly the hands and the feet. There are different styles of mind designs. At my host family's thread ceremony I learned that the cloth ritual, where the father and son are covered in a cloth involves the passing of a scared knowledge sun mantra from father to son. Upon this ritual's closing the son is expected to repeat this mantra twice daily, at sunrise and sunset. Needless to say amazing food and interesting conversation ensued for the rest of the day. The ceremonies ended with a bang, dinner and various dance, comedy, and song performances by the children who attended the event.

     The third ceremony I attended this week was Uttaraa's (the director of the Alliance program) mother's one thousand moons ceremony, which marks eighty years of her life. It was a beautiful ceremony that I am very grateful to have attended. I was also grateful for the occasional pauses and English explanations of the rituals. One involved weighing the star of the night on a giant balance beam with bags of rice, to demonstrate her pricelessness. Another involved group meditating on the infinite. Sweets were involved as well, and everyone got a bag of almonds and raisins at the end. At this ceremony  through conversation with a friend of Uttaraa I learned that there are two common designs in mindi in India, one Arabic, the other Hindi, and I had gotten the Arabic design. Considering the long and influential Mughal regime in India, I was pleased with this knowledge. Overall, the ceremony celebrated Uttaraa's mother's life, her strength, her longevity, and her knowledge, she has a PhD in a Hindu scripture; and it was truly touchingly beautiful.