SAS Travelogue-Madras (Chennai)

SAS Travelogue-Madras (Chennai)

by Rebecca Smith

I have to take periodic breaks from writing this to go be sick. That is the power of India’s effect on me. So let’s go in chronological order, that we you can have the similar roller coaster ride of experience that I had in India. I wouldn’t want to shove all positive or all negative at you all at once. OK, so arrival in India, we got in at some ungodly hour of the morning as usual. The difference being this time, we were not able to disembark from the ship until after 1 pm as a result of the customs officials and the passport process. Highly inefficient or just overly cautious, I am not sure, but it took forever. Not to mention that in order to either get on or off the ship we must produce our passport and several documents. Then there were three other gates with customs officials and a similar process before we even saw an Indian street. So our first experience in Chennai was attempting to exit the port gates. Auto (a mini taxi on three wheels) drivers are all over doing their best to scam you. We just wanted to cross the street to get to the bank. In order to do this you had to go across on overpass. There were like 15 men at the stairs waiting for us and telling us that the overpass was broken and that we had to follow them. We were wary, but they would not let us pass, so we started to follow them. Then we saw other people head up the stairs. Also, the men were leading us further away from the exit and closer to a large number of autos parked down the road. We promptly turned around and went up the overpass despite their screams. As soon as we reached the other side, we were greeted by more aggressive, but equally sneaky auto drivers. They wanted to drive us to the bank because we were unsure of its location, but I know I had seen the sign from the ship. They wanted us to give them a dollar for a ride that would have taken us across the street. That was not going to happen. So we walked to the bank, and they followed us the whole way, even into the bank, and watched as we took money out of the ATM. Fine, as long as they didn’t try to take it. Well, they didn’t, not overtly at least. They were willing to provide the service of driving us around. So, my friend Shawn and I hopped in one and asked him to take us to the market. After an hour of being driven around in the oppressive heat of Chennai, he dropped us off in the middle of the street and demanded that we each give him $10 USD. 1, I didn’t even have that much money on me, in USD. 2, there was hella no way I was gonna pay him that much, especially for dropping me off in the middle of nowhere, and not where I asked to be driven. 3, he told us it would cost us 50 rupees before we got in, thus that was the agreement Shawn and I were willing to enact, no more, but no less either. He said he misspoke when he said 50 rupees. I said no he damn well didn’t. He yelled at us and said that our friends paid that much. I said no friend of mine would be that stupid, handed him 100 rupees (double what he originally told us), and walked away, only to discover that I had no idea where I was. So Shawn and I just started walking down some street with the cows and dogs. She decided to ask someone where Spencer Plaza was, and they told us it was 2 km down a different road. We told him that our auto driver wanted us to give him a lot of money for dropping us off in the middle of nowhere, so he got us another auto and negotiated the price for us and told him to take us to the right place. And so it was that she and I finally reached our destination. Spencer Plaza was interesting. The first shopowners to wave at us received our patronage. It turned out to be a Kashmir carpet store and they had a whole bunch of other things. Plus, if they didn’t have it there, their brother or cousin or uncle owned another shop around the corner. So they were really nice and told us where to go, and gave us “special discount,” just like every other shopowner in the world claims to give you. They made us sit down and have soda and tea with them and talk to them and gave Shawn a pretty pendant. I bought a carpet and some pillow cases, which PS Mom, I shipped home and they said to expect them within a few days. It is coming thru DHL. OK, so there is some positive. That night we rushed back to the ship to make it to the Welcome Reception. This was tough, because our auto driver wanted to take us shopping at the government shops which would give him a commission for taking us there. We were running late and only wanted to get back to the ship. So the struggle began. We finally reached the ship, where he demanded $5 from each of us. I was ready to kill someone by the time I actually got back to the ship. The Welcome Reception. This was nice. They gave us all garlands of jasmine and flowers, put a binhdi of sinhdor on our foreheads and blessed us with rosewater. It was lovely. There was a buffet of idly, dosa, sambar, curry, and I don’t know what else. It was ok. A professor from Madras University spoke. A student performed some classical South Indian dancing while the professor interpreted some of the moves for us. We spoke to other students from the university. It was interesting. Other female students were drawing mendhi in henna on our hands. Mine is finally starting to fade, but its still there. Next day, I went on a service project at the Andra Mahila Orthopedic Home. It was a live in school for children with disabilities. We were there to clean up the garden and paint murals. We went on a tour of the facilities first. We met a boy who was afflicted with I think MS. He had control of very few motor skills, but could use his feet for many things. He demonstrated some of his computer artwork for us. The computer had not been altered in any way because he said no one in the real world would alter it for him, so he wanted to learn how to use it without alteration. His artwork was amazing. I am not an artist, but I feel confident that his work would rank among many that can claim full use of their limbs. Later, I helped paint a mural in one of the classrooms and we had some of the students help us because it was their classroom and we wanted them to feel like they participated and that the final product was something they would like. They kept calling myself and the other girls “sister” and didn’t speak much English so it was challenging. It was a long day, and rather exhausting, but it was a fascinating experience and I was glad to spend time with the kids. It is inspiring to see the conditions that they survive and succeed despite. The next day, we departed for a homestay through the local Rotary club. This was an event that was planned to last for 3 days and 2 nights, so I expected that it would be intense and I would learn a lot. Well, hmmmm, not exactly. The first day our, I had a roommate for this homestay named Ashley, host picked us up and drove us to Adyar, a sort of beach suburb of Madras, about 30 minutes from the city center. He dropped us off at the local Pizza Hut where we bought ourselves lunch and then walked to an English bookstore and hung out there because it was air conditioned while we waited for our host to come get us. So not the typical Indian experience I was hoping for. I was beginning to regret my decision to sign up for this homestay. Vinay, I know, I could have called your family, but I signed up for this homestay in August, whereas you sent me your uncle’s number a week ago, so now I know for next time. Anyways, so our host picks us up and then drives to his wife’s shop; she is a tailor and makes sarees and salvaar kameez (a sort of dress-like shirt to be worn with pants). Very nice stuff, and it was nice to meet her, but we just sat there in her shop, with not much to do, so I observed. One thing that was interesting to note is that many people of a higher caste or social status in India have servants. These servants are very quiet and fade into the background. They are never thanked or treated to typical social courtesies like please and excuse me, only ordered about and only expected to speak when spoken to, they perform menial labor tasks, like diswashing, cleaning, fetching. They are referred to as “my boy” or “I have a girl to do that.” Very different from anything I’ve ever experienced. I would always say thank you and the like, and noticed that no one else did. I thought it must be kind of degrading to not even be thought of as a person but a possession. My host family was always quick with the change purse, as I guess they see money as more important than dignity. It was almost insulting. I know I need to view other cultures with an open mind and understand that things are different here, but a culture and religious group that claim to be very accepting and open minded are rather status minded and very adherent to their caste system. My host father astutely observed that “in India, all people are born equal, its just that some are born more equal than others.” It is much like the American problem of liberty versus equality, but at least we understand the conflict between those two values. In India, it seems that equality is an important value, but only for those who were born to a certain family, inheriting social status. That night, we went to a Rotary club meeting where all the other homestay students were gathered with their families. Well, our host father got us a ride with someone else. So when we got there, I tried to find someone to compare notes with. Luckily, Shawn was there, and she had a similar strange experience to share with me. She was also merely dropped off at the meeting. She told us that her host father, earlier that day, was sitting in front of their coffee table about 6 inches from his glass of water, and yet called for his wife on the opposite side of the house to come and hand it to him. Not my idea of equality. So we sat together and wallowed in misery about our decision to partake in this particular activity. Now, not to give you the wrong idea. Both of our families were perfectly nice and accommodating, but we entered this with certain expectations, especially after my fabulous homestay experience in Japan. This experience, so far, was falling sadly short of those expectations. After departing from this Rotary meeting, we were picked up by our host father and driven to a second Rotary meeting, where the governor spoke for an HOUR. Arrrrggggghhhhhh. Then we had to meet all these people, and many were rather insulting telling me that Americans are too promiscuous, too fat, too lazy, too ignorant, and various other plays on this. Fine, if you have those stereotypes, but keep them to your damn self when talking to an American. And they were all dirty old men. And we had to shake all their hands, which they had been eating with, so I had very sticky hands by the time I left. It was gross, and hopefully a gross misrepresentation of manners in Tamil Nadu. OK, must run and be sick, be right back. OK, so anywho....later that night our host father gave us the paper in English to read. He was talking to us about the sniper in D.C., so I feel safer here in India than if I were at school. Anyways, then we got on to the subject of 9/11. He started to tell us about this conspiracy theory he read about from an American writer. It basically talked about the improbability of the towers falling in the fashion that they did, because of the structure and physical makeup of the buildings. He said they fell more like if they had imploded than if they were just burning. He explained the chemical and physical impossibilities to us, because he is an engineer. He said there is speculation of a government conspiracy, or at the very least, the Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden are not the responsible parties for such an organized and highly technical operation being that they are a troop of nomadic, ill equipped guerillas residing in mountains and caves. This I was all willing to swallow. I mean how am I to know who is responsible. I was not there; I can not be certain of anyone's guilt or innocence. I am not omniscent. However, he also claimed that perhaps there was no one actually present on the planes used as guided missiles. This is where my roommate and I lost our cool. I spent weeks reading obituaries and articles dedicated to the families of those lost in the planes. My roommate was already pissed because she wholly believes that Islamic fundamentalist terrorists are responsible for the tragedy. I think I was more open to interpretation, but he lost me when he said no one died in the planes. I told him about the cell phone calls to loved ones. I said I could see the smoke from my building. Nothing swayed him. I was quite upset. I think this wound is too new and too painful to start spouting theories such as this to people who were there. I asked him if he believed this, and he said not necessarily, "but it gives you something to think about." I was kinda pissy at this point and wanted to say, I think the event itself gave me plenty to think about, but I had to see it from his vantage point. He wasn't there; he couldn't possibly understand the fear and the pain. Plus, everything else he said was reasonable and possible. I just couldn't wrap my head around the idea that people were not on the planes. He was only trying to offer us another theory about what happened that day. I don't know anyone who understands the why's and wherefore's, so it's only normal to try to understand the how's from every possible position. I was worried I might have to restrainb my roommate from kicking his teeth in, her boyfriend is in the military and she is a very devout Bible-thumping Christian who believes America has the mandate of heaven to do as it will. So she had a bit of trouble believing that our host was actually saying any of this, let alone that he might not wholly believe it, but just wanted to converse with us about it. Our host may have sensed her violent tendencies and kind of abruptly changed the subject and left us to ourselves. Naturally, I had to soothe her seething rage, but I guess I didn't do such a good job, because now the enitre population of 800 on this ship knows of the incident. Oh well, I hope we don't have any militant personalities that will hunt down a harmless Indian engineer and make him pay retribution for his comments. It would not make the sitch any better. Next day the Rotarians organized a trip for us to Mamallapuram. It was interesting, no air conditioning on the bus so we could “feel what the Indians feel.” I wanted to scream. I do feel what the Indians feel every time I step outside, which is why I need air conditioning on the damn bus. Not to mention, since it was blood curdlingly hot, we couldn’t shut the windows when various salespersons were shoving things in our window, saying “Just look, looking free” and then demanding that we pay them an exorbitant amount and refusing to take their merchandise back expecting us to pay. Arrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh. I mean I understand that they need to make money somehow, but there are reasonable methods to sell me stuff. 1, don’t become belligerent with me. 2, don’t hand me a rock and tell that $50 is “very cheap, good price.” What are you nuts?!?!?!?! 3, don’t follow me around and poke me and hit me, these are not very good sales tactics. 4, yelling and demanding don’t bode well with me, so stop. I probably would have bought something if they had followed these very simple guidelines. As it was I just wanted to run away tearing my hair out. Also, no is not a word they understand. We were told before we got to India that we needed to clearly say no to salespeople. Apparently they have figured this trick out, because it no longer works. Not to mention that you can’t just shake your head and expect them to understand that as no, because here in Tamil Nadu and perhaps all of India, yes is a left to right wobbly gesture of the head that very nearly resembles the American head shake signifying no. So communication is interesting to say the least. It was hard to appreciate the temples and carvings of Mamallapuram when you are fighting off granite elephants and silly little Kama Sutra carvings left and right. Then our guide, Babu, who I already didn’t like cause of his rationale for no air conditioning, told us he was taking us to an Indian factory to see fabric being made and then to the shop. OK, NO, not really. He took us to a small store carrying Polo Sport, Diesel, Nautica, and various other US brands, and the prices were not particularly cheap either. If these can be considered authentic Indian crafts, then I must be an authentic Indian. ARrrrrrggggghhhhhh. I’m surprised more people didn’t die in my wake of aggravation during my time in India, because my most heartfelt wish was to throttle a good number of people. OK last day in India, host father takes us to the beach and then to the Theosophical Society which is a large botanical garden in Adyar. Nice. Then he took us back to the house and I called Vinay’s uncle Madhu. Our host father drove us back to the ship and then dropped me at Spencer Plaza where I was to meet Vinay’s cousin Shilpa. Our host family was very nice, and I really appreciated their efforts, but the entire experience needs help. I would have liked it more if we actually spent any time with our host family other than while sleeping. So when I met Shilpa, and she was super nice and then her mom, and they both reproached me for not calling earlier and were upset that I had to leave that night, I felt so bad, and wished I had called them earlier. We sat and looked at pictures for a while and just talked. Vinay, PS, call your Auntie and Uncle, they miss you. They said they were glad to have me because it was the closest they would get to seeing you. You haven’t seen them in 2 years, the least you could do is call!! Plus they are lovely and want to hear from you. I told Shilpa that if she comes to the States she should call me and not you, because you are sillie. Anywho moving on, they took me to a jewellery store and bought me some silver payals (anklets) and got my nose pierced. And they paid for it all. I felt so bad. It must have been very expensive, being silver, but they wouldn’t let me pay. Oh yeah, mom, dad, Karen, I got my nose pierced. Moving on, stop yelling. It’s alright. I can take it out if I don’t like it or for jobs. It’s very tasteful and aw hell, I was in India, do as the Indian girls do. So no big deal. They took me to dinner at the Sheraton Hotel, which they said Vinay always enjoyed. After dinner they made me try this leaf thing that was so gross, and I wanted to throw up, I tried to swallow it, but I just couldn’t force myself to, my gag reflex is too strong. But other than that the food was great, and the spice was just fine. This however, made us late for on ship time. Meaning I get dock time in Kenya. So Vinay, I just want you to know the sacrifices I made to spend time with your family, but don’t say anything to them, they will probably feel guilty, it was my decision to not say anything. But the dumbass that I am, I tried to run in the pitch black darkness to make it to the ship as it was some couple a football fields distance away from where you can be dropped off. Well, India likes there speed bumps and they put them everywhere with no regard for late American girls, and no decoration of any sort like some yellow paint or something to distinguish it from the flat ground. Needless to say I went flying. But at least now I can say I took a little piece of India with me when I left, since the ship’s doctor couldn’t get the big chunks of earth out of me no mater how much time he spent digging with the scalpel…..god, not only was it embarrassing, but it was so painful. I have like 57 bandaids on right now as well as about a pound of Neosporin and aloe. And despite my efforts, I made an ass of myself, cried in front of like 100 people, still have dirt in my wounds, probably have to get a Tetanus shot today, and get dock time in Kenya. Lesson learned, no more running in the dark in India with stuff in my hands….or I could just try to be on time, but then I would be denying who I am, so nah. Anywho, Vinay, your family is so sweet. I hope they come to the States sometime soon. I wish I had had more time with them. I wish I had had more time in India. I wish I had either spent all my rupees or found somewhere to exchange because now no one will take them in any of the upcoming ports, so I have like $50 in rupees. Terrific. OK, so hotlist about India: freaking hot, super humid, lots of con artists out to get you, mosquitoes are evil creatures from hell, the government is out to get people with speed bumps, driving here is referred to as a “creative process,” dirt in wounds gives you tetanus, eating of any sort gives you disease, which I am as we speak trying to fight off, water is poison, people can be nice, especially when they are relatives of your friends, caste system is still in action even after being outlawed, rupees are just worthless pieces of paper anywhere else in the world, and Beki is sooooo exhausted from her experiences there. Oh yeah, and nose rings are cool, professional, tasteful, and referred to as “poking your nose” here. I loved the motherland and wish I had more time there, I have some regrets associated with the decisions I made, but now I know for next time, and I will call Shilpa at Ascon travel and she will help me. Talk to y’all again from Kenya.