Cricket fever

It’s hard not to notice that the Cricket World Cup is on. When the cricket is on, everything revolves around it. Then when India plays Pakistan, the world stops for a few hours. That’s what it was like on February 15^th...

Things India has taught me

Following a somewhat related post I had written on habits I’ve picked up over the past 6+ years of living in India, today’s post is on things India has taught me.

India has taught me to tolerate noise.

One thing I’ve definitely learned in India is to put up with noise. Of course noise is omnipresent here. Mornings start with the koel birds exchanging their melodious calls from the treetops. I love waking up this way. Then the morning sounds start: the sweeper women sweeping the road, the sound of the newspaper delivery man’s moped, traffic on the main road, and the jingle played by the garbage collection van. A little later on, the pushcart vendors start making their rounds, calling out in sing-song voices whatever it is they have for sale: tomatoes, mosambi, tender coconuts, brooms, carpets. These are the pleasant sounds. The traffic noise is less pleasant: the constant honking and blaring of horns. Then there’s the excruciating ‘reversal music’ which plays whenever a car reverses and just adds to the noise pollution. On the next street there’s a marble works from where the sound of a circular saw is constant during the day and it sometimes continues late in the evening. When we first moved here the sound really grated on my nerves, but of course now I hardly notice it. Can it be possible I’ve become immune to noise? Last week there was some work going on behind the house, accompanied by loud banging and the sound of electric tools. I wasn’t happy about this but somehow I managed to concentrate on my work. Even a friend I was talking to on Skype asked me how I could stand all the noise in the background! Then at night, the street dogs keep up a steady litany of howls, barking and noisy bickering as they fight to defend their territory. And of course, there’s also the sound of the watchman’s whistle. Somehow I’ve learnt to sleep despite all these noisy nocturnal disruptions. Thank you India, I can put up with noise and tolerate it and find it almost strangely comforting!

India has taught me to not take people at face value.

I used to get upset when a friend would suggest meeting up and then come the day we agreed on, the friend in question would be unreachable and wouldn’t return my calls. I’ve learnt that appointments here are very, very tentative and last minute disasters are daily occurrences. Not that the friend in question doesn’t value our friendship, it just meant that something really did come up, like she was just too lazy to get out of the house that day. Now I don’t take appointments seriously at all and am not surprised when things don’t go as planned. In a way, I like the fact that nothing is written in stone and there’s always a window open for spontaneity.

India has taught me to take everything with a big pinch of salt.

I have noticed that people make things (and themselves!) sound a lot better than they really are. Also, lies seem to be a social necessity. These are often just little white lies about nothing really but somehow they’re necessary. For example, someone will never turn down an invitation but will always come up with an excuse why they cannot accept the invitation when really they just don’t want to attend. Everyone lies and everyone knows these lies are not to be believed but they’re there to save face and avoid offending. Somehow in the ‘West’ we put a lot of value on honesty and are scandalized by blatant lies, but this seems socially acceptable in India.

India has taught me to be cautious and distrustful.

This can be good and bad. I never pay for anything upfront… not until the goods are delivered and in good condition. I scrutinize every 10-rupee note I’m handed to make sure the shopkeeper’s not trying to get rid of a torn or unusable note to an unsuspecting customer. I realized how cautious I’ve become when I was in Cambodia in December and had booked a taxi to the airport. The travel agent had asked for advance payment and I initially refused. If you pay for a taxi upfront in India you can be sure it won’t show up! (But it works in Cambodia.)

India has taught me to be patient. And impatient.

I expect things to take a long long time and then I’m pleasantly surprised when they don’t. I’d rather pay more to send an inland letter by courier than wait in lines at the post office.

India has taught me to try to understand things intuitively and trust my gut instinct.

I’ve noticed that if someone doesn’t understand what you’re saying because of a language barrier, rather then just saying: “I don’t understand” and give up, they make the effort to try to understand by picking up on key words or trying to guess what you’re saying. And even though they may not understand the actual words I’m saying, they do understand what I’m trying to say, because they’re reading non-verbal clues and using their intuition. And it works!

India has taught me to be flexible.

I am unfazed by bugs, I know what to do with a toilet with a broken flush, or smoke coming from an electric socket, and have seen so many rats – dead and alive – and even chased them out of the house (unwanted gifts from my cat), that none of these things evoke the ‘OMG!’ reflex anymore.

India has taught me how to focus.

My powers of concentration have improved after attending many concerts and dance performances. I no longer get distracted by ringing cell phones, loud conversations and screaming kids running up and down the aisles. I also take liberties to share observations with the friend sitting beside me (but I whisper) and get up for breaks when the chief guest makes his (always too long) speech.

These are just some of the things India has taught me!

Hindus only

In today's edition of The Hindu, V.R. Devika asks some pertinent questions: Why are non-Hindus not allowed into temples? Also, how do you recognize a Hindu?

I've been to many, many temples across South India and wasn't able to enter the sanctums of most. At the Jagannath temple in Puri, Orissa, non-Hindus are not even allowed to enter the temple complex!

However, I have non-Hindu friends who have entered Hindu temples which are supposed to be out of bounds for them. How is it that they were able to enter these holier-than-holy places and not I? Simply because they're Indian and therefore are assumed to be Hindu.

As V.R. Devika points out, the rule seems to only apply to "well known non-Hindus or white skinned people".

Read the article here.

Film frenzy

In a country which has the world’s biggest film industry and where actors are considered to be demi-gods, new releases featuring the most popular actors are major events.

Hype is built up weeks before the release. There has been much talk of veteran actor Kamal Hassan’s newest release of the Tamil film Vishwaroopam. He mortgaged his house to make the film. Then the release was delayed in Tamil Nadu because Muslim groups opposed the film and there were concerns it could disrupt law and order.

I don’t go see Tamil films but maybe I should just for the entertainment value of the film-going experience. There seems to be more happening off screen than on screen!

Consider this article on the release of Vishwaroopam in the Coimbatore edition of The Hindu:

"It was a day they dreamed of for weeks. Fans of Kamal Haasan would never forget February 7 — the day Vishwaroopam hit the screens after the ban on its screening was lifted. Cut-outs, posters, T-shirts…Kamal Haasan was everywhere. The sound of drums and crackers rent the air as his fans danced their way into movie halls.

And when Kamal appeared on screen, fans whistled, hooted, screamed and threw their hands up in the air. Some even took photos of their hero on their mobile phones. Clad in a white kurta, Kamal, as the effeminate kathak dancer Vishwanath, drew applause for the slightest side-glance — he played the role so well. His fans lapped it up; their whistles for the song ‘Unnai Kaanadha’ were deafening. One could hardly hear the song!

Kamal’s first fight sequence had the audience up on its feet. With every slow-motion stunt, the screams grew louder. But there was absolute silence as the spy-thriller progressed."

You can read the whole article here.

Newspaper wars

If you’ve been following this blog, then you’ll know that I’m a loyal reader of The Hindu newspaper. Why? Because it’s the best paper in India in my opinion. More specifically because the quality of journalism is high, it has more international coverage than other papers, there’s no ‘page 3’ fluff the tabloids like to publish, it reprints articles from The New York Times and The Guardian, and the weekend edition has interesting cultural supplements, including the Literary Review.

This week, the paper reported record readership growth, attracting an additional 50,000 readers over the past three months, the highest growth among all the English dailies.

Though The Hindu is the number one paper in Chennai, the city where it originated, readers in Bangalore prefer The Times of India, a paper which is only slightly better than a tabloid. I lost all respect for this paper when the headline of the international page announced that Prince William had broken up with his girlfriend (back when he and Kate were going through a rough patch). The paper also has a popular city supplement with its infamous Page 3 which features a run down of parties, gallery openings and other socialite events with pictures of couples holding champagne glasses. To be featured on Page 3 is a matter of great pride in some circles.

When I ask people why they bother to read the Times, they usually answer: “Because I’ve always read it”, which doesn’t seem like an answer to me, but to each his / her own.

The Hindu’s recent growth in readership most likely has something to do with the aggressive advertising campaign it had launched against its competitor over a year ago when it launched in Chennai. Probably responding to its image as a conservative, ‘boring’ paper which is perhaps also an allusion to the city it was born in, it has been promoting itself as the intelligent paper, the paper to read to ‘stay ahead of the times’, a clever reference to that other paper.

Of course the Times responded with an equally aggressive (but less clever) campaign which tried to declare that it is the paper read by the ‘social elite’ in a ridiculous article which I wish I could locate again. It also reacted with these newspaper ads:

What followed was a battle of television ads, with both papers taking stabs at each other. While the message in The Hindu’s ads is that reader of that other paper are only informed about what’s going on in the celebrity field, the Times is trying to allude that The Hindu has ‘news that puts you to sleep’.

Watch the ads here:

Chantal’s passion for kolams

I had heard about Chantal before I met her. It was the director of the Mylapore Festival who had told me about this French woman passionate about kolams (also called rangoli), the intricate drawings which adorn the doorsteps of many homes in India. This annual neighbourhood festival features a kolam contest and Chantal is there every year, taking photographs. Then I came across her name more recently, while reading a book on Chennai. In a chapter about Mylapore, the author mentions a few foreigners who have a fascination for this vibrant neighbourhood and visit it every year during the Margazhi season (which falls in December) to soak in everything it has to offer.

Like many other dance and music lovers, I’m also a regular visitor to Chennai every December and have been attending the ‘December Season’ since 2002. It’s not only the music and dance I enjoy, but also the lasting friendships I make with others who are passionate about the Indian arts.

We were introduced by mutual friends. I have always been fascinated by the intricate beauty of kolams and so was happy to meet Chantal who has written two books on this traditional art. She also has a deep interest in Indian classical dance, having studied Mohiniattam and Kathakali in Kerala for many years. So we had many things to discuss and share.

As we were exchanging mobile numbers, email addresses and website links, I was delighted when she said: “India Outside My Window, C'EST TOI??” So she had also had a first contact with me through my blog, which she had already visited and said she appreciates for its high quality. Thank you Chantal!

With her long black braid, kohl-rimmed eyes, Indian clothes and tilak mark on her forehead, Chantal manages to blend in in Mylapore, while not going unnoticed. Many of the kolam-drawing maamis of this conservative neighbourhood have had the opportunity to meet Chantal and have their designs photographed by her over the years she’s spent studying and documenting the kolams of Tamil Nadu.

Since we were both staying near the Kapaleshwarar Temple, I asked if I could join her on her early morning wanderings through the narrow streets of Mylapore on her search for the first kolams of the day. She was more than happy to have company.

We meet at 6am in front of her hotel, and rush off hurriedly down a side street in a part of Mylapore I had never explored before. It is at dawn that pious Brahmin women carry out the task of drawing a kolam on their doorsteps. “I want to catch the women while they’re still drawing the kolams,” she explains. “Because afterwards they quickly get erased by footsteps and scooter tires.”

We don’t go far before we come across a dark figure in the half-light, stooped over from the hips, drawing snake-like interlacing lines around carefully placed dots. “This is a sikku kolam,” Chantal explains. I had seen this style of kolam many times but had no clue it had a name. The lines are formed effortlessly, creating a perfectly symmetrical pattern. But I know that drawing a kolam is not as easy as it looks. The fine rice powder is carefully ‘poured’ between the fingers onto the ground to create an even line. Some women can even draw two parallel lines simultaneously with ease.

“Did you hear that?” Chantal asks me. It was the sound of a drum at a distance. “That means the procession is underway.” We rush off towards the sound, towards the Vishnu temple. Since Mylapore is dominated by the majestic Kapaleshwarar Temple dedicated to Shiva, I had no clue there’s a Vishnu temple in the same neighbourhood. “Women draw elaborate kolams along the procession path, so we’re sure to find some elaborate ones here,” she explains. We soon find a group of temple priests carrying a statue of Andal the saint on a palanquin.

We stop to admire an elaborate kolam decorating the ground in front of a corner house. “This is an Iyengar kolam,” observes Chantal. “What’s typical about kolams drawn by this Brahmin Vaishnavite community is this ribbon-like motif,” she points out. “Come, there’s a lady who lives down this street who draws beautifully.” We head off in a new direction and on the way meet Lakshmi who’s coming back from making an offering to Andal. “I haven’t been able to draw a kolam this morning,” she says to Chantal, almost apologetically. “My husband is not well.” As if to make up for it, she invites us inside. Chantal is thrilled. As we climb the stairs, she tells me in French that women also draw kolams indoors, in their puja rooms and often around the stove. She relishes the opportunity to be welcomed into a Brahmin home where she can see how women decorate the spaces which are most important to them. Lakshmi shows us her puja room which is decorated with small kolams and prayers written in Tamil.

The kolam is a wonderful example of how art is used as an everyday ritual in India. The kolam is auspicious because it protects, keeping the evil eye away, and welcomes visitors and of course the gods, especially Lakshmi, the goddess of the household, who brings prosperity.

This art is handed down from mother to daughter though sometimes it’s the household help who has the task to draw the daily kolam in front of the doorstep. Chantal feels that this tradition is not in danger of dying out, but she does notice a decline in creativity with the younger generation. That’s why she thinks the kolam contest held every year during the Mylapore festival is so important, because it stimulates the imagination of its participants. She is also happy to notice that more and more young women are taking part.

To learn more about Chantal’s work, visit her website.

Habits I’ve picked up in India

After living for a long time in a place, you tend to consciously or unconsciously pick up new habits. I’ve realized that after six years in India, I’ve picked up a few very Indian ways of doing things.

Some of them have to do with food and eating. Eating with the hands is one. This is not a habit I’ve picked up entirely, but I do prefer to eat certain foods with my hands: anything which is eaten with roti or other types of bread, for example. Eating with my hands was not something which came easily to me, especially when eating rice. I only really got used to this when I spent two weeks in a yoga ashram in Kerala and all the meals were served on metal plates with no cutlery. It’s not as difficult as it looks, it just takes some practice, kind of like eating with chopsticks. (By the way, I love eating with chopsticks!) So when it comes to rice, I prefer to eat with cutlery.

Which brings me to another cultural difference: the use of cutlery. Of course high-end restaurants in India will always have cutlery set out, but simple eateries will offer a spoon (sometimes you have to ask for one), or a fork and spoon, but never a knife. This is logical since prepared Indian food does not need any cutting, but when you’re used to eating with a fork AND knife, you really miss the knife – since part of its job is to move food onto the fork, and not only cut. I noticed that when not eating with their hands, many Indians prefer to eat with a spoon rather than a fork. Which reminds me of a meal I had with a group of friends in Brussels, one of whom was Indian. When he asked the waiter for a spoon to eat his meal, he got a strange look. Of course, unless soup is served, there will be no spoon provided. Otherwise, spoons are for small children who haven’t mastered using a fork and knife yet! But I have to admit that I now have to resist the urge to eat certain foods with a spoon…

"How come you can eat spicy food?" is a question I get a lot. Spicy food is something the taste buds adapt to quickly, so I don’t have a problem with this. But waiters still lead me to the 'non-spicy' dishes at buffets: “Have this Madam,” they say, "it’s bland."

Something I used to find odd in India is that sweet and salty foods are often served together. For example, if you’re invited for tea, you’ll probably be served a slice of cake along with potato chips. I found this strange at first, but I’m used to this now – but I have to eat the salty thing first!

Talking about salty things… another cultural difference when it comes to food is breakfast. A typical ‘Western’ breakfast is toast and jam, or cereal… ‘sweet’ things. In India, ‘salty’ and even spicy foods are eaten for breakfast. This is another habit I’ve picked up! Sometimes I crave South Indian food in the morning. This is something my husband still cannot stomach: at hotel buffets he heads to the toast and croissants, while I gravitate to the idli, vada and dosa counter. Which I eat with spicy chutneys of course!

Another food habit I’ve adopted is eating certain foods with ketchup. Samosas, sandwiches and fried noodles are usually served with this condiment, which I first found bizarre... But now I can’t eat fried noodles without it!

The rest of my ‘Indian’ habits have to do with clothing, footwear and grooming…

I’ve always loved wearing Indian clothes because they’re so comfortable and elegant. But I’ve started wearing colours like hot pink and orange – colours I would never dream of wearing at home! There, the usual wardrobe colour palette is quite toned down: white, black, brown, navy blue, maroon, olive green; anything ‘bright’ is sure to get a strange look or even a comment. But in India everything goes, the more colourful, the better!

A habit I’ve picked up (which my mother would not like) is being barefoot. When I was a kid, my mother would have a fit if I walked around barefoot indoors, even in summer. It was the sure-fire way to catch cold! It’s so nice to wear sandals all year round and not have to wear socks. As a result, it’s very uncomfortable for me to wear shoes, my sensitive feet are no longer used to this!

Because I spend so much time barefoot, my feet take quite the beating so pedicures have become a necessity. Which brings me to another very Indian ‘ritual’: the beauty parlour. I’ve already written about how beauty parlours are part of any self-respecting Indian woman’s routine. Pedicures, waxing and threading have become necessary little luxuries.

Coming to bathing, I’ve also adopted the Indian bucket bath. Of course bucket baths and ‘wet bathrooms’ are only convenient in hot countries. I like the Indian way of filling a bucket with hot water and using a small jug to pour water over the body. I’ve realised this is also an economical way to bathe and that you don’t need to use a lot of water to take a bath: less than a bucket!

Because of the hot weather my hair can get frizzy and unmanageable easily so I’ve also picked up another very Indian habit: oiling my hair! I discovered ‘non-sticky’ hair oil which doesn’t make hair look greasy, but just shiny and ‘tame’. This is a lot like hair serum, but cheaper and just as effective. I’ve also got into the habit of putting liberal amounts of coconut oil in my hair and leaving it in for an hour before washing it. The results are amazing!

So that’s my (somehow lengthy) summary of some of the Indian habits, rituals and practices I’ve picked up over the past six years!

Bizarre Indian ads

There are some ads I see in the Indian media, either in print, on billboards or on television which I find surprising and more than a bit peculiar. Some leave me completely baffled, and a few are even controversial.

I often come across an ad in magazines for Elite Matrimony (see above). It’s a glossy picture of a young woman dressed in an evening gown and flashy jewellery. “Match it right for your child,” it says across the top. This is followed by a list: “handbags, chocolate, perfumes, wardrobe, education, French fragrance, Ivy League, Parisian chic, Italian leather, Swiss indulgence”. It then suggests: “After having provided the best for your children, help them discover life’s most precious gift: A HAPPY MARRIAGE”. Elite Matrimony is described as a ‘premium matchmaking service’. Across the bottom it says: “Specially created for the crème de la crème of the society, Elite Matrimony finds you that exceptional marriage partner befitting your social standing. Many leading families, both Indian and NRI, have benefited from this unique service.” I wonder how they choose their clients… do they ask how many millions they have in the bank? Which Ivy League university they studied at? Where they go on holiday? What handbag does Madam carry? And her favourite perfume?

Then there are the ads for the many whitening products on the market. I had written about fairness creams before in this post. However, there are whitening products meant not only for facial use. Have you heard of whitening deodorants? It seems it’s not enough to have dry and nice-smelling armpits – they have to be white too. An ad for Dove Whitening Deodorant shows a young women raising her arms over her head exposing her fair underarms. “No more dark patches – with new Dove Whitening Deodorant. For even toned underarms,” says the ad.

Another ad for a similar product by Nivea, drives the message further (and makes me howl with laughter). “Ride that bike. Slice that frog. Try that raft. Get that tattoo,” it says in small letters (I wish I were a fly on the wall when the copyrighters were coming up with this ad!), followed by: “Be bold, go sleeveless,” in big, bold letters. Yes, raising your sleeveless arms is a bold and courageous act!

Watch this ad for Dove asking women to ‘raise their arms to the mirror’:

And this one by Nivea which says: ‘go sleeveless on him’:

The fairness obsession hit a new low (pun intended) with the ad for ‘Clean and Dry’, described as an ‘intimate wash’. This television ad shows a young couple sitting in their living room. The man is busy reading the newspaper and the woman is looking off in the distance with a resentful pout. She then has a shower and uses this product... “Freshness… and Fairness” flashes on the screen. Presto! Her husband’s attitude towards her automatically changes! Watch the ad here:

More recently, there’s been a lot of talk about another controversial product called ‘18 Again’. The marketing for this ‘female renewal gel’ is quite aggressive and clever. A (hilarious!) video of the commercial started circulating as an ad on Facebook and You Tube. And from the bus the other day, I noticed that many major arteries of the city are plastered with poster-size ads for this product. ‘Poor intimacy?’ asks one. ‘Post pregnancy issues?’ says the next. Followed by ‘Sour relationship?’ and ‘Lack of confidence?’… ‘Here’s the answer to the question you fear the most…’

Needless to say there has been a lot of reaction and backlash to this ridiculous product which claims to empower women. You can watch the commercial here:

Elite matchmaking, fair and even-toned armpits, white and ‘renewed’ nether parts… What’s next??

India’s fascination with Hitler

One morning I was casually flipping through The Hindu’s children’s supplement, Young World, when something caught my eye on the page where they feature drawings made by schoolchildren (see image above). Among the innocent drawings of cute and colourful animals was a stark pencil portrait of Hilter. Below that was a swastika. I was taken aback. What was this dictator and murderer doing here, in a child’s drawing? What inspired this child to draw this assassin? Why did his teacher let him? Why did this respectable newspaper publish it? In many countries, this would not be possible, even illegal, considering the swastika is banned in many places. Such a drawing would definitely not be encouraged and it would certainly not be published in a newspaper! The child could even be expelled from school.

India seems to have a fascination with Hitler. Walk into any bookstore and you’re sure to find a copy of Mein Kampf. This is always a bit of a shock for any Westerner. I took the photo below with my phone last week at my local bookstore. As you can see, several copies were available, in several different editions! Again, this is a book which is banned in several countries.

So what’s the fascination with Hitler? Why is Mein Kampf a bestseller in India? Apparently this book is required reading for many management courses! Some posit that people in India are curious to read a book which is so polemic in the West. This article says that Hitler is idolised and admired by young people in India and that they are “attracted by his ‘discipline and patriotism’”. The article includes quotes by young Indians who say things like: “I have idolised Hitler ever since I have had a sense of history. I admire his leadership qualities and his discipline… He mesmerised the whole nation with his leadership and iron discipline. India needs his discipline.” Apparently these adolescents are not completely ignorant and do know about the Holocaust, but they seem to easily overlook it and not realise the magnitude of this black page of history.

More recently, an incident in Gujarat revealed this innocent ignorance of what Hitler stands for. A shop selling men’s clothing opened in Ahmedabad with the regrettable name ‘Hitler’. If this wasn’t controversial enough, on the shop’s sign, the ‘i’ in Hitler was dotted with a swastika. The shopowner apparently did not realise the enormity of his gaffe or the controversy that this would stir up!

Or course, the swastika is a Hindu symbol which was misappropriated by the Nazis. In the West, it will always represent Nazism, while in India it hasn’t lost its religious significance and is still very much present, represented in its original context. In this post, I give examples (and mention an incident of an Indian who travelled to the US obliviously wearing a swastika on his jacket).

The fascination with Hitler however, is baffling. Another insightful blogger did his own examination of India’s fascination with Hilter here.

Internet gurus and Skype pujas

In a previous post, I had written about websites which offer the possibility of doing pujas online. Recently I read in the paper about how online technology is making summoning the gods much easier. Forget doing your morning puja online via cute websites. The latest trend is doing pujas ‘live’ with a real Hindu priest, direct over the Internet via Skype.

The technology offered by Skype has taken Internet communication to a new level. With a camera and mike, you can not only speak to, but also see your interlocutor. You can even have video conference calls with several people at once

I’ve heard of Skype being used by teachers of Indian classical music. These tech savvy vidwans teach their students sitting in Dubai, Washington or London across a computer screen. This takes guru-shisya parampara to a new, modern-day level. I wonder if shisyas prostate in front of the screen to symbolically touch their Internet guru’s feet after each lesson.

The article in The Hindu describes Sridhar, a California-based NRI, who is getting ready for a puja across Skype. Sridhar is decked out in traditional garb and sitting in front of his computer along with all the required puja paraphernalia assembled around him. Sacred darba grass? Check. Black sesame seeds in a bowl? Check. Silver pot filled with water? Check. Large plate? Check. Everything is available in California, na?! At the appointed time, the priest in Srirangam, Tamil Nadu connects to Skype on his laptop and appears on Sridhar’s screen in his California living room. He chants the necessary mantras which Sridhar is asked to repeat them.

I love the photograph accompanying the article. It shows a computer screenshot of a young priest sporting the Thenkalai Iyengar caste mark on his forehead and dressed in customary priest attire. He’s also wearing headphones with an integrated mike. You can tell he’s in India because a typical Indian ‘almirah’ is to his right and behind him you see one of the plastic mirrors you find above sinks all over India. In the right-hand corner, you see a much smaller image of Sridhar the NRI, piously holding his palms together in prayer. (Unfortunately the photo above which accompanied the article has been cropped so you don’t see Sridhar!).

In the article, the priest maintains that this high-tech puja is not diluted by a laptop screen. “This does not violate any ritualistic rule,” he says. “In any case, the effect of homams is always carried across to the intended recipient through vibrations, so it works even when the person is far away. It is all a matter of faith and belief,” he concludes, demonstrating that holy intentions are more important than the medium used to attain them.

You call read the article here.

(Photo: The Hindu)

Glimpses of Hyderabad

An afternoon at the beauty parlour

After I moved to India I quickly discovered the luxury of the beauty parlour. Of course these exist everywhere, but in India the beauty parlour seems to be an indispensable part of every self-respecting woman’s life. This is where women go on a weekly basis to get waxed and threaded, massaged and pampered.

The reason why this is a luxury I’ve indulged in only in India is because it’s so cheap. In Europe it costs at least 50 Euro (3300 rupees) for a hair cut and blow dry. For this price in India I can also get a manicure, pedicure, hair treatment and facial thrown in for that price. I admit it: I’ve become a beauty parlour junkie of sorts.

I also now know why the beauty parlour is so indispensable. Since I’m always barefoot at home and wear sandals year-round, my feet are usually in a bad state. They also take a pounding in dance class. So pedicures have become a necessity. Also, neatly-painted toenails seem to be fashionable. Then there’s my hair, which is usually a frizzy mess because of the heat and humidity. Head massages, hair spas and conditioning treatments are hard to resist. I’ve also become a fan of eyebrow threading. This was the newest trend in London five years ago. But it cost 15 pounds: 75 times more than the 15 rupees it costs here.

I also tried waxing for the first time in India. The full-leg wax was not a good experience because of an over-zealous beautician. But the half-leg wax is bearable. The beauty parlour ladies have also tried many times – unsuccessfully – to submit me to an arm wax. “Arm wax?”, I had asked them, puzzled. “You mean Indian women wax their arms?” “Yes Madam, Indian ladies do full waxing,” they assured me. This was not something I had considered before. Nor had I known that hairy arms are undesirable. I started to surreptitiously scrutinize my friends’ arms. And I discovered they were indeed hairless. So it must be true! Then a foreign friend told me her Indian husband insists she wax her arms! I was horrified at the thought that my hairy arms could be considered repulsive. Then another friend told me that she had tried waxing her arms but was appalled by the stubble that grew back. That settled it. I like my hairy arms.

The beauty parlour is also a place to exchange news with the beauty parlour ladies and read Femina magazine. And a chance to observe the hierarchy of the Indian working environment in action. The new girls are always bullied by the more senior staff. They have to do the dingy jobs like washing hair, serving tea and coffee and sweeping up bits of hair.

Another discovery for me was that the beauty parlour is not only for ladies! There are beauty parlours which cater exclusively to men while others offer services for both. Men also come to get manicured, pedicured, facialled and threaded! The beauty parlour ladies used to tell me that they offer services for men too and would ask me to “inform Sir”. ‘Sir’ would find the thought of getting a facial or pedicure hilarious. But he tells me about what goes on at the barber shop: hair cuts and head massages of course, but also hair dying, eyebrow threading and fruit-scented facials. I’m not sure about arm waxing though.

A visit to Chettinad

Over the past two months, I’ve been away from my usual window, and looking through others… in Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Orissa. I’ll be sharing some glimpses of what I saw in these places in my next few posts...

One night in June, I took an overnight bus to Karaikudi, a small town in the Tamil Nadu heartland, and arrived in the early morning. I was in the heart of the Chettinad region, a unique place for many reasons.

After a nap I was ready to explore the town. Walking through the streets, I felt like I had taken a step back in time. There were few cars and many bicycles. Most of the men were dressed in lungis, and the older men were often in white.

And at every turn, I came across magnificent houses: 2-storied structures with arches, pillared verandas and ornate gates, surrounded by protective walls. Many were in a dilapidated state and looked abandoned.

These palatial homes offered a hint to a majestic past. They were built close to 100 years ago, when the Chettiars were wealthy merchants, bankers and business people. From 1870 to 1930, they traded with other lands in South-East Asia: Burma, Ceylon, Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia. They brought their wealth home to Chettinad and built these extravagant houses richly decorated with the treasures they carried back with them: solid-teak pillars from Burma, Japanese tiles, Italian marbles and Belgian mirrors.

These houses would have at least 50 rooms, many used to store their many riches and treasures. Built on an East-West axis, a typical Chettiar house had three courtyards: the first, which was used to conduct business, was the most extravagant. The middle one was used to receive guests during weddings. And the last, towards the back of the house, had an open courtyard and was reserved for women.

The Chettinad region is made up of a collection of 75 villages over a radius of 1550 square kilometres. Only about a third of these beautiful palatial homes remain today (7-8000). There are some efforts to preserve these heritage properties. A few have been converted into hotels (like the Saratha Vilas heritage hotel below) and one will soon house the Chettinad museum.

Apart from its many palaces, Chettinad is also famous for its handicrafts. In the village of Athangudi, floor tiles are made by hand:

And then there are the famous Kandanghi saris made of brightly-coloured cottons:

There's a lot to explore in such a culturally rich region like Chettinad. That's why I plan to return soon!

Household help

Following on the theme of my last post, having household help is very common in India. Every middle-class household has at least a maid who comes to do chores like sweeping, washing the floors and laundry. Some also have cooks, nannies and drivers. I know some households that have more staff working in their house than family members!

Of course for foreigners, it’s a huge luxury to have household help. I have an aunt who’s fascinated by this. Every time I see her, she asks me the same questions:
“So you’re not allowed to work in India?”
“But you have a lady who comes to do the cleaning?”
“And you take your laundry to get ironed by a man in the street?” (She’s surprised that this is a man’s job!)
“And who does the cooking? You? Well at least you do something!”

She’s also surprised that my household help comes three times a week – which is a bare minimum in India – but for my aunt it seems excessive. “Why so often?!” she asks. I try to explain to her how dusty it gets, especially in the summer. By the afternoon I can already see a thin layer of dust that’s settled on the tile floor. That’s why most people get their floors swept and washed every single day.

Savitri has worked for us for the past four years. I feel very lucky to have her. It’s not easy to find good household help. “It’s easier to find a good husband than a good maid,” seems to be a popular saying here.

Indeed a lot of my friends complain endlessly about their maids. “She’s gone to her village for a week. How will I manage?” is a common complaint. When I tell them that in the ‘West’ women manage the cooking, cleaning, kids and a full-time job, they look amazed. “Ayoo! Poor things! How do they cope with no help?”

I also hear all kinds of stories. When a friend got a new maid, her sugar supply started mysteriously disappearing. Another asked for a loan and then disappeared. (A common occurrence.) Another became more and more demanding, continuously asking for raises and ultimately a scooter!

Savitri has never been to school but she speaks four languages fluently: Kannada, Telugu, Tamil and Hindi. She’s always pleasant and cheerful and rarely misses work. If she doesn’t show up, I know it’s because of a good reason. The next time she’ll tell me why she couldn’t come: because she had fever, or because her grandchildren were visiting. She didn’t show up for two days last week but when she came on Saturday morning, she had some important news for me: her son is getting married. She seemed very happy and was wearing new gold earrings and had more green glass bangles on her wrists than usual. Her son is the last of her three children to get married.

When she finished her work this morning she told me that she won’t come for a week because of the wedding preparations. I sensed her excitement and happiness and know she’ll be busy preparing for this important event. But one week! Ayoo, how will I manage?!

A job for everyone

I had made friends with the lady at the supermarket in charge of the fruit and vegetable aisle. One day I had pointed to a bunch of greens and asked: “Dhantu soppu?” She was thrilled I knew the word for dhantu soppu. But I have no clue what it is in English – it’s a type of leafy green vegetable. After that, each time I came in she would take me around the store, pointing at things and telling me their names in Kannada. Mango. Mavina hannu. Coconut. Tengina kaayi. Rice. Akki. Tomato. Tamato. She pointed to a magazine. Booku, she said. Alla! Pustaka! I replied and she laughed out loud.

But I haven’t seen her for months now. She must have changed jobs. I noticed that people seem to change jobs often. This is a sign of a healthy and flexible job market. The staff at the supermarket seem to change every week.

There definitely doesn’t seem to be a shortage of jobs. On the contrary, many shops and restaurants seem overstaffed. Are three waiters really needed to serve a table of two customers? One will serve the vegetarian dishes, another the non-veg, and yet another the bread and rice. If you lift a serving spoon to help yourself to more rice, the waiter will rush over and insist on serving you. I still find this hard to get used to!

The other day I was at my neighbourhood Health & Glow shop (similar to Shopper’s Drug Mart in Canada or Di in Belgium). It’s not very big, only one room, but I counted 10 employees. At least five friendly shop girls asked me if I needed help with anything. I’m now used to being followed around as I browse and closely observed (mostly out of curiosity rather than suspicion) though at the beginning this used to really irk me. In India I’ve had to learn to ignore.

There seems to be a job for everyone, just like under communism, because some jobs seem to be non-jobs. Some examples:

The security guard who stands at the exit of supermarkets with a hole-punch. He asks for your receipt and then punches a hole in it. But he doesn’t look very closely at the receipt or even inspect your bags. So what’s the point?

Then there’s the guy who works in the parking garage of shopping malls. His job is to press the button on the machine which spits out a ticket and then hand the ticket over to the driver.

There’s a lot of work for button pressers. There’s the elevator operator whose job is also to push on buttons. You tell him which floor and he’ll push the corresponding button. Then he’ll push on the button for the fan. If you protest he’ll gladly turn it off. When you arrive at your floor he’ll tell you you’ve arrived. Helpful but definitely not indispensable.

There’s even better… in the bathrooms of some hotels and shopping centres, there’s an employee who hands you a towel after you’ve washed your hands. From reports I’ve received from my husband this seems to be a lot more customary in the mens' than the ladies’.

In India you don’t have to fill your car’s tank at the service station, bag your groceries at the supermarket, or waste your energy opening doors, lifting serving spoons or pushing on buttons. There’s always someone to do it for you!

Old is gold

Above and below: Amethyst in Chennai while it still existed.

About six months ago, I heard the bad news. I can’t remember who I heard it from first because everyone seemed to be talking about it: Amethyst in Chennai was closing down! Why on earth would it close down?! This was my immediate reaction. This beautiful colonial mansion was a Chennai landmark. It was very popular with locals and tourists alike. It was a unique and special place. I felt physically sick when I learned why it was closing down: the family owning this heritage building decided to have it demolished and an apartment building built in its place!

Three years ago I wrote about Amethyst here. It was one of my favourite places in Chennai. This old heritage mansion in a quiet, leafy neighbourhood housed some exclusive shops but its USP was its lovely café and restaurant and beautiful garden. It was a pleasant place to spend a quiet afternoon with a good friend or a good book.

Amethyst closed at the end of December. The city has lost not only a favourite haunt for many but also an architectural and historical gem. A ‘new’ Amethyst has opened up not far away from the original, in a newly built building. An effort has been made to reproduce some of the unique atmosphere by keeping the same colonial furniture and even the floor tiles and planting a lush garden but of course it’s just not the same.

It’s unfortunate that heritage properties are not valued in India. With the property boom in recent years, many families decide that old houses and large gardens are worth sacrificing for the returns to be made in the real estate market. The financial aspect is understandable but do these architectural heirlooms have no sentimental or historical value? Why is this?

I got a partial answer when I attended a talk in Bangalore recently by Ajit Koujalgi from the Pondicherry branch of INTACH (Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage), an organisation which works to protect India’s architectural heritage. According to Mr Koujalgi, Indians seem to value property less than land. Land is more important than buildings. They are not attached to their houses. What they value more is intangible heritage like family, values, rituals and religion.

Above: Villa Pottipati s a family home in Bangalore which has been converted into a heritage hotel.

A city’s unique character is lost when its traditional architecture is torn down to make way for the shiny brand-new. Unfortunately there are no laws in India protecting heritage properties. According to INTACH Pondicherry, 60% of the city’s 1500 listed buildings have been demolished in the last 10 years! But they are doing their best to try to preserve the architectural and urban heritage of Pondicherry, which sets an example for other Indian cities. Mr Koujalgi explained that it’s been a long and tough battle trying to garner government interest and support for the restoration of Pondicherry’s heritage buildings. Preservation for preservation’s sake was not enough to convince government officials. But when they focussed on the potential for the promotion of tourism that heritage conservation has, more people took interest. There are more and more heritage buildings in Pondicherry being converted into shops, hotels and restaurants, and yes weekends see the arrival of many visitors coming to soak in the city’s unique charm.

Above: Hotel de l'Orient in Pondicherry. Restored with the help of INTACH. Like Villa Pottipati, it's part of the Neemrana group.

Here are some other examples of heritage properties in Pondicherry which have been restored thanks to the efforts of INTACH:

If you go to Pondicherry, visit the INTACH Heritage Centre, located in a beautifully-restored traditional Tamil-style house.

Pick up a copy of the Heritage Trail Map here or at the Tourist Office.

INTACH also organises Heritage Walks during the tourist season (November to February).

INTACH, 62 rue Aurobindo Street, Pondicherry, tel: +91 (0)413 222 5991, www.intachpondicherry.org

(Pondicherry photos courtesy of Tourist Office)