I can't read what they're saying about me
So, through a process involving a random guy at an Internet cafe, a spirited debate about American politics, and an inter-faith peace rally about the Mumbai bombings, I somehow found myself on the front page of the main newspaper of Maharashtra (read: circulation of either 7 or 70 million. It was hard to tell with the guy's accent). The URL is below, but I'm not sure if it will still work tomorrow. It's worth a shot, anyway!
Sarah in Marathi
Naturally this happens on the day when I skipped a shower when I really shouldn't have. Oh, vanity...
So.. explanation for the above. There's an internet cafe right next to the hotel we've been staying at, and I've been using it to check e-mail, update my blog, etc. Even though my roommate has wireless, it's ridiculously expensive, even with the exchange rate working disgustingly in our favor. As is the custom across most of Eupore and Asia, the internet cafes (which actually have nothing to do with coffee, tea, or anything even remotely ingestible) are the cool hang-out place. For those of you who went to my high school, think of the local SuperAmerica, but cooler. People actually go inside.
Anyway. Being Sarah Lee, after a few days at this cafe I started talking to the relative strangers around me who don't really speak my language. I started talking to this guy who seemed a bit annoyed that all of India is required to learn English. Because of India's huge size, students are essentially required to learn three languages: Hindi (India's national language, technically), English, and the state's local dialect (Marathi, in the case of Maharashtra). In the northern states, Hindi is the local dialect, so only two languages must be learned. In the south and on the coasts, there is a huge amount of resentment that Hindi is the national language. This sentiment, along with the fact that I hardly speak enough Marathi to save my life (which is probably not an exaggeration, by the way), prompted this guy to speak sharply to me about American imperialism and the like.
I understood his point, but as anyone who's talked to me for more than thirty seconds knows, I get feisty when spoken to in even a mildly sharp manner. I finally said, "Look. Asim [his name]. Just because I speak English doesn't mean that I think other people should have to. I came to India to learn Marathi so I could better understand the culture in Pune. So there, stuffy man!" OK, so I didn't actually call him stuffy. It would've been funny, though! But instead of offending him, he actually agreed, smiled, and asked if I would show up at this peaceful, inter-faith prayer vigil in the park the next day. Cool stuff, eh?
The next day at the park, I walked over to the group of about fifty people ranging in age from eight to eighty. Men in sweater vests, women in saris, a little boy in nothing at all... They were all there, and they brought me into the circle. There were other ACM students with me, but we still stood out, especially when they started singing the prayer in Hindi. You know when a popular song comes on the radio that you're supposed to know but don't, and literally everyone around you is singing along, and you sort of mumble the words as if you know what you're doing? Well, besides constructing horrible run-on sentences, that's what I did. There was some guy taking pictures with a digital camera that could've been disposable. I thought little of it.
And it went from there. Today was sort of funny, since I got pointed at even more than usual. My host mom, Purva, called the ACM office to make sure that they knew that I was on the front page. I had to giggle, since I know it's exactly what my mom at home would've done. You know it's true, Mom :)
Anyway. I don't tell this story to say how cool I am that I was one of the only blonde people at a peace rally and that's why I was in the paper, but simply because this is yet anothe example of the feeling that I can't quite describe as well as I'd like to. There's something about India. Even though the pollution is so bad that I can't eat for a few hours after riding a rickshaw, there's something that's so much more important than that. Even if I were to decide that India and I should see other people (see weird dating metaphor of previous entries), I'm not going anywhere. I'm stuck here, but not in a bad way.
Even though I read my horoscope religiously and make a wish every time I go through a yellow light, I'm not one to pull the fate card very often. I think that people make choices and that often times those choices are more closely tied in with other things than they'd think. But for all of the randomness that brought me to choose India, something was in the works for me. It's strange, and as soon as I come up with a less crystal ball-esque explanation, I'll be sure to let you know. Until then, you'll just be in suspense. Too bad, stuffy man! Hehe.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: None. But the cafe's playing some really bad American rap, circa 1996. And I don't say "bad" when I mean good.
Sarah in Marathi
Naturally this happens on the day when I skipped a shower when I really shouldn't have. Oh, vanity...
So.. explanation for the above. There's an internet cafe right next to the hotel we've been staying at, and I've been using it to check e-mail, update my blog, etc. Even though my roommate has wireless, it's ridiculously expensive, even with the exchange rate working disgustingly in our favor. As is the custom across most of Eupore and Asia, the internet cafes (which actually have nothing to do with coffee, tea, or anything even remotely ingestible) are the cool hang-out place. For those of you who went to my high school, think of the local SuperAmerica, but cooler. People actually go inside.
Anyway. Being Sarah Lee, after a few days at this cafe I started talking to the relative strangers around me who don't really speak my language. I started talking to this guy who seemed a bit annoyed that all of India is required to learn English. Because of India's huge size, students are essentially required to learn three languages: Hindi (India's national language, technically), English, and the state's local dialect (Marathi, in the case of Maharashtra). In the northern states, Hindi is the local dialect, so only two languages must be learned. In the south and on the coasts, there is a huge amount of resentment that Hindi is the national language. This sentiment, along with the fact that I hardly speak enough Marathi to save my life (which is probably not an exaggeration, by the way), prompted this guy to speak sharply to me about American imperialism and the like.
I understood his point, but as anyone who's talked to me for more than thirty seconds knows, I get feisty when spoken to in even a mildly sharp manner. I finally said, "Look. Asim [his name]. Just because I speak English doesn't mean that I think other people should have to. I came to India to learn Marathi so I could better understand the culture in Pune. So there, stuffy man!" OK, so I didn't actually call him stuffy. It would've been funny, though! But instead of offending him, he actually agreed, smiled, and asked if I would show up at this peaceful, inter-faith prayer vigil in the park the next day. Cool stuff, eh?
The next day at the park, I walked over to the group of about fifty people ranging in age from eight to eighty. Men in sweater vests, women in saris, a little boy in nothing at all... They were all there, and they brought me into the circle. There were other ACM students with me, but we still stood out, especially when they started singing the prayer in Hindi. You know when a popular song comes on the radio that you're supposed to know but don't, and literally everyone around you is singing along, and you sort of mumble the words as if you know what you're doing? Well, besides constructing horrible run-on sentences, that's what I did. There was some guy taking pictures with a digital camera that could've been disposable. I thought little of it.
And it went from there. Today was sort of funny, since I got pointed at even more than usual. My host mom, Purva, called the ACM office to make sure that they knew that I was on the front page. I had to giggle, since I know it's exactly what my mom at home would've done. You know it's true, Mom :)
Anyway. I don't tell this story to say how cool I am that I was one of the only blonde people at a peace rally and that's why I was in the paper, but simply because this is yet anothe example of the feeling that I can't quite describe as well as I'd like to. There's something about India. Even though the pollution is so bad that I can't eat for a few hours after riding a rickshaw, there's something that's so much more important than that. Even if I were to decide that India and I should see other people (see weird dating metaphor of previous entries), I'm not going anywhere. I'm stuck here, but not in a bad way.
Even though I read my horoscope religiously and make a wish every time I go through a yellow light, I'm not one to pull the fate card very often. I think that people make choices and that often times those choices are more closely tied in with other things than they'd think. But for all of the randomness that brought me to choose India, something was in the works for me. It's strange, and as soon as I come up with a less crystal ball-esque explanation, I'll be sure to let you know. Until then, you'll just be in suspense. Too bad, stuffy man! Hehe.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: None. But the cafe's playing some really bad American rap, circa 1996. And I don't say "bad" when I mean good.
posted by Sarah! at 8:55 AM
2 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
hahahahahaha...sarah, you on the front page of that paper is just too. cool. i'm printing it out in case it goes away...(p.s. i'm lovin' ur blog...and i deleted my previous comment on here cuz i realized i swore and was suddenly uncomfortable with your parents or harry stumbling upon it lol)
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