Cycles and stages

Ah, this is going to be a personal growth entry; I can just feel it. It's so funny how 90% of the time over here, I feel great. I feel like (lack of Marathi skills aside), I've figured out how to live over here. I consider myself at least passably capable most of the time. But once in a while...

One of the girls in the program forwarded us an e-mail that one of her friends sent her. Her friend sent her a quote from Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, a European writer who married an Indian man and lived here for a while.

"India reacts very strongly on people. Some loathe it, some love it, most do both. There is a special problem of adjustment for the sort of people who come today, who tend to be liberal in outlook and have been educated tobe sensitive and receptive to other cultures. But it is not always easy to be sensitive and receptive to India: there comes a point where you have to close up in order to protect yourself. The place is very strong and often proves too strong for European nerves. There is a cycle that Europeans--and by Europeans I mean all Westerners, including Americans--tend to pass through. It goes like this: first stage, tremendous enthusiasm--everything Indian is marvelous; second stage, everything Indian not so marvelous; third stage, everything Indian abominable. For some people it ends there, for others the cycle renews itself and goes on. I have been through it so many times that now I think of myself as strapped to a wheel that goes round and round and sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down."

I think I understand. No... I know I do. In the past six weeks I've seen people who I consider to be incredibly strong just break down. It sounds dramatic, but there's not really any other word for it. Part of it's probably the infamous culture shock, chasing us down on the street and tackling us with its ethnocentric claws. But that's not the worst, since that's something you can identify and deal with. The other part is the way we berate ourselves for not handling things better. I was just talking with one of my close friends on this trip, an incredible woman with a good deal of life experience and an open mind. She has done an unbelievable job of dealing with life over here, dodging the crankiness and weepiness that hits most of us about bi-weekly. But today, she just couldn't do it. College students (in my mind, ACM students especially) are so used to handling everything that life throws in our direction that when a curve ball hits us smack in the face, we're not really sure what to do. Do we get all introspective and write an insightful journal entry? Do we turn our helplessness into a metaphor-laden poem in iambic pentameter? Do we order a double-venti mocha and converse intellectually with a friend about our experience? Well, I've tried all of that, and it doesn't do a thing. Sometimes you just need to cry.

I had one of those moments the other day, actually. (Isn't this a touchy-feely, emotional blog? No objective travel journal for this girl). Anyway, I wrote an e-mail about it to a close friend, describing it something like this:

"I usually have my stuff together, either because that's just how I am or I feel like I have people relying on me. Either way, it usually takes something fairly significant to wear me down. The few times I've gotten upset here were brought on by tangible, shocking things. This was different, since nothing was really wrong. I was just... tired, I guess. Not just sleepy tired, but emotionally spent. I've been doing so well, but I get worn down. The hardest thing is feeling like certain things over here are just plain WRONG and then yelling at myself for being culturally intolerant. But women are oppressed here. Stray dogs roam the streets and get hit by cars who won't even slow down as the drivers see them cross in their path. It's hard, since even though I know these things also exist in America, I don't see them. It's ignorance on my part, sure, but it helps me sleep easier.

"I came to India to experience these things, knowing that it wouldn't be a walk in a park, or even in a monsoon. I knew that I'd lie awake, both from thinking about what I'd seen and also from those damned rickshaws honking at my window at two in the morning. But that's the point, really. That's why I'm here and not in Chicago or even in London. It's a growth experience, and I need it. I just get reminded once in a while that it's not going to be easy."

There you have it. I'm strapped to Ruth Prawer Jhabvala's wheel, with each India-happiness cycle growing longer and longer. I'm growing used to some things, so the "India is awful" stages are shorter and further between. If that pattern continues, I'll be totally adjusted to life here in about... oh, right around the time I leave. But hey, in the mean time, life is definitely interesting.

Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "Blue Monday," Orgy

New friends... of various species.

First things first. Intelligence sources (aka a friend from CC) have just informed me that the Killers are coming out with a new album on October 3rd called "Sam's Town." Considering that the Killers aren't exactly hot over here, I'm going to have to find a dramatic and desperate way to obtain the album the milisecond it's released. If anyone finds a way, you will be handsomely rewarded.. you know, my everlasting gratitude, my firstborn, whatever you want.

Ok, now that I've got that out of the way. Speaking of American pop culture, I just had an odd experience (odd day, really). Yesterday the ACM people organized a meet-and-greet for us with a group of Japanese students who are also here. They're studying English (huh??) and IT in Pune for a month, and they just have one week left. Either way, I spent a good amount of time yesterday talking with several Japanese boys who thought I was the most hilarious thing in the world. They taught me how to say "excellent" in Japanese (I've now promptly forgotten), and professed their love for Tom Cruise and Britney Spears. We all enjoyed eggless pound cake :( and tea that was an blend of Japanese and Indian styles. You'd think it'd be tasty, but nooooo. Let's just say it was an experience.

But anyway, the two groups met up again this morning to enjoy India's national pasttime, aka cricket. Nevermind that not a single person in either of our groups had ever played before. We're American and Japanese students, darn it, and we're going to play cricket! We don't need silly things like experience or knowledge!

And play cricket we did. Long story short, picture a group of students who stand out in a crowd around here (and not just for our quick wit and easy smiles, believe me). Then, put them in varying degrees of athletic clothes (which included spike heels and lots of hair gel, for some). Add several bats, wickets, and cricket accessories. Put them on a field in the middle of a college in the middle of a city in the middle of India, and you've got one hell of a spectator sport. What started out as a friendly, awkward game of cricket turned into the main attraction of the day. The students who stopped by to watch were overwhelmingly male and apparently single, which was made painfully obvious by their incredibly enthusiastic cheering whenever one of the girls went up to bat.

We started cheering our fellow Americans on, forgetting for a moment that the silly quasi-Marathi phrases that we throw around could actually be understood by those around us. When we're in private (either American or Indian friends) company, we like to throw around Marathish phrases. Actually, in my case, it's more like Sparatish, since I cannot seem to distinguish between my stored-up Spanish and the newly invading Marathi. I'll end up saying something like "Que zale here?", which borrows one word from three different languages. Basically, I end up sounding like an idiot. In a group of fellow idiots... oops, I mean foreigners... it's fine. But here, in the middle of a cricket pitch, surrounded by several dozen Marathi-speaking college students, my "KOOP CHAN (very good) HIT, ALYSON!" was... interesting. So much for looking intelligent, eh?

So, after the cricket game, Gemma and I were rather hungry. Being good American college students, we used our sixth sense to find a Pizza Hut. Let me take a minute to say that I find it highly appropriate that I would visit the first Pizza Hut in my life while in India. So, we enjoyed our pizza, garlic bread, and brownie sundae to the dulcet tones of the Backstreet Boys and of course, "Summer of '69."

And now, here I sit in my Internet cafe throne. I'm planning on taking a nap soon, since my sleep was disturbed last night in several interesting ways. Was that a good segue or what?

Last night, in true Sarah Lee form, I read a short novel cover to cover, staying up until around midnight (gasp!) to finish. I tossed my book onto the floor and said goodnight to my five arachnid roommates. Yes, they're still alive... we have a non-violence arrangment, provided that they stay in one corner and eat lots of mosquitos. I turned off the light, and a few cute little mini-cockroaches skuttled under my bed. "Cockroach go," I muttered tiredly. I fell asleep pretty quickly, since the streets were finally quiet. Sometimes random people make random noises late at night (you don't want to know), but it's normally pretty quiet. However, I noticed that a new neighbor has taken up residence recently. A big, old, awkward, fluffy cat with an incessant meow lives in a tree very close to my window. Don't get me wrong; I like most cats just fine. We normally have an arrangment where I leave them alone and they rub up against my leg for the three seconds that it takes them to realize that I'm a full-blooded dog person. And then they leave with a distince expression of disdain. But I'm cool with that.

But this cat likes me a bit too much. I wouldn't mind, except that its meow sounds remotely like an insane woman screaming. Don't ask me how or why. All that I know is that I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, ready to run outside and save whatever woman is being abducted before I realize... that darn cat.

So, this is less of an entry and more of a series of snapshots. But snapshots, as my camera proves, is what is going to make up the best parts of this trip. More to come soon, of both varieties.

Love,
Sarah!

More pictures

This is the waterfall that I went behind. As you can see, I'm in a good mood.


So amazing.


That's right... THAT waterfall!


That's Danielle (Lawrence) and Lena (CC.. yeah!). We're so painfully American... :)


These people, on the other hand, are cranky cause they're trapped in stone.

Here are some photos from the fort we visited on the way (sorry they're out of order).


Pretty clouds...


Misty mountains... many mountains...



I told you there were monkeys!


I've mastered the art of the hip shot, when you're taking a picture of someone without letting them know. Sneaky, eh?

Love,
Sarah :)

iPod: "The Mixed Tape," Jack's Mannequin

P.S. The photo uploader thing is a pain in the butt. I have more, but we'll see if/when I get them up.

Firefly

So, given that I have the desire to write something in a journal/blog/letter/napkin once about every three minutes, I promised myself when I started this blog that I'd only write when I had something to say. I fill up my "real" (as in paper) journal pretty quickly with everything from New Year's resolution-type lists to silly poetry to actual journaling. But with this blog, I figured that I didn't want to bore the few people who are actually reading this. Turns out that there are a few more than I thought.

But the point is, I started this blog to really say something about this experience, at least to the best of my ability. But right now, I just feel like writing. I haven't visited any caves in the last twenty-four hours nor have I had an interesting/comic/revealing/mind-expanding encounter with a young Indian child. I'm just thinking, and things tend to make more sense to me when I write them out.

It's been such an emotional roller-coaster here, for lack of a less cliche phrase to use. I experienced the big culture shock, then just the little annoyances that a person's mind can logically (albeit frustratingly) sort through and move on. But right now, I'm just in limbo. I don't have any class today, on account of only having one class today, which was cancelled. I woke up pretty late, around ten (ok, late for India Sarah, not for the US Sarah). I have no homework to do, I have no appointments to make, I have no real goals for the day. I left my house and wandered into a nice little park where I sat down to read. Five minutes later, a guard poked me with a stick and blew his whistle, saying "Hello, madam, hello!" which I soon understood to mean that the park was closing for the afternoon. Everything here closes from about one to four, but I guess the park is closed from eleven until four.

So, as any other good American student with time on her hands would do, I came to an Internet cafe to look at Facebook. I started to think about how my life here and my life back at home/CC are different. There are all of the surface distinctions (squirrels vs. cows, pohay vs. corn flakes) and how easy it is to get caught up in them. They seem exotic and like good fodder for a letter or a phone call. It's much easier to describe the language barrier than it is to describe.. well, there you are. I guess I'll call it "the other stuff."

There's the indescribable interplay between India's westernization and the tradition. It's almost more difficult to deal with than if India really were the totally foreign place I'd read about. But no... there are McDonald's, there are internet cafes on every corner, and I even saw a Sodexho sign in a coffee house the other day. I kid you not.

But there I go again, talking about the surface. Things feel different here, and it's not just the differences that I mention. There's a slower pace to everything, which felt nice for the first month but is now sort of unsettling. I was talking with my roommate about this back in our first week, and we both reached the conclusion that we felt as if we were on a vacation. Things were slower, not much was expected out of us, and I certainly didn't have any Residential Life programs to plan.

Which, all in all, was great at the time. I have the ability/curse to overplan and overschedule my time, regardless of the reason. But here, I really can't. Part of it is only knowing about twenty people in this city, sixteen of them college students my age who I can drag along to a movie theatre or other such distraction. But the other part is realizing that I really have no idea what I'm doing. I mean, I'm studying Marathi (technically) and taking some classes. I'm living with a host family. The ACM office plans programs for us once every few weeks. I've read a lot of books and practically burnt my iPod into the ground. But what am I really doing?

There are so many things I want to do and figure out, but right now I have no idea what they are. I've been to temples, I've seen some amazing Hindi movies... So it's strange. I'm certainly not bored, even though as this entry spirals on I can see how it might sound that way. If I were actually bored in a city of three million people on the other side of the world, I'd be in trouble. I think it's just more a sense of purposelessness. Now, hang on.. don't worry, I'm ok! I just need to figure stuff out.

Back at CC, I do a LOT. Life is full of stuff, whether it's activities, people, randomness. I feel like people need me, at least some of the time. But here? I haven't put down roots yet. Not even skinny ones. Which, I suppose, is understandable, since I've been here a little over a month and only speak enough of the language to get myself two chai teas for a decent price. I know that all of this takes time, but I just wish I had a plan.

Once again, I want to make clear (especially for family members, ha) that I'm doing fine. I'm not sad, I'm not bored, I'm not anything, really. And that's sort of the problem. But I'll figure myself out. I usually do. Just felt like sharing. Whew... that's better.

Love,
Sarah

iPod: "Mr. Brightside (Acoustic)," The Killers

Buddhas and Monkeys and Bats, oh my!

After about a month in Pune, we were getting tired of the city life. While it's unbelievably convenient to walk two steps to get my first of many cups of tea each day, there's something to be said for a suspended moment of silence that is not interrupted by horns of all pitches and styles. Speaking of which, I can't believe I haven't mentioned the Christmas carols yet.

Surprisingly, I'm pretty sure that I've heard more Christmas carols in India in the past month than I've heard in all of my American Christmases combined (and that's saying something). Allow me to explain. As I mentioned in previous entries, horn honking is essentially an art here. However, what I haven't mentioned so far is that besides the personalized (and frequent) horns, cars also sing a song when they back up. Think of the beep-beep-beep that big rigs make, but then turn it into a 1990's-cell phone-ring. I've heard everything from Fur Elise to the theme from Titanic. It was especially weird for the first few weeks before I found out what it was. Anyway. Christmas carols are especially popular choices for the back-up song, as I call it. My baba explained to me that the vast, vast majority of people over here recognize the songs but have no idea what they are. So, picture my surprise when I'm weaving my way through cows and children on a warm August afternoon in India and all of a sudden I hear "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" or "Frosty The Snowman." It's something out of a bad Twilight Zone episode, I tell you.

But anyway, on to the point of this entry! I just got back (as in ten minutes ago) from a long weekend of cave exploration. In true ACM style, our enthusiastic program associates planned cool activities for us without actually giving away much information about the upcoming adventures. All that I knew is that we were going to some caves for a few days. I pictured something out of Batman Begins, complete with stalactites and angry bats. Turned out I was only half correct.

On our way to the caves, we stopped by a fort (sorry, in my excitement I've forgotten the name). To me, it could've passed as a cave. It's a huge stone structure on top of this hill overlooking a gorgeous valley. It was fortunate that we had an amazing view to look forward to at the end, since our journey upwards went through the sort of caves that I was picturing, complete with absolute darkness, bats swooping inches from my ear, and serious slippery rock. When we first walked into the darkness, I heard the chirping sounds of what sounded like several thousand crickets. Once our guide lit his torch (not a flashlight... an actual wooden torch out of Disney's Aladdin), I discovered that the crickets were actually bats. About two feet from my face. Thank God they weren't tarantulas, of else you all know what would've happened. However, once I got used to the smell of bat guano (which I will never, ever forget), it was pretty cool.

Quick tangent... The internet cafe that I'm in just started playing Bryan Adam's "Summer of '69." Over here, he's still considered a "God of rock." I've heard this song so many times I might start confusing it with a Christmas carol.

Anyway! We spent a few hours at the fort and then headed back to the bus for the final three hours. On our trek down, I saw monkeys. Yes, real monkeys. As in not in a zoo. Needless to say, I freaked out. A few parakeets decided to join in by chirping and dive-bombing the monkeys. As if this wasn't enough, I heard a peacock calling nearby. I tell ya, I almost fell over. Don't be surprised if I bring a monkey or an emu (oh yeah, we saw those too) home with me. But not bats. For all of you I promised presents to, get ready for it.

So, after a lovely night of uninterrupted sleep (with a real pillow!!!!!!!!!!!), we got our cave-ing shoes on and set off not knowing what to expect. For those of you who haven't been (there might be somebody somewhere), the Ajanta and Elora caves are located about six hours away from Pune. They're Buddhist caves from around five thousand years ago, and they're absolutely breathtaking. Instead of slimy walls and limbo-worthy low ceilings, they're cavernous temples carved directly into a mountain. We went to the Ajanta Caves the first day, which are most famous for the painting work that has somehow survived five thousand years of monsoons and angry bats. Apparently these caves had been forgotten for several thousand years before some nosy British guy out tiger-hunting wandered over a ridge and saw this huge valley ten times the size of a football stadium full of caves and stone bridges. Crazy Brits.

We spent two days wandering through the caves, one day in Ajanta and the other in Elora. It was so cool to be in Buddhist caves, especially since Buddhism is such a small religion in India. As far as I know, less than 1% of the population is actually Buddhist. But these caves remain as a reminder of what I'm sure was an excellent Buddhist heyday a few centuries ago.

We spent a few hours with a guide as we wandered through the more famous and precious caves (in other words, you use a camera flash and you're tortured and decapitated. Ok, so they just yell at you and take your camera away). There were carved stone Buddhas ranging in height from two to twenty feet, along with a whole host of other deities and historical figures. The paintings were absolutely amazing, especially since with my limited art background I remembered that certain aspects of their paintings (such as the use of perspective) had been thought to be more modern developments. The paint hasn't been redone or touched up, so even though chunks that are missing give the whole thing an unfinished jigsaw puzzle effect, I was astonished that so much of it remains.

We spent a good amount of time oohing and aahing at the history, but as most college kids do, we got antsy. Fortunately for us, there was a huge waterfall nearby. After scampering over rocks of varying degrees of slipperiness, a few other students and I made it behind the waterfall.

Now, when I saw waterfall, I'm not taking about some wimpy little ten-foot thing. I mean a serious, Indiana Jones-style column of crashing water. We sat behind it, totally soaked, just staring in silence. We could just barely see around the edges of the waterfall, catching glimpses of the greenery and (more!) monkeys. Pictures will come, I promise.

As we left the caves, our program leaders explained that we'd be making our way through a cool although somewhat tourist-y market where we could bargain for necklaces and stone idols and the like. What they didn't tell us is that we were going to be literally assaulted by a hundred men, each one begging us to come see his shop, just for a minute, please madam, you will like, you like I cut price only for you, where are you going, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello! It was insane. It was such an assault on the senses that I almost just panicked and left. However, once I got ahold of myself, I was able to get excellent bargains on some necklaces. It took some yelling of "NAKO!" to the men shoving necklaces in my face to regain my sanity, but I knew that if worst came to worst, I could always shout "COCKROACH GO!"

The Elora caves the next day were no less spectacular. These caves are more famous for their stone carving work since no paintings have remained. Huge elephants, Buddhas, and everything in between seemed to stare at us as we walked past. We didn't stay for quite as long, since we were all exhausted from the first day. However, I ended up having the experience of a lifetime that evening.

After a long, luxurious, and suprisingly cockroach-free nap, I decided to grab some friends and wander through the small town that our hotel was in. We ran into the Anjus (Anju and Anjali, two of our program associates), who asked us if we wanted to go to a temple nearby. I pictured something similar to the caves that we'd been to, so I was quite surprised when we arrived at an active temple teeming with people. One man working at the temple grabbed our group and ushered us through the two-hour-long line simply because we were white. Talk about feeling awkward... Either way, we removed our shoes and stepped into the most terrifying and wonderful experience that I've had so far. Men had to remove their shirts, and women had to remove anything covering their head. We walked to this stone carving in a room, which is apparently a representation of Ganesh, one of the Hindu gods most popular in Maharashtra. We placed flowers and an auspicious coconut (sounds like a band name, doesn't it?) onto the altar as people around us shouted, rang bells, clapped, and so many other things. I say that it was terrifying simply since I had no idea what to expect before I stepped into the colorful cacophony. It was complete sensory overload, and after I got ahold of myself, it was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

I have to interject again... It's been about fifteen minutes since they played "Summer of '69," and it's playing again.

After we walked out of the temple and regained our shoes, we stopped at a stand that was selling Hindu rosaries (sort of. It's hard to describe). While we were looking, a well-dressed little boy of about eight came up to me. I braced myself for a sales attempt, but he simply said, "Hello. What is your country?" After I told him where I was from, he said, "America is a very good country. How long are you in India?" I told him that I was here to study Marathi for five months, and he said, "You study Marathi! Very cool. You are quite cute, madam, you know." And he shook my hand and walked away with his family, beaming as they patted him on the back. "Thank you!" he called over his shoulder. I have to say, it was one of the strangest and happiest moments so far.

I took approximately 29,872,869,692 pictures (give or take), but actually getting them onto my blog is incredibly frustrating. I'll do what I can, but for the time being you're going to have to use your imagination or send me a laptop. Your call.

I hope all is well back on the other side of the world. We start our actual classes tomorrow (political science, environmental science, and more Marathi), so I should have more to write soon. Thanks for reading :)

Love,
Sarah!

Indian Mafia, Cockroaches, and Harry Potter

So, it's Wednesday now, and all is well. I figured I'd go all out to celebrate yesterday, so a few friends and I rented two movies and made French toast (oh, I'm sorry... Freedom toast? Is that still hip?). We watched serenity and Munna Bhai M.B.B.S., aka the coolest movie ever. Seriously, I'm obsessed. I can see why people love Bollywood movies so much. My friend Davdat picked it out, and since he knows a bit more about India than I do (seeing as he's from Pune and all), I decided to trust his judgment. I mean, it wasn't a crappy horror movie, but he described it as an Indian mafia comedy, which is right up my alley as you all know.

Little did I know that I was about to watch absolute poetry in motion. It started out as a semi-corny Indian mob movie and then transformed into a comedy, a romance, a musical, a drama, a self-help movie, and everything else you can possibly think of. Long story (as in three hours) short, Bhai (Brother) Munna is a high-rolling mob boss in Mumbai. However, he has a great relationship with his parents, who are incredibly proud of their son (who they think is a doctor). So, whenever they come to visit, Munna and his minions turn their headquarters into a hospital, complete with gurneys, mobster patients, and an ambulance. Seriously, it's amazing. Anyway, through a classic twist of fate, Munna's parents find out the truth and are very, very sad. His mom wouldn't even hug him. So, later that night, an intoxicated Munna decided to become a doctor, this time for real. So, add a beautiful girl, several sparkling musical numbers, some comic relief, and about a dozen poignant, heart-wrenching life lessons, and you've got one hell of a movie. I've never heard of a mob boss who could be so Patch Adams. I'm going to buy a copy or ten and bring them back to the US, and I'll make you all watch it! Muahahaha! There is no escape from this.

Since I'm on the topic of amusing Indian things, I figured that I'd relate an interesting tidbit that I learned the other day. We've been taught to tell our rickshaw drivers "Saral ja" (suh-ruhl tzah), or "Go straight." I mentioned this to my baba (host father), and he gave me the strangest look I've received in a while, which is saying something. He explained to me that the words for "cockroach" and "straight" are somewhat close. I'm assuming that by "somewhat close," he means "impossible for an American to distinguish." So, when I've been proudly and confidently telling my rickshaw driver where to go, I've been yelling, "COCKROACH GO!" At least I'll know what to say if something crawls over me in the night (don't worry, hasn't happened yet).

And that's only the beginning. Onion v. shoulder, rickshaw v. final exam, and such are just a few of the examples of the possibilities for awkward confusion. Since the Sanskrit script is so ridiculously complex and frickin' annoying (I mean... beautiful and advanced), it's incredibly difficult for a foreigner to pronounce the syllables exactly. There are four apparently very distinct sounds for "tuh" that all sound the same to me but can mean the difference between talking about a puppy and a hernia. OK, those aren't exactly the words, but you get the point.

Although, today was excellent, since we had our test signifying the end of our introductory period of Marathi. I say that it was excellent because even though it was a scary-school-test, I realized halfway through it that even though I was definitely messing up my "tuh" with my "tuh*", I was reading words that would've meant less than nothing to me one month ago. We know the entire script now and I can sound out pretty much every word, however slowly and awkwardly. It's pretty darn cool when you think about it. Cockroach or no cockroach, I'm happy.

I'm also starting to make sense of more things around here. I've stopped doing double takes when I see rickshaws sideswiping children but screeching to a halt to avoid a cow, and I know well enough to ignore the color of the food on my plate long enough to realize how delicious grey-green can be. One of our advisors told us in the first few weeks that we'd know we'd settled in when we stopped thinking "Whoa, I'm in India!" every few seconds. And even though I dream of macaroni and cheese (literally) and a bath, it's starting to feel more real here. I wrote a letter to my esteemed friend Andy Brand and described it something like this...

"When you hear people talking about India or just read about it, it's like looking through the pages of a National Geographic, saying things like 'Oh, how interesting!' and 'Oooooh, aaaah, eeeeee!' Then you arrive, and not just for a two-week visit. You're here for real, and you've just leaned a little bit too far forward into the page. The tip of your nose touches the paper, and you fall in, Harry Potter-style."

For those of you who haven't read Harry Potter, this wouldn't make sense. I'm not going to apologize, though, since you're the only one who hasn't read Harry Potter. Anyway. As my other blog entries probably indicated, I was a bit overwhelmed for the first month or so. Not that I've figured out life entirely now, but I feel a bit more... well, natural. It just took some time. I've realized that it's so much better to vent the things that seem "wrong" to me here (thanks, Andy and Mom) than to keep them inside for fear of seeming intolerant or ethnocentric. Now I just sit in my room as the sun goes down with my iPod on full blast and things slip back into focus. It's surprising how something so little that wouldn't bother me back in the US gets under my skin to an extreme degree here (and no, I'm not talking about bacteria. Sorry, I couldn't resist). For me, at least, it's about letting myself get reasonably upset and then just dealing with it.

And believe me, the amazing things definitely outnumber the not-so-amazing things here. It's still difficult to have a little child pull on my pant leg or to see a dead puppy on the side of the road, but I just can't let myself dwell on it. And that's been the biggest thing of all... just letting myself get upset about stupid things that aren't really consequential while ignoring the things that are. Maybe after some more time I'll be strong enough to deal with all of it inclusively, but for now, I'm going to section things off until.. well, I don't know. I think that the longer I'm here, the more I'll understand. I hope so, anyway.

Until then, I'm going to interspace my serious encounters with more Bollywood movies. Did I mention that Munna Bhai M.B.B.S. has a sequel coming out in a few weeks? Rock.

Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "Rainbow in the Dark," Dio, and "Tell Me," Dropping Daylight

Tuesday's coming

Things around here have been a little different since the terror attempts on British Airlines. I'm not sure exactly what's going on back in the US as far as security goes. I know that airline stuff has been tighter, but I'm not sure how everyday life is being affected. Over here, it's a bit tense, since India's Independance Day is on Tuesday. There have been threats in Mumbai and in New Delhi, especially against foreigners. I'm writing this not so that people will worry, but just so that if something does happen in Mumbai, I want you guys to know that I'm ok. Pune is relatively safe, and all of us blonde folk are just going to lie low for a few days. It'll give me an excuse to do my homework, pretty much.

Once again, I'm struck by the differences in the attitudes towards terrorism over here. Even though people understand the risk and are being smart about precautions, there's more of an air of "well, let's hope for the best, but life goes on." I'm not especially nervous, but I have no idea how I'd feel if I were in Mumbai instead. Hopefully nothing will happen, but the possibility is still a bit daunting.

Anyway. Moving on. I'm going to start work on my independent project soon, and I'm very excited. My original plan was to find a theatre company in the area and sort of shadow one of their productions. It would've been a great experience, but it wouldn't be very involved, and my head would probably explode from all the Marathi. So, the other day in class, I was spacing out (I admit it, ha), and was completely struck, lightning bolt-style, with an idea. I chose this study abroad program so that I'd be in the middle of a city, living with an Indian family instead of American students. I want to interact with people, not just learn about India through a book. So, as of right now, I'm planning on interviewing a group of Indian women from all walks of life... "upper" and "lower" caste, a rural woman, a younger woman, a widow, etc. I'll transcribe these interviews with the help of a Pune University student, compile them together, and then turn their experiences into a one-act, monologue-based play. If you're familiar with The Vagina Monologues or The Exonerated, I'm shooting for a similar style, with the play adopting a confessional style as opposed to a traditional play. It's a huge undertaking, but I'm passionate about it, and ACM is amazing at helping students get in touch with the right people in the community. I'll keep updating as things progress (hopefully progress, anyway). :)

Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "The Walk," Imogen Heap

Out of order

So, I wrote this on one of my first few days here and completely forgot about it. It's not really relevant anymore, but it seemed profound-ish (maybe) at the time. If not profound, just really really adjective-heavy.

I'm sitting in the classroom, fruit flies swirling around my face as rain patters on the hard-packed dirt outside. Our professor speaks of the division of Pakistan and India, but my mind is on the tiny, mewling puppies living under the crumbling cement staircase outside. We discovered them during the break from class when an adventurous pup (who I named Sparky) came stumbling out. He wasn't much bigger than my hand.

The classroom is both inside and outside at the same time. There's a ceiling, a floor, and two cement walls. The space where the other walls would be is exactly that.. just space. They're nothing but air, allowing breeze to flow throuhg the classroom along with bits of the rain that falls outside. At this moment they serve as an emergency generator as our lights flicker and die as our fan slows to a stop. Our professor doesn't miss a beat. I can picture the scene if this were to have happened back in the US, at CC specifically.. "Whoa!" "Dude, what's going on?" "Woo hooooo!" Over here, it's just a part of almost every day.

I begin to space out even more, wishing that our daily break for chaha-- chai tea, known simply as "tea"-- would increase to, oh, say six breaks a day. I know that I can run across the street from our hotel to pick up a cup for 4 rupees, or about two cents. Maybe I'll do just that.

Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "Smile Like You Mean It," String Quartet Tribute to The Killers

more pictures!

Hooray for the salwaar kameez!


So hardcore. You know it's true.


My room at my host family's. Sorry about the weird rotation, this computer is odd.




Camel, oh, camel!



Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "I'm Ready," Jack's Mannequin

Rajmachi Pictures!

Here are a bunch of the pictures from the trek that I promised, almost entirely out of order. I do apologize. But you get to see my short hair!

Love,
Sarah!


Aren't we cute? Aw....

My ex-roommate and I, getting very wet.

I'd translate it for you, but you'd get confused.

Friendly(ish) sheep herder.

How to Survive a Monsoon

Hooooooly crap. This is what happens when I don't write in here every single day; I go into overload and want to write about absolutely everything that's happened. So, this entry will either be about 28926906 pages long, or else I'll crash in the middle (or my internet will crash) and it'll be pitifully short. Let's find out, shall we?

First of all, I'm so much better now. I realized that I left my blog on sort of a depressing note for about a week, when in reality I pulled an emotional 360 degree turn the day after. I realized that most of the problem wasn't actually culture shock, my rather my overly-politically-correct self getting angry and my still-a-real-person self for getting upset at the differences. The whole group had a sort of cry-and-share the day after. It was very 70's, and I loved it. When everything boils down, I've always been taught to be culturally understanding. It's very easy to say "oh, how original" about a culture when I'm reading about it in my history book or watching some special on TV. I have open-mindedness standards for myself that I never want to cross. What I needed to realize is that it's ok to freak out. It's ok to desperately want Kraft Macaroni and Cheese even when I have a delicious dahl in front of me. It's ok to silently whimper about the blisters on my feet, my endless quests for toilet paper, and everything that's actually significant. As my dad told me, if I didn't get upset, something would be wrong. I'd be passively observing a culture, instead of getting my fingers dirty (really) and living it. This is no trip to the Smithsonian, and I don't have to happily coo at everything I see.

That being said, life's crazy, in a wonderfully cosmopolitan way. We went to the village of Rajmachi on Saturday. Waking up at 4:30 AM (yes, kids, Sarah Lee actually woke up before noon) left me disoriented, but a two-hour train ride (boarding and exiting the trains is like a mosh pit. Seriously. We rode in the ladies' compartment on the way back, and there were women slapping and pushing at the few men who tried to board with us. I had to clutch onto the pole as the train pulled out of the station) and the following trek certainly woke me up. It's driving me crazy that I can't post pictures now, but I should have a USB cord tomorrow. Once the pictures are up, I'll post them in another entry with corresponding numbers. It'll be great, I promise.

So! Rajmachi. We walked through a village on our way to the mountain, and I was thrown at how different the rural areas are from the city. All that I'd seen of India so far was Mumbai and Pune, two of the larger and more prosperous cities. A mere train ride away, and people were gawking at the blonde freaks walking past. I know that I'd mentioned being stared at, but this was a whole different ball game. The stares in the city are more curiosity or sexual interest, whereas here they were more "what the hell are you?" looks, as my friend Danielle put it. It probably didn't help that I'd cropped my hair really short the day before (pictures soon, I promise). Anyway, we made it through the village, stopping to devour the Indian breakfast sandwich (ridiculously spicy potato, spinach, and who knows what else pressed between two halves of a bun) on our way. We walked a few hundred yards up a hill, and everything changed.

It started raining, lightly at first, and didn't stop (it still hasn't, actually). The heat on the ground mixed with the cold rain, and a San Francisco-worthy fog sprouted up, covering everything in a ghostly layer of wetness. We walked across a stone bridge over a lake, and the fog seeping down the sides of the bridge and onto the lake gave the impression that we were walking over a bottomless pit. It wasn't the last time on the trek that I thought of Lord of the Rings. We walked for the next five hours, climbing over boulders and across waist-deep streams. When the fog cleared for a split second, we could see waterfalls as tall as skyscrapers completely surrounding us. As we climbed higher, it rained harder. What started out as a light drizzle was now a complete downpour. If you've seen the movie Jumanji, you might remember the scene where a monsoon invaded the suburban house. It's actually not that far from the truth. The dirt paths turned to silty streams then actual rivers.

About three-quarters of the way through, we came to the first actual river (when I say actual, I mean that it had a name. We'd gone through half a dozen or so legit rivers, in my opinion), and our guide, Anju, said we could stop and have a "nice time." "Nice" is probably the most-used English word in India, by the way. So, since we were all completely soaking anyway, we plunged in. Most people waded in slowly, but I'd had enough of that. I dove in headfirst, plunging upstream against the fairly strong current. The water ranged from ankle-deep to over my head, but we found a group of rocks that were just below the surface. The rain continued to pour down, and the whipping branches and churning water was unbelievable. I say "unbelievable," because I honestly can't describe it. It was partially like something out of a movie, out of a fantasy novel, out of a Larium-induced dream, and partially something I can't even describe. We stood on the rocks, as we out of the water as in it. We slid down algae-covered rocks, splashing and falling and laughing harder than I thought possible. For lack of a non-cliche to explain it, it's something I'll never forget. Ever.

We continued on our trek, drenched more from the rain than from the river. The rain came down even harder, to the point where it felt like hail. We finally stumbled into the village where we flopped into a house owned by a family who our guide knew. We dried off, sort of, and collapsed until the evening. After dinner, our guide took us out to the forest to see a special fungus. In certain areas of Maharashtra, a phosphorescent fungus grows in the forests. Villagers used to see the glow-in-the-dark patches in the night and think that ghosts were appearing before them. I can certainly see why. We headed back to the house, stepping over mini-streams that popped up as we walked. Sprawled spread-eagle on the cow dung floor, I fell asleep almost instantly. As my eyes closed and my heartbeat slowed, the rain continued to fall.

When we woke up the next morning, it was still raining. The villagers said that it was the most rain they'd had in years, and that we probably wouldn't be able to cross the river. We walked down to the river anyway and saw a group of people using a rope to cross. Assembly line-style, about a dozen people crossed the waist-deep water. After some words of caution from our guide, we fought against the current with the help of several local men, making it safely to the other side.

The rest of the trek passed similarly to the first day, except we had a few more blisters and no more dry clothes. There was no turning back now, and fortunately we made it to the train station in time. One mostly-female mosh pit later, we collapsed onto the seats. A hot bucket shower never sounded so good.

Once again, I appologize for the lack of pictures. I took about 80 yesterday, so the highlights will be up tomorrow. Definitely.

Thanks to those of you who have sent me letters or e-mails.. I appreciate them more than you know. Keep fighting the good fight. I know I will.

Love,
Sarah!