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
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
posted by Sarah! at 3:03 AM
2 Comments:
What a fascinating entry, Sar...
It's pretty amazing what you are learning about yourself, let alone the Indian culture! I can really see the "minor in philosophy" coming out in you!! Love, M
Hey Sarah,
it stays nice to read your entries. Keep on learning! You write about slowly starting to 'understand' India, after your first weeks of culture shock. Well, you'll have one more little culture shock when you are going back home. I still remember how extremly clean everything looked, how well organised everything was and how easy (you just turn on the tap and there is hot water!) getting back from India to Belgium. It took a few days to get 'used' to it...
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