Water and fire
I feel like life is a huge series of contradictions right now. I realize how negative that sounds, and that's not what I mean, really. It just comes down to how multi-faceted everything is over here. Things may also be like that in the US, but I'm just hyper-sensitive to anything and everything since I'm abroad. Last night marked the end of the Ganesh festival (technically, anyway), and there was more drama in that twenty four-hour span than you'd find in a whole season of any soap opera. Not that I'd know or anything. I swear I didn't watch Days of Our Lives religiously for an entire summer.
Last night was a whirlwind. My friend Sara and I wandered through the carnival-like immersion celebration, escaping the bigger crowds but still getting doused in auspicious (and apparently carcinogenic) red powder. We saw mass immersions at the river and were interviewed for a local paper (again). We ate coconut with a little girl and took some great pictures of our powder-covered selves. I was ecstatic, and glad that the evening was better than that same afternoon.
I came home early from class, super-excited for my family's afternoon plans. The Ganesh festival's end is marked with the auspicious immersion where every family brings their Ganesh idol down to a river or lake and immerses it. The idols are made of plaster of Paris, so they eventually dissolve in the water. My family had told me to be home around three to make sure that I made it in time. I couldn't wait to join the thousands of Puneites at the river. From everything I'd heard from friends whose families celebrated an abbreviated Ganesh festival, the immersion was amazing and moving. When I returned home, my ai asked me if it was "that womanly time" yet. I answered her truthfully, understanding that I wouldn't be able to participate in the prayer before the immersion. I waited in my room, reading the same paragraph in The Catcher in the Rye about fifty times. Finally, the prayer was over, and my ai came into my room, presumably to fetch me. "OK, we will go now. We will be home in one hour after immersion. You have the keys if you go out, yes?"
And then they left. I kept reminding myself that it wasn't personal, it's not me, it has nothing to do with me, this happens all the time, at least I'm not actually Hindu, it must be much worse for somebody devout... But the tears still came. I don't know if I was more upset for myself or for the other women who had been brought up to believe that they were unclean, less worthy than men for religious purity or simple human value.
And that's how I got here. Yep, I think we all saw it coming. I do believe that I'm in the midst of a full-blown feminist awakening. I remember a blog entry (hm, I believe it was from a day or two ago) when I wrote about trying to be culturally understanding and how superimposing my Western views wouldn't help the situation at all. Well, I still recognize the truth in that concept, but I just don't care.
This small thing isn't what's actually under my skin. It's a personal religious choice, and it won't affect me in the long run. That I can understand and deal with. But there's so much more going on, and it's all funneling into (and arising from) my project. I spent the last five hours reading May You Be The Mother of A Hundred Sons, a Washington Post writer's account of her time interviewing Indian women during her three-year stay here. I'm only about a quarter of the way through her book, but my mind is already reeling. It's making me passionate and excited about my project, but also frightening me as it reminds me about how serious the issues are that I'll be exploring.
I haven't had the courage yet to probe into the more difficult subjects, but I have to find it, and soon. It's all well and good to learn about raising children and acting in Mumbai, but it's quite another to ask about things like spousal abuse and bride burnings. I'm not trying to write a positive or a negative account of Indian women; I'm just trying to learn something. I know now more than ever that this project isn't something I can bring myself to do halfway. I need to give this everything I have, and the short three months that I have left are more than a little daunting. I'm going to try to use my travel "break" as an opportunity to get interviews. We'll be traveling through Rajastan, an area famous for its textiles as well as its sometimes fundamental villages. In fact, the chapter that I just finished mentions a small village in Rajastan called Deorala.
In 1987, a woman (actually, a girl of eighteen) named Roop Kanwar committed sati, the practice of a widow throwing herself onto her husband's funeral pyre to burn to death. Sati is named for a Hindu goddess who burner herself to death to prove her purity against her husband's accusations of her infidelity. Sati was outlawed several decades ago but there are parts of India that the law can't really touch. Controversy is still alive about whether or not Roop Kanwar voluntarily killed herself. Many people suspect that the first sati in decades was a murder rather than a suicide. The author of Hundred Sons was in India when this happened, and she attended the celebratory ceremony that occurs two weeks after a sati. The author and her husband had to fight her way through tens of thousands of people who had come to the site as a religious pilgrimage and an occasion for celebration.
Now, please believe me when I say that I understand that this is not a mainstream concept. Many educated people see sati as a barbaric and archaic religious practice that has been nearly eradicated. But it's still there, along with its horrendous cousin, bride burning. Known as dowry deaths, these murders occur when a bride's family does not pay the expected dowry to the new husband's family. The family, dissatisfied with their new daughter-in-law and her dowry, burn her to death. The stories that I read about were from the 1980's for the most part, but I was reminded of an article that I saw in the Indian Express less than a month ago. A father-and-son team of police officers murdered the son's wife when her family did not pay the expected dowry. This left the son free to marry again, acquiring more dowry.
And that's why I'm here. That's why I'm doing this project. I won't let it turn into a sensationalized bit of drama to shock and awe. But it's apparent already to me that what started out as a theatre project is turning into so much more than that. I'm glad that I've chosen this topic, and I'm going to do everything I can to do it well. But I'm in over my head, and I know that even now. I guess we'll see what happens.
Love,
Sarah
Last night was a whirlwind. My friend Sara and I wandered through the carnival-like immersion celebration, escaping the bigger crowds but still getting doused in auspicious (and apparently carcinogenic) red powder. We saw mass immersions at the river and were interviewed for a local paper (again). We ate coconut with a little girl and took some great pictures of our powder-covered selves. I was ecstatic, and glad that the evening was better than that same afternoon.
I came home early from class, super-excited for my family's afternoon plans. The Ganesh festival's end is marked with the auspicious immersion where every family brings their Ganesh idol down to a river or lake and immerses it. The idols are made of plaster of Paris, so they eventually dissolve in the water. My family had told me to be home around three to make sure that I made it in time. I couldn't wait to join the thousands of Puneites at the river. From everything I'd heard from friends whose families celebrated an abbreviated Ganesh festival, the immersion was amazing and moving. When I returned home, my ai asked me if it was "that womanly time" yet. I answered her truthfully, understanding that I wouldn't be able to participate in the prayer before the immersion. I waited in my room, reading the same paragraph in The Catcher in the Rye about fifty times. Finally, the prayer was over, and my ai came into my room, presumably to fetch me. "OK, we will go now. We will be home in one hour after immersion. You have the keys if you go out, yes?"
And then they left. I kept reminding myself that it wasn't personal, it's not me, it has nothing to do with me, this happens all the time, at least I'm not actually Hindu, it must be much worse for somebody devout... But the tears still came. I don't know if I was more upset for myself or for the other women who had been brought up to believe that they were unclean, less worthy than men for religious purity or simple human value.
And that's how I got here. Yep, I think we all saw it coming. I do believe that I'm in the midst of a full-blown feminist awakening. I remember a blog entry (hm, I believe it was from a day or two ago) when I wrote about trying to be culturally understanding and how superimposing my Western views wouldn't help the situation at all. Well, I still recognize the truth in that concept, but I just don't care.
This small thing isn't what's actually under my skin. It's a personal religious choice, and it won't affect me in the long run. That I can understand and deal with. But there's so much more going on, and it's all funneling into (and arising from) my project. I spent the last five hours reading May You Be The Mother of A Hundred Sons, a Washington Post writer's account of her time interviewing Indian women during her three-year stay here. I'm only about a quarter of the way through her book, but my mind is already reeling. It's making me passionate and excited about my project, but also frightening me as it reminds me about how serious the issues are that I'll be exploring.
I haven't had the courage yet to probe into the more difficult subjects, but I have to find it, and soon. It's all well and good to learn about raising children and acting in Mumbai, but it's quite another to ask about things like spousal abuse and bride burnings. I'm not trying to write a positive or a negative account of Indian women; I'm just trying to learn something. I know now more than ever that this project isn't something I can bring myself to do halfway. I need to give this everything I have, and the short three months that I have left are more than a little daunting. I'm going to try to use my travel "break" as an opportunity to get interviews. We'll be traveling through Rajastan, an area famous for its textiles as well as its sometimes fundamental villages. In fact, the chapter that I just finished mentions a small village in Rajastan called Deorala.
In 1987, a woman (actually, a girl of eighteen) named Roop Kanwar committed sati, the practice of a widow throwing herself onto her husband's funeral pyre to burn to death. Sati is named for a Hindu goddess who burner herself to death to prove her purity against her husband's accusations of her infidelity. Sati was outlawed several decades ago but there are parts of India that the law can't really touch. Controversy is still alive about whether or not Roop Kanwar voluntarily killed herself. Many people suspect that the first sati in decades was a murder rather than a suicide. The author of Hundred Sons was in India when this happened, and she attended the celebratory ceremony that occurs two weeks after a sati. The author and her husband had to fight her way through tens of thousands of people who had come to the site as a religious pilgrimage and an occasion for celebration.
Now, please believe me when I say that I understand that this is not a mainstream concept. Many educated people see sati as a barbaric and archaic religious practice that has been nearly eradicated. But it's still there, along with its horrendous cousin, bride burning. Known as dowry deaths, these murders occur when a bride's family does not pay the expected dowry to the new husband's family. The family, dissatisfied with their new daughter-in-law and her dowry, burn her to death. The stories that I read about were from the 1980's for the most part, but I was reminded of an article that I saw in the Indian Express less than a month ago. A father-and-son team of police officers murdered the son's wife when her family did not pay the expected dowry. This left the son free to marry again, acquiring more dowry.
And that's why I'm here. That's why I'm doing this project. I won't let it turn into a sensationalized bit of drama to shock and awe. But it's apparent already to me that what started out as a theatre project is turning into so much more than that. I'm glad that I've chosen this topic, and I'm going to do everything I can to do it well. But I'm in over my head, and I know that even now. I guess we'll see what happens.
Love,
Sarah
posted by Sarah! at 2:04 AM
2 Comments:
Sarah, I don't read your blog too often, but the entries I've picked up here and there have really impressed me. You've shown an incredible and impressive growth as a person, and an awesome spirit in what's got to be a really tough situation. I know that even if you're over your head now, by the end of your experience there, you'll be even stronger and more amazing. So, here's to sanity and feminist awakenings.
Sarah, I was going through e-mails and came across the one you sent out. Glad I found it and checked out your blog! Wow- you are dealing with a very real situation. I love that you are so passionate about this and that you realize that it requires all you have! I can't wait to see you when you get back. I imagine you have changed quite a bit! I am happy that you are having these experiences and I am very proud of your response!
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