Rickshaw Mashup

So yesterday, in true form, India interrupted my life and made me rearrange my plans, but I think I have come to an understanding of this dysfunctional relationship we have. It came to me in the form of a mashup.

First let me set the scene. It was Monday morning and I set out from my apartment to go to the gym where I have a set time at 9 am to meet with my trainer. I am fairly religious about the church I call gym. Wait let me rephrase. I have been born again after not going to ‘church’ over the last month of holidays and thoroughly indulging for which I should truly repent. So I am on my way and we have hardly made it around the corner when a rickshaw decides to turn against traffic and slam into our van. As is usual, Javed gets out and approaches the rickshaw driver in a very aggressive manner. Now you may be thinking that I turned around to see what was going to happen- to see if it was going to get ‘juicy’. However these car accidents and following interactions have become fairly regular so really I am checking my watch out of frustration because I have somewhere to be.

Checking my emails and messages and still waiting, I turn around. Javed is grabbing the driver by the scruff of his shirt, a crowd has formed and a few men in matching black, dress-up security shirts arrive on the scene. Now I’m swearing because this is going to take longer than usual. Suddenly my door opens and the rickshaw driver grabs my shirt and starts pleading with me in Hindi, until Javed pulls him away and shuts the door. Again I am not bothered. I just lock the door so I’m not disturbed again and check my watch. After some back and forth, these Hiranandani security guys tell my driver and rickshaw driver to go to the Powai Police Station. Needless to say I was 2 ½ hours late, missed the session with my trainer and was still fuming after a 10k run on the treadmill.

When I reflected on the day’s events after watching a Stephen Hawkings special regarding Quantum Physics, I realized that my experience in India is very similar to the Doppler Effect. In its simplest form the Doppler Effect, or rather my simplest understanding of this theory, is that when a vehicle is approaching, the frequency, (understand sound wave here) is much higher as it approaches than when the vehicle passes you. This has something to do with the frequency waves coming closer together as they get closer to you but move farther apart as they pass.  As individuals, and if you are not a science junkie, this translates into an automatic expectation for you. When you see a car approaching you immediately assume the noise will get louder as it gets closer and more quiet as it leaves you. If this were not to happen you would immediately notice the distortion to your expectation and be thoroughly confused.

Now what I realize as I mashup my understanding of physics and personal relationship to India, is that what I need to do is try to warp my expectations based on the Doppler Effect and think completely outside the box.  When these ‘India’ events get closer to me, the noise and chaos of not understanding the culture forces my immediate expectation of not understanding and being frustrated. In recognizing this, I also understand that as these events pass by with time then my tolerance of them increases and therefore the frequency of frustration reduces relatively. What I need to do is change my expectation so that as these events approach I control the frequency so that as it approaches and comes even with me, I either stop and observe the isolated frequency or expect the frequency to be lower.  This, I realize, requires a huge paradigm shift from my traditional expectations based on my conservative Canadian upbringing to a more creative, organic approach but I remember not too long ago my first frustrating days in China. I returned to China a few months ago and it felt like home. The lower frequency of China after having moved away has allowed me to appreciate the higher frequency noise which existed when I lived there. My goal is to not wait until the frequency has passed in India to appreciate its ‘noise’ but to value  the current high frequency I exist in now.

Temples, Mosques and Shoe Stores

 Well the holiday season is over and I am 100% guilty of being incredibly indulgent not only with baked goods, cheeses and yes even white, crusty bread but also copious amounts of wine. Add to that a good dose of laziness and finding every excuse not to get to the gym and I am officially a glutton. No mind. It will be back to grilled chicken and raw zucchini tomorrow once the kids are back in school and I am back to my old routines.

So in the course of becoming a sommelier consumption engineer-like that?  I have had a lot of time to read some good books. Unfortunately, as a hazard of being a Language Arts teacher, I often not only analyze those pieces of literature but also make connections to my life.  Introspection can often get in the way of fluff and ignorant bliss.  I have just finished the novel Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald on the suggestion of a good friend. The quick premise of the book is about a protagonist who has gone to India once and hated it but is forced to go back years later.  She ends up  going on this intense spiritual journey to find herself.  As I read the first few pages I was almost laughing out loud about haw raw she is when describing the hardships of India and I immediately connect with the character. In my head I am thinking, “ This woman is saying in print everything I would love to write without tempering or softening the blow.”  Unfortunately page after page leads her further down this search for her true spirituality and the story becomes more and more serious.  So as I finish this book a little disappointed that it didn’t stay raw and in your face, I am forced to look at  my own understanding of my reaction to the book.

I didn’t  feel like maybe I should go on a spiritual journey or admire the woman for looking deeper into her soul, I actually just felt like “ Well that’s a waste of a read.”  Sad but true. I started to think that maybe I really am just a superficial, spa-loving, shoe-shopping, hair-product buying sad excuse for an expat. But I do love my Nine West Temple. However I continued to think about my reaction to religion as illustrated in this book and realized that it started way before India and instead of India initiating a religious, spiritual journey it has only confirmed my original ideas.

Years ago in my university days, where I began my journey to become a sommelier consumption engineer, I decided that maybe I needed to figure out what this whole religion thing was about. My mother is a firm Anglican who believes in God, taught Sunday school in her youth, and to this day meets up at the church with her friends to knit hats for the poor and bake for holiday bazaars. My father not so much. He is the consummate, academic who worked as a classics professor at the university and strongly believes in the whole philosophy that ‘facts don’t lie and everything else is rubbish. When I was young I went to Sunday school to learn about god but that only lasted for a few years and it soon became dull. After that religion fell off the face of the earth for me.

So while in Uni, I went on my own voyage to figure out what the fuss with religion was about. I went to different churches, read biblical and religious works from a number of faiths and talked to friends. What did I discover you ask? Well initially I was impressed with people’s blind faith in a higher power but I soon realized that although people said they believed in god it was also joined with a great deal of hypocrisy. Many people sit in church, temples, mosques, and prayer but soon forget when beliefs don’t coordinate with  wants and needs. Or they  find a way to justify a choice under the guise of forgiveness. This did not make sense to me then and it certainly doesn’t now. To me any belief is a great one so long as it guides an individual to make good choices. End stop. One religion is not better than the other but certainly there seems to be a huge difference in believers.

So in my adventures here in Mumbai I  discovered that Indians quickly define themselves as a great country because people of all faiths and religions can live together peacefully. Muslims, Christians, Catholics, Hindus and Buddhist all live in this over populated, crowded city and on the surface they do it well. But there are cracks.

My first driver Sayed, was a self professed good Muslim man who didn’t smoke or drink, completed his ablutions faithfully and went to mosque for prayer regularly. But I’ll tell you, he was the first to look for a way to ‘fool  madam’ and make a few bucks. As you can imagine he did not last long and now we have Javed. Now Javed is also a good Muslim man but he walks the walk. He is proud and quiet,  eager to help me out, goes to mosque every Friday without fail. I have never felt like he has taken advantage of our generosity and so ultimately he would qualify as a good believer. However, on a dime,  he will  turn around and punch someone in the face  who has rammed his car into the back of ours as a form of vigilante justice. Then there is my maid who is a devout Christian who again is quiet and proud. Within the first few weeks of her employment she asked about whether I believed in God and did I know I needed to be saved by Jesus. As nicely and calmly as I could I told her my beliefs , which she was horrified with and preceded to give me a new bible the next day. Currently, we have a silent understanding that we don’t speak of it but every so often  I find a mysterious piece of religious literature hanging around the house.  Again, she would qualify as a good believer except that she has decided that she doesn’t like Muslims- any Muslims whether they are nice or not.

This hypocrisy is everywhere in India and I do not judge them.  They are working under the umbrella of survival and things need to be done to live.  Realistic yes. Inspiring no.

In 3^rd year university, I read a book called Pilgrims Progress, which, ironically is a Christian allegory from the 1600s and an image from this remains in my head to this day.  It is a picture of a tree where each branch represents a moral of life- honesty, loyalty, commitment, love, hope and that every individual’s goal in life is to aspire to these morals. Branches grow from their youth and are nurtured by those around but inevitably some will break along the way. However the beauty of nature is that broken branches grow back often stronger than before and will still  produce flowers and fruit throughout the seasons.  This tree keeps me grounded and on the right path and although I have had my fair share of broken branches I have also produced some sweet, sweet fruit and am waiting for a new season.

Clarity in the Hills

Just back from a fabulous trip up to Matheran for New Years with friends. I have a very generous friend who owns a stunning renovated villa up in the cool, breezy forests of this historic Hill Station and every time we join them we have an incredible time and always come home with something to talk about. We were last up there visiting a few months ago and had the unique pleasure of running into (and I mean that literally) a Black viper snake, a huge, hairy brown tarantula and, a shiny black scorpion. Just an average day up in the jungles of India. Actually my friends had said that in all of the years they had been going up to Matheran they had never seen a tarantula or a scorpion that big. I guess we bring good luck but my daughter was not so positive about the experience and we needed to do quite a bit of convincing to get her to go up this past weekend.

So this venture up he mountain brought new adventures which, as always included the antics of the wild monkeys who come out of hiding around 9 am, play around the yard for a few hours and then sneak away back into the trees. Just a quick mention of a funny Nat Geo moment with my youngest daughter. As my husband and I were sitting outside on the white cane chairs, reading our books and sipping a cool beer, (I know it’s a tough life) I look over and I see a big, male monkey on top of a smaller money obviously doing what comes naturally and when finished left the female monkey covered in ‘white stuff.” Need I say more. Of course I hit my husband and told him to look but then I also noticed that my daughter was also watching this scene unfold. Tessa, my 7 yr old then turns to her dad and me and says. “ I really like those monkeys because they play so much but I don’t like that king monkey because he just jumped on top of that other monkey and put white poo on him.” From the mouths of babes.

Drinks before dinner out on the lawn

However this was not the highlight of the weekend. On New Years Eve, we all dressed in our finest and enjoyed an elegant meal out on the lawn of the villa indulging in good wine, good food, and great company. It was actually quite cold so soon we joined the children inside and began playing Wii Dance Party. As you can imagine it was quite a site with 8 adults, a little red in the cheek and easy with the moves taking over the controllers. However a good time being had by all. Now on my friend’s property live a family of local Indians who help take care of the villa and the surrounding land. This family have lived their for generations  and my friends continue to allow them to stay there and they have become family. They are a very kind family who have the most adorable 3 year old, Mansi, who does not speak much English but loves playing with the kids, her mother, Sakshi, father, Santosh and a grandmother, Hirubai.  Hirubai is a very traditional Indian woman who wears an understated purple saree wrapped between her legs  and represents the old ways of the hills.  As we played the Wii, Mansi and her mother looked on cautiously as the men tried dancing to Kesha’s ‘Tik Tok’ and the kids tried to outdo them. Before long Hirubai wandered into the room to check on Mansi. My friend immediately asked her if she wanted to play and with no hesitation, she jumped up and grabbed the controller and began to dance to ‘ It’s Raining Men.’  We all sat in shock and awe as we watched this old woman shake her thing to modern western music blaring from an even more modern video game.

It was at this moment that I realized that this was to be a lifelong memory and a moment of clarity. It is very easy in a city of 25 million to forget about the individual lives and personalities of those around me. As I come home ranting and raving about the rickshaw driver who rammed into the back of my car or the electrician who comes to fix something 12 times but needs to leave to get a part, I inevitably make a huge generalization about how frustrating ‘all Indians’ are and how different their culture is. But in a single moment, when I see my 9 year old daughter dancing with an 80 year old Indian woman from Matheran, I realize we really are not so different and that we are just people with our own stories and memories doing the best we can. 

As I write this post in the early hours of the morning I look out my window from the 30^th floor down to the construction slum below and I see three small fires burning. For the first time I do not feel that twang of sympathy for those trying to stay warm as the sleep on the dirt but a curiosity and desire to join them and their families and hear the stories of their lives and the hardships of the day.