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.