Back and away

In ten days I'm going to get on a plane and fly away. Yes, I'm going back - back to being a present member of the Wright clan, mandazis, lesos, pikis, hilarious road trips in our crowded land cruiser, braided hair, mudding houses, in-your-face chicken, eating white ants and saying sindiyo all the time. 

But away from salwar khameezes, dhal chawal, autos, dupattas, long afternoon trips to the bazaar, getting late-night domino's with my roommate, and saying, "अच्छा" all the time. 

While I'm happy to go home, I'm sad to leave.

However, I just found out that I can write in Hindi on my blog, so that is fantastic.

शान्ति ,

रिचा

Oh Holi Night (Best. Night. Ever.)

Twas the night before Holi,

 And all through the streets

All the people were dancing

 To hot Bollywood beats.

Colored powder they threw,

 Making clouds in the air

That settled and stuck

In everyone’s hair.

A pale foreigner came,

Her camera in hand,

Not used to the dances

Of this India land.

They eagerly showed her

How to shrug to the beat.

How to wave her arms skyward,

How to kick with her feet.

She joined in the throwing

Of the colors so bright

Each neon shade flying

Lighting up the dark night.

Finally, off to bed

After hours of fun

Still excited, still eager

Of more color to come.

A Few Bollywood Stereotypes

                

As of late, I have been watching a lot more Bollywood films than I usually would at home (And that’s saying something).  In my viewings, a few patterns have started to emerge - film techniques and plot lines that come up in just about every movie. Not to say that I don’t love Bollywood – I totally do. But for all of my fellow die-hard Bollywood fans, I decided to compile a list of them, along with their frequency ratings. Let me know what you think.

The Zoom-In: This common Bollywood film technique is usually used to heighten the tension and bring the viewers a much closer shot of the pained expression on the actress/actors face. This CAN be a good thing, if used tastefully, but more than often, in your stereotypical Bollywood, it is NOT. I've seen zoom-ins so close you could see the mascara flaking off the heroine's over-made-up eyes.

Frequency rating: EVERY. SINGLE. MOVIE.  (Guaranteed.)

The Instant Replay: This particularly painful effect is more of an emphatic one. I have seen it used to emphasize all kinds of scenes, such as a phone call, a house exploding, an intense conversation, a girl flipping her hair over her shoulder, a guy walking into a restaurant, three guys running through a gate, and many others.

Frequency rating: Just about every Bollywood I've ever seen.

The Mysterious Indoor Wind: It’s the climax of some deep and moving scene. They’re staring into each other’s eyes fervently, finally admitting their love. It’s all very deep and moving, but unfortunately, this is all interrupted when you realize that, although their hair is whipping dramatically, they are, in fact, inside.

Frequency rating: Depending on the genre of the movie and the length of the heroine/hero’s hair, it will most likely be present.

The Slow-Mo Spin : Inevitably, at some point in the movie, the female lead will, without a doubt, spin around in slow motion – usually while wearing some long flowing sari or skirt. Because that’s what love is all about.

Frequency rating: As I said, inevitable.

The Violent Hug:  This fairly spontaneous embrace can occur between any members of the cast – two estranged lovers, the mother and daughter, two brothers, anyone. Usually it’ll happen right after some strange and semi-shocking plot point is discovered, or just because one of them is sad for some unspecific reason. The two characters will body slam together at such an incredible speed the audience will, most likely, totally not see it coming.

Frequency rating: Not as common as you’d think…depending on the genre of movie you’re watching. Be on the lookout for this awesome happening.

The Slow-Mo Staredown: What do you do when it’s love at first sight? (or second or third sight?) You gawk at them to the point of being totally creepy! Naturally, so important an event can only take place in slow motion. The one (usually the guy) stares at the girl while she giggles and flips her hair around, accompanied by a slow romantic soundtrack.

Frequency rating: Hilariously regular.

The Psych-Out Kiss: As Bollywood is famed for its lack of lip-to-lip kissing, the couples have to make do with hugging. More than often, they’ll look like they’re about to actually kiss….and then psych out with a peck on the cheek.

Frequency rating: If there’s a strong romance plot, it should be there.

The Dream Dance Sequence: This is the part of the movie where one half (or all) of the romantic couple is fantasizing about their soul mate. Usually some very strange things take place, with the two of them dancing around in some weird, unbelievable scenario – the rain, the 50’s, a train station, or whatever pertains to their particular fantasy. These are pretty entertaining, as sometimes you’re not really sure if what’s happening is part of the plot or not.

Frequency rating: Fairly common, in an awesome and exciting way.

There are so many more of these classic techniques - The Barely There Sari, The Spontaneous Dance Sequence, The Gorgeous Girl, and the unforgettable Cheezy Fight Scene – but they all kind of speak for themselves. So the next time you pick up a Bollywood, be on the lookout. Happy watching!

Where I've been.....

So I started off here:

And had a layover here:

Visited a cathedral, drank GREAT coffee, and I was off again, to here:

Visited some great friends, went to some cool ruins, took our first auto, and celebrated Diwali!!!

Then got on a 9-hour train to Jaipur, where we saw more cool stuff.

Snake charmers, light shows, more ruins and temples. Fun times!

Back on the train.....

 

To Agra. 

And we found some Engrish, naturally.

Spent some time in Delhi -

Went to a really cool park.

Made it up north, where I spent a while at the Children's Home.

The kids at dinner

Cooking at a friend's house

The view off the back of the hill

Then took a trip to Goa....

Met some amazing people, had some amazing memories, and headed back up to the cold and windy north, where I have now settled for the remainder of my time.

A view of one of the neighborhoods

Main Street

the kite flying festival, Pasan Panchpi

All is well.

So it's been a while.

                About two years ago, I bought a pair of shoes. I was at an Old Navy somewhere in New Jersey, where they had a two-pairs-for-a-dollar deal on flip flops. I got one black pair and one white. Naturally, I wore through the black ones within two months of buying them. The white ones, however, lay in my "town shoes" drawer along with my various Converse, while I wandered about the villages of Karamoja in sturdy leather slippers.

The flip flops did get some good memories in, though. All the times I’d spent sauntering up and down Mbale streets, laughing and talking with my sisters. Our many walks through the mall, all dressed up in our Kampala best. Not to mention the countless hikes they spent tied to my shoulder while I was ankle-deep in mud - Sipi, Namorupus, and Fort Portal. There are still melted welts all across the instep and heel from a time when they got too close to a campfire on a hiking trip. The soles are riddled with pockmarks from various thorns I picked up. For a while, I made it my personal goal to keep them white and scrubbed them clean after every adventure.

I arrived in India, where my shoes were no longer called slippers or flip flops, but instead, chappals. They got a nasty burn on the left heel my first week here from when I stepped on the smoldering remains of a Diwali cracker in Indore. Another time I had to take them off and leave them by the steps of the Taj Mahal among the many loafers and leather sandals of the other tourists, where I knew they wouldn't get stolen. When I was at the Children’s Home, they sustained further injury from the many games of tag and badminton we played in the gravel courtyard. I carried them for kilometers down the sands of Goa, relishing the fact that I didn’t have to wear shoes. One time they got washed away by the tide, and I had to run through the waves to bring them back. I wore them to a couple markets in Delhi, and around the town I’m living in as well.

I've long since given up trying to keep them white, so they've now assumed a kind of patchy light brown color. Now I wear them every day - to work, around the house, out shopping, and so on. The soles are now paper thin, so that I can feel every contour of whatever road I am walking on. Sometimes it's like wearing no shoes at all.

I really like those shoes. They’ve been pretty much everywhere I’ve been. They’re no longer my “town” shoes, because they aren’t exactly smart anymore. – they’ve become serious jua kali. Instead of on pikis, I now wear them in autos. Instead of with a tshirt and plaid shorts, I wear them with my salwar khameez and dupata.

And the stories just keep piling up.

And I'm off...

You never really realize how beautiful a place is til you see it through the rear window of a car as you drive away.

Biscuits

"Nakor(u)!!!"

"Yeah?"

"Come here!"

"What are you doing?"

"Biscuits! Come help us with the biscuits!"

 A bunch of the girls that had been harvesting hibiscus, which they called "biscuits", from the field and were standing with full gunny sacks, getting ready to carry them back to the compound.

"Uuuhh....No, no," I said. "I don't think I can."

"Have you ever carried?" One of them mimed picking up the bag and setting it on her head.

"No, it isn't our custom."

They laughed at that one. "Okay. Then come here and help us lift them!"

That I could do. I stumbled through the tall brush - snagging my skirt on thorns the whole way - over to where they were standing. I passed around the customary handshake, and then, one by one, helped them lift their bags.They held the top, I lifted from the bottom, and together we'd get it up until it was balanced comfortably on the top of their heads. Since all of them had been carrying things in this way since they were small, they casually slouched on one leg, their massive bundles resting easily atop their heads. They laughed and joked as we got the bags settled, encouraging my feeble attempts.

"Can you carry the corn?" One pointed to several ears that lay in a basin. She pulled up the hem of her shirt, miming how I should carry them. "Kwangina. Like this." I picked them up and did so, feeling completely absurd  - hauling six or seven ears of corn while they each had a huge bag of hibiscus flowers on their heads. Not to mention that none of the girls stood taller than my ear.

We walked along single file back to the compound, each of them swaying lithely as they walked, singing and joking, with me in the middle - stumbling and snickering, my satchel banging clumsily at my hip.

"Where is your place?" one of them asked me.

"There." I pointed to my banda, which we happened to be walking by at that time.

"No, I mean where is your home?"

"Here." We laughed. "BUT, I was born in America."

"America...America..." They passed around the word, tasting it.

"Do you like America?" A question loaded with implications.

"It is very cold. But the ground is rich, so the food grows fat and the people have much to eat."

"What does it look like?"

It was about here that I realized that this was the first time anyone had asked me about "my place". Usually I just tell about it, to make an interesting comparison or tell a story. But they wanted to hear about it! I turned around to see a line of expectant faces, the sun rolling off of the white gunny sacks and sweaty faces.

"Well..." I talked about buildings as tall as the hills and shops that you couldn't see the end of. I described the beaches, water so wide you could look out and see only water. I told them how fat the cows were, and how much milk they gave. I told them about green, green grass with no thorns, and snakes that wouldn't kill you. They were very happy to hear that there were some black people too in America - "So when you go there, you can still find some Karimojong and you will be happy because it will be like here!"

Not exactly......

I also told them how cold it was. And how different the people there were. I couldn't really explain everything - in fact, I could explain very little. They bore with my stumbling, awkward Ngakarimojong, supplying the necessary words when I forgot them. At the end of my long tale, one of them asked, "But you love here? Here is beautiful too? You look there and you see the mountain, and it is beautiful."

"Yes, I do love here. It is so beautiful. In my place in America, there are no mountains. Only land."

That settled it. "Then you stay here. You don't leave your mountains."

I laughed again, my gasping snicker sounding totally alien mixed with their ululating laughter. They tried to teach me how to laugh like them, which caused even more hilarity.

By this time, we were back on the compound. They tossed the laden sacks off of their heads with ease and joined the others who were peeling the hibiscus. I handed the corn back to one of the girls - "Take it," she said. "You like maize?"

"Yes, I like. Thank you." I took one of the ears.

"See, she took a small one." They grinned at me.

I pulled out my camera. The least I could do was offer them the treat of seeing their picture. I snapped a few, then asked the rest of them if they'd mind a picture. Naturally, they didn't mind in the least.

Cutting open the "biscuits" (in a pile in the center) to get out the seeds.

I asked them if it would be okay if I wrote about them in my "letter" to the people of America. I told them I would write a letter on the computer, and then the people of America would be able to see it. (Incidentally, I try to ask this of all I write about beforehand.)

 "The people in America in the church want to see what the people of Karamoja look like! They want to hear about them!"

"It is good! It is very okay! Yes! Let them see the good people of Karamoja that their people are working with!"

People of America, the biscuit people are greeting you.