Monthly Archives: December 2015

Manav Sadhna- An Oasis in the Desert

Early morning view from my window

Today is a day like any other in a big South Asian city. Early in the morning, just after the sun rises at 7 am, people slowly start to appear- on roof tops flying kites, hanging out the wash, sweeping dust off the streets-all without any sense of urgency. Streets are eerily quiet at this hour, since shops open  informally at 10 or 11- even the banks don’t open until 10:30. As the day progresses,Ahmedabad, the capital city of Gujarat,becomes increasingly congested, with auto rickshaws belching their thick smoke, ancient buses rattling along, emitting intermittent blasts of exhaust. And there there are the people- three million of them. Crossing to the other side of the road from our hotel is a life-threatening proposition.  Each day 382 people are killed in traffic accidents in India. There are occasional traffic lights, but they are a suggestion, rather than an imperative, and few drivers pay any attention.  “Challenge the motos not the cars” is Gerald’s mantra.

We’ve come here, not for the sights, but to volunteer at Manav Sadhna, an organization on the grounds of Gandhi’s ashram.  Their mission is to serve the thousands of slum dweller families who live in and around the city. Our first day, Christmas,is a typical Indian experience.  Sharish, the volunteer coordinator at the ashram, has sent us an email. “The children are doing a Christmas celebration from 3-6.. Do come and you can see what the children are like that you’ll be working with”.  However,when we arrive at the ashram it is surprisingly deserted.  A young woman tells us “Oh, Sharish isn’t here, he’s at the riverfront for the Christmas celebration.”  No one has thought to tell us that the event is not at the ashram. By a twist of fate we meet the director who is heading that way in a van.

When we arrive at the venue there are easily a thousand people, mostly women and children, seated on the terraced concrete steps by the riverfront promenade. We are then introduced to Sharish onstage, and are shown to prime seats. These are children who spend their days scavenging garbage heaps looking for something they can sell for recycling. Manav Sadhna has organized recycling centers, cutting out the middle man and giving the women the money directly. By looking at the collected group you would never suspect their impoverished condition. Smiling, clean faces, groomed hair, and for the most part, nicely dressed. The show is amazing! Costumes have been rented and the dances are choreographed by an alumnus of the program- easily rivaling a Bollywood production. All this has been underwritten by a software company. An addendum to the program is a group of blind children singing and drumming.  Unfortunately there is only one microphone which gets passed back and forth between the drummers and the dancers, rendering each group mute alternately.

  1. imageimageimageAn auspicious beginning.

Bonfire of the Deities/Burning Man Kerala

A bonfire is blazing as we arrive at the village at 4:30 am. The stage is being set for what will be the most spectacular Theyyam we have seen yet.  The Kavu, or sacred shrine,in the courtyard of a wealthy Keralan landowner, is the setting for a seldom seen fire dance.  The three day Pottan Theyyam he has ordered as a blessing for his family and their new home is an expensive undertaking, and I am thrilled that we will witness this event. Theyyam looks similar to the more famous Kathakali dance theater of Kerala, but it is a religious event rather than a performance for entertainment. These rituals take place once a year during the months of December through March.

As dawn begins to break on this second day of the ritual,the temple attendants, dressed in lunghis(wraps), throw in another log each time the fire seems to be dying down. Sparks are flying and I move some distance away so as not to have my carry bag catch fire.  We are with two other westerners, who have been staying at our guest house, Angela and Annette from the UK.

It is still dark and the sun will not start to peek through until 7:00 am. The four young drummers, who played so vigorously last night for two solid hours, are snuggled together sweetly in the spoon position, on a blue plastic tarp in the “green room” ( the sacred space for Theyyam preparation).

 


Enormous pots are boiling in the back area of the house where a festive meal is being prepared for the throngs of villagers  who will attend the ceremony.We are offered tea with a typical Keralan sweet, and an invitation to enter the house.

Theyyam performers traditionally receive money from each person who lines up to ask for a favor or prayer, or  to thank the gods for wishes fulfilled. Last night two men personifed different aspects of the deity,Golikan.  Today there will be four deities,including the famous Vishnumoorthi  who will perform the fire dance.

The first dancer comes out with a  20 foot headdress made out of banana leaves in the shape of a ladder.  He is wearing a large clown like mask painted a brilliant silver,red and black. First he blesses the shrine, then he encircles the Kavu,with the drummers leading the way. After an hour of dancing which includes highly skillful stilt-walking and recounting his story, he is seated on a type of throne, with his headdress resting against the wall.  Next comes a Theyyam with an elaborate red hemispheric shaped headdress bordered with peacock feather designs,a mask with large ear flaps and mouth,and  a skirt created over a rectangular frame.   I remind  both Annette and Gerald to make sure not to forget to stand when the deity passes by (a sign of respect).  The night before, Gerald was so engrossed in his drawing that he didn’t notice that Golikan was right in front of him, remained seated, and an angry deity glared and threw rice in his face.  The same with Annette who was so in awe of seeing Theyyam for the first time, that she,too,didn’t get up. She got the stink eye.


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Meanwhile the fire has been smoldering and the attendants make a neat pile of the burning hot coals, getting ready for the arrival of Krishnamurthi who will lay down on the ashes.  His mask has been resting in the house after having been blessed, surrounded by ghee lamps burning all night. Both the first and second deity are now seated, receiving villagers and talking with each one individually. The tension mounts as the drummers continue their fierce drumming, jumping in unison high into the air from time to time.  I can’t imagine how they can keep this up- it is now 10:30 in the morning and they have been going at it since 4.



Krishnamurthi arrives in a grass skirt made out of young banana leaves, heavy metal ankle and arm bracelets, and a mask. When the moment arrives, he is led to the burning coals by the temple attendants, one on each arm.  I think it will be quick, but no, I am wrong.  After a bit of positioning, he lies down, crosses his legs, and makes himself comfortable.  Each of the other two deities approach, bend down and have a few words with him.  Then, suddenly he jumps up, changes direction, and lies back down.  This is repeated in all four directions.  The intensity of this Theyyam requires the performer to prepare for forty one days. Complete abstinence from sex,alcohol,tobacco and meat. His mind and body must be sharp and focused.


Preparation for the final dancer reveals a completely different facial design- with orange colored turmeric paste and black charcoal around the eyes. An intricate pattern, called “face writing” is drawn with a brush made from banana leaf. Only his head and arms stick out of a huge grass skirt. Red cloth bands are on his forearms and silver bracelets on his wrists.


The climax arrives with all four Theyyam interacting and dancing around the courtyard.  By this time it is noon and the sun is beating down on us until we feel like we will collapse.  It reminds us that although our minds and spirits have been transported  to an alternate reality, our bodies are still very much in the tropics of the Malabar coast. Hundreds of villagers are mulling about, eating, drinking tea, talking on their cell phones or standing and taking close up photos. We are treated as honored guests due to my blond hair, and Gerald’s size.  Chairs are set up for us directly in front of the action to ensure the best photos, and we are made to feel included at all times.  The women beckon to me to come on the steps of the home in order to get a better view, and push me almost directly into the path of Vishnumurthi as he enters to bless their home.

I am sad to leave tomorrow, but we are heading north to Ahmedabad where we will start our teaching at Gandhi’s ashram. The Theyyam has left an indelible mark on my psyche which I can never forget. And I will carry the vivid red of their costumes and the pulsating rhythms of the drums with me throughout the rest of the journey through India.

The Wedding

 

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Decorations for the engagement party

Dressed in jeans, with a baseball cap covering his shaved head, Dixon introduces himself to us at the engagement party.  “I hear you’re from California.  I studied oenology  at Napa college for four months a few years back.” That’s India. Just when you think you’ve heard or seen everything, you haven’t. Wine and India are not two words you expect to hear in the same sentence.

Dixon worked many years on Carnival Cruise ships and was paid by the company to take the course. “Wine Professor “is his new title and he teaches classes for hotel personnel in wine appreciation. “I’ll be the MC at the wedding” he tells us.

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When we arrive at the church, the pews are already full to capacity- women elegantly dressed in their best saris and satin dresses and men wearing black suits and ties. Gerald is in his safari shirt and cargo pants and I am wearing my wedding attire and  the silver, sparkly heels Francis’ wife lent me for the occasion. We discretely seat ourselves in the back, and listen while the ceremony is conducted in Concani ( the local language).The church is beautiful.  It is a large white building with stained glass windows and chandeliers.  The congregation is alternately deep in prayer or singing hymns along with the choir.

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After the ceremony people line up outside the church to greet the newlyweds. At the far end of the courtyard it appears that after the guests congratulate the couple, they are receiving something. We are motioned to join the line.  I’m feeling a bit excited about the prospect of getting a “wedding treat”. It turns out to be a box of mango juice and a hot dog bun filled with shredded lettuce and mayo. So much for local delicacies.

Greeting the bride and groom

The bride and grrom arrive

The invitation states “reception commences at  seven thirty  in the evening at Dr. Neville’s Wedding Hall” but we are told that IST ( Indian standard time) dictates that guests  start arriving closer to nine. Nonetheless, we arrive promptly at 7:30 pm and enter an enormous outdoor wedding venue, lit up like Disneyland. Tables and chairs are set up around a lake with fountains and lush landscaping.

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True to form,  with the band playing “Rhinestone Cowboy”,people start trickling in  at about 9:00. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please come onto the dance floor and welcome Mr. and Mrs. Cordozo appearing for the first time as a married couple.” It is Dixon with a microphone, standing in the center of the open space. I don’t recognize him at first,dressed in his snazzy suit and dapper hat. From there it all proceeds as on a cruise ship, with Dixon exhorting us  to clap, cheer and dance, first the Mexican Hat dance, then the Bunny Hop and eventually some Goan dances. The place is rockin’. Once the music starts ,I get up and step out onto the dance floor, forgetting about my growling stomach. The music is mostly pop and some Goan contemporary, and alternates with the MC announcing what exactly we should be doing. ” Happy to see California doing our Goan dancing”, I hear from the microphone while I dance with Francis, his wife and daughter.

 

When the announcement comes that the buffet room is open, it is almost 10:30pm.  The food looks impressive and abundant, but unfortunately isn’t  much better than the pre dinner appetizers of little white bread peanut butter and jelly triangles and minced meat rolls which looked like miniature dog turds.

Round midnight I need to rest my weary bones ,  so I drag myself off the dance floor,and look for Gerald, who is sitting at a table and chatting with some local guests.

Its been a great evening and we decide it’s probably time to go.  Another glimpse into incredible India.

 

Whose life is it anyway?

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While buying train tickets to our next destination in Kerala, I bump into Catherine, a long time British ex-pat we met last year. “If you want a good story, go down to the end of the beach to the “maharajah’s place”, she grins mischievously.

The face of Goa has changed dramatically since independence from Portugal in 1961. Goans were offered the possibility of a Portuguese passport, and many jumped at the chance.  Catholics now account for only 25% of the population, down from 60%, due to the diaspora of Catholics, and the increase of Hindus and Muslims with their large families.  Cruise ships,the Merchant Marine and the Emirates offer high paying jobs, which is reflected in the unusually small size of Goan families. (Men are away  for long periods of time.)

For our morning walk we decide to check out the “maharajah”. At the end of the long sandy stretch of beach  there is a small cove, and we see a cluster of tent structures and a trailer. A man and a woman are busily washing and cooking inside a “work tent”.  They are obviously the servants. In front of the elaborate trailer with solar panels on the roof, sits a neatly bearded man with a gold earring in his left ear. He looks relaxed and carefree in his lounge chair.

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The servants working

As we hesitantly approach, he beckons us to come closer. ” I’m Nenni”, he says with a broad grin as he extends his arm for a handshake. Rather than being the “maharajah” himself , he is the driver. “It took us nine days to drive down here from the north. My boss arrives tonight. He is from a royal family, you know. He owns many agricultural farms and businesses. Every year he comes down with his wife and stays for three months”.  We get a tour of the complex.  The blue oblong tent is the outside shower for the servants.  Inside the trailer there is a bedroom with flat screen tv, fully equipped bathroom and shower, and room for lounging.  The outside is fitted with fold down shelving, and storage bins. The dining gazebo is covered in white canvas material, and an electric fan is is blowing the air around the neatly set table. There are two other tents which are for the servants.

Shower tent

Shower tent

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dining gazebo with ocean view

NENNI’S STORY

Nenni is a man in his early forties and was born as the only son into a Sikh family. At the age of 17 he decided he wanted to go abroad to work, so he cut off his hair, and removed his turban.  Sikhs have a religious obligation to be unshaven and let their hair grow, covered by a turban.  His fear was that he would be mistaken for a Muslim, and  he wanted to avoid being conspicuous.  Because of this act of rebellion he was disowned by his family. After some years living in Europe, he returned home and was accepted back, and  soon a marriage was arranged. ” We just didn’t get along, so I got a divorce.  Now I will get married next week to a Hindu lady.  I am happy and will open my own chicken restaurant in my village”.  When I asked if he had children, he replied that he has two but doesn’t see them often as they live with their mother far away.  We left with handshakes and hugs all around and our promise to visit him and eat at his restaurant when we pass through that area at the end of our journey.

Marriage Goan Style

” Whose wedding are you going to?”asked the young shop girl with a twinkle in her eye. I had already been asked the same question twice before as I scoured the shops of Agonda for a “wedding envelope”(used to place money as a gift for bride and groom). Agonda is a village in  southern Goa, which has managed to maintain its small town character and warm,family atmosphere, despite the influx of tourists to this wonderfully idyllic seaside. It is predominantly Catholic, which is evidence of the Portuguese occupation from the early 1600’s until as late as 1961. The church and its activities play a central role in the daily life.

At first glance one would think that the women are all pregnant – -a small “bump” protruding from their flowered, waisted house dresses. Upon further inspection it appears to be a body type rather than a condition. Their wavy, black hair is tied back into a bushy ponytail , and their smiles are broad and welcoming. Almost everyone has Fernandes as a surname and is somehow related to one another. The few Hindus that remain wear traditional saris  or salwar kameze(a long tunic top with pants), but for others this has been long ago  been replaced by western wear, due to prolonged contact with missionaries.

“My cousin’s daughter is getting married next week and the brides family is having a luncheon here on Sunday, do you want to come” asked Francis, our chef friend. (I wrote about him last year-The Sailor and the Saint). I’m always up for a wedding, but that also presents the challenge of finding clothes and shoes for the occasion. When you travel with only a carry on bag, there’s not much room for such luxuries. I did bring my “acceptable” wedding outfit, hoping  that I would get the opportunity to wear it, but I forgot my bling flip flops. I figure no one will look at my feet anyway.

Sunday arrives and Gerald asks if he has to wear long pants. It is hot and humid and he’d much rather wear shorts. I say that out of respect he should. I put on some make up, my best Indian costume jewelry, a blue paisley skirt and my clunky black Tevas.

Decorations for the engagement party

Decorations for the engagement party

We arrive early, hoping to get a good seat, Francis says they are expecting almost 200 guests. The night before, the restaurant was a flurry of activity as the “aunties” decorated the courtyard with sparkly,gauzy fabric and greenery and the men started setting up the chairs. Of course we are the first ones to arrive,in time to watch the last minute preparations.

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the “aunties” overseeing the food preparation

As people start to trickle in, Gerald turns to me and says sadly “All the men are wearing shorts!” And yep, it’s true. There is a sprinkling of men in long pants, and women in satin dresses, but for the most part it’s casual. I’m told that the wedding party on Tuesday night will be a formal affair and despite the heat, the men will be wearing suits and ties.

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women and children section

A table has been set up where the westerners congregate, and the rest of the chairs have women and children in one section and men in another. There is a dj playing pop music and drinks are served. I decide to have a Feni, a local brew made from cashews, and quite potent. I meet the bride, who is an atypically thin young woman of thirty. The marrying age here is between twenty five and thirty-much later than the rest of India. Appetizers of marinated beef, roasted pork and chicken are passed around while we wait for the buffet.

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Jama or “Emy” the bride-to-be

At the right moment all the aunties and family members line up around the buffet table and we stand as prayers are recited.  When the time comes to start eating,I am amazed at the restraint and calm that follows.  After eating, people get up and leave immediately, until all that is left are a few western stragglers.

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It’s been quite an un-Indian experience without the wildness and ritual of a Hindu engagement party .  Tomorrow night is the wedding in a village 35km from here and we will see what happens.

 

 

 

“I’ll Never Do It Again” Redux

Some people say that the letters I N D I A mean “I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN”, and yet here I am,ready to embark on my fifth (or is it sixth?) journey to that fascinating and infuriating land of enchantment. I must admit that after each one of my first three sojourns I returned with that same sentiment. While I’m there, days pass when I want to tear my hair out, or just find a nice, quiet place to chill. And then something happens…..a colorful procession replete with music and ritual, a delicious meal,-fragrant with pungent spices, or maybe just an invitation to visit someone’s home.

This last trip I was fortunate to enter the mysterious world of Theyyam in northern Kerala. I was “seized by the gods” in their full glory of painted bodies and faces,as they immersed themselves in the spirit of a  god, dancing and moving as one possessed. It was this mesmerizing experience,which takes place at sunrise and sunset during the months of December- February that draws me back. As soon as we returned from our last trip in December 2015 I was planning the next.

Pullurkali

Pullurkali

Yes, we will also be volunteering to work on an art project with scavenger children at Manav Sadhna, Gandhi’s ashram. How that will turn out, I know not.

We are also planning to go up to the mountains at Nainital and see tigers at Corbett National Park. How that will turn out, I know not.

Many friends are as anxious for our return as we are to rekindle their friendship. Gerald is excited about teaching more collage workshops at the Universities in Ahmadabad and Udaipur. How that will turn out,I know not.

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Shalena and her sister- my delightful Hairdresser in Udaipur

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Raji- the Puppetmaster of Udaipur

Francis at work

Francis- our master chef in Goa, at work

What I do know it that we are embarking on another adventure, and that is good.

Namaste