Misguided Patriotism

A wise professor man once told us that one of the reasons people become Republicans is misguided patriotism.

The videos you are about to behold reminded me of this theory.

It's safe to say that our transition to India has been hardest for a certain little delightful 7-year old. In fact, it's been so tough on her that often she's not delightful at all, rather she resembles a surly teenager. While we all left much at home, she left her sisters (the cats), and her Spanish (which we've come to realize is a deep part of her individuality). Not to mention that this move to India was not in the least her decision (and she's the only one who's had an amoeba yet!)

When I go to the office every day, my work-life mimics the one in California. My email looks the same, the office amenities are the same, and my meeting schedule is largely the same. For Violet, on the other hand, everything is vastly different. In the morning, she wears a uniform with her hair in well-appointed pig tails. When we cross the street every morning to get to her bus stop, we risk our lives in a sea of chaotic motorcycles, tuck-tucks, mangy dogs, buses, etc...She boards a bus and heads to school as the only pale skinned girl (at least now her dad is a celebrity with the fifth graders...)

She carries a heavy backpack to school filled with books. Once there, she must call her teacher Mam and eat all of the Indian food served to her. She carries a few tissues in her pocket for the loo since toilet paper is not school-issued. The kids in her class often point out her differences (not because they are mean, but because they are of interest). She hasn't learned cursive like they have. She struggles to convert measurements into the metric system. And her hair isn't glossy and amenable to flawless coiffing. She complains regularly about these inadequacies. And if Nick hadn't gone to her school last week and seen her walking happily hand-in-hand with two new school friends, we might actually be worried.

But, I digress...Back to misguided patriotism....We made an interesting discovery, last week. Violet can sing the Indian national anthem in its entirety, in Sanskrit.




We wondered, does she know the American anthem?



Turns, out - well we are afraid she doesn't. But does it matter? While I hope she does one day learn "The Star Spangled Banner," because it's a nice tune, I prefer that she's learning what it's like to be different in our society at home so she can share a extra empathy with her cohorts at school. I also hope she learns to have a less American-centric outlook and sees herself as a global citizen of Planet Earth. 

Mr. Nick Taylor, sir!

You may have heard fledgling rock bands claim that they are, "huge in Japan." Turns out, my husband is HUGELY FAMOUS...with Indian school children. That's right, you can write a literary novel about a college-age doctor during the American Civil War, and in India your adoring fans will follow you everywhere you go.

Take yesterday for example. We were meeting our daughter at the school bus (on a Saturday, no less!) She descended, and as the bus was pulling away, several 10-year old boys in the back of the bus shot out the window to say, "Hello, Mr. Nick Taylor sir!"

Just a few hours later on the playground, a swarm of young boys surrounded him, saying "Hey, I know you! You spoke in my class. You are a very famous author, sir." I documented the moment and then offered to email the boys the picture. (They all had email addresses...Unfortunately I mistakenly sent the picture to a gentleman named Mohammed who replied that the picture was likely not meant for him. Nick was mortified...)

I asked Nick - does this happen often? Is India so literate a country that children are enamored of your scholarly pursuits? How are you so popular with these kids? Nick quickly admitted that in another case, a boy had his bus stop in front of where Nick was standing, got off the book with his notebook, had Nick provide an autograph before climbing back on as the bus continued on its route.

As part of his grant, Nick has made a commitment to speak in the community during our time in India. He has a lecture he gives school kids about the importance of plot, setting, and characters. He spoke first at a friend's child's school. They hung his picture in the library the week before his engagement and had the children write down who they thought he was. One child aptly guessed that he was the President of Spain. (Would it were so.)

Last week, Nick went to Violet's school where he spoke to her class along with the third and fifth grade classes. The fifth graders mobbed him for autographs while the teachers stood idly by. One child asked that Nick sign his hand because he hadn't brought paper. Apparently this is where Nick draws the line.

When Nick submits his next manuscript, I think his cover letter should mention his status with Indian school children. 1.2 billion people's kids can't be wrong!

Bandh Day

Forgive me, readers, for the long delay between posts. I have been remiss. Life in India continues at its usual frenetic pace. Let me give you an example. Monday afternoon at 3pm I was sitting in my office at the university when I received a call from my breathless wife: "Are you okay?" And then: "You have to get out of there!" Turns out the separatist protests had started up again. I assured her I was fine and promised to catch the next train home. I took a tuk-tuk (autorickshaw) to the station.

At the station I made my usual ticket order ("First class to Hi-Tec City, please.") but the attendant waved me off. "No trains until 1800. Troubles with protest." Now this could have meant anything from egg-throwing to a bomb threat. But whatever the reason, I was going nowhere by train. So I hailed another tuk-tuk and asked the driver if he would take me to Hi-Tec City, about twenty-five congested kilometers away. The guy laughed in my face and drove off.

I asked the next guy if he would take me halfway. He also refused. Finally I got a rickshaw driver to agree to take me to the Secunderabad Railway Station--a distance of about 3km. I figured I could string together a bunch of rickshaw rides, while simultaneously trying to get in touch with our driver.

And that's pretty much what happened. The driver met me at a hotel and I upgraded my wheels. When I got home I texted Jessica to say I was back. She asked if I had been scared. "No, just annoyed," I said.

Turns out I should have been scared. Just down the street from my office, students had stopped a commuter rail train (ie, the one I should have taken home) and torched it. This photo ran on the front page of today's paper:

The protesters (the papers call them students, but I have my doubts about whether they actually study anything) apparently used the commuter rail lines to move themselves all over the city, raising hell at two other stations. In one instance they broke into the ticket office and destroyed the agents' chairs and computers. You have to wonder what Gandhi would think of their techniques. Nonviolent protest is known in India as "Gandhigiri," and there's a popular joke that substitutes the Hindi word "goonda" (meaning thug) for "Gandhi," as in "Was it a peaceful protest?" "Oh yeah, it was strict Goondagiri." A few weeks ago the Telangana student organization swore themselves to "Gandhigiri." So much for that.

The upshot is that school was cancelled today for students big and small. Our cook, Saraswati, showed up this morning at nine with the most delightful little person, her seven-year-old daughter, Vashna. Violet and Vashna hit it off and played all day. They capped their "bandh day" (which Jessica likened to a snow day) by wearing some of Violet's scarves as saris.

Tomorrow is the second day of the bandh. All schools and government offices will be closed. The trains are still not running. We'll see if the parliament pays attention this time.

You Know You've Been in India Too Long When...

...trying to describe to an American friend the smell of the dung fires in the shantytown near your apartment, you use the adjective "folksy."

...your morning commuter train arrives only five minutes past the scheduled time, and it puts you in an inexplicably cheery mood for the rest of the day.

...you decide to start buying first-class tickets for the commuter train, even though it costs twenty-five times the regular fare and involves sharing a caged railway carriage with armed state police officers who look at you funny. But here's the alternative:

...a colleague in your department tells you he paid 500 rupees (about $10) for an hour long massage, and you refuse to believe it was only a massage, for that price.

...a student asks if he can make an appointment to see you and insists on setting a time. Can you imagine--a time! Your colleagues tell him, in Hindi, that he should not make impositions on visiting scholar sir.

...after work, you stop at a chemist to buy a bottle of hand sanitizer. He gives you KY Jelly. Rather than try to explain the difference, you thank him and pay. It was pretty close, and you're not actually that disappointed.

...you miss your train home because you are too busy haggling with the tea-stall vendor over a bottle of water.

...it was the last train on your line, so you have to take a tuk-tuk home, adding an extra hour and a half to your commute. However you did succeed in getting the criminal tea walla to knock 20 rupees (about $0.25) off his original price of Rs 35, which justifies the inconvenience.

...you remember that in the Shanghai airport, you once paid $8.00 for a liter of Aquafina. Then you remember that China owns most of the US national debt. As far you can tell, most Indians prefer to own motorcycles.

...in the tuk-tuk, you read newspaper stories about the protests in Egypt. Cairo looks sparsely populated to you.

...you arrive home two hours late. Your daughter, who has picked up Hindi, decides it would be a fun prank to pretend she no longer understands English. Acting as your translator, she convinces the cook that you want raw onion for dinner and nothing else.

...feeling guilty about your inability to speak any Indian languages, you force yourself to watch an hour of Bollywood videos on the channel that prints the lyrics at the bottom of the screen. You translate a few of the phrases and realize you could be arrested for saying these things to strangers.

...later that night, in a movie on the English-language channel, you see footage of so-called "humane" slaughter of cows (bolt in the head, the animals don't feel a thing, etc.) and it nearly brings you to tears. You finally understand what all those "Meat Is Murder" punks were talking about, and you vow never to eat meat again. At least none with eyelashes.