BHUT ACCHA!!
Josh is now officially (flip the birdie at the beauracrats) affiliated with Rajasthan University! We didn't even have to go arm-wrestle them one more time as we'd feared (I was going to challenge them to leg-wrestling which is really more my forte, but maybe I'll be able to show off those skills another time). So the final push is on, and we could be flying to Katmandu for our new visas by the end of December. Maybe we'll get to do New Year's in Nepal!
In the meantime, we're going on our first Indian train trip and heading east to Kolkatta, where all things Hindustani are happening. We'll be catching up with our friend Alaam--a totally rocking sarod player--and grubbing on some serious Bengali fish dishes (not so much the fish here in Jaipur, what with being the desert and all).
Josh continues to work on deepening his grooves and working on his futbol skills--we bought a ball the other day and have been busting some serious moves down at the local park, where we have become late afternoon entertainment for our neighbors. Older women watch us from the roofs of their homes, gaggles of little kids dash around the field occasionally kicking at the ball, and the young men stand to the side looking cool in the TIGHTEST pants I have ever seen on men. Everyone has been very kind and good-natured in their staring, but sometimes we'd like to put signs on our backs in Hindi that say: "YES, WE KNOW WE'RE WHITE. IT IS VERY WIERD, BUT THERE'S NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT. MAYBE WE COULD TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. LIKE HOW WIERD ELEPHANT POLO AND CRICKET ARE."
I'm waiting until we return from Kolkatta to study Hindi with a teacher, but I've got a couple of books and no fear when it comes to asking questions, so I'm cobbling together a semblance of communication in Hindi. I love piecing together the curves and flicks of ink that make the letters and then being able to recognize the sounds. I don't remember learning how to read in English, the excitement of seeing the letter A and knowing what it meant every time, so learning a whole new system of symbols and being old enough to (mostly) consciously work on it is getting me seriously giddy. Of course, right now, even when I recognize a sound, I'm a long way from knowing what the word means but putting together sound and symbol at even the most basic level satisfies my poetic soul.
I'll end this blog with some scribbles from my journal (which is filling up rapidly:-)
Not only are the nights cooling, but the mornings hold onto the evenings' chill for longer. Standing in the doorway, I watch women throughout the neighborhood hang saris and kurtas and acid-washed jeans, their own hair freshly ashed and hanging loose and heavy down their necks and backs. By the time these women step outside to go to the markety, they'll be impeccably twisted and turned in their saris and their hair will be neatly and demurely braided. Kids in the neighborhood have their eyes fixed with great seriousness on kites--wisps of paper stretched over thin pieces of wood, diving wildly over rooftops and powerlines. Some have fallen on our roof and on the trees in front of the house, but the sky, especially by mid-afternoon when the older kids are out of school, continues to swarm with spinning, flighted paper.
My skin and sweat smell like curry and cilantro. I found guavas at the market and remembered young girls bringing them to me at the library in El Tejar. Ate at Sanjay's Omelette stand in Bapu Nagar--10 rupees for scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes, garlic and the requisite white break--in the company of several men who seemed a bit confused by my presence but were kindly distant. Ventured into the old city. Stuck to the main roads for this particular foray but peered down the tight side streets overfull with scooters, bicycles, peanut roasters, vegetable hawkers--more full even than the main markets. Archway upon archway telescoped visions of delicate pink minarets and signs with gods' names. Red-assed baboons loped along the low roofs and paused in front of windows to chatter at their reflections. Open store fronts spilled forth teak kettles, bolts of silk, roasted coffee, vitamins, mounds and mounds of spices, mattresses, bicycle tires, incense, marigolds and of course, everywhere, chai--steaming sweetness in tiny shops tucked between the bucket-sellers and watch-sellers, in the hands of chatting shop owners. Men stirring huge pots of boiling water, mixing in milk, pounds of sugar, cardamom, cloves, ginger.
On the walk home, an old man on a bicycle grinned at me unabashedly, waved vigorously and shouted "HELLO!" I grinned and waved back, and he hooted gleefully. It was a joyful exchange. It's good to be here.
Love and Peace,
J&J
In the meantime, we're going on our first Indian train trip and heading east to Kolkatta, where all things Hindustani are happening. We'll be catching up with our friend Alaam--a totally rocking sarod player--and grubbing on some serious Bengali fish dishes (not so much the fish here in Jaipur, what with being the desert and all).
Josh continues to work on deepening his grooves and working on his futbol skills--we bought a ball the other day and have been busting some serious moves down at the local park, where we have become late afternoon entertainment for our neighbors. Older women watch us from the roofs of their homes, gaggles of little kids dash around the field occasionally kicking at the ball, and the young men stand to the side looking cool in the TIGHTEST pants I have ever seen on men. Everyone has been very kind and good-natured in their staring, but sometimes we'd like to put signs on our backs in Hindi that say: "YES, WE KNOW WE'RE WHITE. IT IS VERY WIERD, BUT THERE'S NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT. MAYBE WE COULD TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. LIKE HOW WIERD ELEPHANT POLO AND CRICKET ARE."
I'm waiting until we return from Kolkatta to study Hindi with a teacher, but I've got a couple of books and no fear when it comes to asking questions, so I'm cobbling together a semblance of communication in Hindi. I love piecing together the curves and flicks of ink that make the letters and then being able to recognize the sounds. I don't remember learning how to read in English, the excitement of seeing the letter A and knowing what it meant every time, so learning a whole new system of symbols and being old enough to (mostly) consciously work on it is getting me seriously giddy. Of course, right now, even when I recognize a sound, I'm a long way from knowing what the word means but putting together sound and symbol at even the most basic level satisfies my poetic soul.
I'll end this blog with some scribbles from my journal (which is filling up rapidly:-)
Not only are the nights cooling, but the mornings hold onto the evenings' chill for longer. Standing in the doorway, I watch women throughout the neighborhood hang saris and kurtas and acid-washed jeans, their own hair freshly ashed and hanging loose and heavy down their necks and backs. By the time these women step outside to go to the markety, they'll be impeccably twisted and turned in their saris and their hair will be neatly and demurely braided. Kids in the neighborhood have their eyes fixed with great seriousness on kites--wisps of paper stretched over thin pieces of wood, diving wildly over rooftops and powerlines. Some have fallen on our roof and on the trees in front of the house, but the sky, especially by mid-afternoon when the older kids are out of school, continues to swarm with spinning, flighted paper.
My skin and sweat smell like curry and cilantro. I found guavas at the market and remembered young girls bringing them to me at the library in El Tejar. Ate at Sanjay's Omelette stand in Bapu Nagar--10 rupees for scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes, garlic and the requisite white break--in the company of several men who seemed a bit confused by my presence but were kindly distant. Ventured into the old city. Stuck to the main roads for this particular foray but peered down the tight side streets overfull with scooters, bicycles, peanut roasters, vegetable hawkers--more full even than the main markets. Archway upon archway telescoped visions of delicate pink minarets and signs with gods' names. Red-assed baboons loped along the low roofs and paused in front of windows to chatter at their reflections. Open store fronts spilled forth teak kettles, bolts of silk, roasted coffee, vitamins, mounds and mounds of spices, mattresses, bicycle tires, incense, marigolds and of course, everywhere, chai--steaming sweetness in tiny shops tucked between the bucket-sellers and watch-sellers, in the hands of chatting shop owners. Men stirring huge pots of boiling water, mixing in milk, pounds of sugar, cardamom, cloves, ginger.
On the walk home, an old man on a bicycle grinned at me unabashedly, waved vigorously and shouted "HELLO!" I grinned and waved back, and he hooted gleefully. It was a joyful exchange. It's good to be here.
Love and Peace,
J&J
posted by Jessica Pierce at 5:26 AM
1 Comments:
Vive le cahier! Merci mon poisson! Donne moi ton adresse !!!
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