Hydraulic Forces

22:23

30 July 2010

It poured three solid days, and when there were no more cats and dogs to rain, elephants and rhinoceroses fell. I have seldom witnessed anything like it. The rain was as if a bottom less bucket was being evenly dumped and the streams of water met the rooftops and streets at perfect ninety degree angles. Due to poor drainage throughout the city, within the first hour of the storm, the streets became sloughs, the side walks vanished, and shops closed due to flooding.

Each morning, everyone helps lug all of the booklets, tables, rugs and other junk out of the office space to the sidewalk so that construction can resume. During one storm, all of these items were left out unsheltered and are now moldy and nearly destroyed. Back and forth. Back and forth, we transport our little office.

Yesterday, I was sent out with Thomas and Purushothaman to a slum over an hour and one half by auto away from the office to complete a biometric survey. The ride resulted in all three of us becoming thoroughly soaked. By the time we reached the colony, our clothes were soppy, our hair drenched, and water trickled from the tips of our noses. It took all of our greatest efforts to protect the laptop and other electronic equipment from harm.

Arriving back at the office in the late afternoon brought no relief. Due to the never ending construction, we found all of the ladies huddled under a tarp that clearly wasn’t offering much protection. We sat in the rain for hours; there was nothing to do but wait to go home.

I think I made some social progress. With nothing to do but sit in the rain and wait, the Ladies and I took photos of each other. They all requested prints. It was great fun. We were also able to exchange questions about various lifestyles and customs in America versus India. With limited vocabulary it was difficult to explain anything in too great of detail, but both parties learned a great deal.

One of the most prominent aspects of Indian adulthood is marriage, pre-arranged marriage. The common theme of “marrying for love” that in the United States is ludicrous and irrational to them. In India, marriage is primarily a duty to bring honor to the family rather than to fulfill one’s selfish fulfillment (First cousin marriages are also widely accepted). Once married, children are immediately expected. Even the upper class strictly believes in prearranged marriages and has no consideration for women who would prefer to be working professionals than mothers.

At my current elderly age of 21 years, many of the ladies were disgusted that my parents weren’t searching for a husband; however, they were equally pleased to learn that I didn’t have a ‘boy friend’, which would suggest loose character. Most have some insight gained from American films that our social expectations and practices are dissimilar, and they all truly believe that India’s marriage custom is the only proper way. After seeing that the Indian system works (and it seems to work well), I can’t argue too much. It definitely takes the stress and expectation out of finding “Prince/Princess Charming”.

I’ve mentioned that most of the employees in my office are slum dwellers. Today, John sent me to a slum called Flower Garden with one of the Federation members, Subramani, who was also a resident of the colony. This was the first time that I was taken to one of my co-workers homes, and it proved to be a special experience.

First thing upon arriving, Subramani proudly ushered me into his beautiful two-room home and introduced me to his wife and beautiful two year old girl, Punitta. Subramani will always have a place in my heart. He is a short, pot-belly man with little English skills but grand communication skills. Most people point sheepishly and utter words in their native tongue. Pointing is as obvious as “I spy with my little eye”. Instead, when he wanted to reference the railway station down the road, he moved his arms and hands in the unbalanced circular motion characteristic of the wheel braces on a locomotive train, sung “Choo Choo”, and even delivered and impressive tweet of the steam whistle. The performance was splendid. Besides understanding exactly to what he was referring, it was hilarious and fun for me and him. The rest of my tour continued in such a fashion, and we had a continuous dynamic dialogue full of clear kinesthetic questions and answers. I’ve said it before but laughter and humor are the supreme bonding agents.

When Subramani and I returned from our visit to Flower Garden Slum, lunch was being served. As I approached the dinning circle, John immediately pulled me aside and suggested that perhaps I should go out to eat instead. He quickly explained that the meal was very spicy today (he was concerned for my frail American tongue). I shrugged my shoulders and politely assured him that spicy was nice.

I was crest-fallen to see that all of the girls had pushed away their plates of food without having taken more than a few bites. The men were huffing and puffing and trying to conceal their watering eyes while gulping down liters of water. Someone was fetching milk.

I was handed a plate, and all 30+ people present stared while I ate. Yes, it was spicy, but there are different types of heat. I despise when the capsaicin of a pepper lodges itself into the lips and tongue like microscopic razor blades that puncture the nerves and weaken the tear ducts; however, this burn was of a different sort. It licked the throat and lungs with delicate blue flames and warmed the body’s core. I felt like a healthy dragon ready to whistle fire. It was great, and probably one of my favorite meals since arriving in India. I’ll admit that it had a little ‘bite’, but nothing that would cause any discomfort.

After I finished, without watery eyes, a runny nose, or a sip of water, John laughed and sent me to go fetch chocolate bars to ease everyone else’s suffering. He had been worried about my contact with Indian spicy food since I’d arrived, but it proved to be an unnecessary precaution.