#1
– December 11, 2004
Hello!
Every One... it is day 7 in
Thiruvannamali:
So I am settling in, somewhat: Off to sleep at 9-9:30pm and up about
6:30am. Every morning gets earlier. The good news is that I am
sleeping! (Not always the case, as you may
know, over these past few years.) I start the day with a
breakfast of bread with peanut butter and tea or instant coffee; and my
journal. There is so much to try and catch: The morning light is so wonderful. It’s a soft, misty brightness just coming
forth from the night’s late grey sky; it is the bright Indian sun just on the
rise, with only its’ misty beams showing above the local sacred mountain of
Arunachula.
All the sounds of LIFE surround me:
someone hoarking; spluttering piped water plummeting into a metal bucket; a
baby crying; a dog growling; a cow across the way baying; chattering voices
from a nearby home (windows have no glass, only wrought iron bars).... and the
song birds singing. Now a radio; now an ox cart trundles in front of the
house. It is a symphony… still new to me.
I suppose it could be called a cacophony, but its’ surprises pull me out
of myself and I listen to a new world of sound, totally entertained.
My adjustment to the smells is
easier this time: there is a heavy sweetness to the early morning air...
night jasmine? Perhaps the open sewer
across the street adds to the heavy, and the frying of onion for someone's
breakfast. Maybe it is better to arrive
in India in the early morning, before the full onslaught of the day’s smells
rise with the heat of the day.
Containing smells in not part of the culture.
The street rises by 5:30am when you
hear water splashing: a clattering sloshing of metal dishes being washed in a
metal bucket; handfuls of water landing with a heavy ‘thunk’ onto the dirt
porches and door entry ways to keep down the dust; and family members taking
turns using a bucket of water to have a splash bath. After the street in front of the door is
swept and splashed with water to begin the day, then the 'rongally' is put
on the street in front of the house... something like a Celtic symbol... many
varieties. The design is usually done in
a white chalk-like substance. The chalk
runs in a fine line through the thumb and first two fingers as the woman/girl
makes her design. The rongally is a welcoming to visitors. (There are
other words for this design, I believe ‘rongally’ is from Tamil, the language
spoken in this province of India.)
Gradually you hear one motor then
another, as the motor scooters and rickshaws begin the day. Amazing, how
everything starts up about the same time. I suppose it’s the similar at
home, but with closed windows and doors, we just don’t hear it. Children
will be off to school by 8am: in this
house there are Arunadavi (10 yrs.) and Ramani (12 yrs.). They are home
for lunch 12 - 2pm, and home at the end of their day about 4:30pm.
As the rhythms of the day take over,
I sit in my front room, which faces 'the mountain', and stillness seems to
pervade. It is a palpable experience.
(Amazing, given the racket.) The front room stretches across the front of
my apartment, which has a front balcony and a rooftop. I like the
openness of the grilled windows and doors.
One is protected from the sun, but not the world. My bathroom is
on my balcony (that took a few minutes to find the first night!!). Not a
squat!! thank god...all the paper is to be collected in a bucket. (It
does flush...but not much...very small pipes.) The toilet closet is also
my shower … cold. My friend Yukio, who
leases this apartment, says he tried to get the hot water connected to the
shower... but they just didn't understand. I do have a hot water tank
that takes about 7 minutes to get hot and is connected to a tap near the floor.
Yes! It is assumed you will use the hot water to fill your bucket and have a
splash bath.
From the balcony I can climb up to
the rooftop: Red tiled floor; a palm thatched roof on pole supports; open
sided. I love to sit here in the gentle breezes we have these days,
with the mountain before me. I can gaze across a multitude of
neighboring rooftops, with a lot of tropical trees in the foreground... very
lush with bloom and fruit. My gaze frequently widens as it spots one of the
veritable zoo of animals in the neighborhood: monkeys, peacocks, a family
of black pigs; chipmunks; and dozens of colorful birds and butterflies. I
actually don't remember Tiruvanamali being this beautiful. I think this
is one of the more beautiful views.
My bedroom and kitchen stretch
across the back of the front room. No windows, but a grill in each room
that opens into the front room. All is very basic. The walls are
rough plaster (Yukio had them painted a light shade of coral with a light mauve
trim up by the ceiling, but the paint is rather splotchy... due to heavy
moisture of the monsoon season, I think.) There are carved wood
doors between living room and kitchen, also between kitchen and bedroom... the
only wood in the house. The floor is cement, painted brick red and
covered in a multitude of straw mats... so the dust drops through and
your bare feet can stay clean (no shoes worn in the homes). My bed is a
3-inch futon... on the floor. In the living room there is another one to
use as a couch. There is also a red plastic table and several plastic
chairs... reds, blue, and pearly white: the garden/hardware store variety
found worldwide. Compared to my
neighbors, this suite is becomingly decorated and furnished. Most homes do not have painted walls, but are
rough plaster only, which dirties quickly and cannot be washed. The usual furniture is a rope bed, which
holds blankets, pots, clothing, anything!
I have not seen cupboards or chairs and tables in the neighboring
homes. Doors are often kept open to
encourage air movement.
I am well set up. I even have luxury
items: a refrigerator; an electric kettle; a juicer and a blender for coffee
beans. What more do I need?! I have a propane range with 2
elements, in contrast to several of the neighboring women, who cook on an open
fire. The kitchen counters and sink are black slate. There is open
shelving for dishes and supplies... they will need to be washed weekly. The downside of openness to the world is that
all the dust drifts in throughout the day.
The street in front is dirt, and busy.
Chendra, the woman of the house, has
been drying red peppers on her roof deck... one story lower than mine, and to
the side. Hers is open to the sun, and used as a drying loft. My laundry
hangs there too. (She charges 20 rupies or 75 cents for a small bundle of
6 or so items). She does laundry and housecleaning but does not iron...
oh well… those who know me... know! I have brought my iron. There is
always the laundry shop on the main street. I hear it is 5R an item this
year (It was 3R in year 2000.). That is always an experience... how they
remember you, and what you have dropped off, I can never tell... but they do
get it right. And they do iron beautifully.
Well, I have had my breakfast (black
tea; organic! plum jam and peanut butter on good whole wheat bread... no butter
yet??) Now I must prepare for my outing. I am off to the
Arunachula-Ramana Ashram this morning for a 2-hour meditation and
Satsang. I must be at the ‘milking corner' on the main road (about 8
blocks away) by 8:30am. A rickshaw has been sent for me and I will share
it with another woman, Gita (a yoga teacher).
Our combined cost will be 20R each way.
The return journey will be about 8 miles so our cost will be about $1.50.
It will take me an hour to get
ready. I still stumble at every
task, particularly my washing routines: When do I use the sterilized
water? I don't use it in showering, but I do for teeth, hands, face, dishes???
But, when do I use tap water with bleach… or bottled water?? I think it is the
bottled water for my teeth and face. Then there is washing my fruit and
vegetables... yes bottled water plus! bleach for 24 hours... then a thorough
drying. So when do I boil the tap water and use it?? with bleach??
aaauugh so go my confusions.
Hope this is not too
long, particularly for those with busy working days.
Keeping on my toes,
and thinking of you:
Love Paula
#2
-Thursday Dec 16/04
Some
Firsts:
It is the start of a festival.
I woke this morning to the sound of a "puja" over a microphone.
At first, I thought it was the early prayers coming from the mosque... but no,
it was the same as the evening "puja" ceremony at Ramana
Ashram. I have now heard it often enough that it is recognizable, even
though it is Tamil (could be Sanskrit, I suppose). I didn't think much
about it, given sounds are a constant in the background. Soon, however, the day revealed its’ news.
When my rickshaw arrived at 9am for
my morning ride to Satsang at Ganesan's*, I walked out past the 'rongally' on
the doorstep and noticed it had a flower offering at its center. The
rongally design was also more elaborate this morning. Then, when we got
to the main road, taking up its full breadth, were streams of people... 6
across, walking the road in "pradakshina". (The word means circumambulating, in this
case they are walking around the sacred mountain). There were mostly
women. "What is it?" I ask my driver (using my face and hands
which are more expressive than my words). He tells me, in his meager
English that it is a festival that will last for a month. (I find out later
it is 15days... but that marks the end of this month in their calendar). I do hear the word ‘festival’, though miss
entirely the name of the festival.
The stream of people continued all
day, until evening. So colourful!! Many of the saris looked
new: Everyone looking so clean and fresh
for such a dusty road. The gold trim on the sleeve (always very tight on
the tiny arms) and on the skirt edge of the sari is magnificent… even more so
in a simple country setting. I was told that the women had come to town
from the outlying villages. They are so
beautiful in their festival regalia, walking so gracefully in their bare
feet.
Carts, wagons and blankets laid out
with wares to sell, lined the road: bangles; bindies (the glittering
stickers that are placed on the 3rd eye); ice-cream; household items
like spoons (6 varieties); small measure cups; small sieves; and safety pins
galore!
At the small temples along the way,
the women stop to make offerings and pray, sometimes circling the temple (doing
a pradakshina around a temple is a ritual): coals are lit; limes squashed;
flowers left. There are small temples about every 2 blocks or so on the
road around the mountain. A small statue of one of the Hindu Gods sits
inside a little temple. Some temples are as small as the space below a
chair, and some are as large as a good-sized house. Such a variety of
Gods and their consorts are available. Each person has their own special
god/goddess, perhaps more than one, whom they attend. The Hindu pantheon
has hundreds to choose from, though they will be related to the 3 main Gods:
Siva, Vishnu, and Brahma. There are
people daily at these temples... just more on this festival day.
Over the next few days, I have found
out (I think??? nothing is ever for sure in India, I am finding. I am already
bobbing my head in that ambiguous manner!! :-) that the festival is called
"Maarigita" (something like that). The 10yr old downstairs...
Davi... tells me it is a time to be 'bad'.
She explains... “Put the radio and play music. Loud! You hear!! Bang the pots and
pans!” Yesterday I was told the Festival is to keep SHIVA awake (this
is a Shiva temple town), so he will not go into a winter sleep.
The flower offerings on the
doorsteps continue, and children seem to be out of school more often. But
the noise?? It is hard to tell. Noise is a constant in India: If it is not
a festival, it is a funeral, or VIP's are visiting the town, or someone is advertising
a product… an opening. Everyday I hear bands playing. Some days
there are fireworks. I know nothing.
The festival started on
Thursday. On Sunday, I wake to more music… and wailing!! Oh dear, I
wonder what is happening?? Again I ask Davi (She learned English as a
child when her mother did housecleaning for an English woman.). It is a funeral today... in fact, it is her
grandfather's funeral. But the family will not be attending: "There
are fights in the family," Davi says. I had watched a tent-awning
being put up yesterday... a beautiful purple roof with orange, green, purple,
and red banners that drop down about 2 feet all along the sides of the
roof. The tent covers a space of about
30 feet by 15 feet... between some sheds and a couple of houses. I
thought maybe it would be for a wedding. But... no, it is a funeral
gathering.
People must have started gathering
by 6:30am, at least. They were all there when I got up shortly after
7am. By 11:30am the funeral parade started: drums, sticks, and
brass horns. Someone carried a very large stainless steel tub on their
shoulder. I couldn't see what it contained. It is a straggling
assemblage. There are perhaps 50-60 people in all. As I watched, a
woman in a beautiful, hot pink sari left the group and walked to my side of the
sheds... she faced the wall. I wondered what she was about. Then I
knew: She lifts her sari (all is bare), squats… and does her
business. Within minutes she joins the group. I might add that the
back wall of that shed faces onto the street... my house has an unobstructed
view of that side of the shed. Usually it is a man that is urinating in
public... very unusual to see a woman. Soon all is quiet, the parade has
moved off. All I can hear is a faint drumming.
It is 2:10 pm and the funeral parade
has come back... drums, sticks, horns. I would be exhausted. The
sun is strong and hot today. Everyone stands about outside the tent until
the large tub is taken inside (is it his worldly possessions??? Maybe the ashes!!). Music
continues. Everyone moves inside, under the tent. The music
stops. When I left my place at 4:30pm the tent was still alive with
people. When I got up this morning at 7am the tent was gone.
So LIFE is an ongoing circus: The
call to prayer at the mosque 5 times a day; plus all the domestic and work
activities; plus the festivals and celebrations. The cacophony of events and
the silence of the mountain: a great metaphor for the ever-chattering 'ego' and
the silent ‘Self'.
As you can tell, I am enchanted.
Love to you all. OH! And
Merry Christmas! It is the 20th... only 5 days to go. So! not in the consciousness here. I
completely forget about it. Paula
*Ganesan is the grand nephew of the
Sage Ramana Maharshi.
#3 - December 29/04
Christmas... as it happened in India
I could
not have imagined it, but that is perhaps because I have yet to truly ‘get’
India! My Christmas plans by Wednesday,
December 23rd were for a quiet day.
It was not feeling like Christmas, and that was all right with me. My big Christmas plan was to phone Andrea,
Caroline, and Mom: to check in on their Christmas.
Thursday
morning on my way to Satsang at Ganesan’s, my Canadian/Courtenay friend,
Howard, (who happened! to be here when I got here) said, “I was talking with
Raju (another Canadian) and Howard (an American) and we are thinking about
‘Doing’ Christmas dinner… like finding a chicken, and having a real Christmas
dinner! What do you think?” “Sure,” I say. “I am up for that.” Slowly it dawns on me, “You mean at my
house?” Well, that was a given. I am the only one with a kitchen and room
enough to have a group of friends.
By the
time Satsang is over, I have figured out that means shopping on Friday. We don’t really know where to find! a
chicken, herbs, butter, ice-cream, wine.
It is best not to leave it to Saturday, Christmas day. So, it was agreed. Yes, after Satsang on Friday morning (about
noon) we would plan to be off to town… a 20R (75 cents*) rickshaw ride down the
hill 5 or 6 blocks, into the chaos of the little 20 block town of
Thiruvannamali.
I did a
quick shop Thursday afternoon for a little bag of goodies, I could put at the
door of the little girls downstairs.
Believe it or not! I found 2 hand made bags at the Women’s Craft
Collective: one with a Santa Claus; one
with a snowman. Perfect. They would hold candies, fruit, a few little
surprises, and a few rupies in change.
It turned out great! When I came
home from Darshan (with a Swami who comes out to the public only on Christmas
day)… there they were huddled under the stairway to surprise me: Mom and the 2 girls hugging me, wishing me a
Merry Christmas, and Namaste!! A truly,
grand thanks, for a little gift. It was
their very first visit from Father Christmas (they did not know Santa
Claus). They were very excited: They had even washed their hair for the
occasion of thanking me. Very touching.
So! on to
the Friday shopping trip: Try to
imagine…. in a state of absolute chaos and pandemonium… Howard and I are off
with our rickshaw driver in charge. He
will take the lead: first off to the local e-mail shop (also the Black Market,
for us to change our US dollars), then to tackle the chicken question. We are also in a hurry. It is 12:30 pm and many shops close at
noon??? Or 2 pm??? Until 2 pm??? or 4 pm???
(Time! Never an easy subject.) We
need to get started … with everyone else in a hurry too; and before it gets too
hot! Well… Ranjit (rickshaw driver) says
we should check out the restaurants first, to see if they have a cooked
chicken… he chooses the restaurant, of course (a cousin??). Actually there are only a few that serve
meat… Hindus are primarily vegetarians.
Well… we had a discussion or 2, but the idea of a ‘rosemary, sage, and
thyme’ chicken was just not in the consciousness. So! off we go. Ranjit tells us we will go to the country,
chicken lane. (Shops are organized in categories: the veggie stalls; the fruit stalls; the
packaged or bulk dry foods shops; and the chicken vs the lamb lane. Some things in India ARE organized!
It was
determined that the first stall was not good…. old chickens, past their laying
time. So on to the next stall. Yes.
Yes… well how many chickens does it take to feed 6 or 7 people?? 2000 grams they say (What do I know?? I am still looking at the chickens, wondering
if there is any! meat on them??) It is
decided by all those making the decision (which by then, was 5 or 6 people) we
are to have 3 chickens. So… 2 are lifted
from the outside cages. But! one is put
back quickly, on the direction from our driver.
“No. No. Not good.” he says. (Oh god!! How can you tell??) Anyway.
Finally 3 chickens or ‘che’ are chosen.
Howard and I… foreigners always! keep trying to get them to say chicken:
“3 che”, they say. “Yes, 3 chicken” we
say. “2000 grams of che,” they say. “Yes, 2000 grams of chicken,” we say. What is it with us! Do we not believe we are at the chicken
stall??
At this
point, I walk the 5 paces to the rickshaw and sit to wait. It is hot.
Soon, stunned! I am watching Howard as he is walking to the rickshaw
with a bag of ‘chopped’ chicken. In no
less than 10 minutes! Good grief! It was de-headed; de-feathered; gutted; and
chopped. “Did I want the head?” they
ask. “No. Are you serious!” is my internal
response. (“Nor the feet!”). But this is not China. No feet are offered.
Off we
go! Bicycles, trucks, cars, cows, goats,
rickshaws (like NY taxis), bollock carts:
Bumper to bumper all going every direction possible… none in a straight
line. And, to let you know, we already
have our wine. Next to the first
restaurant was a wine and liquor stall (there are not many… alcohol is not part
of the Hindu or Moslem way). We have 8 –
5 inch bottles of Concordia wine. Yes,
we tested it right there in the street.
Not exactly French wine… nor any other country’s wine we are familiar
with… but! we are game. It will have to
do. “A bit like sherry,” said one of our
guests later.
It’s the
veggie stalls next. The rickshaw driver
insists on going with me…” in case you get lost,” he says. “There are many stalls in there.” Thank god he was there. It was a warren of stalls. As I start to pick out our 5 or 6 potatoes…
the vender and driver decide… that a bushel or peck or whatever will do. “It is
3 rupies, please.” So… suddenly I have a
bag full of potatoes. (One can only be
obedient at these times.) Next carrots,
onions, garlic, and ‘fresh greens!’ says Ranjit… cilantro and ??? “Yes.” he says to my questioning face, “It is
good.” I have done all the veggie
shopping for 40 rupies… a little more than one dollar. (If I had been on my own the charge would
have tripled, at least!)
Well,
Howard is now wilting in the heat. I
think it may have been the chicken stall.
It is time to go. I have also
managed to re-fill my cell phone again… 2000 rupies this time (locals use 2000
rupies a year! But this will give me 4 or 5 five-minute long distance calls at
19 rupies/min.) They laugh at me, “Back
again! How can it be???” I just smile… and wobble my head. I am set for my Christmas calls. We are done.
Wiped!
Saturday
morning, Christmas, we go to Darshan about 8am, planning to be home by
11am. As we are leaving, Raju, one of
the dinner guests decides to come home with me, so she can check out the
freezer department in my fridge. It is
her task to find the ice cream and butter… how much space will she have
available for storage? Ice cream bars
are easy to find, but a whole container of ice cream is something else; and
butter??? I have yet to find a shop selling butter. Raju is Canadian, but born in India. She has the difficult tasks for this
dinner. She says she will be back in an
hour. (“Great!” I think. I have planned to spend the early afternoon
on my roof deck in the cool breeze; and the silence of the mountain.) So I thought.
No sooner
was Raju off, than Davi (the 10 yr. old from downstairs) is up to help me with
my preparations. She starts when she
comes in the door: My living room is
re-organized in seconds … to accommodate seating 7 people; the cutlery is out
on the table; the candles are on the table; and the dishes on the side
table. “Flowers are next,” she says. (You have no idea how this 10 yr. old orders
me around. She is so quick! The most competent 10 yr. old I have ever
met! This, I learn, is not an uncommon
trait in the population: A sale can take all day; a domestic task is
instant!) I might add that my kitchen
floor and front steps have also been swept… picture a 2 ft long whisk, with a 2
ft. long handle… that is an Indian broom.
“Where will you get the flowers?” I ask.
(Bewildered, as usual.) “Oh! I pick.”
She says. Minutes later she is
back with a basket full of multi colored blooms: beautiful orange/red hibiscus;
white roses; pink and white impatiens; and little yellow trumpet blooms. I don’t have time to wonder how we are going
to use these short-stemmed blooms. She
is sitting on the floor, in the middle of my front room creating a large ‘flower
mandala’. It was truly beautiful. “We have extra,” she says. “So! I will give some to each guest when they
come!” Hmmm… the thought trickles
through, “I guess she is coming to dinner too!” She carefully places her basket
by the front door, in readiness for the evening.
In the
meantime, I have actually done something! myself. I have put the veggies to soak. Davi looks in the bucket… swishing her hands
into the veggies. She looks at
them. “Yes. They are good.” she says:
The 10 year old approves of my purchases. She is a little more hesitant about my
chicken, and asks to see it. “There’s
blood!” she yelps. True enough the package
has oozed blood into the meat container in the fridge. She looks at me… big eyed. “You going to eat meat?!” She bares her teeth and takes a couple of
snaps… like a dog tearing meat off a bone.
I have never thought of myself like that, but what can I say? “Yup, that’s about it,” I say… somewhat
guiltily.
Raju is
back, ice cream in hand. Not what we
expected: There will be no vanilla for the fruit salad, instead there will be
pistachio. (Oh well, it’s green! That’s what you want for Christmas, isn’t
it??) And the butter, well there is no
cow butter, rather we have half a gram of buffalo butter. “Really?” I say. Again, Davi laughs at us. She would never eat buffalo butter. Her mom gets cow’s milk from the man on the
bicycle that comes by daily, and she makes curd (yogurt) and butter, every
couple of days. Raju assures me buffalo
butter is good. “In potatoes??” I
ask. “Sure,” she says. So! out comes the bread and we are off to the
roof top for bread, buffalo butter, and tea.
A test. Yes!! It is good.
It’s rather like a nice mellow soft white cheese.
Well… what
is to be a long day is only just beginning.
When Raju is gone, Davi takes over again, insisting that she will peel
the veggies. And so she does. She will not accept my help. They are done within the hour, and we have
had a nice chat to boot! I have learned
how to test the potato for bacteria, “Push that dark spot… put it to your ear…
do you hear a ‘whoosh’… no?? then, there is no problem.” Amazed, I say, “No potato bacteria? Really??”
Could it be?? I have never heard
of such a thing: Only in India? The
tropics??
By this
time Howard has arrived (My afternoon is gone!
There will be no rest today.) He
came to peel veggies. Well… I am just
wrapping the peels, and wondering where to put them. “Not a problem.” Says Davi, as she snatches
the bag… I think she is taking it downstairs. Nope!
There it goes hurtling off, over the railing… across the street… into
the sewage pond. “The pigs will love
it,” she says. “Watch!” Sure enough! in less than a minute that ol’
black sow that lives in the thicket next to the ‘pond’ is there with some of
her piglets. My having tied the bag was
no deterrent… a couple of loud snorts and it was gone. The plastic bag and scraps were left for the
piglets.
Now comes
the Christmas bonus: Truly
unexpected. Howard and I were just about
to go down to the kitchen to start the chicken.
It is 4:30. When suddenly, the
street out front is screaming! with traffic… a sudden traffic jam?? The street is one lane wide, and now we have
cars, rickshaws, buses, trucks… non-stop… traveling both ways. Looking down, I notice Ramani (the 12 yr.
old) throwing water onto the road.
Howard and I look at each other.
It dawns on us… to keep down the dust… .
“NOOOOO!” we cry. “The full
moon! It’s tonight!” (We had thought it was tomorrow night.) Pradakshina is tonight!!! You have NO IDEA!! This means the main road is blocked and all
the traffic is re-routed down our street.
I was warned about this… in fact, I was told I might want to leave town
on such a night. Clouds of dust…. racket
beyond your worst ‘war’ nightmare: So it
has started. Traffic going both ways…
when it can!! Within 10 minutes it is a
constant honking, roaring, screeching.
An insane shambles… bumper to
bumper… we could not hear ourselves think… let alone talk.
Ramani has
now monkey climbed up the front of the house to my balcony: “The tarps,” she
orders. Up she jumps onto the railing,
gesturing impatiently, to me to hand up the tarps. I have only grills (and mesh) for windows… no
glass, to stop the dust! Soon we are
totally shut in by tarps. The din
remains unbelievable. What to do??? There is no possibility of contacting our
guests. Cook the chicken.
Well… I
had somehow imagined… why??? filleted chicken pieces. You know, nice plump portions of cut-up
chicken. Guess again! It’s chopped all
right. The whole chicken has been chopped into 1-inch pieces: Bones are shattered throughout the meat. Well… chicken pieces it is. Howard did a great job! Three frying pans full of nicely seasoned
chicken… and done in buffalo butter yet.
Great! We were done. So were the veggies… and the fruit
salad. (Yes, the fruit was soaked in tap
water with a bleach solution in the afternoon… forgot to say that.) And our guests were arriving: a gaggle of Canadians, a stray American, and
a young Israeli couple. I later
discovered 2 more had been invited… a 70 yr. old German woman, and an
‘American’ language teacher. But, the
directions were not clear. Thank god…
I’m sure our food would not have been enough.
Anyway. We ate… a hubris outside
my grilled windows… which we were sitting right beside… shouting… to hear each
other.
Not
to worry. Davi, used to such a
commotion, entertained us all with some great jokes. (Dear sweet thing…. she had even put a piece
of chicken on her plate with her veggies.)
Can’t say we lingered long over our food. Our eyes were probably fully glazed over
within the hour! Thinking back, I don’t
even know how the guests leaving the house got out onto the street. It would have been truly dangerous.
Finally, I
was left alone… and, have to admit, was thinking only of myself: “How was I to
manage a night’s sleep???” Everyone had
assured me that, for sure! it would be quiet by 9… 9:30… 10… at the latest. “You know, when the town quiets down.” Well… guess again. The town does not quiet down on a full
moon. It is loaded with visitors who
come to do pradakshina… all night!
Actually, I exaggerate: Only for
12 hours. It is true. Sure enough, just about 4:30am, it was
suddenly quiet (12 hours exactly, after Howard and I took in the meaning of all
the noise). As suddenly as it had begun,
it had ended. They had re-opened the
main road. Knowing the street would wake
up at 5am!! I left in my earplugs… and slept!! until 9am.
So goes
Christmas, in India: Unpredictable; chaotic;
loud; and great fun!
Love to
you all! Paula
(Cdn.
exchange this year is $1 = R30-33)
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