Reasonable Rats

This is a very English speaking country (I haven't had much need for hindi other than "thank you, hello, good bye and very good or very nice!"), but sometimes the earnest signs are more laughable than persuasive.  "Lane driving, safe driving" (no doubt!), "India Furniture Cum Sale" (um, excuse me?) and "...Reasonable Rats" (I hate arguing with the illogical ones).

New Year's Eve was spent at another market where I perfected my bartering skills, came away like a bandit, admired the shackled chickens who were awaiting their dinner debut and made my way through baskets piled high with dried fish.  Gulped down a sweet Limca (lime soda) as the sun won the war against hydration and electrolytes.  Found the public squat toilets, paid my 2 Rupees (not the 5 the guard was trying to finangle) and picked my way across the wet floor.

The merchants come from everywhere around India.  These two, mother and son from Karnataka,  have the best smiles and greeted us every day.  Gave them some business today, learned a bit about their lives.  The boy would be in school, but he is not a resident here in Goa so can not go, must wait til he returns home (March?).  Though home in Karnataka is no home at all...think shanty town, tarp houses, no electricity or water.  And a dad who doesn't work, but drinks.  Rent for the month, here in Goa, is 4000 rupees, expensive for them.  That's approximately $100, 1/5 of what I gave them today.

We are the lucky ones.  It bears repeating, though:  That kid has got the best smile (and spirit to go with it).

Bling and zing

India is known for its gold.  That's all I know.  So when I see mountains of beautiful gold dripping off the ladies, I want it.  I found it in a more delicate form...Mom, you would be proud of my power shop (Sara needed to stop at the ATM, I needed to zip into the jewelery store, Dez needed to pop in her head to inquire "browsing or buying?" to be told that it was "Already bought.")  We are cut from the same sari.

That was on our way to the spice farm.  Top three most  valuable spices?  Saffron, then vanilla, then cardamom.  Got a tour and a feed...and a stop at the spice shop.

 Curry Leaves

Finally, the elephant...Lord Ganesh in person (animal).  See kids, I wasn't making it up!

Nothing like this

"Miss! Miss! Good day. How are you? What's your name? You come look in my shop. Looking is free! Come inside. You like? You want pashmina? Jewelery? Blanket? You don't have one like this. I'll give you a good price. Maybe tomorrow? Promise?"

We are in the midst of maxing and relaxing.  Goa beach could be Mexico beach, Hawaii beach.  Nothing "scary India" about it.  In fact, we have come to realize that travelling in India is a lot easier than anticipated, both logistically and mentally.  Where are the piles of @*it# and rats?  They're there, but not running across our feet or blocking our path.  That would be the cows.  City, village, eating from garbage, strolling the roads or lying on the beach.  Cows abound. 

If anything were to be classified as scary to date, it would have to be our day with our hired driver.  India 500 on narrow roads.  A honk being the only thing separating you from the car around the bend.  Jesus on the dashboard protect us now.  We offer you marigolds.

A few more days of the beach life.  Cooking class had today with the son and wife of our proprieter (day off from being anywhere near a vehicle), tomorrow to the spice farm.

 
Happy Birthday, Dad!  Try cardamom and cashews in your rice pudding the next time around (there's cardamom in my spice cupboard, if you need).

Happy Christmas from India with love

Christmas 2010: India, Maher (meaning mother's womb) orphanage and woman's shelter.  I don't think I've ever said "Happy Christmas" so much on one day.  Or smiled so much (my smile muscles felt frozen into place while the rest of me was melting on the spot.  Heat and love.)  We were treated like royalty, shook hands with everyone (is this why the Queen wears gloves?), given tea and water, cakes and dals.

Witnessed a naming ceremony.  With flowers, candles, passing the baby over and under the crib three times before settling him into it, blessing with the red dye.

Another ceremony was taking place today as we drove through the streets of Pune in our rickshaw.  A funeral procession.  Men walking 8 wide, bearing above their heads the white-wrapped body adorned with flowers.  As Dez said, it was straight out of "A Fine Balance" or "City of Gods".

Swirls and fleur-ls for girls

The window at yesterday's Mocha Bar...chai masala, mango and orange juice and "esoteric conversation" amongst the hipsters. 
 

Yesterday's quest: FabIndia.  Fabrics, fabrics, fabrics.  Our carefully packed bags now include stoles, dupatas, circle skirts, tunics and blouses.  Bring on the heat!

Rickshaw Ride

Rickshaw is the way to get around.  Up to 3 people in the back seat, whipping up a breeze, surrounded by honks.  Long, short, repetitive, a thumb-trigger reaction.  I love how close the other vehicles, bikers and pedestrians get.  People's reaction times seem a lot faster as they weave in and out of lanes.  We got to practice crossing the road today.  Look both ways, edge out...and run.  It's truly survival of the fittest.

We're all safe, sound, sated and tired.  I love butter chicken.  Ripping naan bread with one hand is an interesting task, however.

With love,
meg

ps.  Having a lot of diffiulty uploading video...will try some other time.  I want you to see and hear!

Heart and Eyes of a Child

 "We must infuse our lives with art." - Maya Angelou

Courtesy of my husband, the photographer.

At one of the first art workshops I attended, I heard the following story:

A teacher asks a class of kindergarteners, "Who here is an artist?  Who can draw, who can paint?"  The whole class raised their hands.  The same teacher asked the same questions of a class of Grade 5ers.  "Who here is an artist?  Who can draw, who can paint?"  One or two hands raised into the air.

At some point, and I know it was the same for me, a lot of people get the attitude or impression that they can't draw, they aren't an artist, they aren't creative in an output kind of way.  That attitude stays with them and keeps them from expressing themselves in a "visual" way, definitely from sharing them with others.  I always thought my drawings were clumsy, bent and pinched in the wrong places.  They were nowhere near as good as my sister's, some friends'...

I distinctly remember starting to draw again, doodling in my notebooks, journals, beginning in high school and moving on through university.  I can picture specific images: heart-faced girls, loons and wolves, eyes, trees and swirls.  But what a gap, or a waste, until that time.  I think part of my job as a teacher is to instil the confidence in my students to pick up a pencil, to doodle, draw and share.  Their creations are unique and to be celebrated.  Worthy of display.  Time to regain the assurance and pride of a kindergartener.  

Stick that on your fridge and show it.

"I can paint like a master in quite a short time, but I need to spend my life learning to paint like a child." - Picasso

Self-portrait, Meaghan in the sky