homeward bound!

The end of the year started like it had begun, in a whirlwind of activity, and I wasn't ready for it.  Most of my work was in order - I'd completed what I'd set out to do - but there was certainly more that could have been accomplished.  Furthermore, there were missed and cancelled trips (like my trip with Kraemer to the Himachal Pradesh/Himalayas and my solo trip to Thailand), and an early departure meant rushed, and sometimes missed, goodbyes.

But no one let me stay in a funk for very long (I told you my friends and coworkers rocked!)

The DFP Cohort II organized an afternoon "party" for me, where one of them dedicated the ceremony with a song, another emceed and a number of others volunteered to come on stage one by one to tell everyone why they appreciated me or would miss me.  In typical Indian fashion, I was required to sit directly in front of or next to the podium throughout the talks.  They ended with a slideshow put to music (such talent! go DFP!), delicious Indian snacks and juices and, of course, countless pictures.

Not to be outdone, those who remained in town from DFP I pooled their resources to feed me even more Indian snacks and treats (including barfi, which I'd been wanting to try for ages - you wouldn't believe how good something with a name that bad tastes).  They presented me with a giant doll, since the girls in the office call Barbie and the DFP II fellows were convinced I looked just like the "Southern Belle" (that I'm from Ohio was irrelevant).  They still email me now, several months later, to see whether I've found the doll a partner (and we still talk shop, too).

The Deshpande Foundation staff took me out to lunch at Hotel Swathi, an office fave, where Vidya ordered all the dishes for herself (just kidding, V!) and the group presented me with beautiful gold hoop earrings.

Kraemer and I also went out to dinner with Naveen at Hotel Naveen, the site for several of my events throughout the year, so we also got to visit with one of our sweetest, favorite waiters, Samson.  Then we also headed out for one last evening with Shai and Kumar, probably laughing nearly as hard as we did last time and reminiscing about our motorcycle race home after the last dinner out.

Our apartment (Lesley, Arati and I) hosted a dinner for Durghamba's family (our housekeeper) with Kraemer and Pio.  We so badly wanted to share with them a taste of America, but we learned that besides roomali roti fajitas (which is, er, Mexican, I guess), not much comes close sans an oven and cheese.  Nevertheless, we sautéed up some spinach and garlic and served pasta with fresh tomato sauce … and ordered some pizza from the only pizza joint within a couple hundred miles.  So it was an attempt at Italian - but they didn't even like that.  Only Durghamba cleared her plate, probably because she's just so polite.

Sweet Durghamba also tried to make breakfast for me on my last morning in town, but we had already left for the airport when she arrived (and apparently Naveen, too).

Vidya wouldn't let me leave without visiting her home, either, so her mother, sister and Vidya spent the day in the kitchen creating her specialty, bisebele bath, and other deliciousness, including homemade gulab jamun.  We were impressed with their cute, well-kept home and their ingenious space-saving ways (check out the floating baby crib!)

After my last day in the office, Shai whisked me away to his home where his new wife, mother, sister, neice and other family members and DF staff were waiting to serve up a delicious lunch of all my favorites - baingan (eggplant), lemon rice (MMM), chipathi and a tangy mango dessert.  They presented me with a beautiful sari and blouse piece that I can't wait to get a chance to wear in the US.

Of course, in true SBF form, we had yet another early going away party for yet another two prematurely departing fellows, this time at the fantastic Sagar Palace.  The ladies + Anoop ordered K and I a going-away cake and smashed some cake into K's face just for good measure.

And on my last night there, my apartment hosted one last shindig, complete with as American snacks as we could concoct, including any goodies sent from the US throughout the year that might have gone uneaten.  We drank our favorite mixed drink - Blue Riband orange gin - with soda water, chatted about the year and generally avoided talking about when we'd all see each other again.  But with this group, I'm sure there'll be - and I'm looking forward to - a happy reunion. 

Going Out with a Bang: The Accident

Only a very few of my experiences in India do I wish I’d never had. Getting hit by a motorcycle is definitely one of them.

Now, it isn’t really all bad.  First of all, my injuries could have been much, much worse – it’s not necessary to speculate, so I won’t.  But all the doctors I’ve talked to (and there have been many) could not seem to keep themselves from telling me how very lucky I’d been.  Second, I wasn’t left on the street to fend for myself; instead, the kind face of India showed itself once again, and I was taken directly to the hospital, which happened to be about a block down the same road.  And third, I had an amazing crew attending to my every need.

So here’s the story….

I’d been sick for weeks, and I had finally gotten in my first morning run in what seemed like

 decades.  After breakfast, I started my 20-minute walk to work – not bad and pretty much my only option, given that I don’t own a bike, motorcycle, rickshaw or car – though I admit I might have been a bit distracted: I would be teaching the Fellows that morning, and on those walks to work I’m always running through the key points I definitely want to make sure I hit.

I had just passed a cane juice vendor who I passed every morning, but this time he asked me my name, which took me a little bit off guard.  I looked down the road to gauge the speed of the oncoming traffic, waiting while the Dharwad busses barreled through and the bikes sped by, then headed into the crosswalk.

Apparently, there was one motorcycle I had failed to see.  Maybe I had just misjudged his speed with relation to mine.  Maybe he’d been stuck behind a truck that he’d finally peeled away from.  Or maybe he was just driving plain crazy and too fast – which is not unheard of in India.  Regardless, I didn’t hear the horn until I was maybe four steps from the other side, at which point I stopped, looked up and asked myself: now what?

I’d played these games on the sidewalk before, when you’re running down the street right toward someone walking, and you have to catch each other’s eye or watch their body to figure out who is going to go left and who is going to go right.  I’d always decided that it was up to the runner to move – she was the one moving faster in the first place; so wouldn’t the same logic apply?  Wouldn’t this dude figure out that he needed to swerve to miss me?

Er. No. Thanks for playing.  At this point, I don’t remember much.  I don’t think there were any other vehicles coming that he would have had to look out for, but it’s entirely possible that there was another pedestrian behind me that kept him from swerving off course (I’m giving this guy the benefit of the doubt).  I have a bit of a hazy memory of getting hit, but I think I’m making it up.  I have no idea where he hit me, since there are bruises on both legs, or how I fell (or flew) onto the concrete.  I have no details to give you here.  The next thing I remember is crawling into a rickshaw with some helping hands, examining my shirt and pants and finding deep red splotches on both and taking in the scrapes on my hands and the sharp pain by my eye. (see terribly unflattering photo of me on hospital bed)

Turns out the my champion coworker Chinnababu, a graduate of the Deshpande Fellowship Program I had been running, had chosen a new route to work today and spotted a bright orange Deshpande t-shirted person in the middle of the road.  Whiiiiich happened to be me.  He tells me it was only by the grace of God that he was both later than usual and in the mood for a new route and that I was in my t-shirt.  A kind employee from the building next to ours had also seen the accident, or at least me on the ground, and had made it to me even before Chinnababu did.  Yay for Chinnababu!

in living color

Before coming to India, I’d learned a bit about two major Hindu holidays – Diwali and Holi, both of which, between the lights and the paints, sounded like pure chaotic bliss. The festivities did not disappoint.

Today we celebrated Holi. The story behind Holi seems slightly convoluted (not surprising given the number of gods total and the number involved in each festival story, the number of forms they each take and the number of possible stories behind each holiday). To make a long story short, this guy tried killing his son in multiple fashions, but because the son was a strict follower of Lord Vishnu, he was protected by the gods and made it through every trial. Finally, the dad decided to have his daughter wear a special fire-resistant shawl and carry the son into a fire. Bad news. Shawl was mysteriously lifted from the girl’s shoulders – who was then burned to death in the fire – while the son survived. The girl’s name was Holika. Thus, the Holi festival. The night before Holi is celebrated with bonfires.

Don’t worry, good ol’ dad got his due – Vishnu came for him later.

Then there’s this whoooole color thing. Something about Krishna getting color painted on his face by his mom, and this happened during the Holi festival time. Something like that.

So around 9:00am this morning, the doorbell rings. I’d already been out running and had seen a few crowds of boys with colorful faces, so I knew the routine. But my landlord had said they weren’t playing Holi this because her son had exams the next day and they were locking the gate outside to avoid all craziness. Who could this be?

9:05am. I answer the door. It’s the housekeeper from upstairs. She’s probably in her early 20s, sweet girl, no English. She shows me one of her hands, full of yellow powder and beckons me outside. Svalpa, I tell her. Just a little.

9:07am. I change out of my tank and wash it vigorously, followed by a good face scrubbing. Fortunately, I’m not looking too jaundice. Back to the laptop.

9:15am. Text from Naveen: “You are invited to my home to play holi, feel free to bring friends.” Great! “Come anytime after 9:30,” he says. I’ll figure out what time everyone is heading over, probably around 10:30 or so, dressed in clothes I don’t mind destroying – I’d been warned.

9:18am. Doorbell rings. Geez! I don’t answer this time, I’ve already gotten my due and am planning to go out again. I hear a ruckus and some shouting. I wait a second and then feel guilty – better see what’s up and make sure nobody is in trouble. I scoot open the door and am met by three bright pink faces. What the heck?!!! Who let these crazies in my house?! I don’t KNOW this guy. While I’m screaming “beDa” (I don’t want any!), they’re forcing my door open – turns out it’s my landlord’s brother. I promise them I’ll be out in an hour, they shake on it and head out.

9:31am. Doorbell rings. Again? Really? Doorbell rings A LOT. Some pounding. This time Arati and Lesley start yelling that we’re being surrounded by a mob … which turns out to be my Fellows and Naveen (who was apparently unrecognizable). Guess they couldn’t wait for me to get to Naveen’s house. I come to the window – they really DO look like a mob and are difficult to identify with all the gunk they’ve got all over themselves. I put up a finger and tell them I’ll be out in a minute.

And so I go. And so I got it. Powder of all colors, smeared into paints, and buckets and bottles of water just to rub it in. I’ve got at least 20 pairs of hands rubbing the color into my face, ears and hair, and about 30 seconds into, I look like I’ve been hit by a rainbow typhoon.

We spent the next hour and a half trooping through Naveen’s neighborhood, throwing color on the unsuspecting (actually, I’m sure they knew what was coming – if I knew, they knew) passerby and applying new colors to each other with a vengeance, breaking only for holiday sweets and snacks. Somehow, it was endlessly entertaining. If my eyes hadn’t started to burn and I’d had a tissue to blow my nose (hey, what can I say? I’ve been sick.), I woulda stayed around for a bit longer, just to witness the scene.

As you’re reading this, I’m probably still tinged with a hue of peacock blue.