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.

ringing in the new one

I've decided that writing up blogs two-three months following the event is an incredibly poor idea. That said, I'm still doing it for my personal records, just so that I have some sort of account.

As a result of the Mumbai attacks, tragic and with continually frustrating ramifications, my New Year’s comrades and I canceled our plans for a big night out in Bombay, trading it for what we hoped would be a relaxed beach night in smaller Mangalore, off the coast of west Karnataka.

Our hotel, the Gateway (part of the Taj chain) turned out to be at least 30 minutes from the beach, but proved to be just the locale for the relaxation we desperately needed, which led to a vacation lived in the hotel itself. You could have barely dragged us by our hair from that place, we were so enamored.

Every morning we woke to a sumptuous buffet breakfast, had the small fitness facility to our selves, spent the day lounging by the beautiful pool and then wrapped up with a delicious dinner in the hotel’s restaurant.

Unsure of what to do for NYE, we elected to attend the party at our hotel (and heck, why not? We loved everything else about it!) The event was poolside and jazzed up by a pool fountain, flame throwers and a live band.



We were wined and dined by the hotel staff, and Kate and I narrowly missed winning the prize for Best Dressed Couple who won a free stay in a Taj (sigh) , earning instead a gift certificate to a clothing store, which we promptly lost. After most of the guests had returned to their rooms, the DJ entered the scene, pumping what I can only guess was the most current Indian pop, and we spent the rest of the evening dancing on the deck with the hotel staff who’d been so kind to us throughout the week.



Because of my incredible love for food (not like I have to tell any of you that), one of the girls joked that they should give me a tour of the kitchen. Conveniently, the evening before we left, they offered us a peek, so we all dawned hairnets and went inside to drool over the chocolate "molten lava" cake and apple pie. Who says India doesn't have edible sweets?! :)

did someone say fruitcake?

I know, I know – I’ve fallen down on the job! It’s good to know you guys are reading though, so I’ll try to do better, really. At least for the next couple of weeks.

Things got really crazy right before my Capstone program, the three-day culminating event for our first cohort, which fell only days before Christmas (and ended on Christmas Eve!) Organizing this event consumed a huge part of my time but ultimately is one of the things I can point to as being the most satisfying accomplishments during my stint here. Besides developing the framework for the event and coordinating all the logistics, I spent hours coaching the Fellows and critiquing their presentations repeatedly.

When the time came, though, I felt good about having done it – many of them blew me away and seemed to impress others in the audience as well. Chinnababu was a rockin’ MC (and a rockin’ Fellow – I hired him as our new program manager, and he’s been amazing!). Desh commented that there would be few, if any, changes to the DFP based on their immediate impression of the successful outcome of the program via the Capstone.

During one of our “celebration” events, Fellows mocked some of the staff members, including Dulcie and her teaching, which couldn’t have been more entertaining. Check out Thriveni's Dulcie Impression: Start at about minute 7... Unfortunately it cuts off right before Thriveni starts flipping her kurta up and down. Right on, Dulcie! (please ignore my 5-second clip, I hope I'm not really as flighty as I sound)


Lesley and I let down our hair after my event wrapped up by carting the bottle of white wine my parents had sent from the US (AWEsome!) around Hubli, looking for an open restaurant on Christmas Eve that would let us sip on our own beverage. After dinner we visited the Fellows’ hostel and considered scouting out a Christmas Eve service but quickly realized that our lack of personal transportation would leave us stranded downtown after the service ended.


















For Christmas, most folks had headed back to the States or were traveling, so there were only a few of us around the Hubes. We went as Western as we possibly could, with fresh fruit and fruitcake for breakfast (my first time eating a full piece - or two - of fruitcake ... I didn't remember it being so good!) and later cooking up a couple of frittatas, mixed green salads, mashed potatoes and Christmas pudding, English-style.
















Sooo, Christmas was relatively uneventful, and I’m already looking forward to a snowy, commercial (pathetic, but I really missed the mall lights and decorations), family-packed Christmas 2010.

party like it's 1999

Clearly, I’m behind in my blog, and I’m not sure where to start in order to catch up, which should be fair warning that this post is going to be utterly and totally disorganized and a tell-it-like-it-is, no frills.

Let’s start with the good stuff: parties. Or here, perhaps “celebration” is a better word. India seems to celebrate at least one holiday a week (though Deshpande limits it to 12 a year, so there are many days shops and the university are closed while we plug away in the office). Festivities are characterized by food and more food, nice dress, lots of people, more food, pujas, firecrackers and a lack of alcohol. And there is never, never enough decoration.

Check out Shozen’s two-year birthday party, which kicked off with a Christian ceremony, of which I hardly understood a word (besides “happiness” over…and over…and over), and was followed by a huge buffet. We were worried that our gift was wrapped in pink paper, but we shouldn't have been. India loves pink, embraces pink. After taking in all the pink decorations at this little boy's party, I began to recall the pink I'd seen everywhere - entire motorbikes, backpacks, sweatpants, you name it. No gender/color bias here.

For Diwali, a holiday comparable in importance, so I’ve been told, to Christmas, Lesley and I trekked to a smaller village called Ramdurg, the “native place” of Jabshetti, one of her colleagues. We respectfully observed the family toss rice on a shrine, attempted to slurp a concoction of mashed bananas and coconut milk from our hand gracefully and stuffed our faces with homemade under the watchful eye of the mother, the cook . We were definitely the talk of the town, with neighbors and little kids strolling by and popping in, not necessarily invited. Then again, you don't really need an invitation here to join the party.

Post-Diwali deserves a festival of its own, so we celebrated that one from our front door. Our landlords, who are always forcing snacks and sweets down our throats whenever we go upstairs to see them about something, had family in and were celebrating just outside our window. Curious as I was to watch the men light the noisy crackers, I kept my distance; still, it’s the closest I’ve come to losing an eye, as a piece of firework debris made a beeline for my face. I’m amazed I haven’t heard more stories about little kids losing limbs or trees being set on fire. No one seems to take any precautions at all, yet miraculously, everyone is still in one piece, none the worse for wear.


For Halloween, the goal was to impart on our Indian friends a bit of American culture, so we threw a costume party in our apartment, and entirely new concept for them. Lesley invited her coworkers and I had nearly my entire DFP crew here, as well as a few members of the DF staff. My costume was entirely uncreative (since I’d been banking on a package from home that arrived, ironically, the next day, after being sent a month in advance) and was shown up completely by the Fellows. Kudos. We were also sure to provide two solid drink options: alcoholic punch and nonalcoholic punch (topped with ice cream!) The alcoholic punch needed to replaced much earlier in the evening – big surprise.


Last but not least? My birthday. Nothing at all like one I’ve ever had in the States, and certainly not one to be soon forgotten. My Sandbox Fellow buddies couldn’t have made me feel more loved, showering me with saris, sweets, flowers, a scarf and even a luxurious facial, and my DFP Fellows presented me with a beautiful necklace and earrings; later a couple of them special-delivered a handmade handbag produced by a local self-help group (SHG). Furthermore, in Hubli, you had better like cake and icing and like it a whole, whole lot, because you are going to get it stuffed into your face no matter how hard you dodge the eager hands. I had no less than four cakes on my birthday, and each one was cut served up by a score of friends eager to get their chance at creaming me with goo.

Thanksgiving was relatively low-key; no one was feeling up to the search it would require to find any ingredients necessary for producing anything slightly resembling a traditional meal, so we ordered pizza from the only joint in town, which we felt was decidedly American. Thank you, Smokin’ Joes. :)

And I think I’ve exhausted the party scene for now … check the album soon for more pictures!