Through the Global Portal

William Allan Joseph Lemos, aka AJ, A, Aj'er, Justine's Bro, etc., jumped through the global portal, otherwise known as modern day air travel, and landed on the other side of the world, onto the subcontinent of India, aka Bharatstan, Hindustan, Indiahhh, Incredible India, etc., to join us for some cultural clashes, travels, and, of course rice, curry, chai, bad beer, and humidity. He has settled right in, despite the 13 or so hour time difference, 5-day delay in leaving, and an 8-hour lay-over in Dubai, aka, Shopping Capital of the Middle East. He has handled his cultural adjustment with grace, being an ever so trustful lad, he has: jumped on the bus;


jostled around in rickshaws;
eaten with his hands; and even joined us for a meal served on banana leaves placed on the floor of a temple temple ground in Fort Kochi. This meal took place after Justine, aka, Justinah, Spiral, the Foreigner Who Speaks, Malayalam chatted in the local tongue to find out what was going on when we observed lots of well-dressed Keralites flowing into an area behind the historic Dutch Palace in Fort Kochi, and got us all invited in for a meal.

So far he has seemed to enjoy his time thoroughly, says he loves the food, especially the Kerala rice, had a great time in Fort Kochi, and says he all around loves India so far. We will be off to see our British ex-pat retiree friend David for Xmas, drinks, some type of cooked bird, and of course lots of tea. Then we will be heading to the northern most state of Kasaragod for a Theyyam festival. (See more on Theyyam here, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theyyam.) AJ will get to experience his first India train rides, along with all that comes with them: tea wallahs, beggars, street musicians, overcrowding, and the ever lovely restroom facilities. Below are a few pictures from our trip to the Historic Fort Kochi. Enjoy! Please wish us luck, health, and safety on our travels with the Aj'er.
































(More info on the DYFI political party: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Youth_Federation_of_India)

Box of Joy

I spent a good part of the day trying to track our box of joy (a box that my parents sent us for X-Mas). I first went to Palarivottom Post via rickshaw. It was very difficult to find, no one knew where the post office was and there is no sign for it. How convenient. Eventually, I found the post office located behind a building and up a dingy stairway. But the staff had no idea about my box. So a nice lady sent me to Kalloor Post Office- I went via rickshaw and inhaled deseil. There a mean lady sent me to Ellamakarra Post Office- I couldn't find the place, until I figured out it was near an important temple- then another rickshaw driver took me there. He was quite nice and we chatted in Malayalam. Apparently this is the correct post office where the package should have been sent- but they haven't seen it. So they sent me across the city to the Foreign Parcel Office near the YMCA.... This is what happened:
Grady goes with me. We go by bus to MG Road and then by rickshaw to YMCA. The rickshawwalla tries to rip us off, but we argue a bit in Malayalam and then he was ok with the correct payment.
The Foreign Parcel Office has three floors of boxes- many falling apart, stored in leaking, dirty and dingy rooms. The walls are painted blue, but all the paint is water-splattered and dirty. The staff sends us upstairs to the second floor (this means the third floor in America- don't ask). I explain our situation to a woman sitting among stacks and stacks of rotting paper. She tells us to wait for "Sir," i.e. her boss. Every man in a position of power is called "Sir" like a medieval knight. The time is 12:40. This is a dangerous time to be told to wait for a petty bureaucratic official because around this time they go off to lunch and then don't return until 2 or 3 in the afternoon. But no one will tell you to come back later and you will sit there waiting for "Sir" for several hours getting more and more frustrated and angry and then you will yell at "Sir" when he comes and this is not a good way to get "Sir" to help you. Most people here will just tolerate this and won't have any problem just sitting and waiting while some big headed post-master eats and sleeps on the job. Since we are impatient foreigners (who are often rude and go directly to "Sirs" of all sorts and tell them what needs to happen) we ask where "Sir" is and go downstairs to find him.
He is downstairs watching peons rip through boxes confiscating and censoring items right and left. He sees us and asks "What is your problem!" in a rude tone. We tell him that we are trying to find a parcel that was sent to us almost a month ago from the US. He tells us to wait upstairs in his office. We don't go up and this makes him very angry. People generally follow directions differentially here. Something is wrong with the system. Grady, meanwhile, is itching to search through the piles of randomly placed boxes, and thinks he has seen one that looks like it might be from the US.
Eventually "Sir" goes up stairs and we follow him to his office. "Sir" sits down behind his desk and says "Tell me." Since we are dealing with a "Sir" Grady has to do all the talking because all "Sirs" will ignore women who deign to speak to them. So Grady begins to expound on our situation and then "Sir's" cellphone rings and he immediately picks it up. After his chat in Hindi (not Malayalam) Grady starts to speak again. But now "Sir" is lighting a cigarette which he smokes, dropping ash all over his desk and the floor. No one uses ashtrays here because the sweeper will be through in a moment to sweep up the ashes.It is still annoying and toxic and illegal to smoke in public buildings in Kerala AND he isn't paying any attention to our situation. Eventually "Sir" rings a bell and then asks for the book where parcels are logged. A peon (this is a technical term in India and is actually an advertised position- someone who runs around papers and keeps keys and sometimes gets the tea), brings him the log book. The log book is a large, dirty, torn, hardbound notebook into which parcels are hand written. They are logged by date and by name of receiver and sender. There isn't a computer in sight, of course. There is no record of any package in our name our your name clearing customs here in Kochi.
Then "Sir" tells us that there are three reasons why the box may be delayed or confiscated. 1) Electronic devices, 2) Obscenities 3) If the customs slip says the box is worth more than $100 US dollars. In the second case we would not be able to collect the box, but I don't think they have sent us any porn or sex toys- at least I hope you haven't, for several reasons, not the least that it would be extremely creepy to receive such items from our parents. In the first or third case we will have to pay additional customs fees for the box. This is why one should never report high numbers on customs forms. But the box is not on the list of high alert packages or on the regular list, so basically he has no idea where it is. Moral of the story- if you want to send something to India in the mail send it through a private carrier like Fed Ex or DHL they will courier it to your door with no questions asked. Now an ant is biting my foot as I type this. No box and no AJ- (my brother's trip to India is delayed five days due to weather in the US). Hopefully we will get both by X-Mas.

Pics from Around Kochi

Just thought we would take some snaps from around Kochi. So here are a few in no particular order. Remember to click on the pic of you want to see a bigger version.

RIDING THE BUS- KERALA STYLE

If you don't have a car or a motorcycle in India you still have several options for transportation. You can walk up and down, in and around, the pseudo-sidewalks watching out for holes, trash, people, dogs and other animals. If you don't know the place where you are trying to go, your best bet is to hale a three wheeled motorized riskshaw. Don't pay the driver more than 10 rupees unless you are going more than 1 or 2 kilometers- even if he argues. You might also hire a car with a driver. This is the most luxurious and comfortable way to travel. You arrive at your destination sweat free and clean. Grady and I seldom hire a car, as it is a bit too expensive for everyday use. This means that we get to ride the bus each morning.

Riding the bus in Kerala is a feat of acrobatics, yoga, gymnastics, and martial arts all rolled into one. One needs acrobatic skill to hold onto the metals bars that line the ceiling of the bus while ones' body swings like a hangman off the fulcrum of ones' wrist. Mad yogic skills are needed to project ones' mind beyond the discomfort of being crammed into a rapidly moving vehicle with what feels like thousands of other bodes. Martial arts are needed to sharply elbow any roving hands, and gymnastic skills will serve you in your attempt to get on and off the bus.

The word "bus" conjures certain images in ones' mind; the reclining chairs of the greyhound fleet or a city bus with plastic seats and organized stops. Here busses are metal shells that grind and groan to a start and stop- large metal beasts driven by male mahouts who cajole, coax, and beat the gears into submission. There are no windows and no door. Only open spaces where windows and doors ought to be. In the event of rain, canvas curtains are draw across the windows making the interior dank and dark. The floor of the bus is made of thin plywood with metal rivets.

There are three important people on the bus: the driver, the conductor and the ticket man. Don't confuse them. The driver sits in the front separated from the passengers by a metal cage. He is usually barefoot, though sometimes wears sandals. Usually he wears a dhoti (sarong) tied up above his knees. He also wears the army-green shirt of the transportation union. Do not speak to the driver. You want all his concentration focused on moving the bus, which he does with breakneck speed around corners, never stopping for pedestrians or smaller vehicles. If you are walking on the street and need to cross, never think that a bus will slow for you even if you are in one of the few crosswalks or if there is a red light. Buses rule the roads.

The next important man on the bus is the conductor. His job is to get people on and off the bus as quickly as possible, to ring a small bell that tells the driver when to stop and start, and to yell the names of the towns where the bus is traveling. He yells the names in a form of incomprehensible Malayalam. This sounds something like a barking seal. For instance, the name of the town Aluva (pronounced A-LU-Wa) becomes ALA ALA ALA ALA, or the name of the junction Palarivottom (Pa-la-DI-va-tom) becomes PALAVO. It is better to just read the sign at the front of the bus- but to do so you will need to read Malayalam script. I can, Grady can't. (I have been trying to teach him to at least recognize the first letter of the places that he wants to go- Kakanaad in the morning and Ernaukulum in the afternoon). To get people on and off the bus, the conductor yells at them "getta getta getta" or "balle balle balle" and hits the side of the bus with his hand rapidly- smack smack smack. If you are the last person to get on the bus, beware! As soon as your foot touches the metal step, the conductor will ring the bell and the bus will lurch into motion. Grab any piece of metal near to you and hold on tight. Make sure your knees are relaxed or you will pitch forward when the buss screeches to a halt in just a few moments. When one bus overtakes another, thus stealing the passengers from the slower bus, the conductors have huge arguments out the windows and then procede to drag race down the street.

Ladies board and sit at the front of the bus and men the back. Do not sit in the wrong section or you will be stared at, and then told to move. Even if the back of the bus is empty, do not sit there if you are a lady, instead cram into the front of the bus, never stepping over the invisible line that separates the ladies' section from the men's. After dark men sit wherever they please as there are very few women on the bus, and those few have a male chaperone. Always bring a male chaperone after dark. After dark, everyone on the bus (hopefully not the driver, but usually him too) is slightly drunk and very feisty.

The last important person on the bus is the ticket man. When you get on the bus be sure that you have your money out and ready or you will be forced to search through your wallet for coins and you may have to let go of your metal bar. This is bad because you will have to manage your balance as the bus heaves through the potholes and screams around smaller traffic- you will probably fall down. When the conductor approaches you give him your money and state, preferably in Malayalam, where you are going- he won't understand if your accent isn't correct. If you know where you are going, just give him the correct change. He will hand you a small piece of colored paper- don't loose this as he will charge you again if you do. It is 3 rupees for the first few kilometers and then another 1 rupee for additional kilometers.
Make sure you get off the bus quickly. The bus will usually start before you are entirely off. Ahh the bus!

My morning bus ride is usually about 45 minutes and very crowded. In the afternoon when I usually come home after dance class and the morning commute is over the same ride only takes about 20 minutes. In the afternoon, I always get a seat. In the morning, I rarely do.

After my lovely bus ride I get down on the bustling MG road and walk from there to my Mohiniyattam dance teachers' house that has a dance studio on the top floor. This teacher, Sandia, is very wealthy. Her house is four stories and has marble floors throughout and very nice furnishings. The studio on the top floor is Kerala style architecture. The floor is made out of a type of clay and the walls are slated, carved wood that allows the breeze to come through. The roof is corrugated tin and sounds lovely when it rains. In the dance studio is a beautiful statue of Shiva, the God of the Cosmic Dance, and a huge brass lamp. I usually change into a dance sari and then we start the lesson. I really like this teacher. She is very cheerful and helpful. We speak in both English and Malayalam during my lessons. The dance classes consist of me practicing various steps and movement while she chants the rhythmic patterns of the dances. In the morning I am sometimes joined by other students, but I also have private lessons. In the afternoons I generally meet with dancers and scholars, conduct interviews and make time for writing.

Today I met with a modern dancer here in Cochin who is making beautiful new works that go beyond "fusion" towards a deeply spiritual blend of classical and modern dance techniques. She is interested in the inner landscape of dance techniques and uses yoga philosophy to work through movement as a spiritual practice. She trained in the Netherlands. I will join her classes next weekend and hope to work on a new solo piece of choreography in collaboration with her.
So these are the things that fill my days, getting off and on the bus without getting run over, dancing, writing, and doing yoga. After a long search for a yoga teacher, (this is another wild story that I will write in the next installment), I have decided that I will start my own yoga classes for women here in our apartment building. I realized that studying yoga with a teacher really wasn't my goal, I just wanted the community that goes with yoga practice. So instead of trying to find classes, I will create that community here. I plan to start a yoga club for women here in our 14 story apartment building. We'll see how that goes.

I am now at home and it is about 6:30 pm. I am waiting for Grady to get home from his day at the office and his lovely bus ride home.

GRADY'S MORNING COMMUTE

So for about two weeks now I have been riding my bike (no, not the one above thankfully, though I did take the photo along the way to work) to the office I work at about 6km away. I try to avoid the congested main roads for about half the commute where it is feasible, so as to avoid breathing too much unrestricted diesel exhaust and road dust. Generally I move about as fast as traffic and I can easily weave around most traffic jams given the maneuverability of my bike and the fact I have one of the few bikes with gears around. It is no holds barred on the Indian roads as traffic lights, lines, and laws mean little if anything. I took some pictures along my morning commute to give you a sense of some of the scenery I pass daily. Hope you enjoy!

Down the Stairs and Off to Work

Our Almost Ivory Tower above the Cacophony of the City.

Our Always Friendly Building Security Guards

The Often Full, Sometimes Overflowing, Ever Stinky Drainage Canal

Beware the Potholes of Stains and Punctures

Buses, Best to Be Wary

A Diversity of Traffic

A Local Hindu Temple

1 of 3 Popular Kerala Religions

Wide Trucks, Narrow Roads = Jammed

Veggie Truck

Crossing National Hwy 47

St. George's Church
2 if 3 Favorite Kerala Religions

Local Timber Mill

Beware the Wanderin' Cows

My Local Lunch Favorite-
Mmm Rice and Sambhar

Long Hauler

Last but not Least a Local Mosque
3 of 3 Popular Kerala Religions

Ahh, Second Breakfast, Young Tender Coconut
12 Rupees

The Building Where I Work

From Left to Right
Kurian, Resmi, and Sandhya
Fragomen India Staff

Anjou and Sumi
Fragomen India Staff
(Not to be missed, Saju James the Managing Director
was away on travel this week)

QUICK AFTERNOON SHOWER

TRIP TO SHORANUR

Justine and I went on a trip to Shoranur recently to see a concert of some regional women's folk dance called Kuratiyattam. It was really hot and I was getting over some kind of stomach bug which did not help me enjoy the performance. Luckily, we had permission from Kerala Kalamandalam to tape the performance for Justine’s ongoing research. Justine and I also watched some Mohiniyattam classes and were allowed to take a few pictures. I was feeling exhausted and my stomach was in dire straights so we left a bit early and headed to our friend David Smith’s luxurious house on the river for some R & R.

At David’s we were treated to gin and tonics and cashews on the veranda looking out on the river. A very English dinner of potato salad, boiled eggs, Russian salad and a side of mayonnaise. Quite a nice break from South Indian fare, actually.

The next day David, Raju, Raju’s youngest son, 5 year old Chootu, Justine, and I went on a drive on a rural road to go to a waterfall out in government forest land. The village we parked the car in was very small. Everyone was amazed at the foreigners stepping out of the car.

To get to the waterfall we walked on a beautiful stonewall lined path with rubber tree plantations on either side. I was imaginint what a great mountain bike area this would be. On our way we met up with a couple of local boys and a man who were happy to accompany us. Raju, a native Keralite, chatted with them in Malayalam. The waterfall was small, but a scenic spot overlooking the valley and distant hills. We were able to splash around in the falls and cool off. Unfortunately, this is a man-only type activity and Justine couldn't swim. Instead she lounged in the shade taking in the surroundings and enjoying the hot coffee and sweets David had packed along.

After splashing around in the falls the local boys and man offered to take us to a cave nearby on top of the hill. Raju and I agreed to go along. It was a steep 30 minute hike through some heavily forested area and some thick rubber plantations. We passed signs of a wild boar who had been rooting around for bugs and roots and a forest department campsite.

The cave was very dark and dank. Raju was very impressed, but since we had no light other than the flash on my camera our spelunking was quite limited. We then hiked back down and to the falls. We enjoyed the surroundings for another half hour and then headed back down to the car.

It was back to David’s for lunch and a nap. The late afternoon was passed playing with Raju’s two boys among the swarms if dragon flies and kingfisher birds.
We spent another night there and then the next morning got a ride from David and Raju to Thrissur where we caught the train back to Ernakulum.