| Imagine the most remote
recesses of a tropical country and place a large
village there of over one million people. I say village, because, although there are cars,
electricity (sometimes there’s electricity) and evidence of technology,
most people are living a very difficult life. Traveling the streets I felt like a piece crashing around in a kaleidoscope. The
streets pit all manner of life and machine together in all directions, as they
are shared by
warthogs, dogs, donkeys, horses, bullocks, three-wheeled auto-rickshaws, cabs, trucks,
bicycles, scooters--some with entire families on board!, people pulling wagons, and people
carrying everything from bananas to flowers on their heads. If you’re in a
moving vehicle you stay much calmer by not looking ahead. Despite the chaos and lack of
any regard for lanes, speed or right-of-way, we never saw an accident. We did see two
badly smashed buses on the road back from Fatehpur Sikri and wondered about the
care given to the injured passengers. Not only are there no posted speed limits or signs
directing traffic (with the exception of Delhi) there is no enforcement mechanism in
evidence. Road rage is an unknown concept. When one vehicle cut another off, people
didn’t seem upset. They calmly slowed down and looked for a better space to pass. |
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Actually,
Coimbatore did have one traffic cop directing traffic from a high perch in
the center of a major intersection. It was clear he was being ignored utterly, though.
The platform he stood in was a large Coke can, so I disrespectfully dubbed him "Cop
in a Coke." |
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It’s a thrill to take a ride in the little three-wheeled auto-rickshaws – a
cheap and exciting open-air ride! A 15-minute cross-town ride is less than a US dollar.
A most disturbing aspect of the traffic for me was the sound. Everyone with a horn
honks constantly to alert others to their whereabouts! If you’re not following lanes
or passing rules it’s the next best thing! But I had forgotten to bring earplugs and I
spent many sleepless nights due to the incessant honking outside the hotel window.
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There are no sidewalks. Where the road ends there is dirt, often deep,
a silty sand that
swallows up your foot. No way to keep feet clean! Even the walkway outside of stores was
dirt in most cases. The occasional store had some pavement in front.
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Roadside vendors sell all manner of merchandise, from betel nut preparations to
sweet coconuts. One of our drivers insisted upon having us taste the coconut drink. The
coconut is green—cut off the top and stick a straw inside and you have a drink. I
didn’t find it very tasty. Tim, as usual, finished his. At first, I thought, "hey, what
are all these mangers for?" Then, duh, it dawned on me that, just as there are
filling stations for cars, there are hay stations for the bullocks, donkeys and horses.
Generally a woman was posted at these hay stations.
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ANIMALS
The bullocks are the sweetest-faced animals and they pull enormous loads. Just before
our arrival the Tamils celebrated Pongol, the harvest festival during which the bullock
gets a bath and a paint job: all bullocks had their horns painted two different colors.
The cart also is painted in the matching two-toned look. Some of the bullocks had bells
added to the ends of their horns.
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Dogs are everywhere and completely ignored, in contrast to their bovine cousins. They
are almost uniformly medium-sized and have the coat of a yellow lab. Rather than roaming
in menacing packs, they all seemed like sad, sickly loners. I did read in the Hindu Times
that more prosperous people are beginning to keep dogs and cats as pets. It’s still
very unusual, though. Due to the general poverty, animals are maintained if
there is an economic benefit. |
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PEOPLE
Coimbatore is a place that rarely sees westerners
and we got a response like a circus freak show. Occasionally people asked us
where we came from. One fellow guessed that we were German.
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I can probably count on one hand the number of times I saw a woman in western attire
and it was wonderful to see them so colorful in their saris and chudidhars.
(Both are shown in the photo)
They’re
all beautifully groomed: perfect pigtail braids on the schoolgirls, a long black braid on
younger women and a gray bun for the older women. It didn’t matter if they were doing
farm work or herding animals or walking to market: their clothing was beautiful and
colorful and imaginatively combined in contrasting or matching pieces. The end of the sari
was often used to drape the head in the north, but we rarely saw this done in the south.
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Every kind of textile is worn, from silk to cotton, print to solid, sheer to opaque. The
women and their clothing were the beautiful features in what
could otherwise be a bleak
landscape. Even the poorest of women added a
range of hues, from subtle to saturated. One of my favorite visual
memories is of the women in bright saris dotting the earth where they were
tying sheaves. |
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The men in the street were dull, by
comparison. In the south, many men pair the traditional sarong or "dhoti" with a western shirt—not exactly chic,
and seemingly schizophrenic since the dhoti (and sari) is unstitched, which
devout Hindus believe
to be more "pure," while stitched clothing can never be so. (The professors at
the college Tim met with wore typically western
attire--shirts and slacks, sometimes with sandals and
sometimes with loafers or other typical western shoes.) In the north, the
men’s dress was more interesting because they wore more clothing: layers of kurta (a
long shirt), vests and jackets conformed to the wearer’s body due to long residence
there. Often, clothes that
were quite worn still looked dignified. Hats were varied, sometimes
taking the form of cloth wrapped around the head. In another example of
sartorial schizophrenia, I was struck by the northern women in their
burqa (the
wearable tent for Muslim women with a screen for peering out); invariably the man with her
was in the most modern and costly western clothing! |
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We were perplexed by some requests. For example: Tim gave a talk to
the Indian Computer Society and afterward some students asked him if he could come and
give a talk at their college (a different one from PSG). Tim told them he was leaving the
next day and they asked, "morning or afternoon?" Looking back, I
guessed it was lack of experience with travel that provided the requestor
with the temerity to ask for a speech just before a dash to the airport.
Communicating with the men was
sometimes difficult for all of us. Sometimes
they’d show up
late or promise something
and forget it. We weren't sure why there was such confusion, but we learned to
avoid disappointment by not expecting to happen what they said they would do, so
we could be doubly delighted when it did happen. They certainly
demonstrated a great generosity of spirit that made the confusion
forgivable. The women,
on the other hand, were invariably considerate, generous and kind, but in a comfortable way, not in an effusive
way. However, most interactions were with the men. Tim’s time was entirely
consumed by their meetings and, with one brief exception (a quick tour of Coimbatore when
we arrived), they never shared a meal with him or offered to show him any sights.
I guess it is likely that this is just not done by the men, but is an
expectation only of women.
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THOUGHTS ON CULTURE The layering of new on old explains the
fascinating juxtapositions: the bullock and car in the
street, the pairing of the traditional sarong or "dhoti" with a western shirt by
the men, daily religious observances like the wearing of ashes and sandalwood stripes on
the forehead or prayers in a silk store. Ancient practices are kept current while the new
is added. Religion is integral to daily life. We walked into a store and heard an
"OM" kind of Hindu prayer chanted. While we were upstairs in the same store,
looking at bedspreads, an enormous puff of incense filled the entire room, making it
difficult to see, much less breathe. While checking out at the same store, patrons can
refresh their forehead stripes of ashes or sandalwood; small tins are set out on the
counter. (The Hindu forehead stripes, or Tikka, are ubiquitous in south India and absent
in the north.) And the assembly where Tim spoke to the student body began with a
beautifully sung Hindu prayer.
One gesture common to south Indians is the bobbing of the head. We never really
understood the significance of this head movement, but it seemed positive in
nature, very much like
a nod of agreement to me (my own cultural bias is my only basis
for this supposition), in that the
people of south India are a highly agreeable group of people.
The popular music can be very homogeneous. I can’t recall hearing any female
singer of the popular music who didn’t sound like a tiny nasal mouse. The popular music is
"cine" music—most of the movies are musicals and the music from these
movies is what people like to hear on radio and on their equivalent of MTV. Most of the
MTV-like videos appeared to be duets between male and female. Usually they sang separately
and I don't recall use of any harmony. I did bring home some good Tamil music on
tape which I found more exciting: less produced and more raw
sounding.
One unique aspect that I greatly appreciated: few people smoke, unlike other places in
Asia.
BUREAUCRACY
If it can be made to be difficult, it will. Everything is as complicated as possible.
Tickets must be reconfirmed at the town hall 48 hours before departure so you can
be sure your place on the flight won’t be given away. The visa process was
convoluted. We got our passports back only 24 hours
before we departed! At the airport there are two queues for security:
X-ray the carry-on first and then X-ray the checked bags but neither are checked
in until later (NONSENSE!). There are other
assorted queues for reasons I cannot figure and the herding is constant. By the time we
were about to leave the Delhi airport I was frustrated. In fact, the
combination of a week's sleep deprivation, a virus and a full 22- hour day of
touring had me in tears. But I walked into the bathroom and the attendant (there's a
lady posted in the bathrooms who hands out tissue) noticed my distress and
approached making universal "there, there" sounds. She gave me a warm hug
to comfort me. How could I be mad at India after that? All
was forgiven.
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BURDENS
Judging from a surprising newspaper article written on proper hiring practices by a
male HR manager, India is several years behind the US in discriminatory practices based
upon sex. Clearly, women are still oppressed in many ways. An Indian film-maker wanted to
make a film depicting Hindu practices with respect to widows, among other issues. Her set
was trashed by fanatics and the censors (all movie scripts are scoured by a government
authority before a movie ever gets made) demanded revisions.
Also oppressed are the darkest-skinned people,
it seemed to me. Was it coincidence that
the people doing the most menial, hard labor—the untouchables—were the darkest?
Poor children are often seen at work herding or begging instead of going to school. It
was heartening to see large groups of school children at the historic sites we visited in
Agra; there is a growing, but still small, middle class.
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TEXTILES
Mrs. Thilagavati, a textile instructor, took me on a tour of the textile department at
PSG where I got to see a computer jacquard loom operate. I also got to see a demo of the
computer program they developed on site that allows students to design a fabric. Looked
like so much fun, I wanted to move the school back here so I could attend. She also took
me to a textile factory just outside of town. As we approached the building I saw a sea of sandals. The employees take their shoes
off to enter. In the entry hall there was a sea of purses. We met the owner in his
upstairs office and he took us on a tour where I saw every part of the primarily manual
process, from pattern-making to cutting to sewing and pressing and packaging. In the
sewing room there were at least 50 or 60 young women in beautiful saris hard at work over
their machines. The owner lamented the lack of a button-machine with an automatic feed.
Better for the employee, I thought, who could move around more with the manual-feed
machine. The owner also expressed concern about competing with China, which has no
limitations on worker hours (14 hour days are normal there), while India does have labor
laws.
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