Postscript

This blog entry is long over-due.  Since Katy’s brilliant post mid-April, we have had our hands absolutely full with plans, contingency plans, disasters, near disasters, joy, sadness, culture-shock, jetlag, and everything else in between.   I’ll try to do a brief re-cap of what happened the night of April 16th (the day we were scheduled to leave India).

This week in mid-April was a long, tedious, frustrating, and unfortunate week.  We had begun to steel ourselves to say our painful goodbyes, get our laundry done, pack our suitcases, and clean our apartment.  We did a fairly decent job of getting it all done in good time.  The drama happened after we got to the airport.   Later I remarked to Katy that had all the drama involved just me or even us (Katy and me), we could have handled it. The fact that Leila and Reuben were involved got more tiring and felt more personal.

We spent the day knee deep in suitcases and packing.   The kids didn’t really want to nap because they were excited too.   We shrugged and said, “Oh well, we can sleep on the plane.  They might as well stay awake now!”   Our cars were packed, and we were soon off to the airport.   After taking almost an hour (near midnight) to check in all 10 suitcases, get boarding passes ready, and steadying ourself with the hope that we can soon sleep once we buckle in…at the very last gate for immigration, the normally routine process went really bad.

The problem was that we came to India on a 5 month trip, so we applied for the normal 6 month visa. We applied a month before we left, which seemed like the “savvy-traveler” move to make.  However, the geniuses at the Indian consulate in Chicago stamped the visa that was effective from when they actually received our application, not for when we would actually land!   So the visas for Leila, Reuben, and Katy would expire on April 10… not april 17 when we hoped to leave India.

Note:  I must be clear here.   As soon as we saw the visa in our passports, I called the consulate and talked to them about my concern.   The official on the line assured me that it was ok. He explained to me in clear terms that the visa would not be effective till we actually land in India, which made perfect sense to me. So I was happy, I didn’t need to check again because this was the Indian embassy that assured me of this. This, my friends, was a BIG MISTAKE as we would discover the night of the 16th!  :)

The immigration officer at the gate looked at us and said in a monotone, “Sir, your visas are expired.”   Confidently I replied, “Yes, I know.  We were assured that it would be ok by the Indian embassy.”   I even showed him our date of entry that was stamped on the passorts.   He kept saying, “But your visas are expired.”   I was puzzled and asked him in exasperation, “So now what? Is there a fine?”  He said, “Um, you will not be able to fly tonight Sir!”   I was holding myself together admirably up until that point but then I lost it.  I let them face the full fury of words that I had bottled up all night.  Deep down though, in all fairness, even then I knew that they were doing their job and it was ultimately our own oversight (even if we were misled by the immigration authorities).

Our flight was stopped and our luggage unloaded.  We trudged slowly downstairs to the Air France desk where two valets eventually showed up with trolleys loaded with our checked bags.   We had them usher us to cabs from where we made the slowest and longest trip back to our home in Bangalore.   We crawled into our beds and went to sleep restlessly, disappointment writ large on our faces.   Our tired bodies couldn’t rest with our minds racing relentlessly.

Early the next morning, after we narrated our stories to our families, we hunkered down to re-book tickets (earliest available ones were for the 29th, two weeks away), go to the Foreigners Registration Office (the less said about this place the better), get visas regularized and exit permits issued. It was a 5 hour ordeal to get Leila’s and Reuben’s stuff taken care of but for Katy, we needed to get a police report.  This was a wonderful demonstration of incompetency on the part of the police department. They even had to send an officer to our home to verify things and interview me for an hour. Anyway… after spending even more time at the FRO next day (no joke.. close to 8 hours), we got our stuff taken care of.

We celebrated by hitting McDonalds with Leila and having delicious gelato afterwards! I am sparing you all the other details of this ordeal because it was pretty ridiculous. Through it all though, Leila and Reuben have been wonderful reminders of good things in this world. There were no temper tantrums or behavior issues that we had to be saddled with in this. While I have always been proud of my kids, I think the pride was kicked up a couple of notches to see how easily they rolled with the changes.  Katy’s previous blog post was only reinforced through all this.

We are finally all back in the US as I type this.  Hard to believe that it has been almost a week since we have been home.   Our memories of India are now infused with sounds of laundry, the aromas of Katy’s cooking, the briskness of the Michigan air, and the comfort of our own home.

We are happy to be back.

Reuben gave us another reason to celebrate, watch and enjoy!

 

A-OK

A-OK

Those of you who follow our blog may recall that back in November we landed in India, during the wee small hours of the morning, without any luggage.  It had been a terribly long and wearisome journey.  And, when we were absolutely certain that our multitude of suitcases was really not going to come tooling around on the conveyor belt, we had to go wait in a short, but very slow, line to talk to the airport personnel about our missing bags.  You would think that our kids would have been throwing tantrums at this point, or at the very least, whining and whimpering.  But, no, my two little kiddos rose far above my expectations.  While Mr. Reuben sat happily on the floor and played with some flight tags on his car seat, Leila asked me for a pen.  For nearly 20 minutes, Leila entertained herself by decorating several cabin baggage tags, including the one pictured above.

It wasn’t my intention to save that little tag, but when I found it a couple of days later, I stuck it in my bedroom mirror.  Throughout our stay here, it was my reminder that my kids are going to be OK.  When I found myself worrying that our travel-the-world lifestyle was becoming too overwhelming for our kids I would go look at those little scribbles, and tell myself a story about two kids who are learning to be flexible and adventurous.  I tell myself about happy and healthy kids, who make my travel more complicated, but all the more rich and memorable.

In Leila's world, the travel pillow is really just a small Boppy pillow.

I’ve never been one for saying goodbye.  I think it has gotten about 20 times more difficult now that I have children who must also say goodbye.  Yet here we are again, at goodbye time.  It has been five months since we arrived without luggage at the Bangalore International Airport.  The bags, which did finally arrive, have now been refilled with with a whole new assortment of goodies to bring back.  And, in the meantime, we have been blessed.

More than any other thing, it has been a delight to watch our children be loved and enjoyed by India. In the same way, we have watched them grow to love India, and treat it as their own.  It is home, just like Michigan.  This is good and sweet, and it makes the hard goodbyes just a little bit more OK.

on the road again

Practical uses for a Turban

Practical Use of Turban, #1

Cover your Head

Recently, my brother-in-law and father-in-law came home from a distribution, the new owners of two brightly colored turbans.  For a while they just sat on the ironing table.  Then, my father-in-law came up with something way more fun.

Practical Use of Turban, #2

Our Languages

Train Station Signage

A Helpful Chart:

Number of Languages (not including dialects) Spoken in India: 1,652

National Language of India: Hindi

State Language of Karnataka (where Bangalore is): Kannada

Common Language of Bangalore:  English?

Language JP’s parents spoke to him at home: Tamil

Language JP spoke with brother, James:  English

Language JP’s parent’s spoke to each other: Telugu (a particular dialect)

Number of Languages JP learned in school: three

Number of Languages JP can communicate in today:  six

Indian Language we hope that our children will learn:  Tamil 

India speaks 1,652 languages. Nearly as long as I have known JP, I have heard this number rattled off in sermons, presentations, video clips, around dinner tables, in personal conversation, and I even remember being tested on it during one of my bridal shower games!  It is a big and rather overwhelming number.  Even Indians tend to be surprised when they learn there are so many languages spoken in their country.  I always giggle inwardly at their surprise.  Indians seem to overlook and disregard the constant shifting between languages that happens all throughout every single day.  I think I notice it because I am a foreigner, dabbling in a little bit of several languages, but never excelling in one.  Growing up in the midst of so many languages– learning three or four in school, using one language for home, and maybe another for work, and yet another with the auto driver, or the guy selling you a pair of shoes– languages just seem to flow naturally in, and around, and off the tongues of Indians.

Not "My Fruit Vendor," but a Fruit Vendor nonetheless

Example number one:

I have a favorite fruit vendor.  He roams up and down our street, pushing his cart during the afternoon and early evening hours.  He became my favorite fruit vendor when he once sold me 3 kilos (6.6 pounds!) of my favorite fruit, the red banana.  Every time I see him, he is always happy to offer his sweetest, ripest fruit to me with a flourish and an eager smile.

Most every evening, after the office closes, JP and I take Reuben out for a walk in the stroller to the end of the street and back.  Every day we pass “my fruit guy.”  On the days that we stop to buy fruit, I let JP do the talking because English does not seem to be this guy’s forte.  I should mention that many, many people in Bangalore do speak English.  Bangalore is a very cosmopolitan city, and rather than Hindi, English has become the common language among the myriad of Indian and other languages here.  Despite this, I am not bothered or irritated by the fact that the fruit man does not speak to me in my native tongue.  Instead, I have been quite interested in the conversations that take place between him and JP.  He does not usually speak to JP in Kannada, the local (state) language, which is what I would have expected.  Rather, he speaks to JP in Hindi, which is the national language of India, but is more commonly used as the common language in the northern parts of India.  Now, JP does speak Hindi, (and Kannada) but has said a number of times that they’d have a much easier transaction if they just spoke in Tamil, which would the first (heart) Indian language for both of them!!

Fascinating.

Yes, it is interesting on a certain level that this guys speaks to JP in Hindi first, but this happens regularly, and has to do with the way he dresses and the very fair wife that often tags along with him.  What is definitely more interesting to me is that this humble fruit cart vendor, likely uneducated, or not very educated, is able to communicate in at least three languages.  This is so striking to me, coming from a country where even some of our most educated individuals do not speak more than one language, and might not even value speaking in more than a single language.  Here in India, it is very often the case that speaking more than one’s own heart language is both an every day fact of life, and a necessity.

The Sundararajan family can speak 9 different languages!

Example number two:

In January, we went to visit JP’s relatives, and had the chance to eat some of our very favorite Indian bread, called parottas.  Parottas are pretty much delicious when eaten plain, with chutney, or with a special gravy that I learned is called salna.  When it comes to learning a language, I seem to have the easiest time remembering words for food.  So, given my affection for parottas (and something yummy to dip them in) I had no trouble filing this new word, salna, into my brain.

Fast forward to sometime in the middle of March.  We’re sitting at the table eating lunch with JP’s parents and his grandfather, Tata.  Mom is serving Tata, and I keep hearing her say “Salna?”  Tata, seemingly engrossed in his food, replies, “Salma.”   This sort of exchange happens at almost every meal, and sometimes multiple times during the meal.  Ever since January, that little salna file card in my brain flutters a bit every time this conversation takes place.  However, on this day in March, the conversation did not compute.  We were not having gravy.  There was not any salna on the table.

Later, I asked JP about this and learned that Mom was actually asking, in another language, Sal na? (Is that enough?) and Tata was responding, Sal ma. (Enough, dear.)  Interestingly, no one else around the table had ever once thought about the similarity between word and phrases in the two languages– and they all speak these two languages!  This is what I mean when I say that people here in India are so surrounded by, and used to navigating between, multiple languages that they are

Example number three:

This past weekend, JP’s cousins’ family came to visit.  This meant that Leila got to meet and play with their little girl, Kaushika, for the first time. They put on a delightful cooking show for us after Sunday dinner.  I can’t help but put it with this post because I feel it illustrates to a certain extent 1) the multi-lingual world in which I spend my time… you’ll hear English, Tamil, and Telugu in the background, and 2) the beauty of learning to play together in this multi-lingual world.  This was not the first language that Leila has learned to play in, and I hope it won’t be the last!

Happy.

Happy

Every time that I look at the pictures we took of these canopies at a beach-side, shack restaurant in Goa, I feel happy.

So Happy.

In mid-March, the four of us went on a 5-day vacation to Goa.  I felt like I was in a different country.  While Goa is definitely part of India– an overnight train ride for us, to be exact– there were a handful of things that made it feel like I had left the subcontinent, and entered a new reality.  (Certainly, the fact that everywhere we went we saw a bunch of white people driving around on scooters influenced my sense of place and reality!)  Goa is one of the more touristy, beachy, vacation spots of India.  I saw more flesh in Goa, during 5 days, than I have seen all put together in nine years of travels throughout the country!  I ate pizza in Goa, and it was good.  I played at the beach, wearing a bathing suit.  I swam in a beautiful pool at the the restort where we stayed, and it was cool and refreshing, and simply put: glorious.  All of these experiences made me feel like I was in a different country, but vacation, is what made it seem like a different reality.

train bound for Goa

Vacation has been a formative part of my reality.  Growing up, my family took a vacation each year.  We weren’t rich, so vacation meant “camping on a shoe string.”  However, despite the modest, leaky camper and tent accommodations, and the outdoor cooking, we adored our vacations.  I loved to wake up in my sleeping bag, and hear the sound of pine needles falling on the canvas roof of the tent.  I was mesmerized by the maze of those fallen needles. I could smell them, baking there in the sun, on their canvas skillet.  I loved to rise up and eat pancakes from the griddle.  I loved our long, lazy days at the beach, and the evenings spent peddling my bike round and round the pavement circle that housed the many campsites.  I loved the hamsteaks on the grill, complete with  buttered sweet potatoes.  I listened eagerly to the ghost stories my dad made up around the campfire.  And, I liked to sit as long as the grown ups allowed, around that fire, burning the tip of my “smoking stick” to ash.

Vacation.  I was free as a bird, brown as a berry, happy as a clam.

Doesn't a coconut tree just evoke a greater sense of vacation in you!?

I’m not exactly sure how it happened, maybe just a change of seasons in my life, but I nearly forgot about vacation.  I almost forgot about that free and happy self that bubbled up toward the surface of my life during vacation.  JP and I have not been good about taking proper vacations.  We find ourselves on the road, travelling, quite often– both in the US and in India.  Somehow, these travels tricked my brain into thinking it was vacation… but I don’t think my heart was ever fooled.  In Goa, my heart remembered the goodness of vacation.  It is another reality.  It is a place where tension rolls down off tense shoulders to a sandy floor, and stays there.  It is a space that opens up inside me, and feels like warm sun.  It is a taste of food, different food, rich and filling.  Vacation is a smile on my face, and a song in my heart.  

Reuben's first taste of Vacation

I want my husband and my children to know the goodness of vacation.  I once learned that Jewish mothers, at the end of the Sabbath, would place a candy on the tongues of their children so that they would remember the sweetness of the Sabbath.  I love that image.  I do believe that God blessed us with our vacation rest in Goa.  Even now, the sweetness of it lingers on my tongue, and the stress that rolled off my shoulders remains on that sandy beach. I am grateful for Goa, for the things that it reminded me of, and the things that it blessed me with, and for the things that it helped me hope for.

Yup. Happy.

 

The Fan

We’ve recently returned from vacation, and I hope to post some reflections soon about how nicely that trip soothed our souls. Until then, here are a few snippets on the way life goes for us in India these days, all centered around the fan.

REUBEN

For quite some time, Reuben has adored the fan. (Many babies like fans, I think.) I am sure he likes the motion of the fan, and I know he also likes its breeze. The fan was the first thing Reuben acknowledged, with a gesture, in front of an audience. If you were to ask Reuben about his best friend, I think he might point toward the fan.

LEILA

Miss Leila is dying to be able to speak Tamil, the language spoken by JP’s family. I believe that Leila understands a lot more than she is able to verbally reproduce, and that means Leila speaks a lot of gibberish these days- sometimes to us, sometimes to Tata and Ava, and sometimes to the room at large (and any imaginary play friends that might be present.) One of the actual phrases that Leila has picked up, and that she uses frequently is, “Fan enga?” A favorite game with Reuben is, “Where’s Reuben?” or “Reuben, where is Tata?” or “Reuben, where’s the fan?” (Fan enga?) Leila has made this phrase her own. You can hear her play, Reuben enga? often. She loves to say, Fan enga? And, much to my consternation when I was trying to find Reuben’s towel the other night, she just kept saying, Towel enga? instead of helping me find the towel! For the rest of my Tamil-speaking life, I am sure Leila will end up being my little translator.

Best Buddies

JP

Two days ago, rather out of the blue, JP said to me, “There is no sound more gratifying than that of the fan starting up again when the power comes back on.” I couldn’t agree more. We have entered the hot, more summery season, here in India. I guess true summer does not arrive until May, but it is more than warm already this March. As the heat comes, we inevitably loose power more often. With more air conditioners (and fans) running throughout the city, the power supply gets a little weary and worn. So, “The Powers that Be” shut off electricity in different parts of the city, at various times, to conserve energy. During one of our stays in India, we would loose power for an hour at the same time every morning. The predictability was kind of nice. During this stay, we just never know. It could be in the middle of a load of laundry, or in the middle of a shower, or while baking a cake. If you’re lucky, really, you’re just sitting there playing Fan enga? because the good news is that Reuben can find the fan with or without the power. But, like JP said, we all rejoice when the power comes back, and the fan creaks to life again.

No need for a fan here at this open air (to the sea) restaurant in Goa. Ahh... beats a fan any day.

A mouthful of a trip.

There is a day-trip that we often take guests on that we call the Belur Trip.  It is a three-stop journey, visiting the ancient soapstone carved temples at Belur and Halebidu, and the Jain temple and pilgrimage destination of Shravenabelagola.  So, you see, it would be a bit of a mouthful to call it anything other than the Belur Trip.  

I’ve been on this trip at least a complete handful of times, yet the picture-taking never gets old for me.  There are a myriad of details to get caught up in, especially at Belur and Halebidu.  Soapstone can be carved with such precision that a whole epic event can be captured in a mere corner of the temple.  It is nice to have JP as a tour guide because his brain is a vault for these minute sorts of details, and he finds immense pleasure in pointing out all the cool stuff that I have forgotten since my last visit.  He is a lovely guide, and I usually understand his accent better.

I'm always a sucker for an Elephant (or two)

I love this one because it shows some unfinished business on the part of the stone carvers.

Here, the god Shiva has triumphed over a demon that took the form of an elephant, and now he is dancing within the carcass. EPIC.

Shrevenabelagola is a steep hike up a mountainside.  At the top you can see both the sweeping coconut groves of the surrounding area, and the enormous idol of a Jain saint named Gomateshwara.  He is naked (as very ascetic Jains would not wear clothes because of their belief that the sky is their clothing) so, for the sake of your sensibilities, I won’t show a picture here.  I find this to be a very serene and pretty place to visit.

Attention to Detail on the pillar nearing the idol at Shrevenabelagola

Doorway in the temple wall.

My sister, Amy, and her husband, Kyle just spent two weeks with us at the end of February, and it was a delight to show them around some of our favorite haunts, including the Belur Trip.

good travel companions