Real life makes Laundry

I am one of those controversial figures who loves doing laundry.  I have shared this information before, seemingly shocking and insulting many a friend and foe, and finding, gladly, a few fellow laundry aficionados along the way as well.  Personally, I love the very ordinary rhythm of the laundry process.  Despite my beautifully vibrant and semi-chaotic international lifestyle, I genuinely love the simple and everyday pleasures of washing and drying, folding and putting away laundry.  Laundry grounds me.  It reminds me that I am taking care of my family.  It reminds me that step-by-step, things get done.

Laundry is a slow process, particularly in India.  We have been very fortunate to have regular power and water during this trip.  Water has never been a problem for us, thankfully, due to a very good and consistent well on the campus, but many Indians struggle with water shortages all across Bangalore and India.  It used to be the case that we would loose power for an hour or two every day, but even that has changed.  This being said, laundering of one, maybe two, loads of laundry is an all-day process.  I begin as early as possible, hopefully before breakfast on the good days.  This means that the load will be done within a half hour after breakfast.  Then, I carry my clean, wet clothes downstairs in a pink bucket adorned by a large Strawberry Shortcake sticker that Leila gifted to me.  I head down the slope, across the campus, and then back up another set of stairs to the clothesline.  On a nice hot and dry day, which includes most of the year except monsoon season, the clothes with dry in a couple hours or less.

our clothesline

By the time I am able to get the clothes down off the line (er, by the time I remember) it seems like it is usually late afternoon, and there is a squirming baby to take care of (one who I looked over and saw standing(!!) beside the armchair on his 8-month birthday today… we really have to keep our eye on him!)  Folding usually happens after the kids have gone to bed, and the apartment is quiet.  It is a day-long endeavor that most often begins again the very next morning because our washer is small, and we’re a family of four.  But truly, I am grateful for the pace and regularity that laundry adds to my days.

ordinary life

All of this being said, things are about to change around here.  One of my dearest friends is about to arrive on the scene.  JP will head to the airport in just 30 minutes to collect him.  It will be three fun-filled weeks, likely lacking in the realm of quiet and ordinary.  We like this too.  I’ve had the itch to travel.  I want to see and taste some new places.  Leila is dying to go somewhere by train.  JP is already buzzing with energy that will flow forth in “Look at that’s” and “Did you know’s,” that will make all our heads spin.  We’ll leave behind our clothespins and laundry  OK, OK, so laundry always has to happen (hence the romantic words above…) but we will leave behind the ordinary pace, and fit laundry in the middle of trips and tastes, sights and sounds.  And, we’ll keep you posted on the fun that ensues.  For now, I’ve got to go get the laundry off the line!

This is the view from the top of the building where our apartment is, looking down on the top of JP's parent's home- where we hang our laundry.

*Singing* with all *Heaven* and *Nature*

over the birth of our King!

Merry Christmas to You and Yours!! 

View from our Apartment Door

Yesterday afternoon, Leila woke up from her nap in a cranky mood.  The kids are sharing a room, and so when Leila woke up, Reuben also woke up, and far too early at that.  We needed to pass the time somehow, and decided on one of our (meaning JP and Katy’s) favorite late afternoon pastimes: taking a short walk down the street and back.  While Reuben tends to kick back and enjoy the ride in his stroller, Leila has not caught on to the simple pleasures and surprises involved in this little 10-15 minute jaunt.  Leila drags her feet and whines most of the way, wanting JP to carry her on his shoulders.  However, being the gluttons for punishment that we are, we  took our cranky three year old out for her least favorite activity in India.

Things went mostly like usual, except that we decided to stop at a little shop on the way back to purchase some pretty paper stars.  (These stars pop up everywhere this time of year, making Indian shops and streets appear even more festive than usual.)  Being that we really haven’t decorated for Christmas in any way whatsoever, I figured the stars were a perfect and natural solution.  The shop had a small selection of about six stars which made it easy for my typically indecisive self to decide on a red one, a green one, and for Leila to vote for a gold one.

This small Shop sells mainly school supplies

In the short time that it took for me to choose my three pretty stars, my two pretty children- without even trying- made a HUGE impression on the young woman and school age boy running the shop.  This is a common experience for us.  People love our children.  If I may take the risk of making a blanket statement about Indian people as a whole, I would say that they are a baby-loving culture.  Add to this “fact” the exotic looking nature of little Leila’s skin tone, and the adorable charm of young Reuben, and suddenly we find ourselves surrounded by clucks and chirps, winks and pinches, (plus generously given cookies and free pieces of candy) all designed to capture the attention of one child or another.  Though I’m never quite used to the effusive adoration, I have learned to smile graciously, and take it in stride.

Festive!

 Now, regarding the stars… as often happens in India, when it came time to pay, we did not have the exact amount for our purchase, and there was no money to make change.  The young boy was promptly sent hither and yon, to all the rest of the shops on the street, to find smaller bills and some change for us.  Two things happened while we waited- both very normal things.  First, a wandering cow paid us a visit.  As far as I can tell, the “wandering” cows do actually stay in about the same general vicinity all day, and make their way “home” to be milked in the late afternoon.  I’ve seen this particular cow on our street many times, and I rather like her.  She has a very lovely bell around her neck, fastened by what JP tells me is a “regular cow bell chain,” but I seriously thought it was some sort of motorbike chain.  She is also adorned by a simple, but nice, seashell headband.  (I tried to find her today for a glamour shot, but she wasn’t around, sorry!)  She came close enough that I really wondered if she’d kiss Reuben in his stroller.  Leila watched the whole thing with a good deal of interest.

Right after this, the young woman working in the shop came forward and asked if she could take Reuben.  I knew what she meant.  Everyone always wants to hold your baby here, so I nodded that it was ok, and assisted with the clips and straps of the stroller (a very foreign contraption in India.)  No sooner did the girl take him from the stroller, and she was up the stairs to share Reuben with what I can only assume were her family and friends.

Up 3 Floors to visit his 'Aunties'

And JP, Leila, and I stayed down below, waiting, and wondering what sights he was seeing and what snacks he might be given.  We heard happy chatter from the women above, and then, a minute or two later, the cries of poor Reuben who suddenly realized his family was down on the street.  I guess the good news is that when your baby cries in India, they quickly find mom and return the baby.  Soothing is momma’s job.

Around this time the boy returned with our change, and we happily returned home with three new stars, and a handful of new friends.  It pays to shop locally, I think.  This time it made me remember (and hopefully helped Leila learn) about how different (but fine) the normal things are here.

The stars in the sky look down where he lay, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.

The techi-ness goes way back!

Yes, finally, JP gets to take over for a bit from his beautifully eloquent wife and share a small thought that has continued to amaze me. Anybody who knows me, knows the techie-side to me. I have always been very fond of taking things apart and finding ways to incorporate technology into my life, even if it is absolutely unnecessary. When I was about 9, my dad got me an electronics kit with instructions on how to wire it to do crazy things. As a result, I found a way to make it an FM transmitter, I learned how to make “disco lights,” and I even once learned how to bug a room. (This last experiment was a life-lesson to me. One evening, one of my teachers came home to chat with my parents about me. I thought it would be swell to be in the other room and eavesdrop. Unfortunately, my 9 year old fingers wired things a little backwards, so instead of us hearing them… yep… they heard us!). My electronic kit was my favorite toy. It unfortunately met its untimely demise when I wired up an annoying siren and put it under my brother’s pillow when he was sleeping. Needless to say, after James was done, my experiments with that unit were done also. In hindsight though, who knew that this seed that was sown in my heart would blossom into a fascination with machines and finding ways to humanize them in our lives to this day?

JP and his "Electronics Kit"

I had to put my reliance on technology on hold till I went to the US for my studies. My parents and I tried to write letters but when you wait for a month to receive anything, it can get a bit tedious. Fortunately, email was slowly beginning to take root in India by this stage. My parents only had a dial up connection but that was all it took. All of a sudden, what used to take us weeks, and sometimes, months became a daily affair. I knew what my mom made for breakfast, what the dog was upto that day, what the weather was like (not necesarily fun to listen to when we were in the throes of an Iowan winter), and so many more sundry details about daily life in India. It brought my worlds closer.

Katy and I dated long distance for almost a year and a half before we were married. I taught Katy how to set up MSN messenger on her computer, bought her an USB webcam, and almost every morning, I would wake up and chat with her. I thought it was pretty amazing. For work purposes, I even bid on a “memory bar” (think thumb-drive) on ebay. I thought 256 MB was a TON of space. (Bye bye floppy drives…GASP!) I even wore that around my neck like it was a gold necklace. This was only 8 years ago! Pardon my use of a cliche, but how quickly technology changes.

Oreo wants the famous "memory bar"

Today, I skype regularly with friends, churches, and groups back in the US. I am able to shoot and edit photos and videos on my phone that I can then upload to facebook or email to our parents. I regularly text friends worldwide. I can play the popular game “Words with Friends” with dear friends and families in the US while I wait at long traffic lights. Leila is able to color pictures on her little ipod and email her grandparents. Just this week, Amy, Katy’s sister and Katy had a video conversation on my phone over breakfast. She was baking cookies (at 7:30 pm Monday) and needed a recipe… Katy was eating breakfast with the family (at 9:00am Tuesday in Bangalore). Somehow Seattle and Bangalore seemed to fit together around that table.

I love technology. People have always told me how holding a kindle or an ipad can not feel as organic as holding an actual book. I get that. I also get how a face to face conversation will beat facetime/skype hands down every time. I know that power outages, spotty internet, travels, etc. can wreck havoc on communication if you depend on technology too much. But, in spite of all that, we (the Sundararajans) live in multiple worlds. We have people we love and care about. We would love to share coffee for hours on end and chat about our lives. Since we cannot realistically do that as often as we’d like, using technology to invite people to walk with us into the sundry details of our daily lives makes sense.

So, obviously, it goes without saying how grateful we are that we have a blog to journal parts of life with you. Another neat way in which our worlds collide.

(And just for fun, I am going to publish this post from the WordPress app on my phone… why not?!)

Two Alagars, old & new!

Reuben Alagar Sundararajan.

That is my baby boy’s name.  It suits him perfectly, somehow.  I love when a name just seems to match a person, and I feel that both my kids have names that suit them well.  Alagar is a family name.  Somehow it skipped JP, but the rest of the first-born males on his dad’s side (dad, grandfather, great-grandfather, and so on,) have Alagar as part of  their name.  One of the joys of being in India is seeing all of the living Alagars together, especially since JP’s grandfather moved in with JP’s parents after our last visit.  It is good to see “Big Tata” happily surrounded by family, relishing his role as great-grandpa.

Four Generations

Reuben is a bit more gregarious than his big sister was at this stage, and has thoroughly enjoyed the attention lavished on him by his family members.  Big Tata is what we call JP’s grandfather, and Reuben is enamored with Big Tata.  Big Tata spends a good amount of time sitting in a chair at the top of the ramp that connects the office building to the stairs that go up to our apartment area.  I pass him multiple times a day carrying Reuben in my arms, and as often as Big Tata has some sort of commentary or question to pose to Reuben, Reuben has a smile or a squeak to offer in response.  They have an adorable relationship.  I have no idea what they talk about really, but it sure seems pure and joy-filled.

the buddies

One of the cutest things that Leila says is, “Hi, Family!”  It is her own phrase, likely adapted from some conversation that we’ve had previously, but I get such a kick out of seeing her walk into a room and greet us with such affection and familiarity.  Despite Leila’s on-going shyness with the world around her, one of the things that always makes her feel comfortable is family.  Whether we are in the U.S. or in India, Leila loves her family.

Leila enjoying Girl Time

It has been a real treat to watch her easily re-connect with her Tata and Ava here.  She had just been getting comfortable enough with Tata and Ava on our last trip to go on the scooter with them for shopping.  I was afraid that the distance would be hard on their relationship.  However, we are now seeing the hours upon hours of Skype time that has taken place between visits pay off.  There wasn’t a single bump in the road.  From the first moment, Leila knew her India Tata and Ava, and has embraced life with them.  Often, you can find her whiling away the evening by “cooking” all nature of food and snacks for her grandparents to nibble on (you gotta love Leila’s imagination,) not to mention the games of ball, swing rides, and hide and seek.  It has also been a beautiful thing to watch Leila grow in relationship with her uncle and aunt … and certainly her cousin, Judith.  You should have seen Leila race down the stairs as soon as her dad told her that Judith had arrived this morning.

Leila comfortable on James Chittappa's lap

Sometimes, for adults, fitting into a new country and culture can be tedious, or painful, or confusing.  Trust me, I’ve had my moments.  ;)  I had some concern that Leila, especially, would struggle to find her identity in India.  I need not have worried.  She is doing fine.  This is her home.  This is her family.  That is enough for her, and I am beyond grateful.  We might be a fourth generation of this family, but the history is longer, and the family tree casts a much wider shade that we can believe.  It feels good to sit in the cool comfort of that shade, recognizing that we are a part of something.  As my children sink down their own roots, they quietly and steadily draw me more intimately into the fold.  I, too, am a part of this family.  Each day I feel more certain that I can quietly claim that this is my India too, that I can walk into the room and say with a grin, “Hi, Family!”

Since we’ve arrived, Reuben has been his usual self, taking life by the horns, and he ain’t lookin’ back. Last week he cut his first tooth. He seemed rather crabby about that tooth, but I suppose it could have been jet-lag. We’ll see how the rest goes. He has also managed to start swallowing (instead of just pushing it back out with his tongue) and heartily, messily enjoying rice cereal.

I was most curious about Reuben learning to crawl in India because we never saw Leila do that here. We thought you might enjoy a little peek at his efforts. This video was taken earlier this afternoon.

Waking up Happy

Considering the neighborhood that we live in in Michigan, and one that I lived in for five years in Florida, I’ve spent time in some pretty “close quarters.”  I’ve listened to my fair share of night time ballads and brawls.  In addition to mini-motorcycles, I think there was some sort of late-night revival that took place this past summer, with a gentle, but prodding, call-and-response song around 3am.  When I lived a bit closer to the college, I complained about late-night party noise, of course, but also this one, huge dog with a strident, interminable bark.  In Florida, our backyard  butted up against both “the Laugher,” and “the Screamer’s” houses, plus we lived down the street from “the Cat House,” which led to countless late night cat fights and other misdemeanors.  And, yes, we bequeathed those names ourselves… but for obvious reasons!  Being that I haven’t always had quiet nights, I’ve learned to appreciate them.  In fact, the older I’ve gotten I’ve learned to enjoy any good stretch of quiet time, in just about any space.  Quiet soothes me.  It pats down my raised hackles, and calms the stress knots between my neck and my right shoulder.  I find quiet to be soft like fleece, and fleece is one of my very favorite things on earth.

Smiles, soft like fleece...

Well.  You should have heard the noise pour in through my bedroom window last night, say around 10 pm.  (Hey, I’m still getting healthy again! Jet lag is still lurking around a little.  Don’t mock my 10pm bedtime!)  I literally felt like my bed was smack in the middle of an auditorium that was filling up before a high school orchestra concert.  There was such a din!  I could hear instruments warming up, with an occasional squawk or screech mixed in, and it was like there were voices everywhere, talking louder and louder in anticipation of the concert.  It was like the noise of bragging, and the shouting of hellos over tops of heads, and the murmuring of mothers to orchestral siblings.  I’m telling you the truth…  between the wedding taking place down the street, the neighborhood conversing, and the traffic bellowing on as usual, the pre-concert cacophony was mimicked perfectly in my bedroom last night.  I was quite in awe, myself!

Leila LOVES playing ball!!

It has been 1 year and 8 months since I last spent time in India, which for me, is a pretty long time.  Since 2003, I had been coming to India at least once a year, and it had always been less than a year’s time until I returned.  This particular return to my “second home” has been remarkably odd.  Add to the unusual amount of time between trips, the  horrible head cold that I had upon arrival, and it has made for an incomparable adjustment phase for me.  My cold was so awful on the plane that I could not taste or smell a single thing.  JP asked my how breakfast was, and I told him I ate only because I was hungry, and could not give any indication of how it tasted, whether it was sweet, salty, spicy, or bland.  I had put copious amounts of lime pickle on my previous meal, just so I could feel the burn on my tongue.  In all seriousness, yesterday and today are the first two days I’ve been able to consistently taste or smell much of anything.  We’ve now been in India for a week and four days!  In one of my previous posts about getting ready for India, I mentioned that I have an incredibly sensitive nose.  Truly, my nose has always led the way, for good or for ill, but not this time, not this trip.  Additionally, if you know much of anything about me at all, you know of my affection for food in general, and Indian cuisine in particular.  Yet, I’ve tasted very little so far.  So strange.  I’ve had over a week of neither smelling, nor tasting my India.

So what has it been like?  Noisy, of course!  I’ve always thought about India as a loud, clanging kind of place.  JP and I always make a point of prepping groups for the rambunctious, honking traffic, and the extra-loud audio played on every device.  I knew about the clatter of stainless steel in the kitchens, and the sudden, surprising bursts of steam from the pressure cookers.  I’m even on near-friendly terms with the morning ruckus of bird call around here.  Despite all of my prior knowledge, however, when my taste and smell where whisked away, it was noise that stood in their stead.  Fascinating.  I counted the different kinds of car horns one day, and after 11 in a short span I stopped counting.  (Leila actually told me after hearing one of them herself, that it was someone’s cell phone ringing!  You should also hear some of the “backing up signals” around here!!)  We’re definitely close enough to hear the neighbors’ lives lived out, but only if you pay attention.  For example, since my last trip, I’ve noticed that our devout Hindu neighbors must have moved (or become less pious) because I no longer hear the regular ringing of bells that were intended to invoke their gods in worship.  I have heard nearly every last call to Muslim prayer, however.  During the last few days I’ve also been listening to the vendors that make the early morning rounds.  While I make out very little of what they shout, (just the Salt guy, the Tomato guy, and the Vegetable guy are familiar words to me…) I do hear the same familiar voices ring out day after day.  It has made me wish for much fewer ice cream trucks in the U.S.(nothing new,) and way more vegetable vendors, ha!

The BEST noise worldwide is this: Gleefully, Hooting and Hollering Leila-- Jumping and Dancing and Playing... all while wearing her anklets!!

So I guess this is the thing about quiet, right?  It’s all about what we are listening for.  These sounds have always been around when I’ve come to India.  I think I’ve even noticed them all individually before.  But, since my normal go-to senses have been out of whack, my ears have been more finely tuned this last week.  I’m acutely aware of the “quiet” in India, like who wakes up when (due to some extra-loud brushing of teeth!)  I am aware of the religions practiced around me.  The traffic seems louder, and in my opinion, drives later into the night than it did before, but who knows?  This is my India, same as always, just differently revealed.

My India, so beautiful!

Quintessential India: Jasmine flowers in Leila's hair

It is a perfect 81 degrees in the apartment right now. The ceiling fan is making its rounds. Our two little babes have turned in, and will now do their level best to sleep through the night. (Jet-lag is a doozy.) As for me, I will try to ward off the heavy eyelids, and bobbing head brigade until I’ve done a fair job of checking in with all of you.

We left the U.S. last Thursday. The Sunday before that, we went to watch football on the big screen at my parent’s house one last time. I overheard my mom say to Leila, “I don’t think you’ll be watching football on TV next Sunday, Leila.” I nearly slid off the couch into a oozy puddle of weariness at hearing that. I had been in serious prep mode for about a month, and had been making concerted packing efforts for a good two to three days. I could barely imagine anything beyond getting on that plane. Life was just hazy piles of this and that, surrounded by the glaring lights of cleaning to get done before the house-sitters moved in, and hustled along by the honking horns of our wildly long ‘To Do’ list. Yuck. Let’s stop remembering that!!

Then today, we sat on the familiar stone bench outside JP’s home, and we sipped chai. Leila was tucked into a bag of potato chips cooked up village-style, a gift from her doting, ever more-endearing great grandpa (a.k.a. Big Tata.) JP and I were munching roasted cashews and sponge cake. I could not have imagined one iota of this idyllic scene while we watched that football game, but here I was. And then JP asked whether I could even believe that tomorrow was Thursday, one week since we departed the U.S.? Again, I could not.

Much has happened in the span of a week. In some ways, I don’t think that we have ever had a better trip to India than this one. In other ways, I don’t think that we’ve ever had a more difficult trip that this one. We flew from Grand Rapids to Cincinnati, to Paris, to Bangalore. The first (and greatest?) crisis that we faced was in Grand Rapids when, after bidding good bye to ‘Holland Tata and Ava,’ we had to go through security. It was hard enough for me, tired from the stress of packing and having come down with a nasty cold, weepy from saying goodbye, and further discombobulated with the removing of coats and shoes and computers and ziplock baggies, all while holding an infant but not being allowed to hold my three-year old’s hand as she proceeded through the beeping machine into the line of security guards. Then, when Leila panicked and began to wail because poor Elmo had to go through the X-ray machine, I cried too. I didn’t cry because I feared for Elmo… those security guards were actually quite kind… rather, I cried knowing that there were so many things that I had forgotten to tell Leila, so many things that would have prepared her better, and helped her along the journey. I cried because I knew that she’d just have to trust me (us) in so many ways on this trip, and I hoped we were all up for it. The good news is that Elmo made it through just fine, and so did the rest of us.

We were thankful that everything was on time. We did not have to deal with turbulence. Fellow passengers and airport/flight personnel were incredibly helpful all throughout the trip. People even occasionally told us that we had good kids… usually it was some lady who Reuben had flirted with, but on our last flight it happened to be the young 20s guy who shared our fourth seat in the center aisle. Leila had even slept with her feet flung over the armrest on him, and this was the flight that we sadly did not receive a bassinet for Reuben, who subsequently slept for just a few short, short naps. That was one sweet man.

It was adorable to watch Leila delight in the little trays full of food that were delivered to her. You should have watched her eat her salad!! We had a much needed laugh mid-way through, while entering the waiting area where we would catch a bus to the next terminal in the Paris airport. The moment that we reached the bottom step, Leila told us with much expertise, that it smelled like Russ’! (a local diner for those not from Holland…)

I spent way too much time in tiny airplane bathrooms or airport stalls trying to help Leila avoid sticking her hand or her butt into too many germs. JP would probably agree in the realm of changing our wiggly Reuben’s diaper! By the end of the last flight, we were so exhausted and ready to head home to bed, that JP told me as we exited the plane that he was going to pay one of those guys that is always trying to “help you” get your luggage at the airport, something he has never been known to do. I was almost in shock, but I just tried to look agreeable knowing that we had eight pieces of checked baggage, and had already been struggling with our five carry-ons. Rubbing our eyes, and just about getting our second wind, JP said yes to the first luggage guy, and I went to sit on a chair with Leila and Reuben. Each time that I managed to catch JP’s eye he would indicate that they had found -0- pieces of luggage. Soon everyone began to leave… with their luggage, and ours was no where to be found. This had happened before (thankfully?) so we knew just what to do, and spent the next hour doing it, getting all of the paperwork and details taken care of (and helping a few other forlorn lost-luggage companions as well.)

Around 3am we fled the doors of the airport into the loving arms of our family, who had patiently waited for hours to collect us. On the way home, I sat in the back seat with Leila and Judith, her 2 1/2 year old cousin. They held hands. It was cute, and it made the whole stinkin’, longer-than-ever, journey SO worth it to me.

I find it hard to believe, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. We won’t be having turkey and stuffing, but we will be attending a wedding, and thus will eat a rich, celebratory meal of some sort! Regardless, in the Thanksgiving spirit, let me tell you what I am thankful for, right here and now…

I am thankful to have family and friends in the U.S. that make good byes hurt so bad. I am thankful that our luggage arrived at 7am on Sunday morning. I am thankful that we are nearly all unpacked. I am thankful that my cold is getting gone. And, I am thankful beyond belief for our family here who have made this wild ride more comfortable, graceful, and good. We are happy to be here. Simple pleasures are making us glad.

Leila's simple pleasure hangs right in the front entry way!

Thank you, one and all, for being on the journey with us. We love you, and will certainly have much more to say as the jet lag wears off!