Well, I really enjoyed writing so I decided to buy my own domain. I can not promise it will be nearly exciting as my life in India, but I do promise to keep writing and try to keep you entertained.
You can find my new blog
Are You Ready Setty

Time to Put it Away

The other day something fell out of my purse. As I am a lady and a mom, really I can not be held responsible because "things" are always falling out of my purse. This time though, it was not too embarrassing. It was two doses of Imodium- anti-diarrhea meds for my non-American readers. After my May trip back to the States, I had shoved those little caplets EVERYWHERE just in case I ever needed them again. As I stooped down to pick the Imodium off the ground I thought, "time to put this away."

To the day, it has been a month since we have come home. I almost want to cry and rejoice at the same time. Despite my last blog posts, I really do feel like I am home now. I wished I could have written more about my slow adjustment but life was just too busy. It was either blog or find my safety deposit box keys. I should have blogged because I still can't find those darn keys. I am the kind of person that hides things in really good spots, but then I forget where I hid them. Last time I found the safety deposit box keys in my ugliest pair of exercise socks tucked in my drawer. The only reason I found them was because I decided to throw out my ugly socks and I heard something jingling. Really, I should have blogged.

I would have blogged about how reverse culture shock for me this time was like Sid the Science Kid on steroids. I was comparing and contrasting every minute of every day. It was exhausting.

I would have blogged about the drunk, homeless man that approached my family in the subway station in Atlanta and how despite me being incredibly uncomfortable I forced myself to smile and chat like I didn't know the conversation was going to end up with him asking me for money. Like we were equals. In India, I wouldn't have given that man the time of day. In India, he wouldn't have expected it and I wouldn't have been shamed for not doing so.

I would have blogged about my first American yoga class and how much I liked it. But how much I missed my friends, the lady with the GIANT crack in her feet and smelly armpits, my teacher's Shavasana chant,and even picking up my milk on the way home. How that whole morning at the YMCA it was hard to concentrate as my mind was wandering through a vivid memory of living and doing in Sankalp.

I would have blogged about my school where I teach and how overwhelmed and disgusted I was with all the toys and stuff we have there. Seriously- we have a full gallon bag of polar bears. Who has a whole gallon bag of polar bears? A bag of frogs I will give you. We can't sing "5 Green and Speckled Frogs" without frogs, but that is 5 not 15. 

I would have blogged about struggling to make a choice to send Shalini to Bala Vihar at the Chinmaya Mission instead of church, where she wants to go. And how I have to take Flip to church with a bunch of white people and not Chinmaya Mission because crowds of Indians make her anxious and crawling into my arms like a baby. We have had this wonderful 9 months of India- taking in India, how do I keep that alive in my girls?

I would have blogged about the morning I found Star drenched in tears, reading cards from her Sankalp friends, and how I turned into a wobbling mess instead of the strong, backbone Momma that I should have been.

I would have blogged about my grandmother and how I can call her everyday now. That makes me incredibly happy. Her voice is quiet and mostly she listens, but I can let her know how much I love her now that I am closer.

I would have blogged about sitting in my red den in my hideous plaid but comfy couch reading books with my kids knowing that no one was going to knock on my door. As much as I loved having Srinivas and Lakshmi, it was always hard work to have strangers in my home. How that was one of the moments I sighed and felt home.

I wish I could write about all this. I wish I had the time. But the truth is, I still haven't finished unpacking from India. I have one more suitcase sitting in my back room. I still haven't finished unpacking the items I packed up from Dec 2011 before we left our house. I haven't gotten my work paperwork turned in. I haven't synced my phone which seems small but I still have India numbers and duplicate American contacts, no Calliou videos to keep Flip busy during Star's violin lesson, and no music. And even the last two posts I managed to get out were not like I wanted them. They were short, condensed versions of the ones I had in my head.

So for now, just like the Imodium- it is time to put it away. So many folks have told me they have read along and enjoyed my writing. And honestly, I am flattered. Thank you so much. I hope to come back to writing someday, but I feel like to keep this blog going would wrong. It would not be what I want to present of myself to the world. So thanks for reading along. Until our next Setty Family adventure...

 

The reality of excess

I really can't complain about the excess in America anymore because truth be told I have been eating like I was on holiday for the past month and now the excess is on me. On my bum to be exact.
While I was in India I thought I was losing weight because my pants fit more loosely, but then I came home and dried my pants in the dryer (instead of months of line drying) and guess what? They fit. Well, now they fit a little too well. Perhaps I should go back to line drying.

Excess

A friend asked me to write about all the foods I was enjoying now that I am back home. I love this topic. Often when a friend is traveling back to their home country I always ask, "What will you eat first?" But I told this friend, I couldn't write about food yet because I was still overwhelmed by the excess in the U.S. Going to the grocery store was a challenge for me. Just seeing all the choices made my brain hurt. I had expected the unnecessary amount of choices of cereal- a whole aisle just for a box of sugar, wheat and food color? But I had not expected the excess of choices for things like peanut butter.
Things get fuzzy when you are away. In the U.S., I function on auto-pilot a lot of the times. I buy the same brands I have bought for years- sometimes not because I have made that conscious choice myself, but perhaps because my mom bought that brand. So when I went to the store to buy peanut butter I thought it would be easy. Go in, pick a smooth variety and come out. The names JIF and Skippy were ringing in my ears, but I couldn't recall if I bought either of those brands. I thought I would see the label and the container, no problem.
In India, I was lucky to find peanut butter in the store. I had bought it at Easy Day and then the next time I went I couldn't find it. I looked in the places I thought it should be, but it was not there. I asked and tried to describe it to the staff, but they couldn't find it. In the end I gave up and only went to Loyal World if I needed peanut butter. And even at Loyal World, you couldn't count on a certain brand. I had to be flexible and get what ever brand of smooth they happened to have (if they happened to have it).
So back to Kroger. Back to me standing in the enormous aisle with bright lights and a huge shopping cart. Back to me, trying to block out all the conversations going on around me in American English, a language I know so deep in my heart I can ease drop and not even know I am doing it. That never happened in Kannada or even in Indian English. In India, I could turn people's chatter into background noise and get lost in my own thoughts. I stood in front of the peanut butter section waiting for the light bulb to go off in my head that let me know I had found my jar of peanut butter. I looked.
I saw reduced fat peanut butter.
I saw simply peanut butter.
I saw natural peanut butter.
I saw Omega-3 peanut butter.
I saw extra crunchy peanut butter.
I saw crunchy peanut butter.
I saw low salt peanut butter.
I saw no stir peanut butter.
I saw peanut butter with honey.

I spent at least 5 minutes with my eyes wandering the shelves until finally they began to hurt and I was brought back to reality by Star asking to buy some ridiculously overpriced, overcolorful, plastic item hanging on the end cap. I just grabbed a jar and went. In the end, it didn't really matter what jar I bought.We are more than half-way through it and I will soon have to repeat this process all over again.

Proud Momma

During the last night of the AKKA conference they named the winners of the AKKA Idol contest and offered the three girls a chance to sing their winning songs for the crowd. And man, could the girls sing! The youngest singer kept her hand raised next to her face, so if you weren't completely awe struck by how her voice could sail like a kite on the wind you could watch her hand raise and fall as she flitted up and down the scale. I didn't even know these girls and I was so proud of them I clapped so hard my hands hurt.

And then the MC came out and made the strangest comment. She said, "I am glad we have the chance to show them especially in Bangalore that our kids are as good as theirs."

First off, see ya later Mysore or any other place in Karnataka for that matter.  You don't count in the game of one-upmanship.Oh wait, you didn't know you were playing?
But secondly, when did we sign our kids up for this competition? Did they start at a deficit because they carry a US passport? Does each Indian cultural activity earn the child credit? Or do you have to do it well to earn credit?

Our kids aren't Indians. They never will be. But this doesn't mean they are as good as the kids in Bangalore. They are different. They are children of two nations and if we do our job whole-heartedly (as the parents of the fabulous singers have done) they will be an example of what is good from both nations.
The first night Star stood up, placed her hand over her heart and sang every word of the US national anthem. She followed it up by standing up straight with her hands by her side and sang every word of the Indian national anthem. I am one proud Momma.

Oh AKKA, how could you?

Eleven days after I gave birth to Star I had to take Mary Jane to the vet for her yearly check up. Heaven knows why I scheduled this appointment or why I kept it, but I did. It was the first time I had ventured out of the house without Star in tow. I remember putting my cat carrier under the seat and waiting for my turn with the doctor. I remember looking around at the other cat owners and thinking, "Not a single one of these people knows that I am a new mom. No one knows that I can still tell my daughter's birth story word for word, pain for pain, and joy for joy." There I sat feeling like my body was a miracle and that my world was turned inside out, but for those looking at me all they saw was a badly dressed lady with a jiggly belly and sagging breasts.
This past weekend my family went to Atlanta and attended the AKKA conference. AKKA is a conference for Kannada speakers all over North America. Every other year on Labor Day Weekend, Kannadigas flock into a major city to be hosted by that city's Kannada Kootu (chapter). Heaven only knows why we thought it would be a good idea to pack up again after just 2 weeks of being home and lug it all down to Atlanta the weekend before school starts, but we did.
The weirdness started the moment we entered the hotel lobby. We all bucked the system and showed up in western clothes. We had spent the night with my sister and family so we weren't quite in the Indian mindset yet. I stood with our bags and the girls while Marvel went to give his folks a call. I look over and this Indian guy, probably 25years old or so, with a long ponytail is unabashedly staring at me. I look at him and smile. He smiles and keeps staring. Oh! My brain clicks in- he is the real deal straight from India. Might be an artist, might be someone newly arrived and trying to keep the ties to Karnataka alive, or might just be an Indian-American who didn't get the message that we don't stare here in this country. Marvel returns, man stares, in-laws join us, man stares, we walk away, I turn around and the man is still staring!
At the conference center there are more stares, although these are the American variety done on the sly or quickly ended when I tear them out of their trance with a friendly "hello". There are also the completely uncomfortable, pretend we don't see you, passes with the other white people at the conference. I know we don't know each other but the least we can do is smile and say hello or even offer up the meaningless compliment on each others' clothing as we watch our children run around the lobby. And then there are the unassuming Aunties who corner me and complain about their "white daughter-in-law" who doesn't attempt to incorporate any Indian culture into her granddaughters' lives at all, followed by a torrent of compliments based on what she assumes of me from our 20 minute one-way conversation.
But do you know what had me rolling my eyes and acting like a petulant teenager? The folks that innocently asked, "What do you think about all this? Do you like Indian culture? Is it overwhelming?" Just like I was sitting back in that vet's office, my world was turned inside out and no one could tell. I was overcome with emotion and no one knew. It took me 2 days to stop scanning the crowds for one of my friends' faces. It took me 2 days to remember that this was not India. I was not home.  I was in some strange middle place where people looked like incredibly over-dressed Indians, but acted like Americans and still treated me like an outsider. I wanted to plant a tattoo on my forehead that read, "I lived in Mysore for 9 months, not took a trip there for 2 weeks. This one weekend doesn't count as Indian culture. I saw a man clean his bottom in a pothole on the street with rain water. You can't overwhelm me. And I can't sum up what I think about all this in one, nice, neat package without crying for a place that I didn't want to leave."

Bobble me this, Bobble me that

The Indian head bobble is famous. It has confused foreigners for centuries. Instead of a nod, an Indian will bobble his or her head from side to side in agreement with varying degrees of enthusiasm depending on their personality, social status, and always the situation. Probably the amount of head bobbling their mothers did in the home plays an important role as well because this head bobble is rather contagious.
When Star was 4 she picked it up rather quickly and then lost it again when we return back to the US. Flip followed her big sister and was a faithful head bobbler, although I can see it fading already. But if I bobble at her, she quickly bobbles back. I, on the other hand, chose to employ the head bobble. It just made life easier when talking with auto drivers, cooks, cleaners, assistant teachers in the girls' school, etc. Also secretly, I enjoyed practicing while friends were talking to see just how little movement I could do and still produce a quality head bobble. I thought I was in control of the head bobble, but apparently not.
Yesterday, while setting up our classroom with my new co-teacher she suggested an arrangement of furniture. I agreed it looked nice and she gave me the most peculiar look and responded, "What? You don't like that?" For a moment I was confused. I had said yes.  I had agreed. And then I realized I had head bobbled her.

Stuck between

Everyone keeps asking, "Are you happy to be back?" Or just assuming, "You must be glad to be back." And yes, I am, but I feel like a traitor if I say it.

This past weekend we gave my father in law a surprise party. It was absolutely fabulous. The surprise went off well. The venue gave us all a gorgeous view of Washington, DC. My sister in law had organized everything so well. We saw so many old friends. It was so much fun to catch up.
And my folks came. Both sets. This is always a blessing and a curse for a divorced child. Of course, I was overjoyed to see them both after 9 months and the fact that I got to see them immediately after returning home was a bonus. But then the uncomfortable part sets in.

As a divorced kid at a party with both of your parents plus spouses I always feel pulled. Spend some time with mom, now spend some time with dad. Make sure I don't spend too much time with mom. Is dad ok? Did my step mom and dad find a place to sit? Are mom and step dad having fun? Oh ok, now all four parents are together. Is this good? Is this bad? Do I need to join them?

My sister tells me it is my choice if I want to do this. I am an adult and they are adults. And she is right, but there is always a part of me that feels between these two parents, who I love so deeply and I feel very strongly that I want to protect.

This is also the way I feel about my Indian home. Yes, I am happy to be back, but I am also so so sad to have left my friends and my home. If there had not been a deadline we could have carried on indefinitely. I try to balance my FB posts between "happy homecomings" and "missing you". I want to let both sides know how much they mean to me and my family. I feel like that divorced kid again, stuck between two parents who I love deeply.

Heading to the Play Area

If I were in India right now Star would be rushing through the last bits of her homework trying to get outside. We would hear the laughter of the girls down at the play area. I would be checking out the window to see if Bhanu had convinced Vishal to quit playing cricket and come to the play area. I would also be trying to convince Flip to stop doing extra pages in her homework book and go outside with me.
We would once again discuss the Setty rule of "if you ride bikes you wear helmets" no matter if you feel different from the rest of the kids because they don't wear helmets. I would fight with Flip to try to get her to wear anything but flip flops and most of the time I would lose. The girls would decide between scooters or bikes. I would run back in to fill the forgotten water bottles and we would head down with my girls fighting over who gets to push the lift button.
This early, it would usually be just Bhanu and I, but if we were lucky Sumita and Surahbi would be there.  Maybe Sujatha and Anaya. Flip and Ahbi would climb on the swings and begin their calls of "Auntie- Under Dog!" It had become "my thing" and no one else was as skilled as I in pushing the little ones high and then running under the swings shouting "Under Doooog!" as I went. Star and her gaggle of friends would come and go. They would ride bikes or scoot around. They might go to the chit-chat area and play Crock-a-Chain. Or they might sit by the pool and just talk.
After a bit Lakshmi would come down with a big "Hi Girls!" And Bhanu and Lakshmi would have their daily complain-fest about folks hanging clothes on their railings. I would roll my eyes and laugh at them. Bhanu always laughed back. Lakshmi would start her explanation with, "No, you see...." Poornima would come strolling down from the pool entrance, just suddenly appearing between the trees. Bala Auntie would join us after her 1 or 2 rounds. We might see Sowmya on her balcony.
And just as we are all deep in discussion about some recipe or new Chinese restaurant Bhanu would let loose with, "Vi-SHAL, Vi-SHAL!" as she tried to find her forever wandering son. Most of the time we would spot him or his big sister would be sent to locate him. And the conversation would continue.
Sanju would come sauntering in with Niru behind holding some toys but full knowing that Sanju would not play with her own toys. Her toys would be placed in the sandpit or her bike on the edge. Sanju would saunter off to find someone else's sand toys or bike to play with. Just part of her charm.
Around 6.30 the menfolk would come. The menfolk only consisted of Marvel, Chida, Subash and maybe Suraj. But the conversation rolled on, taking time to greet and welcome each friend as they joined the circle. At times the conversation would be serious as the residents discussed some problem with the complex, while us "renters" just hung out and waited for them to finish. But most of the time, this time at the play area was just a way to come together and laugh. And man, did we do a lot of laughing.
So while my body is here in Michigan, looking at my suitcases that have exploded all over my house, my heart is in Sankalp heading down to the play area. I miss you all dearly! You know who you are.

My To-Do List

When I go to the grocery store I always make a list but then when I get to the store I never pull it out. I usually do very well at remembering what I wanted but I of course go home and curse myself for forgetting one or two things.
So when I came to India I had a list of 5 things
1) family portraits. A cousin had posted hers and they were so lovely. I thought it would be a great idea to get some made as I know it be cheaper.
2) a stamp with our address on it. Not our name, but just the address. I figured this would save my hand at Christmas time. And we could just pass it along with the house when we move.
3) small dessert forks. No explanation needed.
4) passport photos, a whole stack of them. After the adoption and PIO and passports I have almost gone  broke at $12.95 for 2.
5) jewelry fixed. We have an array of chains that have broken and they sit useless in a box.

So what did I remember and what did I forget on this next to the last day in India?

1) Never happened. Didn't even come close. I got a horrible haircut for G and kept waiting for it to grow out and then I lost the motivation.
2) mmm, might be in the works. It depends on Indian Standard Time.
3) YES, at home  in a suitcase!
4) We had one set made by the only background that was offered was red and blue- no go for any official US business. Plus I looked a bit angry.
5) still broken. Still in the box. I considered trying to go tomorrow but instead I just repacked it in my suitcase.

Guess that means we have to come back.

Last Monday in Mysore

We threw a Good-bye Party today. It was a casual drop-in for some folks from the complex, school friends and family. It is hard to get the chance to say good bye to everyone when life is going, so we figured the best way to see everyone was to invite them home. We decided to make pani puri so folks could make their own and I wouldn't have to serve everyone. ;-) And I hired Srini to stay late and make pizzas.

At 9 am, I rushed the girls off to school.
At 9.15 am I pried Flip out of my arms and into the arms of her teacher feeling like the worst mother in the world.
At 9.30 am I visited the fruit/veggie market for the very last time. After I bought all my fruit for the gift bags I told the fruit vendor good bye and he carried my bags to my car for me.
At 10.15 am I joined Srinivas in the kitchen prepping everything we needed for the evening.
At 12.15 pm We finished and I lucked out by grabbing an auto rickshaw driver who actually turned the meter without me asking.
At 12.30 pm Flip greeted me with a big hug and assured me she did not suffer all morning long. I felt slightly better.
At 2.00 pm I finally got a shower and began to stop cleaning and started shoving things in closets and under beds.
At 4.00 pm I thought, "What a stupid idea!"
At 5.00 pm I had a gin and tonic in my hand and was teaching Srinivas how to make pizza.
At 6.00 pm The room was filled with friends, food, laughter, and kids. Perfect chaos.
At 7.00 pm The place looked like play doh has exploded in every corner and people were still "dropping by".
At 8.30 pm My lack of food and my excess of gin had caught up to me in the form of a headache and I was sending secret messages for everyone "get out of my house".
At 11.25 pm Everything is tidied. Advil has kicked in. I am ready for bed and thinking, "Why didn't people stay longer?"

White Warts and All

Good friends had a house warming yesterday. They had been renters in the complex when they first moved back from the US but after some time they decided to purchase a flat for their own. From what I understand there was a series of poojas that were performed by a priest and with the owners, but as the pooja started at 4.30 am I was not around to testify to what actually happened. The girls and Marvel dropped by before school and then Marvel and I returned mid-morning. I borrowed simply lovely sari from a friend and managed to get some help making it look “model like”. All of our Sankalp buddies had not shown up yet, so mostly the people present at the pooja were family of our friends. People we hadn’t met before (a.k.a. people who haven’t been up close and personal with a white woman married to a brown man). As we walked out of the elevators I could feel the eyes on us. And they didn’t leave us the whole time. The way Indians stare it should be an Olympic Event. There is no shame. There is no blinking. There is no smiling. There is no looking away to avoid being caught.

One long wall of the main room was lined with plastic chairs stretching from the entryway the whole length of the room. All the plastic chairs are filled with woman. As we walked in the door all eyes looked up and followed us. I try to accept the fact that folks are just curious, not malicious, and carry on. We found our friends and said hello. We found their daughter, who is Flip's best buddy, and assured her Flip would be back for lunch. We checked out the new flat, which was of course gorgeous. And then we sat on the floor. And as I looked up I found all of the woman in the plastic chairs had turned their heads away from the pooja and were staring at us. Marvel and I carried on as we do, sitting close and discussing what needed to happen in the day to be ready for our trip to Bangalore. Flip's buddy, Surahbi, came up frequently to me for help tying something on her skirt, to throw away trash or to just ask a question. When the photographer took her photo, and I asked her to, she gave a BIG smile- the kind of smile I know her mom and dad would love to see in a picture. Surahbi is a kid. Without a doubt I know she sees my white skin. She has asked me about it. But mostly what she sees is Flip’s mom. I am the lady who has given her popsicles, set up tents made of sheets, helped her go potty, wiped away her tears when her friend, Flip, wasn’t being nice, told her NO, and let her make a mess of my house.

I firmly believe everyone should embrace the chance to be the minority in their life. It is hard to be the “only one” in the room. It is hard to realize no matter what you do you will always be the odd one out, you will be judged by some unknown standards, or you might be asked the most uncomfortable questions. It is hard to accept that most of the time this is done not out of ill will, but out of ignorance from the majority. But it is even more difficult to accept and to reflect on the fact that you have probably done this to some other minority in your ignorance. But on the other side, I pray everyone has the chance to feel completely accepted, white warts and all, for exactly who they are and what they can honestly offer up to others. 

Am I checking out?

My friends around here tease me that I have already checked out. I didn't make the effort to wear a sari for a baby naming function yesterday. I wasn't front and center watching the pooja. They are joking on me, but part of me thinks I am checking out.
We had a super lazy Sunday yesterday. Star had her last dance class. We had a function to attend and a bucket meal to devour. And then we did nothing. The girls ran in and out of the house. We watched TV, a lot of TV, which is rare for us. We watched all of Forrest Gump. Man, I love that movie. And when it was over- after I cried all my make up off- I went downstairs to say hello to friends. I was doing all my normal things- dropping off my milk jug, saying hi to passing kids, and giving polite nods to the older generation who still just like to stare at me- but it felt like it was one of my first days in India. I had spent hours in "America" with Forrest Gump and waking up back in Sankalp felt strange.
Today I put on my IPod for the first time in months and went for a walk. My playlist is an eclectic mess- the Drifters, Snoop Dog, Bon Jovi, Buddy Miller... But listening to all this music, my music, made my heart happy. So happy I started singing aloud and didn't stop even as I passed the guard house and the security uncles all cringing from my off key voice.
I think I AM checking out. I think I am longing for the US and my old self. I am really going to miss Mysore, my eyes tear up as I write this, but for the first time in 9 months I am ready to come home.

Delhi and the Metro

We headed to Delhi over the weekend. Marvel had some work and the girls and I tagged along.  Even though we have been here for 9 months everyday life has taken a hold of us and we have not had a chance to travel as much as we would have liked.  We assure ourselves there will be many more visits to India and many more chances to travel. But as we are stuck neither here nor there, a visit to Delhi seemed like a good way to spend part of our last 3 weeks in India.

We arrived the day after the blackout of the Northern Grid, so we were quite lucky the power had been restored.  Unfortunately for Marvel, though, the traffic was still horrid.  He traveled 8 km in an hour and a half and missed his first meeting. The concierge in our fancy shmancy hotel advised the girls and I to stay put and not venture out. We were only too happy to comply.  We swam. We ate lunch at an amazing Italian restaurant and followed it up with a nap. At 5, I tried to convince them out for a walk but they firmly protested and spent the next 2 hours splashing in the bathtub.  It had been 3 months since they had been in a tub and obviously that was too long.

The next day we ventured out in a hired car and faced the traffic which thankfully wasn't as bad as the day before. It was a holiday, Rakhi, so perhaps that helped. Rakhi is a festival which celebrates the relationship between a brother and a sister. The sister ties a sacred string (or a shiny string with a trinket these days) on the brother's wrist and the brother gives sweets or chocolates to the sister. The feeling of the festival was really driven home when we drove past the large prison in Delhi. The outer wall was lined with women for almost a km waiting to get the chance to tie rahki for their brothers.

The following day I convinced the girls to take a Metro ride with me down to India Gate. We bought our tokens, found the correct train and hopped on the last car just as our train was pulling out. It was crowded but we had done crowded in Japan. But then more and more and more people got on. As the Metro had be immobilized by the blackout I was determined to stay near the door in case another blackout happened. I did not want to be stuck in the middle of the car. And still more people than I possibly imagined continued to get on the car. But thankfully due to my white skin or my 2 adorable girls, we rode with a 6 inch buffer that no one seemed to want to cross. As we traveled we heard the announcement about the "Ladies Car" being the first car on the train.  It was then that I looked around and noticed every other person in the car with us was male. Not that it really matters to me, because I have found in India, when I am with my children I am never approached or made to feel uncomfortable. I am seen as a mother and men go out of their way to be nice or to help me. But as more and more stinky, sweaty men crowded into our car I decided the "Ladies Car" was the way to go on the way home.

We landed at Ragiv Chowk and Star's mouth dropped when she saw all the people moving around the station.  She asked me, "Did you know there was going to be this many people in Delhi?" We slowly made our way to India Gate via an extremely expensive auto rickshaw. As Star's cheeks redden from the heat and sweat beaded on her nose and Flip's body hung limply on my hip, I insisted that we stand in the blazing heat and admire the beauty of India gate for at least 3 minutes, and then we retreated to the shade to find a white dad and 2 girls doing the same.

The mom joined and we started chatting. I offered them banana bread. They offered us cold water. We learned the mom and dad were teachers and lived in Tamil Nadu for 3 years while working at an International School.  Their eldest daughter was born in India and they had brought her back to see her birth place. They were on a whirlwind 2 week trip around India which reminded me so much of our whirlwind trip around Japan. After both families had recovered from the sun and the heat, we said good bye and walked away. I told Star, that is what I love about traveling. We were in the same place at the same time. We shared a moment and now we both disappear back into the world.

Our trip home on the Metro was definitely less crowded as we rode in the "Ladies Car". And it was a beautiful sight to see our hotel just outside the metro stop gates. As we walked up the hill back to the hotel little Flip said, "We will be alright once we get back into the hotel." I might be raising worldly kids, but they are still soft. 

Six Ways to Kill a Mosquito

1. The Feel It and Slap It Method
This is the original way to kill the blood suckers. You feel that prick on your leg and you react with a giant slap to find your blood on the outside of your skin instead of the inside. As you wipe the bug carcass on the grass you feel vindicated.

2. The Spot It and Clap It Method
Behind the Feel It and Slap It Method, this is a traditional way to kill a mosquito. Most of the time it involves a bit of hand eye coordination and some willingness to observe and move quickly. Out of the corner of your eye, you will see the black bit fly by or you might here the bzzzzz in your ear. Your next step is to scan the area looking for the mossie. The mossies of course are very tricky and they can disappear into thin air so you must also have dedication and good eye sight. When you see the mosquito, move quickly, clap it between 2 hands and then inspect your hands to see if you were successful. If you were successful, most likely you will need clean your hands as the mosquito's previous victim's blood (hopefully not yours ) is now on your hands.

3. The One Handed Gotcha
This method is similar to the Spot It and Clap It method and differs due to the fact that you only use one hand. If you find yourself in the elevator with a package in hand and a mosquito bearing down on you, use this method. If you have a child you are trying to drag out of the sand box because no matter how many times you told her the "solle banthu" she doesn't care. The downside of this method is you must make sure the mosquito is dead before you open your hand or you have just done a catch and release which serves no purpose.

4. The Sit and Spray Method
This really isn't a method of killing the mosquito because it is not effective at all, but it can be used in a pinch as a deterrent. If you find yourself on the potty and unable to remove yourself from that location while at the same time you discover you are involuntarily sharing the space with a mossie you can use the hand sprayers (only available in some locations) to aim at the mosquito. As I said, it does not kill the mosquito so you must continue to keep on guard and ready to spray again until you are pants up and mobile again.

5. Use Yourself As Bait
This is the Marvel method. When you wake at 4 am with 2 bites already on your face, flip on the lights to wake your spouse and alert her to the danger and include her in your sleeplessness, cover up your entire body with the sheet except for your face. This will entice the mosquito closer and you can kill it. Although I am not sure how you are suppose to kill it as your hands are tucked under the sheet, but at 4 am and you are half asleep it is really the best plan you can come up with . And it makes your wife laugh hysterically the next morning when she remembers.

5. Hungry Hungry Mosquito
This method requires you and several other members in a closed area, such as your living room. It is played very similarly to Hungry Hungry Hippos. One person spots the mossie and begins the game by jumping up mid-sentence using his or her preferred method to try and get the blood sucker. If she succeeds, game over. If she misses, she returns to her seat and everyone continues the conversation as before. It is very important to not clue in the mosquito by mentioning that the game has started. There will be a catch up time at the end to discuss the play by play. The game continues as another member sees the mosquito and jumps up to have his turn. When the mosquito is finally caught and killed it is shown to all members. Everyone cheers and the especially tasty members show off their swelling bites. Now you may talk about how you killed the mosquito, but be careful as another little sucker might be squeezing in the screen door as you speak.

6. The Silent Kill
One must use this method when it is of upmost importance to be quiet, such as in yoga class or sitting in the back of a preschool classroom trying to make a successful and positive separation from your kid. It is very similar to number 2 but it must be performed in absolute silence. The danger is that with silence some people mix in slowness which greatly affects your success rate. The Silent Kill can also be somewhat of a let down because if you are successful you are unable to share the story of the dead mosquito with anyone around you as quiet is still of the upmost importance.

Here and Now

A long, long day ago (as Flip would say) we were trying to rent our place in Michigan.  We wanted to rent it fully furnished from January to August, a timeline that does not match up with the academic year. And considering our town is a college town it mainly runs on the academic calendar.  So we put it on Craigslist and had a couple folks show up. Mostly these people did not read the advertisement regarding the timeline and so wasted our time and theirs.  But then we found Ed and Cat, our current renters.  They were moving from England to the US.  They wanted to live on the Old West Side.  They have a 3 year old son.  They were looking to buy their own home and wanted a place to live, fully furnished, while they did that. Just when we thought it couldn't get better, it did. They agreed to care for our cat, Mary Jane. And they rented our car. Perfecto!

As we exchanged emails back and forth, Ed told us he had a conference in India in July.  Guess where?  Mysore! So last Saturday, we met Ed for the first time in our home. He came for the COSPAR conference at Infosys and was able to stay with us.

My time in India seems to dragging right now. I feel like I am stuck in between. 4 more weeks until we return home. We can't start packing because we need to use all our things. We can't make any more plans here because, well, we don't have any more time to do anything. I sit.  I wait. I attempt to spend as much time with the people I love here, doing our every day stuff.  I count the days and mourn the time past.  I count the days and get excited about returning home. Stuck in between.

So when Ed came it was a welcome distraction. I ditched my regular cereal and cold milk breakfast for tatte idli. We made pani puri. We did the Mysore Palace, for the 5th time. We took him to an ancient temple in Srirangapatna. We did our best to make sure his 5 days in India felt like 5 days in India, not just 5 days at a conference. And I realized how comfortable I have gotten in this place and how things seem such commonplace now.
A family of pigs running across the road.  Seen it.
A truck overflowing with hay and 3 men balanced precariously on top. Seen it.
A man driving a scooter with bags and pipes and boxes on every available space so that he must stand to drive the scooter. Seen it.
A family of Indians 2 feet away unabashedly looking me up and down. Seen it. Felt it.
Monkeys climbing on the temple. Seen it. Ran from it.
Elephants relaxing after a hard days work at the palace. Seen it.
Crazy driving. Seen it. Done it.

So it was good to be with Ed and feel the newness and excitement of India again. For 5 days, I didn't feel stuck.  It helped me move back to the here and now. 

Confessions

I am reading Shades of Grey. There, I said it! Honestly I knew nothing about it until a friend posted a summer reading list on her FB page which included a title that read "What to read instead of Shades of Grey". And then as I was checking out a book at the library I glanced at the return shelf and saw Shades of Grey and immediately I felt a tug of homesick. This book is obviously so popular in America that it has become unpopular and I am clueless about it all. Nothing can make you feel further from your own culture. So I grabbed it without even looking at the back. Yes, that is right I had no idea what my sweet unadulterated mind was getting into.
And I was shocked. This is what America is reading? But if you know me you know I rarely ever put a book down once I start it.  Some part of me feels guilty for not letting the author finish the story. I feel like characters are just sitting there in purgatory until I crack the pages open once more. In the end, I liked it. It is a kinky Cinderella tale. Perhaps the sex scenes should have horrified me, but you know what actually horrified me?
The talk of feet. He removes her shoes and rubs his nose on her instep. He sucks her toes.  Multiple times she refers to his bare feet as sexy. I even find myself cringing as I type it. Perhaps if I was in the US it would not affect me so, but I am in India and here feet are dirty.  Not dirty like Fifty Shades is a dirty book, but down right gross.  Cracks like the Grand Canyon. Toe pads that look more like coral than actual skin. Yellow toenails. And the dirt.  I scrub my feet with a pumice stone every night just trying to break through the black layer that seems permanently attached.
Not that I can blame anyone, unless you count Mother India, who seems to want to drag us back into the earth by our feet. Many people here don't have shoes, so tough callused feet are a bonus on hot, hot pavement. Many people don't have access to water in their homes so taking time to scrub your feet with running water is a luxury.
So talk to me about spanking, cuffing, or sexual accessories, but please please do not talk to me about feet.  My sweet unadulterated mind can't take it.

Good Byes All Around

When we first moved in one of the apartments on the ground floor was having its cabinets put in. There were two carpenters working everyday, all day for about 3 weeks.  They spoke Hindi, so our conversations were severely limited but they learned the girls' names and said, "Hello!" every time we passed.  And they were seriously all smiles.  They made my day most days and I even though I knew they were not, I began to think of them as neighbors.

And suddenly they were gone. Their work was finished so they moved to a new place.  I still miss them.  No more smiling faces looking back at me through the windows.

I think about this as our return to America comes closer.  There are so many people in our lives here. We of course have family. We have Sankalp friends.  We have teachers and school friends.  We have dance teachers and dance friends. I know we will have good bye get togethers and lunch dates, but there is also a myriad of folks who have become part of our lives purely by doing what they do and us doing what we do.  There is the banana man who insists I say all numbers in Kannada.  There is the ironing man who never charges me for my daughters' clothes. There is the chicken foot/mango man with the little kitty. There is the man in the next vegetable stall who keeps telling me that soon my Kannda is going to be good.  There are the ladies who sell the herbs and peas who call to me to buy from their stall.  I have my own special rotation in my head trying to be fair and purchase from each one of them. I do not want to just disappear on them.  I want to say good bye in a meaningful way.

When the Grandparents Came

This post is long overdue.  I can hardly believe it has been a month since we said Good bye to Avva.  We had a lovely month of grandparents- Taata, Avva and Hop.  And unfortunately since Avva was the last to leave she got the full brunt of the emotion.  I wasn't sure how we were going to pry Star off of Avva, she was crying so hard.  The girls loved having all their adoring grandparents here and the homesickness when they left was difficult to manage.  At one point I found Star completely wrapped up in one of Avva's sarees she had left here.  We compromised by letting her snip a corner and letting her make a hankie.

Even though it was hard to say good-bye we would not have traded those visits for anything.  One of my favorite memories was the 70th Birthday pooja we had for Marvel's father before I left for the States. So many family members came to wish him well and only one person put me on the spot by asking, "Do you know who I am?" This question used to throw me and I would get embarrassed but this time I simply replied, "No, please tell me who you are." Ha! Take that! Hope you feel embarrassed now! But also the truth is, I know so many more people now, so that even if I can not recall their name I at least know how they are related and I can ask a pertinent question or two.

I am mostly familiar with Avva's side of the family as we spend most of our time in Mysore and Bangalore.  So this day was special because many of the guests were from Taata's side.  And as we held it in Bangalore many of my in laws' old friends came.  Old friends who lived with them in the US in the early years and have moved back to India.  It was simply lovely to see the smiles on Taata and Avva's faces.

The girls really got into the celebration as well, both in their own way.  I wish our internet connection was fast enough to show you all the videos Star took on my phone. And Flip just did what she does best, got right in there.

The pooja began before 7 am and went past noon with one break for breakfast.  It was a long morning, but it was a great pooja.  These particular priests were incredibly enthusiastic, actually taking time to enunciate. Not typical in my limited experience.  Most priests mumble only stopping to speak clearly when they need to direct their pooja participants to do some physical act such as throw something or hold something.  And Marvel's mom said she was at first pleased with the head priest's answers when she asked a question.  He was more than happy to explain all she wanted to know and MORE. That was when she realized he might be too enthusiastic and if she wanted to feed folks on time she had to keep her curiosity to a minimum.

Again I wish I could post a video of the pooja because if you have never seen one it is fascinating. It is such a physical worship which I love.  Sometimes it gets crazy such as one point when Marvel and I were holding a strainer like item over his parents' heads.  Inside the strainer was a couple of necessary objects, one of which had to be silver.  The attendees made a line and took turns to dip leaves into holy water and shake the water through the strainer onto their heads, like a blessing.  Yes, I would love to know the backstory of that particular act, so if anyone devout Hindu blog reader out there is willing... As crazy as it looked and as tired as my hand became from holding that strainer over their hands, it filled my heart with joy to see each family or friend come up and wish their blessings on my in laws.

At the end of the pooja the priests passed out rice and flowers to all the attendees.  Even the folks who had wondered outside were beckoned in and the handfuls are shared amongst kids and late comers. We all stood holding the rice and flowers in our hands listening to the last prayers being said, ready to throw the rice and flowers onto the idols. Everyone was crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, listening and waiting.  So it was hot. Add a kid on the hip and it was super hot.  Like I said, it was long morning and I was having trouble keeping my impatience at bay. At this point Marvel leaned over to me and whispered, "I can't count the number of times I remember being a kid holding rice and flowers in my sweaty hand and praying for it all to end so I could throw my flowers, end the pooja and go eat. I am so glad our kids are having this experience."

Flip's Morning Out

It is not often we get the chance to spend time with Flip alone.  So on Saturday when Star had a creative writing workshop at school Marvel and I took Flip to a new park in the city.  Flip is quite the biker now, reminds me of her big sis, so we packed her bike in the back of our little Zen and took it along. She had a great time cruising along on the dirt path around the park.

When she became tired of biking we began exploring the old fountains which don't contain much water anymore- mostly weeds and trash, but their edges made great balance beams.  And honestly the tile on the old fountains looks better than the tile on our own Sankalp Pool.

We also came across a gazebo up on a hill.  It was perfect- in the shade and high enough to catch the breeze.  Flip immediately decided it was perfect for dancing so Marvel pulled out his phone and put on some music.  The three of us had a great time just dancing and laughing.  And then... I looked up at the houses surrounding the park.  There were folks out on most balconies looking down at us. So I did the only thing a cultural ambassador could, I waved and continued dancing.  Soon two cute kids came to join us. Vinod dresses in a polyester brown suit and Puja was still in her white school uniform happily looked almost like a little bride and groom heading towards us.  Well, western style bride and groom.  They joined in and we danced until we were tired.  We all gave a bow and a wave to our audience and kept moving around the park.

In the middle of the park is this great statue of Gandhi-ji and Salt March. Later that night at bedtime, the girls and I had a great conversation about Gandhi-ji. I loved listening to Star describe to Flip about the Salt March.

We spent a long time just standing and admiring.

And then we found more fun.  A cement slide on the way out.

This is what living is all about.  Just being together and having fun.  We are so so lucky to have this chance to live in Mysore.  Sometimes I could just pinch myself.