India Memories

I can't believe it's been 10 years this month since I returned from 4 weeks in India! I joined my maternal grandfather, G.S.G.  who was there doing family history research. His ancestral home was in the middle of a remodel, so we stayed with a family that's related through marriage in a village nearby. My job was to document photographically. Here are some highlights. 

The milk makers in the courtyard of a relative's house. You haven't lived until you've had fresh, warm waterbuffalo milk with sugar. Yum!

Processing wheat. Or at least pretending to so I can photograph it...

The traditional outdoor oven, a cousin of mine.

Yes, that is me! I still have that outfit...

These guys were kind of a fixture on that wall. This is what my grandfather though his retirement would look like... Didn't work out that way. He's too much of a work-a-holic! And the Mormon faith doesn't believe in traditional retirement, either.

A city building. Have to look up what town this was in... We went to see a palace museum there, and visit the family of one of Amarjeet's friends, Dilpreet, who was the English teacher at the high school. She and the librarian helped Amarjeet show me around.

I think this is Ludhiana, the nearest "city" to where I was staying in Sidhwan Khurd. We went there pretty regularly for shopping. Open air stores are the norm, as is the mash-up of English and Hindi. 

I wanted to learn some Punjabi, and my grandpa did buy me a book "Learn Punjabi in 24 days" but I didn't stick with it. I know a few key words and phrases, like milk, pretty girl, good day, and thank you. 

Although culturally you don't use thank you as much there. They serve because you are their guest, no thanks needed. I ate at the table with the men and not in the kitchen with the women since I was a guest. It got kind of lonely...

Ready for a pre-wedding party... An off the rack Salwar Kameez, the others I got were all custom made for me, although not to MY specifications, but to what the tailor thought was fashionable. They were so tightly fitted that I doubt I can still wear any of them... A benefit of saris, I guess :) I'm glad most of the Punjabi outfits I've inherited are for house wear and much looser.

Three of the sisters I stayed with are on the right: Bhole (Amandeep) in turquoise, Amarjeet in green and their youngest sister Jaspreet? in white Harpreet?, cousin in pink and navy. The first two, as well as another sister, live in California now and are married to my cousins and their mother's nephew. 

A traditional Sikh wedding. Groom with fancy turban, bride next to him in red. Men sit on one side, women on the other. Everyone covers their head and removes their shoes before entering the Gurdwara, meaning Gateway to the Guru, or chapel, as signs of respect and holiness.

Notice the groom's ceremonial sword... All devote initiated Sikhs, male and female, keep the signs of Khalsa, or the leadership of the Sikh faith. 

Khalsa translates to Sovereign/Free or Pure/Genuine. It was a rejection of the cast system started by the 10th and last Guru or prophet Gobind Singh, on March 30, 1699. This group replaced the Gurus after Gobind Singh's death. I believe I've even been to the spot where it was started. It is in many ways similar to the priesthood and Temple endowment status of certain members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. 

There are many parallels between my Grandfather's childhood religion and the faith he embraced as an adult. It's fascinating to me to study and find these. One of his brothers is very devote Sikh, and came to India while we were there for a religious retreat. We joined him for the last couple of days, and I did sit in the building for awhile while and chanted with them in Punjabi. I meditated on my Temple experience. Later I was outside reading my Bible or Book of Mormon, and a woman came up to see why I was not inside and Amarjeet had to translate and tell her that I didn't speak Punjabi. "There is salvation even being in the building!" was her reply.

 Khalsa College for Women, that some of my ancestors founded, after their son was killed, so that their daughter could get a better education. This was on the edge of the town we stayed in, and the campus of the co-ed high school was next to it. There were even dorms so out-of-town students and staff could live on-site during the week, and a shuttle system for them to visit home on the weekends. I believe the Greater Gill Clan, as we call the descendants of my great-grandparents, donated a few computers for the campus.

Nek Chand's Rock Garden,  in Punjab's beautiful planned city Chandigarh which also boasts a man-made lake and a rose garden, making many people's trash into treasures for all to enjoy!

Cousin Pum and my Grandpa, or Bapuji (father in Punjabi) at the rock garden. Boys we found sitting just like this...

Pretty sure this is Amritsar, the town where the Sikh's Golden Temple is located. Also the Martyr's Well. 

This is Sikh men cleaning dishes after people have eaten at the free vegitarian Langar kitchen at the temple. If you think that the Hari Krishna make good food, try a Sikh Langar. Although I don't recommend the rotis made by machine...

Fresh made juice. Ask in advance that no salt and pepper be added...

Shh! Wasn't supposed to eat any street food... only got sick once while I was there, and I think that was from drinking water at a public fountain... Only bit by mosquitos when I was in the city, too. Not in any of the villages.

More water buffalo...

At the Punjabi/Sikh history museum... Good restaurant next door where I had salty lassi for the first time and the corn flat bread that goes with Saag (spinach).

The Hindu temple felt like a trip to a theme park... A priest came out and gave me a red mark on my forehead and a special gift of a coconut, some makeup and candles. (Not everyone got a gift.) I did like ringing the bell on the way in. :)

Amarjeet and I had to hold hands while we walked into the lion's mouth, the only path to the rest of the mountain...

God is love, and He is remembered everywhere in India. On trucks, by cab drivers on the dashboard, written in chalk on the sidewalk...

The wild peacock that knew we would admire and feed him roti dough. He would land on the roof and walk down the stairs to the inner courtyard, where I would sit and read during the day, unless I could convince my hostess to let me help shell peas...

The daughter (?) of one of the house helpers, with a milking stool. The families' water buffalo and calf.

Ah! The Golden Temple, see reference above :)

Very busy day! 

Tejinder (? sorry, I am bad with names), with an offering plate.

Tejinder, the librarian who kindly leant me books in English, including one of Punjabi folk tales, Amarjeet who taught PE and Dilpreet who taught English at the co-ed high school. The best tour guides ever! :)

A lady scolded me, in Punjabi, for wearing Western garb to the Golden Temple. I did mostly wear Punjabi clothes while there. The skirt is actually from my friend Lama's visit to Samoa, I think.

My auntie Ranjeet in her modern kitchen, at the "Nasib House" which is a tribute to her cousin, my grandfather's older and only sister, who died when her son was little and my grandpa was in college. Ranjeet married her widower and raised her son as her own. 

The house girl at Nasib house was a very enthusiastic model... Back courtyard.

New Cast Member: Introducing Mr. P (including bonus soundtrack!)

Happy Olivia. At Omar's Vegan Paradise. I almost stole the book...
Ji gifted me the earrings. He's going to be a ladyslayer. He already is...

This post is brought to you by the letter "P." I get a penny every time you read one :) Unfortunately I am the one bankrolling this blog. There might be a prize if you can correctly guess the number of Ps in the post before you count them.

Sorry that it's been so long since I've posted. Last year was a difficult year, maybe one of my worst. But the nice thing about going through the desert is that the oasis is that much sweeter when you reach it. (Thanks, Madeline L'Engle.)

So some of you may have noticed that Mr. O hasn't been around for a bit, and that he tended to appear and disappear rather unexpectedly on the whole. It was difficult on all of us. Since Mr. O and I last parted ways, I decided maybe I needed to be a solo act until I figured some things out and felt like a real grown-up. (Although now I find out from Aunt Sh that not even having children can make you feel matured, it's a rather elusive state, it seems.)

Anyway, this post is about introducing a new cast member. It's only appropriate that P comes after O. I thought that O was the perfect fit for Olivia, both being Os.  but it was not to be. I've morned probably longer than was needful. But I must say that Mr. P is very promising (no alliteration intended). I hope that he will stick around and become a permanent staring role. It may be a little premature to decide that, though.

He does come with recommendations. His sister performed the introductions. (There seems to be a pattern of sisters wanting me to meet their brothers. Not that I am complaining.) His history also recommends him--he's been very steady and long-suffering. And he is a man, not a boy. He's been around the block and has the scars to prove it. (I have to admit I'm a little sad to give up on the idea of being one of those self-assured and alluring women who ends up marrying a man 10 years her junior. Not the predatory cougar type, of course.)

Mr. P is divorced. I never actually married Mr. O, but we came very close, and it feels to me to be similar to what I imagine being divorced feels like in a slightly smaller magnitude. Although Mr. P would have preferred to work things out and stay married, the fact that he has been hurt in a similar way to how I have helps us to understand each other better. Even if we don't end up as permanent characters in each other's stories, I think getting to know each other and sharing the stories of our wounds will help us both to heal a little more. Mr. P has given me hope that I will not have to settle, that I can be as much in love as I once was with someone else.

We have been flirting with being mutually exclusive. We've been flirting, period. Which is strange to me, since I have always been bad at flirting or being sexy by trying. (Although I have a great sexy voice, naturally, Grandpa Art was the first but not the last to point this out.) Our late night/early morning talks range from being funny to being silly to very serious to challenging each other's knowledge and opinions of philosophy and science and religion and how different we are on the surface but how some of our roots run together. Invariable one or both of our exes comes up.  Mr. P apologized last night for dwelling so much on his past relationship.  I assured him that this was natural and should be expected, and as an afterthought I texted him to say that although we mostly had spoken about the difficult traits that his ex displayed, that I trusted that she had many wonderful qualities that lead him to want to marry her. The same goes for Mr. O.

Yesterday morning when I was driving to work I heard a Vance Joy song that I don't think I'd heard before that seemed to sum up our discussion perfectly: "Mess is Mine."

Do you like walking in the rain?

When you think of love, do you think of pain?

You can tell me what you see

I will choose what I believe...

Well hold on, my darling

This mess was yours,

Now your mess is mine

Your mess is mine 

Read more: Vance Joy - Mess Is Mine Lyrics | MetroLyrics

When I went to look up the song and buy the album, I discovered that Vance Joy also sings one of  my other recent favorite radio finds: 

Lady, running down to the riptide

Taken away to the dark side

I wanna be your left hand man

I love you when you're singing that song and

I got a lump in my throat because

You're gonna sing the words wrong

Read more: Vance Joy - Riptide Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

Pretty much the whole album Dream Your Life Away make an excellent sound track to our relationship: 

Don't walk too proud, don't talk too loud

And make it up as you go

And take whatever you are given

And leave what you think you know

At the door

As she said

You could be my kind of man

And will you do the best you can

And I could use a little time

I need to straighten out my mind

Read more: Vance Joy - My Kind Of Man Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Also, the music video feature a taxi-driving polar bear in a country where the steering wheel is on the left. Mr. P would make a decent polar bear, although he leans more towards the mongoose or aptly named marten, which is not quite a weasel but close. I will revel his pet name for me at a later date. Prepared to be scandalized. ;)

In other news: I have a new self-portrait series in the works. Modeled after ‎Alfred Stieglitz's portraits of Georgia O'Keefe. I love that so often the focus of the image is her hands. Of course I can't resist a feminist bent: it will be an exploration of the male gaze versus the self-presentation inherent in self-portraiture. Or I'm just a narcissist...