I know, you don't believe it, but I am a Mormon...

This video explains very succinctly one of the big reasons that I'm a fan and an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints/LDS/Mormon church. I love my family, all the different crazy branches of it--Mormon, Jewish, Sikh, Mexican-American, Romanian, Punjabi Indian, European mutt. I'm constantly amazed by the similarities that pop up across the ethnic and generational divides.

I am grateful for those that have gathered and retold and recorded stories of my ancestors

-GSG (Bapu) for tape recording his parent's telling their crazy life stories (Beji was a hoot and a half, and a strong independent woman & loving mother) and for taking me on a military-march style tour of Punjab, where he was raised Sikh before moving to America to attend college and join the crazy Mormons, who's doctrine made more sense to him. Thankfully, for the benefit of all his brothers and consequently nieces and nephews, he did not abandon his family when he switched religions, and he is somewhat responsible for a vast number of organic rouge grapes being produced in Cali & for bringing Kansas the plant genetics genius BG.

-GoGo for asking her mother-in-law all sorts of questions about her family: how she grew up in Canada as the child of Romanian immigrants and how she managed a mental illness with motherhood with the support of an excellent husband and father Julius. (who was also a haberdasher, just wanted to throw out that word. No mad hatter, as far as I know.) GoGo has shared these collected stories with her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and also with me. (I need to record more of her memories before it's too late and will be eternally grateful that she took such an interest in her husband's family history.);

-I miss Mom/Grandma Betty frequently and am so glad that I got to know her personally and hear her stories, even if I often refused to learn the lessons that she was trying to pass on. (It is with very typical family stubbornness that as she would attempt to tame my tangled locks and my eyes would sting with tears, I would listen to her recount how she had been too proud to speak up when it hurt when a family friend had combed her hair at my age, and although she was counseling me to do the exact opposite, I refrained from telling her how painful her combing was because I was strong and thought I had to prove it.)

-The actualy Aunt Flo, for helping her children put together a book recounting stories like that of fireman/dairyman/cotton farmer Daddy Joe, my great-grandpa and the youngest son of polygamist Helaman Pratt, who raised his families in Mexico once polygamy was outlawed in the US/Utah. Daddy Joe's mother, Bertha, was having no luck finding a husband in Utah, and so moved to Mexico after visiting her sister and becoming the 4th wife to her sister's husband. After Helaman's death, the two sisters set up household together, with Bertha teaching school to support them financially and her sister raising the children and managing the household full time. I'm related to Mitt Romney through this line, somehow.

Hopefully my facts aren't too mangled. These are the stories that are in my brain and heart and inform my identity as a proud Caucajewmexdian. As I type these, I see that all 4 branches held women, strong and faithful matriarchs, of great power and influence for good in the world and their families. I am honored to live in their legacy and hope that I add my own stories worth passing down!

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.