This is a temple. People are getting married.Seriously. The Lays chips we bought in the hypermarket are packets of Ruffles-ridged chips. They come in stranger flavours too. I say stranger because I'm Singaporean and I am assuming that I live in the center of the universe and that everything I think is correct and perfect and the way it should go. More or less.
I am just kidding, but I do know someone who thinks exactly like that and it bugs me a hell lot. But never mind about that.
The Lays are Ruffles. I feel somewhat cheated, although I like the ridges on the chips. But enough about the chips.
Last night we watched Garden State in one of the lecture halls here. We were invited by a random student we met at the 12pm-2am-cafe, and we went in and everyone agreed to watch it (I had a sneaking suspicion that it would come across as slow and boring) - everyone being Random Student & His Sister, Nuria, Kash, Leigh and Me. There was also a Random Boy whom I think works for the cafe cause he came in halfway through and took our plates and cups away. It was surreal, to say the least, that we'd be in India, on a continent so vast and far from home, watching Garden State.
Two nights ago Leigh and I were at another cafe, it's a 24-hour shack called Chorti (guessing here, cut me some slack) which is on campus and we met our student guides Sumit (still guessing) and Amit (this one is correct, we asked, he spelt) there. So 4 of us sat around this quiet area with trees and talked about everything under the sun (in this case it was a droopy-eyed pale moon).
Through the conversation we discovered the accuracy of the following stereotypes:
1) Indians love Cricket. Or in Amit's words: We Indians love our cricket. As a note, right now a bunch of the students on campus are engaged in a game of cricket just outside my window.
2) Indians love to talk. And are argumentative. The first part is true, the second part was raised (by Amit) in a bookstore yesterday afternoon in the mall when we saw The Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen.
I can't think of a third, so I shall skip this section and delve further into a chronologically-illogical description of our 3 days here.
We attended an Indian wedding the 2nd day we were here, the Director of the school (Mudra Institute of Communication, Ahmedabad) invited all of us to his daughter's wedding, which was a 3-day affair - we'd already missed 2 days, the second day of it was the dancing part (which would have been a blast too), and the 3rd day was the ceremony at the temple on campus. I have not ascertained the exact deity the temple is devoted too, but it was a nice event.
This is one of the symbolic decorations of the wedding.They solemnise the wedding at the temple, then a car takes them somewhere else, whilst the guests walked toward the open field. Chairs were set around bonfires (?) for guests to warm themselves during the chilly open air event. Fireworks went off in the sky, faculty members came up to introduce themselves to us, and we introduced them to awkward silences and Nuria's Constrained Smile. It's not that we're unfriendly, we're just Asian and unsure how to make effective small talk.
After awhile, the bride and groom came along and we went to congratulate them, later they had a small feeding-each-other ritual before ascending a stage with 2 chairs. Guests would take turns to go up to the stage and have their photos taken with the lovely couple. In Singaporean Chinese weddings we have the lucky couple hover to different tables to have their photos taken. Efficiency is a virtue I suppose.
After this the guests proceeded to the buffet area, where tents had been set-up complete with nice tables and waiters in black bow ties serving a crazy number of dishes. The chicken and mutton were excellently prepared.
We met more students there, and like all the people we've met here thus far, extremely friendly and great conversationalists.
A sidenote to night 1 here - with no reference to the above portion, when we were picked up at the airport, we landed in a tiny airport which has a bus to pick one up and drive 100m to a small building similar in size to the offices of the bus interchange officers back home. Farm smells permeate the air, mosquitoes (slightly twice the size of our local breeds) weave their ways through the queue of people and before you know it you're waiting 40 mins + for your luggage to get onto a conveyor belt. People get a little frustrated, some get a little crazier and begin clapping their hands and cheering the belt on as if a camera hid somewhere and they were on Wheel of Fortune calling for big money (which if you ask me makes absolutely no sense at all).
We head through their customs, make a right dragging our luggage along, and head for the exit. Whoosh, the doors slide open, and because my camera was lodged deep inside my bag, I don't have a picture for you; but imagine a cool night alert with the sounds of blaring horns, both sides of the exit sliding doors jam-packed with people, each one eagerly looking out for relatives, and as you walk out 200,000 eyes are on you, and not just glancing - staring intensely deconstructing your every movement, your facial expression, your clothes, your hair, and in this suffocating mass you see a small A4-sized printout with the words in black, bold Times New Roman: MICA, landscaped and held aloft. Smile at the adoring fans and into the fray. And yes, now I understand why celebrities wanted to become celebrities. Somewhat.
In the SUV headed to MICA I have a weirding out experience, which I have to keep from this blog because I don't think my literary skills are able to accurately depict a slightly homophobic situation without offending. No offense is intended because it was an innocent strange thing. And no dear Singaporeans, it's got nothing to do with holding hands. If you must, you can ask Leigh, she was perceptive enough to notice. Even through my attempted poker face.
Okay, I've just returned from jogging with Leigh around the campus (okay, not JUST returned, but that's the last thing I did before this), and I'm eating Lays and typing this. Nuria and Kash have gone to see the cricket match, and Leigh is doing something in her room.
I have taken photographs of most of my meals here.
I am too lazy to add photos now.
Erwin Nah
p.s. yesterday we went to different malls. I bought 4-5 books I think.
p.p.s. we are holed up in a temporary hostel. We bathe in a toilet with a pail and scoop. I shall post a step-by-step guide later.
p.p.p.s. the Lays leave an odd tangy-salty aftertaste.
This is where we live. The lighted room is the toilet with a full-length mirror.
1 comment:
i miss you!
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