A MALAYALI WEDDING IN TAMIL NADU

I’m going to start this post with a quick lesson in Southern Indian geography for any one listening in at home. India, much like the US, is divided into various states; the two southern most states being Kerala (on the west coast) and Tamil Nadu (on the east coast). Unlike the US, each state has its own language and cultural nuances. In Kerala the language spoken is Malayalam with a Malayali cultural divergence; in Tamil Nadu the language is Tamil with a Tamil cultural divergence. The wedding I attended this past weekend happened right on the southernmost border of the two states; thus a Malayali wedding in the state of Tamil Nadu.

AN AMERICAN PREPARES FOR AN INDIAN WEDDING: A COMEDY

Preparations are a big part of any wedding event; anywhere you go in the world. Generally when one hears the word “preparation” associated with a wedding they assume reference is being made to what the bride and groom have gone through to make ready for the big event. It is true that the bride and groom, more specifically the bride, take the trophy home for the one devoting the most energy to preparations for a wedding. However, guests also make wedding preparations.

TRAVELING ALONE... WITH FRIENDS

This year, my travels to Vellore, India have been transected by a long weekend trip to the Southern tip of India for the wedding of a dear friend. I will be writing about the wedding itself in a separate post as well as a posting about the adventures I had while traipsing throughout the deep south to see the sights. But I wanted to take a moment to set the whole tone my weekend adventures.

CURBSIDE COCKTAILS

It was the afternoon of the wedding, just after the first (Bride’s) reception that followed the wedding. My posse of people were waxing hot, and tried and had made the decision to retreat back to our hotel to refresh and cool off before the second (Groom’s) reception that evening. But first: a stop for curbside cocktails (non-alcoholic). Being fairly parched, I took a pause from my photography to quickly agree to partake of the beverage being offered. That is to say, I quickly agreed to it before actually knowing what it was I had agreed to.

SYSTEMS ON STRIKE

This is an open letter to my Indian friends

Dear friends,

There is something you need to understand about me. That is this: when the temperature rises, my appetite and metabolism (i.e. digestive system) go on strike. They outright refuse to work at their contracted pace. Yes, they slog along slowly as they get acclimated to the heat, but by and large they just don't process foods like they do in the cooler temperatures.

NO MORE TROUBLE WITH THE LAW… OR SO I THOUGHT

Upon arrival at CMC Rehab, I am required to check in with the Principal’s office to obtain my badge and let my official volunteer status be recorded. In the past this has been where I get ushered off to the local police station to register my name and housing status. Despite having nothing to hide and having completed everything by the book (or so I think), this is the part that makes me nervous. Last year it took me half the week, multiple trips to the police station, and a change in housing location to finally sort out my issues with registering at the local police station.  

I was delighted this year to discover that I am no longer required to register at the local police station. Instead I was ushered off to the library to fill out and electronically file a vague form, Form C. I don’t exactly know what Form C is all about, but I dutifully filled in the blanks with my name, permanent address, passport and visa number, and any other pertinent information. With the confirmation number in hand, I trotted back to the principal’s office to seal the deal. This process was so much easier to accomplish. This also means that I am free to stay where I choose vs. staying at a location that has previously been registered with the police. Yahoo!

Within 24 hours of arrival, everything was in order and I was at liberty to go about my business… until I got a call at 730 the next morning. This call from an unrecognized number woke me up.

Unidentified caller: “Hello, is this Miss Emily Loonden?”

Me: “Yes.”

Caller: “I am calling from the Bagayam police station. It seems there is a problem with your visa.”

Me: Oh crap! Here we go again! But wait… how in the heck do they even have my visa, I never registered there? And how do they have this phone number? “What is the problem?” (in a frustrated and someone demanding tone)

Caller: “Umm.. Yes. There is a problem. You are going to have to take a flight to Nagpur this very night to try to resolve these issues.”

Me: Oh for the love of Pete! This is ridiculous! And why the heck Nagpur??? Also, this guy’s English is pretty darn good. Tell me what the problem is.

Caller: “Just take a flight this evening and it could be sorted out.”

Me: (long pause) “Neeraj? Is this you?”

Caller: (short paused followed by stifled laughter). “Yes!”

As it turns out, my early morning prank call was an old friend attempting to con me into flying up north to pay him a visit. I tell you what, there’s nothing quite like telling a traveling foreigner that there is something wrong with their traveling papers to get their blood flowing in the morning. Well played, Neeraj. Well played. 

Just a few random photos from around Bagayam... only because a blog post without them seems so very dull. 

DISHKIYAOON

Wednesday was my first full day back at rehab. I’ll be the first to admit I was struggling. I’m not sure if it was the heat or the jet lag, but formulating a complete thought let alone carrying on a logical conversation eluded me. In wandering about the first floor OT gym I noted that not much had changed. The walls had been repainted, a few plinths had been rearranged, and sometime during the past year the decision was made that all patients with spinal cord injuries be treated on the first floor and all the patients with brain injuries would be treated on the ground floor. But all in all, things from the first floor OT gym were by and large the same. Patients arrived at 8am and began their treatments, left at 10am for a tea break, and a second group of patients arrived at 1030am for their treatment and left at 1230pm. Lunch then commenced, and at 2pm the patients returned for therapy until 430pm.

After the morning tea break, I decided I would spend a little time in the newly created pediatrics gym. (Indeed some things have changed… all for the better!) The Prosthetics and Orthotics department that had once occupied the space had been shifted to a newly renovated out-building giving them more room and adequate ventilation. The new pediatrics gym had been converted into a fun space with brightly colored walls, mats and toys.

The new pediatric therapy space.

 Upon entering the gym, I immediately spotted Agnes, the OT I am staying with this time. She is the pediatric occupational therapist at rehab. She was playfully engaged in therapy with one of her little ones, but eagerly invited me to join. I knew her kiddos probably wouldn’t know what to do with me around, and most did revert to a shy and reserved demeanor when I approached. However, one little firecracker of a girl warmed up to me very quickly. She was working on standing balance and side-stepping while gleefully wearing her beautiful Belle (or Beauty and the Beast) gown. It wasn’t long before she was letting me get some hands-on therapy with her. I suppose some of that had to do with the amount of playing we ended up doing. I would argue that a child’s occupation is to play, so might as well have a few laughs while we work on strengthening those hip abductors or core muscles.

Agnes and one of her little people.

Shortly into our session, my tiny friend clasped her little hands together, drew out her index fingers to me, scrunched up her face in a mischievous smile, peered over her glasses and yelled “dishkiyaoon” at me. Her mother reacted in astonishment as my little friend hurled back into a fit of laughter. Agnes lightly and playfully chided the girl as I sat in confusion as to what had just happened. Now, I’m not exactly sure what types of firearms are used here in India, but apparently the sound they make is “dishkiyaoon.” My little friend had just “shot” me. After learning that this befuddling sound meant that an imaginary gun had been fired, I joined the charade by faking a fatal wound the next time her little hands aimed my way. My reaction brought on a cacophony of laughter from more than one of the little ones at therapy. Needless to say, when I enter the pediatric therapy gym I’m often met by a number of fingers pointed my way and a barrage of “dishkiyaoons” excitedly waiting my fatal fall to the ground. And just when I thought they were getting to like me…

My Belle Star

Despite their desire to shoot me whenever I appear, I think I’ll see about spending half my day with the little ones if possible. They are so precious.