There are two ways to experience India. One is from a safe and respectable distance, sitting on the balcony of some comfy hotel with fancy western toilets and showers that run hot water. There is nothing wrong with this India. It is perfectly acceptable and even preferable for those who are light of heart and stomach. This India will not drive you to hallucinations of midnight laser fights (true story) but it also won't inspire a blog.
The other way of experiencing India is by going all in. And by all I mean ALL frickin' IN. Forget western toilets, heck, forget toilet paper. Showers are for the weak. You will now use a bucket of water you either get yourself from the communal spout or that a friendly neighbor will bring you. Your bed won't be a bed so much as an assortment of fluff and monkeys will regularly break into your room and steal food, or shiny things, or really anything they want because they're monkeys. Sounds amazing, right? It is. And it's better than the sanitized version of India because it's the only way to understand the way millions of people live.
Hands down the best accommodations we had were when we stayed with an Indian family, the Pandeys in Haridwar. The Pandeys were old friends of our professor, providing him with housing as he completed his doctoral work on the Kumbh Mela festival. There was the father Mr. Pandey, a kind gentleman who took to wearing a fur hat our entire stay, mother Mrs. Pandey, son Himanchu and daughter Vasudeva (Vasu). The Pandeys owned a four story home that included several guest rooms generally rented out to pilgrims. We were incredibly lucky that we were invited to stay with the Pandeys and share their home as we visited the Ganges and nearby temples. The physical space itself wasn't much different from some of the hostels we stayed in, but the family made it a unique and warm experience with home cooking, nights on the roof flying kites, the Pandey ladies taking us saree shopping and not laughing as I showed them the old lady saree I inadvertently bought, oh and Bollywood dance parties.
You read that right. Before I even knew what was what in the world of Bollywood,Vasu brought out a little black radio, blared some (what I now know was) old school Lata Mangeshkar and we danced. Those who know me well will know this was a highlight. Those who don't know me well just need to know that my "About Me" portion of Facebook has only six words: Singer of Songs, Dancer of Dances.
Our visit to the Pandeys happened to fall on Mr. Pandey's birthday and we celebrated with delicious food and by sitting in a semi-circle and listening to stories from Mr. Pandey's youth. We ate and laughed, and laughed some more. It was great. Mr. Pandey then asked us for a birthday gift. He would be very happy, he said, if each of us would sing him a song. Shouts of "okay!" could be heard as my fellow travelers, many of whom were music majors (specifically VOCAL PERFORMANCE music majors) beamed in Mr. Pandey's direction. The good news was the singing started on the exact opposite end of the semi-circle giving me at least seven turns before I was expected to sing. The bad news was my brain went into meltdown mode (I'm assuming this is a common thing among those of the introvert persuasion) and I couldn't think of a single song I knew the complete lyrics to. This is ridiculous for a number of reasons, foremost is that obviously there are songs I know all the lyrics to (you saw the part where I called my self "Singer of Songs," right?) and then to make it even better the only song I could think of was Madonna's Like a Virgin. Umm yeah. I maybe could have come up with something else if I hadn't been distracted by resident nice-guy, captain swim-team, boy next door from Iowa who happens to study Sanskrit didn't bust out with Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise and knew ALL OF THE LYRICS. Complete silence followed his first verse, then we all sang the chorus as he rapped the other nine versus.
My turn at last and while I can be socially awkward at times even I know it's not okay to sing Like a Virgin at a birthday party for anyone. ever. So what do I sing?
Say, say, oh playmate,
Come out and play with me
And bring your dollies three
Climb up my apple tree
Shout down my rain barrel
Slide down my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more
Say, say, oh playmate
I cannot play with you
My dolly's got the flu
Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo
Ain't got no rain barrel
Ain't got no cellar door
But we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more
It's an old nursery rhyme my mom and grandma used to sing and at that point I hadn't heard it in at least ten years. Why did it suddenly come into my head? Why did I then decide to let it out? And why did my voice crack when I sang the Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo? I was too mortified to register the reaction of our host, or my anyone else for that matter. What I do know is there was request for another round of songs but conveniently it was "getting late" before it reached my turn again. Hey, believe me guys it was as painful for me as it was for you. I'm glad that I at least had the opportunity to redeem myself later that night with some mean dance skillz.
The other way of experiencing India is by going all in. And by all I mean ALL frickin' IN. Forget western toilets, heck, forget toilet paper. Showers are for the weak. You will now use a bucket of water you either get yourself from the communal spout or that a friendly neighbor will bring you. Your bed won't be a bed so much as an assortment of fluff and monkeys will regularly break into your room and steal food, or shiny things, or really anything they want because they're monkeys. Sounds amazing, right? It is. And it's better than the sanitized version of India because it's the only way to understand the way millions of people live.
Hands down the best accommodations we had were when we stayed with an Indian family, the Pandeys in Haridwar. The Pandeys were old friends of our professor, providing him with housing as he completed his doctoral work on the Kumbh Mela festival. There was the father Mr. Pandey, a kind gentleman who took to wearing a fur hat our entire stay, mother Mrs. Pandey, son Himanchu and daughter Vasudeva (Vasu). The Pandeys owned a four story home that included several guest rooms generally rented out to pilgrims. We were incredibly lucky that we were invited to stay with the Pandeys and share their home as we visited the Ganges and nearby temples. The physical space itself wasn't much different from some of the hostels we stayed in, but the family made it a unique and warm experience with home cooking, nights on the roof flying kites, the Pandey ladies taking us saree shopping and not laughing as I showed them the old lady saree I inadvertently bought, oh and Bollywood dance parties.
You read that right. Before I even knew what was what in the world of Bollywood,Vasu brought out a little black radio, blared some (what I now know was) old school Lata Mangeshkar and we danced. Those who know me well will know this was a highlight. Those who don't know me well just need to know that my "About Me" portion of Facebook has only six words: Singer of Songs, Dancer of Dances.
Our visit to the Pandeys happened to fall on Mr. Pandey's birthday and we celebrated with delicious food and by sitting in a semi-circle and listening to stories from Mr. Pandey's youth. We ate and laughed, and laughed some more. It was great. Mr. Pandey then asked us for a birthday gift. He would be very happy, he said, if each of us would sing him a song. Shouts of "okay!" could be heard as my fellow travelers, many of whom were music majors (specifically VOCAL PERFORMANCE music majors) beamed in Mr. Pandey's direction. The good news was the singing started on the exact opposite end of the semi-circle giving me at least seven turns before I was expected to sing. The bad news was my brain went into meltdown mode (I'm assuming this is a common thing among those of the introvert persuasion) and I couldn't think of a single song I knew the complete lyrics to. This is ridiculous for a number of reasons, foremost is that obviously there are songs I know all the lyrics to (you saw the part where I called my self "Singer of Songs," right?) and then to make it even better the only song I could think of was Madonna's Like a Virgin. Umm yeah. I maybe could have come up with something else if I hadn't been distracted by resident nice-guy, captain swim-team, boy next door from Iowa who happens to study Sanskrit didn't bust out with Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise and knew ALL OF THE LYRICS. Complete silence followed his first verse, then we all sang the chorus as he rapped the other nine versus.
 |
| Yep. That was pretty much my reaction. |
Say, say, oh playmate,
Come out and play with me
And bring your dollies three
Climb up my apple tree
Shout down my rain barrel
Slide down my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more
Say, say, oh playmate
I cannot play with you
My dolly's got the flu
Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo
Ain't got no rain barrel
Ain't got no cellar door
But we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more
It's an old nursery rhyme my mom and grandma used to sing and at that point I hadn't heard it in at least ten years. Why did it suddenly come into my head? Why did I then decide to let it out? And why did my voice crack when I sang the Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo? I was too mortified to register the reaction of our host, or my anyone else for that matter. What I do know is there was request for another round of songs but conveniently it was "getting late" before it reached my turn again. Hey, believe me guys it was as painful for me as it was for you. I'm glad that I at least had the opportunity to redeem myself later that night with some mean dance skillz.
