Why I haven't updated recently

Hello all.
Just thought I should apologize for not updating this blog in the last month. I have lots of things to write about, but I don't think I will have time until the new year. I've been swamped with work for graduate school applications, end-of-the-semester Bengali stuff, and planning for a big trip that I'm taking over Christmas break. Some of the highlights that I plan to post at a later point:

Durga Puja
My trip to Orissa after Durga Puja
Kali Puja
Jagoddhatri Puja in Chandannagar
Our class trip to Bishnapur

And - coming up - my epic trip around Northern India, including stops in Varanasi, Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, and Lucknow. 

The Week Before Puja

I put off posting this so that my last blog post would not be lost in the mix. The Sunday before that happened, a friend’s friend came from Dhaka to visit Kolkata, so I met up with her and her mom to check out the city a little bit. First we walked around Robindra Sadan a little bit, visiting the art gallery in the Academy, and then visited the Victoria Memorial. I hadn’t been to the Victoria Memorial before; it’s a giant Raj-era building near Robindra Sadan. There’s a museum inside, but it was closing just as we got there. After that, we caught a taxi to take us to the other tourist attractions that my new friend wanted to see. We drove over the two bridges (this was my first time on the other side of the river), past Howrah station, and, after waiting for traffic while getting over the bridge, went to Princep Ghat, which is right near the base of the new bridge. After that, we had the taxi driver drop us off near Park Street metro station, drank some tea, and then I went home.

On Wednesday I took Aniket around the neighborhood, showing him where the market and stores are. On Thursday (as I wrote in my last post), I went to Rabindro Sadan to see a Bengali-language production of Hamlet. The play was quite well done. The biggest question I had before seeing it was how the “to be or not to be” line was translated, as there is no “to be” verb in Bangla that works that way. It was translated as “to survive or to die,” which, while getting the point across, doesn’t quite have the poetic sense that the English version does. When I came out of the theatre I failed at getting transportation for the first time in Kolkata. After waiting through three completely packed trains I gave up going on the metro, and decided to get a taxi. And then I hunted for a taxi for about an hour. I had just about given up and started to go back to try the metro again, when I met an older woman who was also trying to find a cab. She was nice enough to give me a ride when she finally found one.

On Friday in class we had a guest speaker who was my favorite so far. He was a mat weaver – one of the people who weaves a special type of reed into mats and other products. We talked about everything from cultivating the reeds to marketing the product to where he gets inspiration for new designs. He brought in a lot of samples to demonstrate his work; I bought a folding mat that can be used for pretty much anything. That night, Bennett and I went to see a play by Tagore called Acholoyoton. It was extremely well done, and I think that I will see it again later.

A Serious Post on Being a Foreign Woman in South Asia

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            I really debated about posting this on my blog, mostly because it would worry members of my family who follow it. However, I decided that the more this issue is discussed the better, so I wrote this post for the benefit of all women travelers.

            It is not okay to harass women. It is wrong. This goes for women of all ages, colors, and nationalities, and is true in all countries. I don’t usually make sweeping generalizations like this, but in this case I feel that this needs to be emphasized.

            As a woman, I have occasionally felt unsafe in Bangladesh. When I walked down the street, men might make comments like “very nice,” that were completely unsolicited and unwanted. I found that I attracted much less attention if I wore my orna over my head, like a hijab, so that they would not see my blond hair. However, the comments, stares, etc. never went beyond that.  I have just had my first real experience with sexual harassment, and it was in India, not Bangladesh.

            Before talking about the incident that encouraged me to write this post, I need to mention two things. First, as a white woman, I am automatically an 11 on the typical South Asian scale of beauty. This is regardless of how I actually look, because pale skin is the number one deciding factor here. Standing next to an Indian who has truly beautiful features, skin, hair, etc., I will still (usually, and speaking in vast generalizations) win because of my pale skin. This can be a curse, sometimes, because it can attract all of the wrong attention. I encourage female tourists to keep this in mind.

            Second, I took a self-defense class last semester that focused on both physical and mental self-defense (website: http://www.impactselfdefense.org/).  I was fully prepared for the situation that I found myself in, and quickly recognized it for what it was. This allowed me to steer it away from anything that would be truly dangerous. I encourage all women (regardless of whether they are traveling) to take a similar self-defense class. From my experience, I can say that it was incredibly empowering to know that I understood what was going on and knew how to handle it. I was in control. The rest of this post will be a description of what happened. My hope is that this will be useful to foreign women living in or visiting South Asia.

            It started as I was going to Robindra Sadan to see Hamlet, which was scheduled to be performed at the Academy. As I got down off of the metro, a well-dressed man in his mid-30s asked me in English if I knew where Nandan, the film screening center, was. I said yes, and pointed him in the right direction. He followed me, and asked for more directions. I said that I was going in that direction, and I could show him where it was.

            This was my first mistake. If the man had actually been lost, would he have chosen to ask the white girl instead of the whole platform of Bengalis? I doubt it. At this point, I assumed that he was a tourist from another part of India, but a moment after I offered this, I realized that he spoke Bengali. I continued to talk to him in Bengali for the rest of the time, and (for better or worse) the Bengali practice was the reason that I did not cut him off sooner than I did.

            He followed me out of the metro turnstile, going through on my token. First, this is illegal; second, why would a nicely dressed man need to cheat on a 4-8 rupee metro ride? Surely he’d have the money for that. As soon as that happened, I thought about talking exposing him to the guards, but thought that maybe he had just lost his token or something. He followed me up to the exit, where it was pouring down rain. I wasn’t deterred by this, because I had my umbrella. Since I was still (ostensibly) showing him where to go, he tried to squeeze under my umbrella as well. This is where the real creepiness started, because as we were walking through the pouring rain in the Rabindra Sadan grounds, he put his arm around me. I couldn’t really move away, because of the rain, but I turned away as much as possible. At this point, his actions could still have been because my umbrella was very small and we were trying to squeeze two people under it. I showed him the Nandan ticket counter, but now he wanted to go to the play I was seeing. Of course he did.

            Note to the female tourist: physical touching between people of different genders is not accepted in Bengali culture. If a man is touching you anywhere, in any way, (assuming you’re not in a crowd, where it could be accidental) than it’s absolutely unacceptable.

            I couldn’t see a way of getting rid of him (besides threatening him or finding a guard), so I decided to put up with him and just go about my business until I figured it out. At this point, I was more annoyed than anything, because I would have to be super-vigilant and aware of where he was and what he was doing, rather than being able to focus on what I had come to Rabindra Sadan to see. I went to the Academy ticket counter to buy tickets. He, of course, wanted to come to the play as well. I wanted to sit in front so that I would be able to hear; when he heard the ticket prices, he wanted to sit in the cheaper seats toward the back. But then he paid for both of the tickets.

            A cultural note: Someone else paying for tickets or otherwise being extremely generous is common in Bengali culture.  If someone offers to pay for you, it’s not necessarily a sign of ulterior motives. In this case, as you can see, it doesn’t really make sense that he would want the cheap seats and then pay for both.

            Back under the umbrella, and I was still attempting to figure out how best to get rid of him. We walked into the art gallery, where I could get away from him, at least a little bit. I took my time looking at the art, knowing I was in a public and well-lit place. Several times he tried to stand too close to me; I moved away and faced toward him. Personal space is somewhat different here; people quite often stand closer together than they would in the US. However, what he was doing was different; he was constantly leaning toward me, far more than someone who was trying to have a conversation would. Several times he tried to put his arm around me, but I told him off.

            Then he wanted to take a picture on his phone. This is one aspect that I had definitely experienced before. Female tourists: if you can avoid it, don’t allow them to take pictures of you. It gives them an opportunity to put their arm around you. I don’t know what they use the picture for. However, it is common in Bengali culture to take pictures with (new) friends, so don’t be overly paranoid about it unless the person who is taking the picture is worrying you otherwise. I told him that I hated having my picture taken like this, because it happened to me in Bangladesh all the time (this is true).

            He also asked for my phone number, which I said I could not give to him because it was prohibited by the institute. Female tourists: people (not in this situation) often ask you’re your number; don’t give it to anyone, unless you really do want to talk to them again. If they’re insistent, I usually say that I can take their number, which I promptly erase as soon as I’m away from them.

Having finished seeing the gallery, it had stopped raining so we walked around to the theatre entrance. I had hoped that it would be open, but it wasn’t. He insisted on getting a tea while we were waiting (I think so he could walk under the umbrella again, since it had started raining.) I took him to the tea stall immediately outside the gate, and stood under the umbrella in the rain so I could stay away from him.  It was raining really hard again as we walked back, so, to get rid of him, I moved the umbrella toward me and walked slowly so he would get wet. He took the bait and ran the last twenty feet or so, which made me relieved. After this, he kept mentioning how wet we both were, and touching my soaked sleeve and bag. At this point, I just wanted to get away from him; his depravity was becoming more and more clear as time went on. I tried to give him his ticket (and was going to talk the usher into giving me a seat away from him), but he wouldn’t accept it so I just figured that we would at least be separated by an armrest. He also had mentioned that he couldn’t stay for the whole play, so I was holding onto the hope that he would, indeed, leave early. My seat ended up being on an aisle, next to another group of people, which I was happy about. The armrest was, indeed, useful, but again he leaned so far toward me that he was constantly touching me with the side of his arm.

            This is when the really sketchy stuff started. I had my bag in my lap, and he touched it and said that I should put it over the chair in front of me because it was soaked. It was soaked, but so was I so it didn’t really matter. Then he tried to tell me that all of the women in the room (except me) were ugly because of their dark skin, fat faces, and wide noses, and that I was pretty because of my lovely white skin. He also said that everyone in America looked like me, which gave me an excuse to move the conversation in a completely different direction. He didn’t like that very much, but I kept telling him how there are people in America from everywhere in the world, etc. until he got bored. I told him not to touch me again. Then when the play started I told him to shut up because I was listening to it. About five minutes into the play his phone rang and he left, telling me to call him (as if!).

            Reflecting back on this situation, I can see all of the places where I could have stopped it. I think I made some right decisions after I figured out what was going on. Sticking to my original plan for the night was a good idea, since it allowed me to stay in well-lit, public places.  I stayed aware of where he was, what he was doing and saying, at all times. When I was uncomfortable with him touching me, I told him to stop. I think, in the end, he was frustrated by the experience, while I was not at all harmed. That is the important thing. Lessons that I have learned are: as soon as someone starts to give you the creeps, or does something that doesn’t make sense with how they look, immediately get away from them. If I had told the guards in the metro station, it would have ended right then and there. Make other people talk about themselves; I wish I had done this more, because maybe he would have gotten the hint that I was onto him. I also learned where my limits are; next time, I will put a stop to this kind of thing much, much sooner.

            I hope this account of one woman’s experience of sexual harassment in Kolkata is helpful for others. I decided to post this online in order to encourage dialogue; I believe that open communication on these issues is important for changing how these situations are approached and dealt with. Men like this need to be told that they can’t use other people in this way. The only way that we can really make it safer for women is by speaking out against these kinds of actions and people, through truthful, clear dialogue about what is and is not acceptable. 

Gandhi’s birthday week

Hello all! I’m in the middle of applying for graduate schools, so much of my free time this week was spent emailing, replying, drafting essays, and filling out online forms. I therefore have less to report than in the last few weeks. I had my second dance class, in which I was marginally better than last week. Tuesday was Gandhi’s birthday, a free day which I spent working on my applications. On Wednesday I went to a play that told the story of Pandu from the Mahabharata. The costumes were quite good, but the sound quality was terrible so it didn’t help my Bangla at all.

On Friday we had a henna artist come in for an interview and demonstration during our last class. Apparently guys also get henna occasionally here; they usually want it to look like a tattoo. The three guys in my class all got a henna tattoo on their forearm, while I had a pretty design on my left hand. After class we went on a class trip to see the Marble Palace. I hadn’t realized the first time, but the family still lives in the house. It’s like the country houses of the wealthy British landowners in the 1800s; the house is open for tours by strangers, but the family still lives there. After we left, we went to the street food place that my friend took me to last week; I tried something similar to gelapi called amriti, It’s very similar, but not as sweet. And, of course, I also drank two cups of tea. Afterward I walked to College Street, bought a book, then went to Rabindra Sadan. Meeting Bennett there, we went to a play that his host brother had told him about. It’s name was “Draupadi” and it ended up being an excellent production about female war victims that was in the Monipuri language. I was really impressed with how well they conveyed the meaning of the story through their motions (it was almost like a dance) even though most of the audience would not understand what they said. 

Robindro Sadan, dance lessons, Thakur Bari, and train tickets!

I recently joined Couchsurfing.com, with the plan to meet more people here. On Monday I met up with my first CS friend, Tori. She showed me around Robindro Sadan, one of the artistic hubs of the city. First we walked through the information center, behind which there is a lake with a great view of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Walking around the side of the lake we came to a complex where several arts buildings are – two theatres, one for live performances and one for movies, a children’s theatre, and an art gallery. After looking around the art gallery, we walked down the street to the Cathedral. Finding it closed, we went and poked around the Birla Planetarium and then went to watch a fountain show in the park across the street. All of this was lovely (I think Rabindro Sadan is my second favorite place in Kolkata, after College Street), except for the fact that Tori doesn’t really speak Bangla! From the perspective of my language learning, it was a wasted evening.

On Thursday I had my first dance lesson. I am learning Classical Indian dance (or the Bengali variety, maybe) from a girl who has been learning since she was three years old. As in all first lessons, I was terrible; I hope that I improve quickly.

In our last class on Friday, we learned how to play a board game (it was a lot like Parcheesi). We were split into two teams, and Steve and I won. Afterward we visited Thakur Bari, or the Tagore home. It is now a museum dedicated to Rabindranath especially, although his father and other important family members are also highlighted. The house is huge, but must have been very nice when people were actually living in it. Two rooms made a big impression on me: first, the room where Rabindranath died, which is a beautiful room, with an inlaid marble floor and flowers in front of a picture of him; and second, the Tagore birthing room. This is a small room where women were taken when they went into labor, and then where they were kept for 21 days afterward (according to my teacher). What struck me about this room is that it was tiny – the size of a small walk-in closet.   I asked why the woman was kept in such a tiny room for so long, and my teacher said that the mortality rate was so high that they wanted to keep them away from the rest of the family.

On Saturday I spent 12 hours running around Kolkata. My first stop was the Foreign Tourists’ Board, where I was going to buy train tickets so I can go out of town for the few days after Puja. My plan was to try for Puri; if that wasn’t available, Benaras; if that wasn’t available, Bodh Gaya. Luckily, I got the ticket to Puri, and there were no problems getting it, except for the fact that I had to wait for three hours before I got to the counter. Afterward, I met up with another friend from Couchsurfing, Prithvi, who showed me around the area. I had walked to the Tourists’ board from the Central metro stop, so I on had gotten a pretty good idea of the layout of BBD Bagh (the West Bengal government district). Prithvi first took me to get some organic ice cream which, to my surprise, was sold out of a terracotta pot full of ice on the street behind the Writers’ Building (where the government offices are located). Saffron ice cream is surprisingly delicious. Afterward, we took a bus to the Marble Palace, an old mansion filled with really expensive European works of art (and inlaid marble floors throughout). For lunch, he took me to a street vendor that sells Pau bheja, a street food I had never seen before. It is vegetables (including tomatoes, bell peppers, and green onions) mixed with spices and cooked into a sauce, served with some hot buttered bread. In India, street food is generally served in organic, disposable containers, like leaves or terracotta cups. The Pau bheja was served in plates made out of leaves stitched together and pressed into shape. The tea that we had next (at a stand across the street) was served in terracotta cups. Saying goodbye to Prithvi, I went to the Indian museum. The museum houses a large collection of archaeological discoveries, especially from the Buddhist period, and some paintings by Abanindranath and Rabindranath Tagore and Nandalal Bose. One of the things that annoy me, however, is that in India you have to check your bag pretty much everywhere you go. This is true for museums and stores. I hate having to leave my bag outside, and having to carry my important things (like my wallet) in my hand the entire time. After leaving the Indian Museum, I went to Rabindro Sadan and shopped around in a book fair. I don’t understand why, when people ask me if I can read Bengali, they do that in English. If I have been standing in your shop for fifteen minutes looking at the Bengali titles, I think it’s pretty obvious; also, if I can read Bengali why would I not be able to speak it? Finally, at six PM I went to a folk music performance that was held in the Rabindro Sadan theater. It was very good, although it mostly focused on drum performances. There’s only so long I can enjoy drumming before it starts to get boring. There was, however, a very good dotara player as well as some interesting percussion instruments (a large terracotta jug), something that may have been a didgeridoo, and one song performed by a guy making noises with his mouth (as in, hitting his cheeks to make percussion noises).

Kumartuli

Friday was a long but very good day. It started with receiving an email from AIIS saying that they have officially received their grant, so my fellowship does, in fact, include funding! Yay!

In class, we had our second monolingual guest: a puppeteer and ventriloquist. He was really fun to talk to, and definitely an entertainer. He had brought four of his puppets, and gave us a demonstration. Besides performing for entertainment, he also creates skits that deliver public service announcements like “don’t get married until you’re 18,” which he then presents in villages.

After lunch, we went on a trip to Kumartuli, a “potter’s colony” in North Kolkata. This is where they make the clay images of Durga that are used in Durga Puja. Because we visited nearly a month before the Puja, we were able to see all of the stages of creating the sculptures. It starts with a model made out of straw, which is covered with layers of clay and cloth (kind of like paper-mache). When the image is fully constructed, it is painted and then dressed.

After leaving the potters’ area and walking for a few minutes, we came to the banks of the Ganges. Boats docked nearby are used to transport clay for use by the potters. As we were looking at the river, we saw a school of river dolphins that surfaced occasionally. After drinking tea out of small pottery glasses in a cha stand by the river, we walked back to the car a different direction. We stopped once more, to taste the famous street food of this one intersection (I’ve forgotten the name of it!). It was my first time at a very small food establishment in India, where they serve the 7.5-rupee meal on a piece of palm leaf. 

And now... pictures!

A Kite Story

What is the perfect toy to have if you live on a roof? Answer: a kite! If you’ve been following this blog, you know that I’ve wanted a kite since the first day I got to Kolkata. This week I learned the word (ghuri), bought one, and flew one.

Monday was Viswakarma Puja, a holiday that is mainly celebrated by the working classes. It also is the day of a kite festival, and about a month before Durga Puja, so it starts the festive season. I asked my teachers where I could find a kite workshop (where they are made), because I like to buy things in the place that’s known for them so I can see how they’re constructed and talk to the people there. He said that there was a place in North Kolkata named Furiya Pukur where there may be a workshop. I took the metro to North Kolkata, then asked directions to find Furiya Pukur. It ended up being a small side street off of a sidewalk-bazaar lined road.

(Side story: One of the people I asked about directions was really funny. He was one of the vendors in the bazaar, I think selling juice and that sort of thing. He looked at me stunned as I asked for directions in Bengali. In English, he said, “You speak Bangla? Congratulations!” grabbed my hand, and shook it a few times. Then he gave me directions in English.)

Furiya Pukur is an alley lined with old buildings and two or three kite shops. Because it was the day of the kite festival, there were large crowds around each of the shops. I didn’t find any open workshops, but I did buy three kites, string, and a large wooden spool. Then carried all of it home on the subway, and miraculously none of the kites were smashed and destroyed.

My first day flying a kite here ended in failure, because I strung it the wrong way (I know, I know. Kite 101. But it’s different than the other ones I’ve ever strung). On Wednesday my teachers gave me another kite, a larger one with a tail, that was already strung.  I took it home and flew it. It caught the wind really quickly and I managed to fly it really high. After about 40 minutes, I decided to start bringing it back in. As I was doing this, some kids across the street, who had come out to fly kites a little bit before, got their kite near my string. The kite came up, the string of my kite, and away flew my nice big kite.

Moral of the story: Make sure you know how to fight kites before you fly a kite in a place where they’re fighting them.