Making friends in India

May 1st, 2008 by Bronwen Mander

It has been a fantastic month. Here in this hot and humid Kolkata climate, afternoon naps are common, and really necessary. But I’ve not had much time for them. Here is a very long-winded story that you may or may not have the time to read.

Over the last month or so, I have spent much more time with new Indian friends and I feel positively enriched by the experience. They have all been so warm and welcoming it is hard to explain how moved I feel by it. This is a transformation from the seemingly rude behaviour of the locals (especially men) on the streets, where there is a first-in-first-served attitude for everything.

The Nursery teacher Mousumi and I have become very good friends and we now spend a lot of time together. (Nursery is equivalent to around Kinder/Prep level where they learn nursery rhymes, the abc and 123.) Mousumi invited me to her place for lunch. She says that guests are treated like gods and I certainly was. I was first served with juice, grapes and sweets (Bengalis LOVE their sweets). I then had a fantastic meal of Bengali fried rice, potato curry, paneer (a mild cheese used in curries), fried eggplant (that they call brinjal), fried boiled eggs yum! and chutney like a tomato relish. This was followed by mores sweets and a yoghurt sweetened with jaggery sugar called Mishti Doi. I was so full. I’d forgotten that it is tradition here for the guest to eat first, on their own, with the women sitting at the side. Sometimes the male eats too and eventually Mousumi’s husband joined me. Mousumi and her mother-in-law ate later while I had the traditional afternoon rest.

Mousumi also took me shopping to buy some gold earrings – because I am unable to wear normal Indian metals – and more salwar-kameez – I’ve worn the others out already. She and her lovely mum took me into some amazing sari bazaars where only the local women go. We drank chai, a sweet spiced tea, and ate a spectacular ice cream made with a variety of nuts including cashews and pistachios. (I find now I am totally addicted to Bengali food and get snooty when others want to eat Chinese food. Why would you want to eat that?)

I’ve also made friends with a lovely woman named Bonani, who saw me feeding the dogs at the front gate. She also feeds them. Recognizing a like-minded person, she invited me to her place. Since then, I have been over several times and discussed much about philosophy and Indian culture with her and her 25-year-old daughter, Tania. Tania, who is beautiful not only in looks, but in poise and personality like her mother, and I visited the decrepit Marble Palace, a palatial mansion built by Raja Rajendra Mullick Bahadur in 1835 (one of the few touristy things I’ve done here). We also went to the Academy of Fine Arts and a Bengal music festival where I felt right at home. Kolkata claims to be the cultural centre of India, but they’ve got some work to do.

Speaking of dogs, I seem to have become the dog carer at the guest house and people come to me with problems that arise. I even have a network of concerned persons, ha! including my friend Bonani and a parishioner called Mrs Myer. Most recently I took a pup to the hospital after she was attacked by a nasty dog one day and run over by a taxi the next. The pup was there for about two weeks and I brought her back about a week ago to everyone’s delight. Now, when I come out, she runs to me in a sort of half-bent sideways gallop to accommodate her broken leg. Yesterday, the family who look after our guest house came to me after a dog-biting incident. Apparently, a group of about 15 people came with knives etc to attack and kill the dog (mob attacking is stupidly common here in India and people are regularly killed by angry and brutal mobs). The family knows that I care for the animals and will spend the money if required, so they held them off until I got home. I was taken to the shabby home/room of the woman who was attacked and I saw the huge swelling and tooth mark on her buttock. I arranged for the dog to be taken this morning (very sad) to be tested for rabies, which we think he must have because he is normally a playful dog. If it’s negative I don’t know what will happen to him because dogs are put down reluctantly here. At a cost of 375 rupees each, the woman will be unable to afford the five injections for rabies. I’ve taken her prescriptions and have already arranged for payment for the second injection but I’m hoping the other volunteers will help out with the last three.

Beyond dogs, animal-friendly persons and teachers, I’ve made other Indian friends too. But the most adventurous thing over the last month is discovering an ashram about 2 hours away. The ashram on 20 beautiful rural acres is otherwise quite small with only the swami, a monk (sadhu), the accountant, the cook and her husband. Donna, an Italian, also stays there a few days a week with her 9-year-old son adopted from Madagascar, helping the swami get social justice projects off the ground. It’s through another Italian at my guest house that I found her and the ashram. They’ve all been so welcoming, I feel almost overwhelmed by it. I feel drawn to the place and always look forward to the next visit.

With all of my new found friends, I am learning more and more about Indian culture. That is one reason why I originally wanted to stay here for more than just one month as most people do. After 3 months, I’m feeling almost at home here. But, I find myself caught between my moral upbringing and sense of justice, equity and independence for women and trying to understand Indian culture: women eat last after the men; women always cook, clean and serve; men don’t do much at all – can you feel my blood pressure rising? Bengalis continue to use respectful terms (like Aunty for Western women or Mrs rather than first name), because class distinction is still very clear here. The gatesman, for example, who I have befriended despite the fact that we don’t speak each others’ language, was laughed at by the other workmen in the compound because I started teaching him English. An upper caste Westerner showing care for a lowly laborer? Unthinkable! We had to stop the classes.