Then there were two

It has been a little while, I realize. That's because I was at Raju's family farm in Lallian, Punjab. They had no interent. The only time I asked about internet, they called everyone they knew in order to see whether they had/knew people who had internet. Their final solution was to drive to town and drive around looking for internet. I don't think any of them have ever used the internet. This was no small task and the connection there was dodgy at best. Suffice it to say that was the only online foray during my time in Lallian.





Patriarchy in rural India


I think the most striking observation from my time on the farm was the extremity of patriarchy taking place. men's and women's work are not mixed. They actually seemed offended when I offered to help clean the dishes after dinners, and they laughed at me when I told them that Melissa and I share cooking duties at home. This isn't the worst thing I've ever seen, but the way in which it is carried out sometimes shocked my sense of justice.

The best example of this was on the night we celebrated Gavin's birthday. When the Lalli's found out it was Gavin's birthday, the two women (auntie and Buljinder) "celebrated" by retiring to the kitchen to slave away on a special meal. The men reciprocated by taking us out for a drink. Now in order to fully understand this situation, you must appreciate that Punjabi culture tends to frown upon drinking. Of course boys will be boys and it happens, but they told us that auntie hates booze so we need to be discreet. Fine with us, we told them we don't need to go out, but they controlled our every move [more on this below] and left us no option. This is okay, however, because I can be discreet when called upon to do so. So we went out and had two beers each, hardly falling down drunk. Then we go back and the following exchange takes place between auntie and her eldest son Binda:


A: It's so late [it's 11 pm]


B: Don't bother us.


A: Is that booze I smell on you?


B: Go make dinner for our guests, stop asking questions


A: [grumbling about booze] Fine.



...



[Auntie spills water while serving us a delicious meal]

B: Clean that up!


If my mom cares to comment on what she would say to me if I came home drunk and demanded that she begin cooking after she told me it was past her bedtime, I will include that comment in my next post. I felt terrible that this poor woman stayed up and felt the need to cook for us. I would have liked to be able to come home earlier, or even try to convince her that I wasn't hungry, but this is not life on the farm. The women cook for guests and that's final. Very awkward situation.

The whole situation is very hierarchical in general. Binda drives. Raju gets shotgun, and Gavin, Jeeta and I sit in the back. I get stuck with the middle seat. We came up with two possible reasons why I am the lowest rung on the totem pole. Maybe it's because Gavin is taller. Alternately, I might look like a servant because I always carry my bag. Interestingly enough, on the one day when the women had the good fortune of not being stuck in the house all day, I got shotgun. This is because the strictness of Sikh culture would not allow a stranger sitting beside/touching a woman who is not his family member/wife.





Binda:


Perhaps the best description of Binda is alpha gorilla. Raju even commented that Binda puts his shoes on as though he is trying to make them submit. I suppose he is a well intentioned guy, but his psychology seems to be an obvious product of always having been the oldest cousin, and thus the big man in the family structure. This posed a bit of a problem for us, because we simply were not allowed to do anything unless it was Binda's idea.

This was the case right from the start, Binda met us in our hotel room in Chandigarh, from where we already had a train ticket booked toward the family farm. Binda, however, knew of a bus that was infinitely superior to our spacious, air-conditioned train (by what measure, I'm not sure). It was like that for the entire time we were there. Every morning, Binda would wake us up at 6 am. Why? I don't know. We never went anywhere before 10 am since he was working on the farm, and he would not allow us to help him work. When we did go out, he took us either to temples, or relatives homes. Both of these places had a routine.

In the temples, Binda would give us a little money outside in order to make a donation. We would touch the steps, then our foreheads, enter without our shoes, and then drop to our knees, make the donation, touch our head to the floor, stand up, walk clockwise around certain stuff in the temple, hold out two hands to receive some holy food from a priest (he won't give it to you if you hold out one hand), eat it, then sit and contemplate whatever you want for a few minutes then leave.

In the relatives' homes, we would show up, the men would sit around talking, the women would get to work making stuff for the guests. There was some variation on what we would get but not much. In all but one of the houses, it started with a glass of pop, then bitings (think Indian style bits and bites). Next would come chai and biscuits (sweet and savoury) and usually barfi. Then the women could finally join us and sit demurely nodding while the men spoke. Then we would leave.

I remember as a kid I used to like sugary things. I do not any more. almost everything I ate at the temples and the houses was full of sugar. This led to headaches and exhaustion. I also think I gained a pound per day. I don't handle sugar well.

I would like to clarify that I am not an ungrateful guest, or a culturally insensitive tourist. I did not go into these people's homes in order to ridicule them in my blog. All that I am trying to say is that certain aspects of the way they operate left me quite uncomfortable. There is no doubt that they were all hospitable. I actually quite enjoy learning about people's culture, this is much more interesting to me than most of the tourist sights. At the end of the day, however, I like the values we try to practice in Canada better than those employed in Punjabi culture.

Anyway, These were our two options when we were with Binda. The other thing that kind of drove us crazy was that we were robbed of all power of planning. One of the things we had to see when we were there was the Golden Temple. On about our third day of 6 am wake ups, and going to sleep at midnight, we were all one step shy of a diabetic coma from the day's sugar intake. It was 9 pm, and we were wondering how many more pops we would need to consume (an answer that would be denied us regardless of how we asked). Binda let it slip that the next destination was the Golden Temple, about a 3 hour drive away. Raju pointed out that this would have us back home at around 4 am, then Binda explained that we were actually going to sleep there, then wake up at 4 am in order to drive back to the farm. None of this was discussed with us, he just thought we were going to do it. Gavin has contact lenses, we can't just spend 25 straight hours without toiletries. I actually might have enjoyed sleeping at the Golden Temple, but not in the state all three of us were in at that time.

We told Binda that we were only really interested in sleeping, but he kept insisting that we go to the Golden Temple. This was the only time on the trip when his resolve was outmatched, we went home. On the way home, he expressed concern that we wouldn't be able to go if we didn't go right then. I think this was premised on the idea that we could not go anywhere in India without someone to hold our hands. A curious perspective, given that he knew we had travelled alone for two weeks prior to meeting him. Binda had to go into the city the next day, so we got our only sleep in on the farm. Nice.

We started our relationship with Binda on a bus we didn't want to be on. Fittingly, we ended it on a train we didn't want to be on. We spent our last day in Lallian much as all the others, visiting some temples and some people. The one variation, was a shockingly uncomfortable trip to some girl's house who was not one of Raju's relatives. I don't know exactly what was happening at this house, but we all got the vibe that Binda seemed to think this girl was, shall we say, without virtue. As far as I could tell, the entire purpose of the visit was to sit around and make fun of her while she served us drinks. Good times.

In the meantime, we had unequivocally told Binda that we wanted to go to the train station. For those of you thinking that we could just book online, you are wrong. If you just haven't felt like killing yourself recently, I suggest you try to book a ticket, for any journey anywhere in India at the following link http://www.indianrail.gov.in/inet_trn_num.html. Calling could also help, but Binda would not do this for us.

We ended up at the train station at 7:05, with Binda and some other guy. This is after an entire day of just trying to get a ticket. They go to the counter, and come back to us to say (in a smiley, would-you-believe-the-luck way) we just missed one by 5 minutes, the next one isn't for 3 hours. Bear in mind that this is a 5 hour train, do the math and that puts us in Delhi at around 3 am. Far from ideal. Then these two guys start going around to different counters in the station trying to "figure things out" for us. I have no clue, what they were doing, but Raju and I went up to the window, and said in English "two tickets to Delhi." Surprisingly, that was all it took. Then Binda proceeds to spend the next several hours before we get on the train telling us about all sorts of things not to do. Don't both fall asleep at the same time, and don't take cookies from strangers etc [he actually told us that].

Now remember that this is not our first time travelling by train in India, see my old posts to understand the depths to which such travel can sink. The process is as follows:

1. You book a ticket several days in advance and you have a reserved berth on the train.

2. Failing that you buy a general ticket (one that gets you into a car that necessitates inventing the word "superchaos") then you talk to a ticket collector in order to upgrade to an assigned seat, which may or may not be available, it is all up to luck.

So we had our lower class ticket, and we are looking for the collector guy so we can upgrade. Now Binda and the other guy start saying that we need to go to the front cars, somehow they are better. If I couldn't find a reason why the bus into Lallian was better than the train, I feel as though I need to go back to elementary school and relearn the concepts "better" and "worse" if the cars at the front of this train were in fact superior in some way. Instead of upgrading, Binda had us run past cars with seats in order to get to the front, the further along the train we got, the busier the cars. I am running in sandals, carrying a heavy backpack to get on a car where I won't have room to turn around. Then, the train starts moving. So now I have to jump on a moving train. This is Binda helping me. Gee, I never would have been able to do that on my own THANKS. wtf? I was just going to get on an air conditioned car where I could sleep, thanks for helping me skirt around that hell. Raju and I got off at the next stop, and just checked into a hotel. We just needed to regroup.

Gorilla.



Golden Temple

The Golden Temple itself was really worth seeing. It was nice (and shockingly easy) to go on a day when Binda was busy. We went with Raju's other cousin Jeeta, a cool dude. Perhaps the most striking thing about the Temple is that about 1000 people at any given time are cleaning it. Constant buckets of water, rags, squeegees and other tools ensure that the temple is the most spotless thing you are likely to find in India.
Though I am agnostic, I found this temple much as I find a Christian church in Canada. It was a wonderful opportunity to peacefully reflect.
A great part of Sikh temples the world over is that they are always serving food. The Golden Temple is no exception, all people are always welcome to eat at any time of the day. I did so, and the food was fantastic.
After the Golden Temple, we went to a border show put on by India and Pakistan. I doubt I will do it justice in the following description, but I will try. The border guards jump around kicking in the air, while some guy on a microphone says all sorts of stuff that whips the crowd into a frenzy. The only part we understood was the chant "Hindustan Zindebad" meaning "long live India." On the other side, there were chants of "Pakistan Zindebad." Then these guards march up to the closed gates and open them. Then they shook hands in a crazy display of ceremonial aggression. Then they jump around kicking the air and glaring at each other and yelling for about 15 minutes. Then they lower the flags of both countries. Finally they close the gates again. The guards from both sides slam them so hard that they spring back open and need to be closed at a reasonable speed. Then the crowd chants more stuff, then everyone goes home.
One of the best parts for me was when several women wanted to sit in a particular spot, and one of the guards, seemingly abitrarily decided that this spot was off limits to them. So he started yelling at them to move and blowing his whistle and generally freaking out. Their response was to smile at him and just not move. Then after about 10 minutes of stand off, they finally moved about two feet, then he turned around and they moved back, then he saw that they moved back and he gave up. Fantastic enforcement.



The Rupee is real money, isn't it?

The following is a sampling of transactions I have had in India. I owed nine and payed with a ten. The girl gave me a candy and said "no change." I owed fourteen and paid with a twenty, and the guy gave me a five back. Then Raju's cousin says "you still owe him one" to which the merchant replies "no, I'll just keep it." I owed 16 and paid 15. While looking for one more, the guy said "I don't want it" and closed his store.

If anyone wants to check out my new favourite Indian song, it's called Boot Polish. I don't know who sings it, but how many Punjabi songs called Boot Polish could there be?