Christmas on the Otherside of the World
For me Christmas Eve was filled with christmas cookie baking. Here the tradition is fruit cake–for the most part we try to ‘play the game’ but we decided to stick to our American tradition of baking cookies. I think we like the cookies more than anyone else. Then came the realy exitement. We took our neighbors–the Qireshi’s out to dinner at Piccadelhi. They had never been there–but they all enjoyed it. Although Sam got a rude awakening. He was all exited about having a beer with me, but when he ordered it the server asked him if he was twenty-five. “No,” he said. My mom interjected, “But is it ok if he’s with his parents and they say yes?” The server agreed, but Sam’s Dad said no. I had no idea that the drinking age in India is 25, and was even more shocked to have it enforced. Sam sulked the rest of the evening.
I forwent the wine on the account of Sam but still ordered my Turkey dinner. We chose this Resturant to make everyone happy–they have an Indian, Chineese and Italian kitchen along with a bakery. I’m not sure how Turkey fit into that, but I was glad. The first piece of Turkey tasted so good. But by the time I got to the third piece I noticed the meat looked processed and it had postachos in it. There were no mashed potatoes, but the gravy was nice.
About half way through dinner, some program called Groove started on the stage. They had some quiz questions and they were trying to get people to go on stage to dance, sing, or do something no one eles could do–for a prize. The MC came straight over to my Dad and tried to get him to dance.
Not only are white men generally impaired when it comes to dancing–my Dad does not dance. And, he hates being made to dance. After singing a Hindi phrase and nominating me to dance, my Dad got off the hook. I was willing to go dance but only with Esther, my sixteen-year old friend. Even if she won’t admit it, she thought it was cool to go on the stage. Later my Dad was forgiven the insult of refusing to dance when he was the only person in the room to answer this question: What was the name of our Prime Minister in 1982? Everyone said, Rajiv Gandhi but it was a trick question. The answer was Manmohan Singh. Our Prime Minister has always had this name.
But that was only the beginning of Christmas. On the way home Sam’s clutch went out. Sam was so nervous to have his sister, Mom, and me in the car. He was standing outside the car on the phone and his mom was also making calls from inside, so I kept rolling down the window to keep the communication open. But, he insisted over and over bun karo, bun karo, close the window. Delhi is a dangerous place for women late at night, but I am not used to this kind of over-protection.
The next day we had people over for lunch and caroling. It was a good Christmas, but different. When you strip the holiday of the cultural traditions it is strange. But our simple worship of the Christ child and proclamation of his birth was sweet.
didi–sister
bun karo–close
niche paroise–down(stairs) neighbors
Sleeping Together: A Billion People Can’t Be Wrong
Grandma—don’t fall out of your chair, I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about friends and families and even grown brothers and sisters sharing beds–or more mats on the ground.
In Delhi as in NYC it takes at least an hour to get anywhere, and so I often spend the night with my friends Tenu and Julie who live on the other side of the city to avoid spending two hours in commute. And they let me share a bed with Julie and Tenu takes the floor or the new cot. Last week I said, “I can take the cot.” “No, No,” they insisted. Then it occured to me–they are giving me the prefered place, sleeping with someone. I was talking to another friend of mine about this a few months ago. Soniya is a very progressive and sucessful woman. She moved to Delhi on her own a few years to work in a call center and now is a team leader. She drives her own car and shops at the fanciest malls in Delhi. But for the first two months of living on her own, she had trouble sleeping. She had never slept without her mom or sister.
As I told Tenu and Jule last week, I come from a place where boys at age 11 through a fit if they have to share a DOUBLE bed with a friend. American girls tend to be more okay with sharing a bed even into adulthood–but only for a night or two.
Here I have many friends who share a SINGLE bed with thier sister or mom. I know grown siblings and cousins that sleep one, two, three in a row. We know one family that has a circular bed and the whole family (including 3 kids) sleep on it. This of course has me thinking–how did they keep producing more children when the other children are in the bed with them?
But the thing that’s funny is that though I find this strange, it is normal. We are the ones with the strange culture. My Dad has a t-shirt that has faces of Indian filling it and it says, “Come to India, a billion people can’t be wrong.”
A friend pointed out to me that there is a story Jesus tells about a someone who comes to his neighbor late at night and asks him for bread to feed some unexpected quests. The neighbor says from inside his house, I can’t get up my wife and my kids are in bed (with me). The man insists over and over and finally, the man in bed with his family gets up and gives him bread. This is a parable about being persistant in prayer. As Americans we read that story–but the context doesn’t sink in.
You sleep with the people you trust. I am still uncomfortable with a whole family sharing one bed, but many people have no choice. What are we teaching our children when we insist they stay in thier own bed in thier own room at age 2? Independence is an American virtue, but is it a Christian virtue?
Peace on Earth: An Advent Reflection
This morning as I was riding through the streets of Delhi, India in an auto the U2 song “Peace on Earth” came on my i-pod. I was bundled up in my scarf and coat passing by street sweepers in saris and shawls and chappels. Dirty begger children wandered into the street from their street side tents and I reached into my pockets to give them candy. There was deformed leppor begging in the tunnel I had to pass through. In the paper I read about a girl who was sold by her lover to pimps and raped and forced to prosititute herself.
Heaven on earth
We need it now
I’m sick of all of this
Hanging around.
I visit the orphanage, I carry around the handi-cap boy who wets himself. I visit the girl’s hostel where we thank God that the police have not taken one girl’s brother to jail. I cry with my friend who is ostrazized by her family because of her faith. I am kind to the press-valla, rickshaw-valla and the massage-auntie. But it is nothing.
Sick of sorrow
I’m sick of pain
I’m sick of hearing
Again and again
That theres gonna be
Peace on earth…
You fight in the courts, you write letters and papers, you give speeches, you give money. But it is nothing.
…Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on earth
People are still dying. People are still killing each other. People are still hating. People baracading thier doors and living in fear of the night. People still are loosing everything.
To tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on earth
The other morning I read in the prophet Isaiah’s book
We were with child, we writhed in pain,
but we gave birth to wind.
We have not brought salvation to the earth,
and the people of the world have not been reborn.
(Isaiah 26:18 TNIV)
We are like that, for all our good intentions we cannot save the world. We cannot bring peace on earth. People have tried. We have tried. But we only come home tired.
Jesus in the song you wrote
The words are sticking in my throat
Peace on earth
But we can long for it. We can cry out. We can pray for it. And the Prince of Peace is coming–so we can begin the procession.
Let me share this story from Luke 3:25-38 (TNIV)
Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spiritwas on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:
“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you may now dismiss your servant in peace.For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of your people Israel.”The child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem. and then had been a widow for eighty-four years (TNIV)
Simeon and Anna were two people who longed for peace and salvation–not only for thier own people who lived under the oppression of the Roman empire but they also longed for thier God reveal the glory of salvation to all people. And then the baby-boy, Jesus was brought to them. What Israel could not do–God did in an instant when the Holy Spirit overshadowed Mary and she concieved. They gave thanks out-loud, because thier hopes and prayers materialized in front of their eyes.
At Christmas we celebrate the birth of this child who grows up to be the savior of the world. This is man who was sent by God to free all people and to bring peace. We celebrate the birth of God.
But we live two thousand years later. We have pain in our own lives. If we are not oppressed that we see people who are–and if we do not see them in person we see them on TV and we read about them in the paper. So what happened to this Prince of Peace? Where is the peace on earth?
Hear it every Christmas time
But hope and history won’t rhyme
So whats it worth?
Around the world people know our Jesus by the symbol of him hanging on the cross. Our God not ending violence but suffering with us… So is peace in death? We say rest in peace. But this is not the only peace.
The same Jesus who brought hope to Simeon and Anna and the same Jesus who hung on the cross, three days later rose from the dead. At that triumphant time his followers thought that he would bring the Kingdom in full and establish peace. But instead, he comissioned his followers to announce the Kingdom of God under the power of the Holy Spirit. With that Jesus left, but he promised to return. So as we celebrate the birth of Jesus and the sign of peace that this baby is we also look forward to the peace that will come. We anticipate the return of the Prince of Peace and the overthrow of every evil system. We are ready and we are looking for his return.
So we sing,
This peace on earth
Peace on earth
Peace on earth
Peace on earth
* auto: a little three wheeled taxi–short for auto-rickshaw and also
known as tututs in tourist quide books.
* chappels: sandals
Grandma gets Henna Tattoo!
Thanksgiving weekend my grandma Margie went with her sister and niece to a harvest festival in the San Jose area and there they found and Indian woman giving “henna tattoos” (mehndi). They thought of me, decided it was an international trend and they had to get them. Cool grandma–huh? It made me smile. But, I almost fell out of my chair when I heard they paid $35-40 a piece. Here it is 100 Rp ($2.50) or so for two hands!
Wild Parrots
I love seeing wild parrots–they make me so happy.
This morning I was sitting out on my veranda reading my bible and praying, in the street below a carpet vendor lugging carpets through the street on a cart called out to the house wives to prepare for winter with a new carpet. The subji valla called out the vegetables he was selling–and my eyes wandered across the street to a tree that sometimes serves as a resting place for green parrots. Then just as I picked up my things to come inside I looked and there was a parrot hanging from a pipe on the wall of the house on the corner just next to that tree. I watched it for a few minutes and smiled. It felt like it was a little gift from God to see that bird today. I found out that these are Green Indian Lorikeets. You see them flying around in the ancient palaces of Delhi and Agra as if they are the incarnations of the Mughal princes. When I was looking for information on these birds I came across this fun blog by Neha Viswanathan. Check her thoughts on the birds: within/without. I like her thoughts, but I still would like to keep some birds in a beautiful bamboo cage on the veranda or terrace!
Things I don’t get about men in India
I will not pretend to have much figured about about men. I did take Dr. Dykstra’s class on counseling men, but classroom studies have their limitations and I think the topics of the class might have been different if he had studied men in India.
Although I see hundreds of Indian men each day my closest interactions are with a small pool of men in India as my brothers, uncles, and friends. These men come from various strata of society, different parts of the country, but as I am a Christian–most of them are Christians. Only about one percent of men in India are Christians, so that will mess up my evidence. But, then again this is a blog not a newspaper article and I am entitled to my opinion and perspective. And if the Indian media (both advertising and Bollywood) are even slightly representative of what men here are like and what they like then I might not be totally off:
# 1. Whitening Cream. If I did not have Indian Bhai in my own home I would think that those silly advertisements picturing handsome Indian men with whitening cream as their aid to happiness, were a joke. But they are serious. It is common for Indian men not only to wear whitening cream, but also to wear long sleeves while driving a motorcycle so that their arms do not tan. They wear longs sleeves in 100F + temperatures! Once I asked a girl if the guy who was interested in her was handsome and she said, “no, he’s dark.” From a country that can appreciate black beauty namely men such as Michael Jordan and Denzel Washington, this baffles me.
Check out news reel about the phenomena
(Of course Indian women use this stuff too, and that weirds me out as well. I makes me think twice about unnatural tanning)
#2. An Hour to Get Ready. In the U.S. men (for the most part) do not take an hour to get ready. Yes, there are exceptions such as homosexuals, metrosexuals, and then there also may be others… but they would not admit they take so long. While cleanliness and attractiveness are nice, I cannot imagine dating or worse–marrying a man who takes longer to get ready than I do. I just am not sure what they are doing in there (the bathroom). I was teasing a friend of mine about this the other day and he said, “I just take 3 minutes.” After I pushed him a bit, he admitted with great pride “I take an hour for bath, but getting ready to go once I’ve had my bath takes only 3 minutes.” “That’s what I’m talking about.” I said.
#3. The Allure of the White Woman. In my humble opinion this country is full of beautiful people, men and women. It turns out that I am not the only person who thinks Indians are some of the most attractive people in the world, year after year India turns out Miss. World, Miss. Universe, Miss. Asia… (Okay- so China won miss World this year, but still) So, why do men stare at me where ever I go? (Actually they stare at all white people, but it is magnified for me). I suppose some of it is the allure of the exotic. I know that the perception is that white women are easy, and my American status could only worsen that stereotype (Thank you Hollywood!). Sometimes I wonder if the problem is related to India’s lack of girls problem. It is true that women are out numbered by men in India. Plus so many women remain in their homes during the day that men may see 5 times more men than women in a day. These are the only logical reasons I can think of… but I still find it strange.
#4. Fighting Till Death. There is an animal that will bite it’s prey and never let go–even if it’s stubbornness will lead to it’s own death– this is how Indian men are when it comes to love. I have a friend who proposed to a girl three years ago, she hasn’t answered him yet and he is still waiting and pursuing her. I hear story after story of men who wait and “flight for” the women they love for years and years. They never give up. This is an admirable quality and very romantic. But there are two problems in my experience: 1) The girl might not be interested and/or the family may never approve, and 2) They might decide to “fight” for a girl that they do not know. Sure she is beautiful, but what if she is obnoxious? I have been told that only Christian men are like this, but Bollywood would say otherwise.
All of this being said, I am very fond of Indians: men and women. Some of my best friends are Indian men. If you are Indian or are friends with many Indian men, I am curious if you find my these things I have listed to be true or not. And, if you have any insight in understanding these things, please do tell.
Travel Author William Dalrymple: Bringing History to Life through Travel
December ended as it had begun, both bleak and cold.
On New Year’s night the poor huddled in primeval groups under the flyovers. You could see them squatting on their hams silhouetted around bondfires; sometimes one of the figures would throw a lump of dried buffalo-dung on to the flames. Nearby, the Golf Links and Chanakyapuri, the rich were celebrating. As midnight drew near, they burst balloons, popped champangne corks and tore around Delhi honking the horns of their new Marutis. At the traffic lights, as outstretched palms were thrust through open car windows, the two worlds briefly met. (Indian Edition, 151)
For the last month or so I have been hooked on William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi. This book is an autobiographical account of a Scottish man’s time in modern Delhi where he lived with his wife and investigated the history and culture of the city. As I am living in Delhi I can relate to his experience as a foreigner and I am intrigued by his explorations. But anyone who is interested in travel, history, and enjoys a clever prospective would enjoy this book. Each day I am taken back into the Mogul period and am shown why things are the way they are in modern India. Dalrymple points out that “All the different ages of man were represented in the people of the city. Different millennia co-existed side by side. Minds set in different ages walked the same pavements, drank the same water, returned to the same dust.”
Then today I went to the English Book Store at Connaught Place to search for a copy to send to my brother who is living in China (English books are so hard to come by there that the ex-pat community passes around every book they find) and found Dalrymple’s first book In Xanadu: A Quest. Dalymple
wrote In Xanadu while he was still studying at Oxford…he received a grant from the institution and went on journey following the quest of Marco Polo from oil from the lamps at the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem to Kaunas Kan in Xanadu (North East China).
To Live is to Know You, To Die is to Gain You
This morning my dad called me and my mom in to the bedroom, I knew something must be wrong. I thought maybe my grandma Rose who has been between the hospital and nursing home for a few months might have taken a turn for the worse… then my dad said, “Charlotte passed away.” My mom broke down and I was soon sobbing as well. Charlotte Sharp was a very close friend of our family for almost fifteen years. She had been battling cancer for the past three years, but we never thought she would die. We called my brother and reflected on the special words she gave each of us and the ultimate chocolate chip cookies she used to make for my dad. My brother remembered when she gave Dad a pick dress shirt for Easter. My dad does not wear pink, but he wore it once for her. I put on a red-snow flake necklace she gave me a few years ago. She leaves behind so many loved ones–but no one will feel it like her two teenage daughters and husband. Still as I was cleaning my room this morning listening to itunes on shuffle, this song written by Mark Miller inspired by Philippians 1:21 brought me hope. Charlotte lived life to to fullest. She knew how to have fun. And She knew Jesus and the love he has for her.
Whatever was
Whatever is to come
I consider loss for the sake of You
All of life cant compare to You
To live is to know You
To die is to gain You
Jesus You’re my sole desire
And what is more
Whatever will be done
I accept the cost of choosing You
All I want is to remain in You
To live is to know You
To die is to gain You
Jesus You’re my hope, my prize
To live is to know You
To die is to gain You
Jesus You’re my sole desire
