The Joy of Life: A Swimming Pool
For some people swimming pools are not that exciting. They walk past them in thier backyards everyday or they visit them a few times in the summer. For others the pool is their life–they swim, they dive, they excell. Some kids in the states torment thier mothers if they aren’t taken to the pool every sunny day of the summer. Some even insist on comming swimming in the rain. I swam on swim team in high school and I was a life guard–so I like the pool. But nothing compares to the joy and excitement of taking a group of young women to a swimming pool for the first time.
A few weeks ago I was down in Mahabs near Chennai for a family camp with my church. After my thirty-some odd hour journey by train and bus I was happy to see a swimming pool at the place we were staying, but I didn’t think much of it. Then one after noon, I thought I’d like to go swimming. I went over to my friend’s Soniya and Anita and invited them to join me. They said no, but I have been in India long enough and know Soniya well enough not to take the no.
“Come on”, I insisted to Soniya. “Have you ever been in a pool,” I asked.
“No,” she said. Then I had to insist. She said, “I’ll just come watch you.”
“Ok,” I said with an unsatisfied look on my face. I jumped in and said, “Come on!”
Finally she said okay, but she needed to change. She was wearing a skirt and came back in jeans. This I will never understand… except that what can you do if you’ve never been in public in less than a shirt and pants? I compromised and swam in shorts and a t-shirt.
Once Soniya was in the pool and I was trying to teach her to swim Blessi and Anita couldn’t resist they had to join us. They splashed around like gaint children fully clothed and happier than anyone I’ve ever seen.
Some of my friends had never seen the Ocean before this trip either. Thier enthusiasm was contageous. Groan men came out of the Ocean like lava man covered in sand and seaweed and grining ear to ear.
I think about Jesus saying that unless we become like little children we will not enter the Kingdom of God and I yearn to be like my friends and enjoy the simple pleasures of life.
Water
If you like intense movies and have a heart for India, Water is a great film. It takes place in 1938 before indepedence and shows the liberation of widows from a secluded life of oppression. Plus you get to see one of Bollywood’s heart throbs, John Abraham in a role that doesn’t include lip singing and dancing.
My dad doesn’t understand my desire to watch a movie in order to be ‘moved’ he only likes to be etertained by movies. I like that too. But for me, this kind of film stirs compassion in me and motivates me to action. Human Trafficing was another one like that I watched recently.
The Peacock and the Bald Eagle
Both are proud. The peacock struts, the eagle soars. The peacock is never seen without companions, the eagle is independent. The peacock is ornate the Eagle is simple. So the Bald Eagle would win in a “chicken” fight… but the peacock would win a beauty contest. The Bald Eagle, the strength of America. The peacock, magnificence of India. I could pontificate about the symbolism of each bird and the country and culture they represent, but I’ll leave that to you.
I just wanted to say that I was walking home from the market with my mom the other day, and we spotted a peacock with two peahen friends. They were just walking around in a small garden in our neighborhood. Seeing them put a smile on my face.
Stupid Tourists
One of the funniest things about being a foreigner who has settled in India is seeing tourist-foreigners. I just spent the majority of the last two weeks in Mahabalipuram or Mahabs as the people in the near by city of Chennai call it. It’s a beach town–and a historical place so it’s crawling with foreign tourists. This made it nice when I wanted to make an Italian dinner for my friends. Ingredients that I have to search all of Delhi for, oregano, Rosemary, cream-corn, and cranberry sause, were available at the local super-market (about the size of a 7-11). And the constant present of tourist made for a constant stream of laughs. I saw a white guy driving a pink auto-rickshaw. I saw packs of white people peddling down the road on bicycles.
But one of the best moments was last Friday night. We had just finished a week long family conference and my Dad wanted to take Naresh and Pushpa, our hosts, out for dinner. So we went to this beautiful resort called Ideal. The jumbo prawns were to die for…the lighting was perfect. After dinner we were enjoying ourselves so much that we decided to take a walk around the resort. The women led the stroll, with the men behind lost in their own conversation and children running ahead and then walking hand in hand with moms or friends. I was listening to the women’s conversation when a grey haired white couple passed us. Pushpa and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. They were each wearing men’s knee length kurtas with slits up the sides without pants. For Indian this is the equivalent of walking around in public in a men’s dress shirt and underwear… only it may be more awkward culturally.
Another great time was Tuesday morning. I was spending my days volunteering at Achiever Academy English medium school but stole away for a breakfast dosa and a little sight seeing. I sat down at a little hote-le as they call little restaurants and ordered a coffee and a dosa. A few minutes later an Asian tourist came in with a backpackers-backpack on. She took her load off and the server asked what she would like… She didn’t know what to say. She just stared at the board with the list of meal choices. “Rice?” the man asked. She nodded her head. I don’t think she knew much English and she certainly did not know Tamil (the local language). A few minutes later the server brought her idly and vada… delicious south India breakfast foods made from rice. “Rice?” the girl asked. “Rice, the man said, “Idly and Vada.” She asked for coffee and seemed satisfied with the steamed rice patty and fried rice patty and unground black pepper and the soup like sambar for dipping. Then the man brought her coffee. She stared at the tin coffee cup sitting in a tin bowl creamy liquid in both. The man smiled and in a typical South Indian graciousness showed her how to “stir” the coffee by pouring it back and forth from a great distance from cup to bowl until the sugar was dissolved and the liquid was cool enough to drink. I was already entertained, but just then the girl got up leaving her huge backpack, food, and coffee, and ran out side to talk to someone across the street. She was over there at least five minutes. The server, the manager, kept eyeing her stuff– I was eyeing them. I never saw who she was talking to–my guess was someone who had ripped her off the day before because she went out the door yelling. But once she was done, she came back like nothing had happened and sat down.
