A ride on the "Fire Vehicle"

I started off last Saturday at around noon for the railway station, just as I have many times before. The monsoon rain was relentless, making my two giant suitcases extremely difficult to transport down the platform. It also made me all the more conspicuous (like being a white blonde girl isn’t enough!). I was also coming down with something: a fever and coughing. With all these variables in mind, I decided I was going to suck it up and pay for a 3-tier A/C ticket.

Right away, a man singled me out as a rich white girl who needed a coolie. Perhaps this is common in the North, but I felt like a real idiot imperialist having someone carry my bags for me. He was so insistent that I finally relented. Anyway, I could only hope he was going to use that money to feed his family.

The trip went relatively well, and I thought myself very safe in this extremely private compartmentalized car. Until the guy selling samosas decided to sit down in the compartment across from mine. I tried to ignore his obvious staring, but after realizing it wasn’t going to stop any time soon, I closed the curtain to my compartment. A feeling of peace washed over me, and I laid down for some sleep.

I woke up to a lot of noise coming from the compartment across from mine where that man was sitting before. I looked to my feet, and I thought it was odd that the curtain was drawn about a quarter of the way open. A few seconds later I saw a face peeking through the opening and staring at me! Even after the young man made eye contact with me, I couldn’t believe his audacity to keep staring! I got up quickly, shouted at him to go away, and closed the curtain. I looked through the little opening and there was now a huge group of coolies sitting in the next compartment gambling and playing cards. (Note to self: NEVER get the compartment next to the dining car).

I huddled back into my compartment seething with anger. “Should I move?” I had two gigantic suitcases under my seat, and that would not be an easy task. I couldn’t just leave them there, what if they got stolen? “Plus, why should I have to move? It’s my right to be sitting here, I paid for this seat!” I thought to myself. I decided to stay where I was.

As I sat there, I thought about all the harassment that women have to go through every day all over the world. I thought about the stories I had heard about busses and trains, movie theaters—every day women have to be prepared for something to happen. This is not the first or the worst thing that has happened to me. But it sucks having to live your life prepared for harassment. I wasn’t about to stop taking trains, but it makes the trip that much more difficult.

Malayalam Words:

Train = Thivandi (literally "fire vehicle")

Sleep = Oranguka

Women = Streekal

Think= chinthikkuka

Anger = Deshyam

Priya means....

A few months ago a Malayalee friend sent me a message on Orkut (the Indian equivalent of facebook); something about one of our friends and an "incident." I didn't think much of it at the time and I didn't want to get in the middle of any gossip, so I brushed over it.

Tuesday morning, Achen, Kochamma and I were sitting at breakfast, and Achen mentioned that a girl from the college where I volunteered was in a motorcycle accident last fall. He wasn't sure if I had known her, but she had come to his house a few times with my good friend, Bina. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who Achen was talking about, so I asked if he remembered her name. After some time, Betty Kochamma said, "Priya." She was on her way back home after receiving her marks from the college and attending a friend's marriage. She was on the back of a motorbike -- the boy driving survived, but she suffered a head injury and passed away.

It is a terrible feeling to find out that someone you know has died suddenly. It's tragic when that person is only 21 years old. Priya and I spent many mornings playing badminton and tennis together in my year here. A great teacher, she patiently helped me translate an entire comic into English from Malayalam. She was very shy speaking English with me, but she was one of those people who expresses love by being with you, by being present. She wrote me a long note when I left, and stuck it in my bag. She told me not to read it until later:

"We haven't talked much because of our language, but always remember that I really loved you and I'm gonna miss you. And I'm regretting the days that I didn't take opportunities to be with you. . . .Always I had the feeling to talk to you, but I couldn't. But you were one way or another with me. . . with Love and Prayers, Priya."


Malayalam words:

Priya = beloved, dear one
kuttukkari/kuttukkaran = friend
apakadam = accident
peddena = suddenly
maranam = death
dukham = sadness
orkkuka = to remember

Namaskaram Kerala!

The first thing that hits you when you get off the plane in Kerala: the air. Now well into Monsoon season, a warm mist hangs over the lush green landscape. It's 3 AM and I can still feel the heat of the day, but as the taxi starts to drive away, a cool breeze hits my face through the open window. The over-sized billboards cue my memory. This route is familiar; one I took for the first time three years ago.

The volunteer program coordinator for my year in Kerala (2007-08), Thomas John Achen, and his wife, Betty Kochamma, graciously welcomed me to their home after being rudely awakened by a bell at 4:30 AM. They have become second parents to many volunteers throughout their 12 years working with the program. Betty Kochamma's food still cannot be beat. Our volunteer group would joke about how she should start a business for homemade jams, cakes and ice creams. She would no doubt make a world-wide killing.

Almost all of the students from my volunteering stint have graduated and moved on. A few remain nearby, in Kochi or Ernakulam, working for IT companies. Most of them have married, and at least two are now mothers. The ladies I sang with in church are all still here, still singing every Sunday. In retrospect, one of the things that made my year-long stay worthwhile was the people I came to know. I look back and think about how many more people I could have met, if I had been a bit more determined. But hindsight is...well, you know.

On a lighter note....no one has said "You have become fat." Well, Achen and Betty Kochamma have probably heard so many complaints from Americans about this less-than-discrete insight that they refrain from saying anything whatsoever in reference to weight, but I take it as a good sign that there has been no mention of it from anyone else. But we'll see what happens after the Kerala food takes hold.

Malayalam Lesson:
Namaskaram = greeting, salutation
Sukam anno? = how are you?
Sukam = fine
Hello = Hello
Good Morning = Good Morning
Good Night = Good Night
Ta,Ta = Good Bye