Going Native

My life here in India has been tuned to a series of (fairly dorky) theme songs, each of which keep popping up in my head as I'm living everyday life. For example:

1. "I think I'm turning Japanese. I really think so."

“Turning Japanese” by The Vapors (you know, those guys who made "Turning Japanese") has been running through my head for about a week or so, ever since I decided to get my nose pierced Indian-style. Well, in reality it's kind of an awkward version of the song, in which I replace “Japanese” with “Indian” (trust me, they won't be remixing the song this way anytime soon).

As I'm getting to know India, I've noticed that I'm doing a number of things in a distinctly Indian style. Don't get me wrong, to an actual Indian I still act as foreign as ever. But if an American were to see me, they might think that I had lost my mind.

Like what, you ask. Well, I've gotten a few skype complaints about my changing accent (and this was when I thought I sounded normal): “Why do you sound like you're from Minnesota?”

When I'm away from the prying ears of North Americans, my speech gets a little bit bizarre. With those who speak almost no English, I sound like a bad stand-up comedian doing an Indian impression (believe it or not, this is the only way I can get some rickshaw drivers, salesmen, and even teachers at the school to understand what I'm saying). With those who speak perfectly fluent but musically-accented English, it's a smaller diversion from my regular speech pattern, but I can still hear the bouncy, musical quality of the Indian accent beneath my speech. 

 I've also started moving my head in ways totally unrecognizable to the average American: I've started doing the head bobble. The head bobble is this distinct Indian head gesture in which one bobbles her head from side to side, quite a bit like one of those, ahem, bobble-head dolls. At first when I did it, I was like a child aping adults. Now, I actually use it to mean "okay." It's a kind of wishy-washy (to me anyway) affirmative, and today I managed to use it unconsciously (and the message was received!). I have to watch out, however, because from time to time I'll tilt my head in the American gesture of doubt and bring it back too quickly. I'm sure that this is something as confusing and frustrating to Indians as the bobble was to me when I first arrived. Yes or no?!?

Another example? I actually prefer Indian toilets at this point (at least, in public). I feel a bit like one of those Weebles on them (I wobble, but I don't fall down...yet), but when it's between that and hovering over a fishy-looking Western-style toilet... you get my point.

1a. Did She Just Say She Got Her nose Pierced in India??

Oh, but you're probably wondering what was up with that little cliffhanger up there. Yes, it's true, I'm a slave to trends. The vast majority of Indian women I see on a daily basis have these small (and not so small) gems in their noses, so as someone who's a bit obsessed with body art, the idea gnawed at me for about a week before I determinedly set out on my body piercing escapade.

Apparently there are a quite a few different places where you can have this done: at the doctor, at a goldsmith (who, I'm told, uses scary antiquated methods and needles), and at the rare tattoo parlor (a trend that hasn't picked up so much over here). While we're out shopping, changing money and satisfying someone's Subway craving (Tikka Paneer with yogurt sauce, quite yummy), I decide to drop in a small tattoo studio in the market.

Now, I've apprenticed in a tattoo studio, and I'm the first person to pick on American shops for being unsanitary and iffy. But this place is clean and the piercer speaks better English than most High School English teachers here, so I take a seat. I've had this done twice before, both times with a needle (and both times the stud fell out and the hole closed in my sleep). So I'm not especially nervous.

Meanwhile, Virali keeps walking away, something about not being about to watch. She's like a nervous little bunny over there (which, oddly, is the avatar my phone gave her), and she's making me nervous. I close my eyes.

And it's over. In my nose is a little fake-diamond and 14 carat gold (classy). It feels healed, like I've had it for weeks.

It's small and inconspicuous, but it has this nice placebo effect of making me feel like I fit in just a tiny bit more. I like to think that others notice it (I imaging they're thinking,“oh, this girl appreciates Indian culture. She's not so bad.”) and I feel a little bit less like a badger in a fox den. Sometimes it's the things that go on inside our heads that are the most important. 
 

Post Script: The Indian home remedy for a healing nose-piercing? Melted ghee (clarified butter).

2. Now I Know My ABCs...

I'm still just a toddler as far as knowledge and experience in India. The worst of it is the language barrier; you won't believe how incredibly difficult it is to sit down and listen to a “Listen and Learn: Hindi” tape in the middle of India. It feels a bit like sleeping the night before Christmas.

But either way, I'm picking up a few things. The absolute most important word that anyone can learn in India? Bas. If you're going to know one word in Hindi, don't make it police, hospital, or help. Better make it bas: enough.

It's fairly certain that no matter where you go in India, someone is going to try to feed you. Or, rather, have a servant feed you. And in most cases, that servant will keep feeding you until you burst, or until you use the magic word: bas.

Then there are the people with whom you get rides: rickshaw drivers, "tuk-tuk" drivers, etc. Most of them can get you to where you want to go just by reading the numbers on a sheet of paper, and they'll go left and right with a hand gesture. But if you want to get off the rickshaw upon arrival? Better learn the word bas. It's a grammatical nightmare, but it works.

And, of course, you can't walk anywhere in the city without someone asking you for money, whether they're trying to sell you something or they're begging. I know what you're thinking, just give the beggars a quarter or two, right? But it doesn't work that way here. Although I can't understand what they're saying, I'm told that many beggars ask for a specific amount (like those people at the bus stops in Columbus who ask for “32 cent” or “47 cent”), that it's often inordinate, and they're very, very insistent (following and grabbing on to you). The sales people (including rick drivers) are even worse, following me as if I'll change my mind an pull out an American dollar or two. Once again, the magic word, bas, has a special power that no amount of arm waving or hastened walking has.

3. “The Heat is On”

This one gets stuck in my head almost every time I eat something even slightly spicy here. It conjures up good memories of Eddie Murphy dangling from the back of a truck in the world's slowest chase scene.  I'm not complaining.

Now, about Indian food. I've honestly considered moving to India just because I don't want to miss the food; it's that good. Kumal (the house's servant) is from South India, so his food tends to have that excellent kick that I love. It's not quite as spicy as I expected, presumably because we're in the North, but I still find little green chilli slices in all of my favorite dishes and there's a bottle of Maggi Sweet and Hot (I love you. Come to America with me.) attending me by the table.

When I first arrived, Auntie seemed quite worried about what to serve me. “Sam (the previous volunteer living with her) didn't take any spice. I didn't know what to do!” she exclaimed with a worried look. “I want to eat what you normally eat,” I told her, to which she responded with a look of polite disbelief. So over the first few days of my stay, she seemed to be testing my palate, and the dishes got increasingly more satisfying as she continued to turn up the heat. Now I feel a bit robbed when I don't get at least a bit of spice with my meal.

I dread going back to the food I used to eat; I haven't craved American food once (with the exception of the time when a someone special teased me with thoughts of Buffalo chicken, a favorite). I also feel no real loss from the absence of meat. I thought that I would miss it as much as if someone had stolen my baby, but these days I actually choose veg dishes when given the option. It might be something to do with seeing molting hens in wire cages by the road side and lazy cows in the road.

4. “I Feel Pretty (and Witty and Bright!)”

I have two full Indian outfits now, but I still feel a bit like a little girl playing dress-up when I wear them. The fact that I had to borrow Auntie's scarf and jewelry to go to the wedding doesn't help; I really feel like a little girl stomping around in her mother's spacious high heels while clumsily putting on bright red lipstick. And like that little girl, I feel nervous and a little bit embarrassed that I'll get caught.

So, thus far I'm sticking pretty closely to my jeans and tees. But we'll see. 

-2/22