Bovines & Bobble-Heads

One of my friends pointed out in an email that I've been remiss in describing two of the most prominent features of travel in India: the cows and the head wobble.

The cows. They are everywhere. People walking cows, cows tied up and grazing next to houses, in little fields, roaming along the river, on sidewalks, crossing streets, laying in storefronts, standing in traffic. Everywhere. Cows are a sacred animal here in India, which, I guess, gives them the privilege to roam where they like, but truthfully when I see a cow tied up and laying on a city sidewalk, it doesn't look like holy treatment to me. There were quite a few cows in Mumbai, but Bangalore had them at every turn (yes, that Bangalore- the city of almost 6 million and the IT capital of India and call centre capital of the world). The village I'm living in has a number of cows as well, but being a village it has more appropriate places to keep them than the giant urban centres. The cows here wear little bells, like the ones of elves shoes, that tinkle. It's a very different sound than the gently clanging Italian cowbells that sounded like bamboo in a strong breeze. The cows here also get adorned with beads and shells across their foreheads. I'll admit, I do love sitting in my cooking lesson and hearing a cow lowing in the field next door.

(Veg friends: cover your eyes for this bit.) When I arrived in Bangalore, my friend Catherine said, "Bri, I know you just got to India and you're probably really anxious to eat Indian food, but.... can we go out for a burger tonight?" Catherine and her friends in her study abroad program have been here for a few months, and they were craving some good American (non-vegetarian) cuisine, so before Catherine knew I was coming they had planned a trip to Millers 46, the local steakhouse. When I looked confused about a steakhouse in India (Hindus don't eat beef!), Catherine reminded me that Muslims have no qualms about eating a cow. So we ate dinner at a restaurant with a painted swinging door, waiters in denim and red plaid yoked shirts, and a good beer menu- that was shaped like a 3D cowboy hat! I hadn't been missing American food, but I'll admit that bread and butter that came while we waited for our food tasted really good. You can't beat fresh pressed olive oil for flavor, but butter fat sure is nice sometimes. As one of Catherine's friends said after the meal, "Thank Allah for Bangalore's Muslims." The best part about Millers 46, the steakhouse, was the sign out front: "Steak-Sizzler-Pasta-Veg Menu Too!" First time I've seen that on a steakhouse's sign....

The head-bobble/wobble. So in case India's 108 million languages (all with their own alphabet) weren't exciting enough, there's also the issue of different body language. India has the most fascinating head wobble (I'm sure you've seen it imitated in some India stereotyped character in pop culture). The head wobble is like simultaneously nodding and shaking your head and simultaneously means "yes and no" as well "maybe/I don't know/whatever you want." It is used constantly, regardless of the answer and sometimes just continuously while the person is talking. Yesterday I had the thought that maybe the head wobble actually has no meaning beyond that the person wobbling their head is talking. My friend Martin tried summarized it as ":) ?! ... :)" or "Nobody knows, nobody really cares, nobody has any control over life."

It took me a few days to get used to the head wobble. I felt awkward a few times when someone was telling me "yes" but wobbling their head. To me, it seemed like saying yes grudgingly or with exasperation. I worried I was putting them out. It also causes a problem when you are trying to find the right bus or a seat on the train. Signs on the bus are written in Malayalam (which only Martin can read) so the rest of us are left asking "Excuse me, does this bus go to Chengannur/Aranmula/Kozhencherry?" Most Indians don't understand our terribly accent and even if they do, the answer is inevitably the head wobble. Yes? No? Maybe? You'll decide along the way? Ditto for the trains. "Excuse me, is this seat reserved?" *Head wobble* What to do, eh? (we ask that a lot in our house)

One solution on the train is to just sit there and see how people react. Of course, if they hiss at you, it doesn't mean they are upset. It means they want your attention. That really took some getting used to: hissing is not a sign on anger here, it really is how people get one another's attention.

I've also learned not to say "hunh?" as a question when I don't understand or the contemplative "hunh" when I learn something new. That sound- hunh- means "yes" in Hindi. Not good when you are asking a shopkeeper to repeat themselves and they think you are saying yes.... Of course, Hindi, the national language, isn't widely spoken here Kerala, so it's less of a concern. (I've met intelligent, well-educated people here who speak beautiful English and Malayalam but not Hindi. Choosing a national language is a contentious issue here in India.)

Martin can also read and carry on basic conversations in Malayalam, which has been helpful on our long walks through the villages around here (more on that later). The security guys at the centre have been trying to teach us Hindi (important phrases like, "what did you have for dinner tonight?"), but they are from Nepal and we have been told we're not learning standard Hindi but a Hindi-Nepalese blend.

The cultural mash-up in Revathi, the house where I am living, is hilarious. My housemates are French, Mexican, and Swedish. They all speak three or four languages fluently: French, Spanish, Swedish, German, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. Oh, and fortunately they all speak English. We have our house decorated with giant three-dimensional paper stars, the typical Christmas decorations here. Jannet and Alexandra hand-sewed a stocking for the front door. They've been filling it with advent chocolates every evening. We also have advent candles and have been lighting a new one each Sunday. The candles are massive neon torch candles meant for use during the daily power cuts, and we have them on a wreath of palm fronds and banana leaves. There's a picture of Shiva and his bull, Nandi, behind the candles. In the evenings after dinner and before bed, when mosquitoes, darkness, and exhaustion, keep the Revathi family inside, we watch Bollywood movies, Star Trek episodes, and Last Christmas, a subtitled Japanese Christmas/love drama mini-series we are all hooked on.

Oh yes, and then there is my Kathakali teacher who yelled (while grinning) at me one day when I said "thank you" at the end of class. "What do you mean, thank you?" he demanded. "Thank you means our relationship is over! It is the end of the friendship. It is very rude, don't say that to me." I found out later that the Malayalam word for thank you is really only used in situations when you don't expect to interact with the person again, say a shopkeeper. First I told Pradeep that at home, if I did NOT say thank you, it might be the end of the friendship because the person would think me rude. Then I asked what I should say instead. "See you later," he told me.

So, see you later. (*head wobble*)