Answers?

Yes our house did flood yesterday, about a week into the two-month monsoon season. No no no, this was not unexpected. Highly expected really, a little bit like growing up I think. You delude yourself for a while but eventually you’ve got to roll up your knickers and start wringing out the towels as the fountain of youth floods into your housemates’ bedroom, no longer within but from somewhere without. No, I know, that doesn’t really make sense, but now you’ve got the imagery at least.

Our crazy landlord? Yes, she’s in full form of course. She’s decided to tear up the floor starting tomorrow. I know, it’s the middle of the monsoon, but we’re not dealing with someone who accepts the rational as, well, rational; we’re dealing with construction in the blood; we’re dealing with “don’t tell my mother, [they both live upstairs] she thinks I’ve been just throwing money away trying to fix the house”; we’re dealing with “maybe I shouldn’t have paved the entire yard in cement, the water has no soil to seep into”; we’re dealing with uninhibited, unchecked decision making where one minute she’s planning a trip to north India with us and her expectedly-insane children and the next she’s calling one of us fat or ugly or pathetic. We’re dealing with a grown-up child, although she did help with the wringing out last night.

She asked us how we lived without TV. Well first she asked us if we had a TV even though she’s the one who furnished our apartment. When we told her no we don’t but we do things like read books and watch movies she said she can’t imagine life without television. She also told me she doesn’t mind rats because she loves Tom & Jerry and she hates all reptiles, including cockroaches. I know, I know, I need to film her.

Well, let’s see…we finally ran out of gas over the weekend. Actually it happened as I was boiling water and preparing to sauté some vegetables. No, I ended up eating lukewarm vegetables stirred in oil. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds though. I’ve been eating a lot of crackers lately, although we did splurge for Dominos last night. Yeah, we took a break from the flooding for a little taste of home. No, Dominoes doesn’t remind me of home, although I’m sure for the rest of my life it will remind me of India. I guess it’s ironic. I also ate lunch at a restaurant where they serve 5 juices (think V8 or protein shake), 5 uncooked vegetables, 5 semi-cooked vegetables, 5 cooked vegetables, and then finally rice and sambar, and you have to eat it in that order. Oh yeah, and for desert they pour some honey into your hand. No, Jenn tricked me into going. I’d like to bring my family there though, that would be funny. No, they aren’t visiting. Various reasons.

Work is fine. Sorry, I’m going to answer that like a fifteen-year-old getting picked up by his mom. I worked at McDonalds when I was fifteen. No I haven’t been to McDonalds in India, I haven’t even seen one. Strange, I know.

Christian and Sarah, my friends from home, are visiting for a few days this week, did I tell you that? They’re on their way to Africa for ten months. Crazy, I know. Something with children, for a good cause. I know. I’m not sure what we’re going to do. I’m not even sure where they’re going to stay now that our house is in disrepair. Yeah, they’re laid back. Apparently all New Mexicans are right? Although I can think of some exceptional…exceptions. Yeah, I know, I know.

(Q&A)-A

Do auto drivers drive their autos recreationally or do they use public transportation, such as other autos?
Will I get sick from all the mayo that was on the veggie burger I ate for dinner?
Is it funny that the restaurant I ate dinner at was named “Baywatch”?
Why did I eat there? Why do they use so much mayonnaise?
Why am I not more profound?
Where will I be in one year? What will I think about now then?
Are these questions stupid?
They seem stupid?
Why am I too lazy to take a shower even though I am gross?
Will my umbrella still be at Baywatch tomorrow when I try to go pick it up?
Will the Martial Arts teacher yell at me for deciding to only stay for the warm-up segment of the class and not the actual teaching-of-ancient-martial-arts part?
Why is deodorant here sold as a talc powder? How does one apply this powder correctly?
How did an elephants theme develop in my room? Why is my sheet such a sherbert-orange color?
Why do I feel the need to try and plan my life so strictly? Is life what happens while we’re making plans? Why did Oasis get so fucking stuck up and decide they were the next Beatles and then completely self-destruct?
What do I think of the new Radiohead album?
Why am I so tired? Why don’t I stay up later doing all the things I like to think about doing when I’m not doing them, like reading/writing more?
Is our sink really not draining because there is cement clogging the pipes due to all the construction?
When will I next see a giant cockroach?
Who will answer these questions?
How strong will the monsoon be this year?
Is it strange that I am used to the clotheslines crisscrossing my room being lined with drying pairs of my boxer briefs?
Is strangeness, just like all other perception, subjective?
Is it dumb to major in philosophy?
Are some questions better left unanswered?

Typical interaction with the driver of an auto rickshaw on the streets of Chennai-

I am walking along the side of the road, traffic is whizzing by, auto rickshaws pass about every 10 seconds and a vacant one is inevitably approaching. There it is. I wave my hand slightly and make eye contact. The stage is set.

Me: “Adyar” (Southern part of city)
Auto: “Adyar” (nods head)
Me: “Indira Nagar” (Neighborhood)
Auto: “Intrebartar??” (looks at me with askew confused face)
Me: “IN-DIR-A NA-GAR”
Auto: (same askew face, slightly more confused)
Me: “indiranagar, indiranagar” (Really fast as I attempt to imitate the way it sounds in South Indian)
Auto: “Ahhh indiranagar”
Me: “Water tank, indiranagar water tank” (the landmark nearest my residence)
Auto: “indiranagar water tank?”
Me: “Adyar, Indira Nagar, water tank”
Auto: “Adyar, Indira Nagar, water tank, yesgetinnoproblem”
Me: “How much?”
Auto: (looks me up and down while pretending to calculate the rate, lips already drooling) “150”
Me: “Nononono, 80”

At this point a fair number of the auto drivers will simply give a final look of mild disgust/disappointment and drive off with their heads shaking. Otherwise-

Auto: “Adyar, Indira Nagar, water tank, 150, 150, very far, traffic” (said as if imparting new information upon me that clearly concludes the debate and makes any further misunderstanding a fault on my part and my lack of cultural consciousness.)
Me: “No, 80, I pay 80 to come here. 150 too much.” (Begin to walk away, partly serious but aware that the entire ceremony could simply be up for reenactment with the next auto.)
Auto: viable to drive away at anytime and adjourn the discussion, keep in mind “130, fair price, 130, Indira Nagar water tank” (said while waving hands and shaking head to give illusion of far more content dispersion.)
Me: “100, that’s it, 100. I pay 100.” (Still facing the dusty road ahead, as if about to depart.)
Auto: “120.” (Not willing to concede a larger portion than I.)

Here is where I glance back, showing my weakness and in effect sentencing myself to a price of no less than 120. Jenn could’ve got 80, I’ve seen her do it, but I am weak and find it exasperatingly hard to run a hard bargain. Also, somewhere deep down, buried below many layers of cheapness, with just a hint of a smug smirk, a little Ari-like man waves a white flag that reads “40 rupees = US $1” and eventually me and this mini-Ari realize that we are willing to pay the extra fifty cents or so, no matter how hard it was lost. Plus sometimes we take the bus, costing the both of us a mere 4 rupees, and then we feel good about ourselves, like maybe we deserve a luxurious auto ride through the streets of Chennai. Of course, we are yet to experience a luxurious auto ride. But then again, we don’t really deserve one.

what I do in my free time

This is what I do in my free time. Although technically not free time but time taken off from work to play catholic missionary in 18th century reenactment film.

These are the people who film me during this time (when not filming villagers dressed as tribesmen, although there was some overlap).


This guy was supposed to reciprocate my photographic generosity by snapping a few shots of me doing similar moderately-strange things, but somehow managed not to hold the shudder button down sufficiently even once. So I only have pictures of him.

Coffee Day Today, 18th Century Missionary Tomorrow

Sitting in the local Coffee Day partway though a humid Sunday afternoon. A staff member remembers me for the first time today. I’m pretty sure they stole their uniforms from Pizza Hut. Strange rock anthems and international remixes play slightly louder than I’d like, often cutting off mid-song. There’s a large group of East Asians sitting outside and a smaller group sitting in front of me. Everyone is laughing, most people are eating cake or anything else with chocolate, I am waiting for my “Eskimo Freeze,” I am trying new things in places that are becoming familiar. There’s a sideways flatscreen TV advertising some movie as “A New Kind of Easy Rider.” Later tonight I will get on a bus for nine hours and head South to play an 18th Century Christian Missionary in a Sri Lankian-Tamilian Catholic PBS-style documentary. I can do this because I am white and the Polish guy who was supposed to play the role is on vacation. I met the Polish guy at my evening martial arts/aerobics class. I will be paid the equivalent of US $36 for two days work, plus room and board. But, as previously mentioned, I will play an 18th Century Christian Missionary who comes to India and saves oppressed women, and this is priceless.

My Eskimo Freeze has arrived; it’s quite cold and caffeinated and costs about US $1. The power just went out. I look around. The power comes on momentarily. Goes off again. No one seems to notice. Now it’s back, music and all. An Indian guy walks in with a shirt that says “Sweden.” The furniture in Coffee day looks especially comfortable; solid wicker structure, leather cushioning. But it’s not. The cushions are far too thin and when I lean back I am supported about 10 degrees past my ideal repose. Some people are leaving, two men, two women, two motorcycle helmets. Not quite sure why the women riding on the backs of the cycles aren’t accounted for cranially.

Yesterday I walked along the longest city-side beach in the world, about 5 km. Jenn says it’s the second longest but who wants to hear that. There were men sleeping in the shade of their fishing boats. I’d heard the beach was strewn with trash, but was unimpressed—there was a line of trash along the tide line just like you find off the coast of any large metropolitan. I collected shells until I thought my face might become seriously burnt, and I need to look sprightly for my film role.

I spent five hours this weekend listening to uninterrupted Tamil, three hours in a movie and two at a play. The movie, Sivaji, was a big hit overseas and broke the UK top ten. I’m not sure why people in the UK went to see this movie. At least in India there’s an intermission and you can get ice cream or French fries to further distract yourself. I won’t say much other than there was no plot development from the intermission on—about 1.5 hours—and there was a long scene where the protagonist applies “fair and lovely” in hopes of lightening his skin so the female will accept his advances. Maybe if I understood the dialogue I would have disliked this movie as much as many Hollywood blockbusters, instead I’m glad I got to experience it, even if just once, yes, just once please.

Ok, getting tired. Couples are starting to arrive. This coffee shop is attached to a chic-looking clothing store. I think some of the guys in here shop there. I think one guy is wearing a shirt from the window display. I see some ripe-looking coconuts hanging from a tree outside the window. Maybe I’ll buy one on the corner.

ANNOUNCEMENT: Don’t be afraid to leave a comment, if only to let me know you are reading. This encourages me, makes you look good, strengthens our friendship, expands the blogosphere and exterminates loneliness. This could be a good thing to do every month or so.

Only Vaguely India Related #1- Things that still excite me

I don’t yearn with anticipation for many things—good food, cross-country drives, certain songs, certain people, and, to a strange degree, upcoming movie releases. Early October may be the climax of this movie eagerness, as many films wait until late in the year to premier due to Oscar aspirations and/or the onset of S.A.D in many parts of the country, which I imagine leads seasonally depressed people to go see either uplifting or depressing films depending on what soothes their sun-deprived souls.

Though I am relatively disjointed from this phenomenon here in India (I’m working on building a subcontinental repertoire) I still managed to come across the Entertainment Weekly fall movie premier yesterday in the neighborhood bookstore. I was happily surprised to find the approaching release of some solid looking films. Not to set myself up for grave disappointment—Zodiac, Nacho Libre, recent John Cusak films, anything involving superheroes, anything with a tantalizing preview that builds expectations for more but in reality includes all the worthwhile scenes of the film, anything that makes me realize I’m not the immature adolescent I used to be (Jim Carrey)—here’s a list of a few that struck the right chords:

-No Country for Old Men; an adaptation of a Cormac McCarthy novel starring Tommy Lee Jones and directed by the Coen Brothers.

-A new Noah Baumbach film, the director of the superb the Squid and the Whale. Forget the name, starring some famous people.

-Something about Oil in 19th Century California, directed by Paul Thomas Anderson.

-The new George Clooney movie about corporate politics. Good reviews.

-And, most surprisingly good-looking, Ben Affleck’s directorial debut starring his younger brother Casey.

Anyways there were certainly more and they all had names; unfortunately trivial trivia has never been my strong point. I recommend scanning an Entertainment Weekly briefly in the checkout line of your local whatever. And who knows, I may even get to see some of these on DVD before they make it to theatres—Superbad was in our local video store way back in late August.

Fauna

Like most children, my brother knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. Unlike most young adults, he is still pursuing that same goal into his early twenties. Herpetology, Zoology, playing with animals, catching lizards with a two-pronged stick, studying bird’s fecal patterns, call it what you will—he is on the path to becoming a certified veterinarian. For as long as I can remember my brother has been torturing small animals, primarily reptiles and amphibians, developing an ever more intimate yet detached relationship with them. I think his philosophy finally crystallized this past summer when he interned at local vet hospital and did things like clean up blood, take temperatures, and subdue large animals. When asked “why animals?” he would respond “because I won’t care if they die (the alternative being a human doctor of course).” Although a perverse and somewhat unsettling outlook to hold, as long as a vet does his or her job it’s hard to complain too much, and who knows, maybe a lack of any emotional attachment to your patients, no matter how fundamental of one, actually proves beneficial in the long run.

In any case, due to his request I am attempting to describe some of the local fauna here in southern India. Please excuse my rudimentary knowledge of scientific terms and any unnecessarily grotesque details—for those are by far his most cherished.

First to mind are the stray dogs. Often resembling small, slightly malnourished greyhounds with multi-colored and patchy coats, dogs roam the streets here in similar numbers to the States during evening dog-walk time, except they have no owners, leashes, collars, or homes here. These are highly complacent dogs, mostly sleeping all day, and often keeping one eye open that seems to say, “why do these people bother to run around all day in the heat.” Then at night, I imagine, they roam for food and potential mates, and while I’m yet to see or hear dog copulation I’ve been told it can reach a pretty high decibel. While we’re on the subject, one of the biggest differences between animals here and those in the States is the massive size and prominence of their testicles, especially on dogs. The other day I saw a Wiener dog (a rare breed sighting) and its balls were nearly dragging on the ground.

I’ve seen monkeys but only on my brief jaunts outside of the main urban area. From my observations they appear to be typical mid-sized monkeys doing typical mid-sized monkey things such as grooming, hanging around in trees, and looking for bananas.

About once a week upon turning the final corner on our walk to work we are greeted by several large cows plopped over in front of the office gate. They seem to have some sort of routine where they appear every 5 days or so and leave large, smelly gifts in front of the office until they tire of the office dog (adopted from the street) barking at them. These appearances may have something to do with the rain patterns but I’m not sure. And if we are including flies in this survey, tack on several hundred of them here. There’s also the bulls, more commonly sighted pulling a large cart down the street while being constantly honked at and whizzed by. There is a sacred aspect to these animals but that might simply come from my thankfulness that they don’t try and attack me as I pass within inches of them.

Now for Zach’s favorite; reptiles and amphibians. How jealous you will be Zach to hear that I share my home with anywhere from a dozen to dozens of small, translucent gecko-lizard creatures. They do fun things like get stuck in the sink basin, poop on the walls, and hide in glasses I am about to drink from. There is currently a clump of hair blowing in circles on the floor that I continue to mistake for a lizard. Outside, depending on the heat and moisture, small critters such as frogs, chameleons and…other lizards…roam the terrain. I saw a snake once in a small pond.

To sum up, there are large mammals, goats, reptiles, bugs, loud yelping birds that escalade their noises until I’m woken up and then slowly dissipate them, dogs and cats, other creatures I am forgetting, and I think I saw a rat once.

There is also a vet hospital down the street, although it the only one I’ve seen and not much larger than a mini-convenience store. Fortunately there are numerous people hospitals throughout the city. I don’t know if you would do so well here Zach, you might be forced into caring.

Walkabout

You might call it a Phillips tradition to go on long walks; my dad does, my brother does, I do, and when together we rarely do anything else. I thought in India this would change, maybe it would be too crowded, maybe the heat would be incapacitating, maybe I’d finally realize going on long walks was pointless. Well, out of habit or a deep regard for things pointless, the walks have endured.

Ok, not so surprising, I’ve always walked around aimlessly why would that come to an abrupt halt in India? The noteworthy part though, at least for me, is that I can still do it with such aloof oblivion. To walk in Santa Fe there’s no need to exceed the boundaries of your cranium other than to cross a street or two, to walk in Santa Barbara you don’t really even need a cranium, but to walk in Chennai, it would seem, it behooves one to keep a firm head on their shoulders, like the emergent part of a submarine keeping lookout for rampant cruise ships full of drunk Floridians (in Chennai the drunk Floridians representing the countless captivating happenings taking place all around at all times, including but far from limited to the ruthless drivers). Well somehow, in this proverbial sea of human unruliness, I still manage to zone out in the undernether depths for prolonged periods, only reemerge in front of a giant water buffalo or an oversized bumper car honking its clown-car horn.

I realized this today on a walk, which gives some insight into the makeup of these nether regions into which I immerse. Feel free to chime in with blog topic ideas, otherwise I may continue down this path of obscurity. Don’t worry Zach, I will address your request shortly.

Sightings

A rare sighting of one of three Jews inhabiting Tamil Nadu. Did not speak with the odd specimen, but other passersby agreed on strong likelihood of Jewishness.

This is the Ferris Wheel on the beach. It's not bigger than it looks, but the beach is quite large.

LESSON IN LOCAL "CULTURE' II

October 2007 marks the release of Vogue India, marking another step in the India’s climb to global prominence, assuming attaining global prominence includes filling half your publications with adds, mostly of foreigners and for foreign things. India will be the 17th country to join the ranks of Vogue’s (fashion) elite. I’d like to present several quotes from this premier issue:

“Today, India is enjoying a scintillating soiree with the world’s attention, and fashion is one of its brightest canvases for expression.”
-Editor’s note

“India is one of my favourite places, and so inspiring for my work! Now, with Vogue, India is even better”
-Valentino Garavani, Valentino

“What does Vogue, used as an adjective, mean? The Vogue woman—and she has been around for over 100 years—is someone for whom personal style expresses a love of life and a matchless sense of discrimination.”
-Sally Singer, Director of American Vogue

“The task is not to try to impose a Western aesthetic on Eastern women, but to try to mark out the magical common ground.”
-Sally Singer

“Indi-pop: (noun or adj.) A quirky mish-mash of Indian colour, chaos and humour in art and design, with a global outlook.”
-The Flavor of Fashion VERY VOGUE

“158 THE GREAT DEBATE The cocktail sari vs. the cocktail dress”
-Table of Contents

At a mere $2.50 an issue Vogue India has a good chance of succeeding, and I wouldn’t bet against it or what it stands for failing, no matter how much I’d like to.

Yes, yes, perfect fit, yes, yes, yes

Clothing shopping in Chennai is remarkably simple. I simply frequent any one of the numerous retail outlets within walking distance and point at the desired article of clothing—whether track pants with insignia denoting both “Structure” and “Lee” as the brand, plaid shorts made from sheet cloth, or an oddly-patterned collared shirt—and the shopkeeper says “yes, perfect size, yes yes, perfect fit, just one? Need this too (points at second nearest article of clothing) just right, perfect yes.”

Unfortunately none of what the shopkeeper says relies on my physical being specifically, unless you allow for the possibility that I could also be a 7-foot Asian basketball player or a stout Russian midget. So when he’s holding up an XXL polo shirt stating that it’s “just right for me” I’m pretty sure we’re both smiling inside at the subjectivity of things like appropriate clothing and retail protocol. And just to clarify these are not the high-end stores where people do things like try on clothing and pay fixed prices, which do abound throughout the city. These are the lazy, slightly cheap man’s stores for the local who’s more interested in the outcome of [price/(articles of clothing X effort)] than [(style X fit X quality)/price], which at some point during my 23 years on this planet has come to include me. The relevant outcome being that I’ve already made several ill-advised purchases in India that have quickly become fixed items on the bottom shelf of my closet.

[Slight aside: I decided at some point earlier this year that the method in which I clothing shop could stand as a metaphor for the overall way in which I live my life. I make a lot of slightly brash, potentially ill-suited and often unusual purchases with the result being that I end up disposing of many of the items upon allowing common sense and external input the occasion to fester, but intermittently end up with an unforeseen gem. This theory is yet to be disproved.]

Also contributing to this phenomenon following me to India is the fact that I can be a model pushover, although part of why I came to India was to resolve this issue, and I do seem to be making progress. Now I only consider items that I’ve myself pointed at not the numerous things are thrown in front of my face and I also remember to bargain down not simply accept the pushover-priced tags. Sometimes it’s hard to learn to say “no”, especially to things like drugs and relatively cheap clothing presented by amicable Indian men, but sometimes if you don’t say no you’ll end up on the wrong side of town in somebody else’s clothing. These are the kind of predicaments I face every time I step outside.