Lights

7 November 2007: First night of Diwali - Festival of Lights - and I celebrate with lights, camera, action as a Bollywood extra.

We're not talking Bollywood blockbuster - the show is a popular TV series, Kaajjal. There's no Aamir Khan, Salman Khan, nor Shahrukh Khan (each superstars of the Khan trio), but I would like to introduce my Bollywood stage name: A. Mary Khan.

The scene is a dance party in Goa. I am typecast as a tourist. I could complain to my agent, but he doesn't speak English.

Basically, I sit on the edge of the dance floor with Craig (American Bollywood extra, Carolinas USA). His blog, American Mumbaiker, details his work for a month now. We entertain ourselves watching belly dancers do basic steps while the director tells us to cheer or jump right into the dance.

The night shot was long, so I was happy to sit instead of do the tourist twist to Jennifer Lopez's If You Had My Love from 5PM to 5 AM.

A particular scene I enjoyed involved the main guy working his way through the tables, bar, front stage, and dance floor, as shimmying women blocked his view from his woman in waiting. Waiters also pass through and one comes up to my table to deliver a drink.

Take two: When the waiter sets the drink at my place again, I flip a coin onto his tray. He sets back and laughs. The scene continues and he returns my coin, teasing me it's a mere one Rupee. Serves him right, I wanted beer, not orange Fanta.

Dwo

6 November 2007: I met my former Brown housemate, Mandar (Solid Mechanics Professor, India), and his sister for dinner.

Unfortunately I won't be able to join their houshold for Diwali. Mandar's family continues to deliver wedding invitations for the December 2nd event and his mother has fallen ill.

Regardless, it was a pleasure to spend time with Mandar and get to know his sister. She was quite the helpful tutor. Now I can read Hindi numbers in order to catch the right bus.

Image from: Mandar (L-R: sister, bride, groom, mother, father)

what Colombia has on India....

5 November 2007: Linda's email update on life in Colombia. Enjoy.

Guerrilla takeovers of isolated towns, like the one I was just in!

The following is a true story that transpired about 2 hours ago in a small pueblo called Salento in the zona cafetera de Colombia...

It went something like this. I´d gotten back from a trip to the Parque Nacional de Cafe (too Disneyland for me, but no matter) and spent an hour or so window shopping in the adorable storefronts that make up the Calle Real. I had taken all my stuff with me, in preparation to head to the nearby vereda Boquia later in the evening. At some point I decided I was hungry and headed to a restaurant on the plaza.

I walked in and noticed that the only customers were a couple finishing their meal, despite that fact that the place was huge and had a 6 or 7 person staff. No matter, I was hungry. I ordered bandeja paisa and a beer, and sat down to wait.

As the waiter brought me the beer, a waitress screamed something about guerrillas and ran to the front windows to close the large, wooden shutters... there were a few seconds when everyone seemed to be watching her and in awe. Then, everyone was running around agitated and talking on cell phones. Occasionally someone would glance out the window or door and comment on the people running through the plaza. The people who worked there, presumably from the area, seemed terrified and confused about what to do... there was discussion about whether we should stay locked up in the restaurant with all the shades closed pretending that the place was closed for the night, or if we should all go home. Several people seemed to think it was very dangerous to go out into the street and especially into the plaza.

Presumably the cellphone conversations revealed that the guerrilla was poised on the Mirador on the edge of town and seemed to be advancing (when I asked how this info came to us, no one would give me an answer.. one guy said, ¨Everybody knows.¨ You´ve got to wonder how this scene would have played out before the age of cell phones.) After a panicked 5 minutes with everyone huddled around the kitchen, a consensus emerged that we should all leave the building and get the hell away from the plaza.

Here arose a slightly sticky situation for your dear Lindahop... that being, 1 I had no where to go since I´d left my hostel and there were likely no more rooms available, 2 there was no way I was going to wait around indefinitely in the plaza for the bus, as I´d planned, 3 the hostel where I´d stayed was in the direction of the advancing guerrilla...

So, I asked one of the waiters where to go, and he said to wait for the bus with a frightened huddle on one side of the plaza. Thinking of the US passport in my bag, I immediately rejected this advice and knocked on the window of the car of another waiter as it was pulling out of its parking space... ¨Can you drop me off at a hostel, anywhere, pleeeease?¨ I begged, and to good effect. The guy and his friend brought me to a town about 20 minutes away...en route, he talked on his cell to someone still in the town. It seems that the guerrilla is advancing, although this person hadn´t yet seen them.

The waiters told me the guerrilla is based close-ish to Salento, but doesn´t come by town much these days, given the strong military presence in the area. Tonight´s case is special because the guerrilla´s preferred candidate lost in last Sunday´s elections, and presumably the guerrilla wants to teach the town a lesson.

The waiters were afraid of bombs more than anything else, though they nodded in agreement when I expressed my concern about being kidnapped.......

Exciting stuff, no? Much as I´m glad I got away so fast--and happy to see I can keep my presence of mind in a tense situation--the journalist in me is dying to be back there to see what this looks like....

Love,
Your favorite escape artist

Smell

5 November 2007: Seeing the fall colo(u)rs in the UK was a treat. But they are missing out on my favorite Providence season: wind.

Regardless, both England and Providence smell like mulch. I like it.

Here in India, I stink of sweat. I departed from the cool, English weather only to fly thousand of feet high, arrive in Mumbai, unpack, and see my garment bags and contact saline solution sweat like cold soda cans in the summer sun.

After I checked into my miniature room in Colaba, I immediately got into the shower. If only you had seen it - an actual shower head (rare), a bucket and cup (standard), no toilet paper (depends), and a high ceiling with layers of peeling paint (unreal). I didn't think it was odd, but I just wanted to share because I don't think you would believe I thought so.

Anyway, so I beat the heat by wandering away from the waterfront and the Gateway of India towards the high-end shops - the skin on hotel bones fed from the outdoor pool and squawking bird sanctuary belly.

I decided (since my last trip to India) it's better to stay cheap and eat out rich. I save on merely a clean and secure bed to sleep on to make way for food with better quality and taste. So at this beautiful restaurant in the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel & Tower, the only English conversations I picked up - besides my Economist news fix and my own lips smacking over masala dosa - were of marketing consultants and biomedical engineers.

I wonder, if I were to stay on my same track if things may work out richly in the end. And if I would want an alternate route, well, I could learn Hindi.

Here's a pakora in the face.

Love,
Jackie

Predicate

3 November 2007: Leeds to London and met up with a Brown classmate, Emily (Consultant, Japan/India).


[insert photo: family likeness] After lunch we wandered into the National Portrait Gallery to try to find her grandfather's portrait. Unfortunately the image was recently removed (I explained they were making room for Emily's portrait), but there were paintings, caricatures, and even a bust to be found in the museum computerised archives.

I savored my last night in the UK with my parents over dinner. And fell into a tipsy conversation with my dad about math and logic, of all things, which was actually quite thrilling. (Dork alert).

I'm going to miss my parents terribly, but after meeting Emily's gap year travel buddies for evening drinks, it was reassuring to see healthy supports even all the way around the world.

Belly

2 November 2007: 2nd day in Leeds with Frank (BioMechanics Post-Doc, Philadelphia) and Stephanie (Yoga Instructor, Ohio).

After a morning at Frank's lab at the University of Leeds and a wandering walk to Hyde Park - I rested in the afternoon doing yoga for the first time, ever before the "hat party" tonight.

Frank showed me yoga push ups and four other moving or holding shoulder poses. It was quite tiring, so I was thankful the routine actually concluded with a "yoga nap".

Anyway, it was during that time I felt and explosion in my belly chakra. I disregarded it as gas...

However, when I told Frank, he notified me we were doing Aura yoga, which does target the electromagnetic properties of the gut! Who knew.

As a yoga instructor, Stephanie was delighted to hear of my experience.