Visiting Vizag, Part I

The bunks in the train cars stack three high in groups of 2 per section (making 6 bunks per section) on one side of the train, two high on the other side. The middle bunks fold up, allowing the bottom bunks to be used as benches. I slept in the middle bunk on one side of our section, "L" in the middle on the other side. Mom and Dad likewise occupied the bottom bunks. Despite having room to stretch lying down, I didn't sleep all that well. It was quite warm, even with 3 fans blowing from the ceiling in our aisle. The bed was hard and the sheets we brought kept sliding around. I was conscious of wearing only shorts in public (no one else was wearing them), so I used my lungi as a thin blanket.

Price for one-way train ticket from Hyderabad to Vizag = Rs. 1034 for four people. That's about US $25 a person. Not bad.

We got into Vizag and navigated through masses of disembarking passengers and men asking to help us carry bags or offer taxis. We met Rajiv, "L's" 19-year-old cousin. He and his driver friend loaded up their Tata Indicar (about the size of a 4-door Geo Metro) and took us to their home. We met Sanjay, Rajiv's little brother, and Auntie "P", their mom (she's Mom's youngest sister). Uncle "R" was in Nasig and would be for a few years at least. We won't be meeting him during our time in Vizag. We also met Auntie "P's" mother ("L's" grandmother), who lives with them, and her mother-in-law, who lives alone in an apartment below them.
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We mainly hung out at home for the rest of the day. "L" and I taught Auntie "P", Rajiv, and Sanjay how to play "Hand & Foot" and "Pounce". "L" also taught a dice game called "10,000".

The weather seems a bit cooler, albeit more humid. Vizag is next to the Bay of Bengal. The beach is about 10 km away.

Rajiv is studying info technology at a Muslim college. It takes him 1.5 hours to get there. Sanjay is in 8th grade. He likes to play more than study, but he seems to be a good student, judging from the homework we saw of his. Sanjay attends a Catholic school, which he said is not as harsh as the public schools, which make students go to school for longer days, more days in a year, and would often hit students for not doing well.

We ate dinner quite late, around 11:30 pm. It's normal to eat dinner in India after 8 pm. Auntie "P's" home has a cute little sink in the corner of the dining room. Those who can afford it always have one, so people can conveniently wash their hands before and after eating dinner with them. By the way, I'm getting pretty used to eating with my hands now.

Rajiv spent the evening trying to get a DVD player to work in his computer, but wasn't able to, even after downloading countless drivers. We were hoping to see the DVD of our wedding that Auntie "S" made for us in Boxford.

We learned that the tsunami didn't affect Vizag too much. Some people did die here, but it was mainly because they were out in the ocean taking a Hindu holy bath. There was little property damage, if any. Rajiv and Auntie "P" said they could feel the vibrations of the waves crashing on the coastline. Makes a bit of sense, since the tsunami was just energy created by an earthquake.

Dad and I got into a spirited discussion about the place of Biblical philosophy in developing government policy.

Voyage To Vizag

We got up at 6 am to say goodbye to Uncle Mamaya, who is leaving for Mumbai and then home to Oman. He'll be missed. We've been blessed by his presence.

We had breakfast with Mr. "K". We had an interesting chat about visas to the U.S. and life/work in Oman and the Middle East.

Dad's relatives (about 12 of them) from the coastal villages stopped by for a visit. They were going on a tour around town. One of their stops was to visit me. They listened to Dad and me talk for a while, but did little talking themselves. "L" says they talk a lot if they were using their own language at their own home. Mom from Vancouver called in the middle of the visit, which was nice.

The rest of the afternoon was spent packing for the train trip to Vizag. We watched "Oprah" during the time, which featured an 14-year-old Iraqi boy who turned his insurgent father over to the U.S. and gained asylum to the U.S., and 7 American children stranded at a Nigerian orphanage, abandoned there by their adoptive mom. "L" talked on the side about what it would be like to adopt those 7 kids. I love that she thinks on the edge like that.

We took a city cab to the train station. We boarded a train heading for Visakhapatnam, aka Vizag. Vendors selling all sorts of food wandered up and down the aisle. Beggars also took advantage, though they weren't supposed to. A cop accosted one beggar boy and told him to get out, but that didn't stop others from coming. On one occasion, three "women" in sarees got a little demanding and touchy with the man sitting next to me. "L" suspected they might've been transsexuals, since Indian women wouldn't normally act like that towards strange men. Other women, some blind, walked by singing songs (sometimes Christian Telugu songs). "L" encourage Mom and Dad to give to some who were obviously disabled (one guy had pointy stumps for arms). We gave some samosas (triangular dumplings) to a couple of them.

The toilets on the train were clean, but smelly. Flushing dumped the toilet contents outside onto the tracks below. Of course, no flushing was allowed at station stops. Wouldn't want to be stinking up the areas where people stand.

The train made several stops in villages along the way, but no announcements were made as to where the stops were. Guess you just need to know when/where to get off on your own.

Much of the journey went through lots of open space, which surprised me, since India's so populous and is relatively small in land mass compared to China.

Happy Republic Day! Happy Reception!

Today is Republic Day in India, which is like Independence Day in the U.S. Many places around the city prepared for celebrations. Some places, I read, chose to tone festivities down out of respect for those who died in the tsunami and in the recent stampede at a Hindu temple near Mumbai.

We had breakfast with Mr. "K", Uncle Mamaya's wife's cousin's husband. Mr. "K" is a Muslim. He went to the Hajj last year during his stay in Oman last year. He was in Oman because his wife was there teaching English for a year. Mr. "K" had just taken voluntary retirement to spend a year in Oman. He took advantage of being so close to Mecca to take part in the Hajj, along with his wife. Uncle Mamaya said Mr. "K" became more devout in Islam after his Hajj pilgrimage. We invited Mr. "K" to tonight's reception, which he said he would try to come.

We spent the morning and afternoon getting ready for the reception tonight. We tested the VCR, computer, and projector to make sure it was working together properly. Dad rented a Ambassador cab for the day, allowing us to go back and forth to the Taj Tristar freely.

Time went by as more things needed to be done. I was getting concerned as the minutes and hours passed that we might not make it to the Taj Tristar at the 6:30 pm time. We managed to leave home around 6:30 pm. We stopped by the "5th Avenue Bakery" to pick up a cake. Things felt being rushed out, which didn't feel too good.

The reception, however, turned out much better than expected. About 150 came, although it seemed like more. More than half came after we started, even tho' it was a hour later than we had planned. We scrambled to get things set up. The only thing that didn't work right was the computer speakers; we used Dad's portable P.A. machine instead. We showed a Powerpoint presentation that "L" put together, along with the video of the wedding, and then part of the reception on the DVD. "L" and I cut the cake, fed each other, and exchanged garlands with each other, to the applause of the audience. Uncle Mamaya did a superb job MC'ing the entire affair, given that he had little time to prepare.

After the ceremony, everyone lined up to congratulate us and give us gifts. It was quite a line of people. Many were from SBF and Sram Ashram, others were relatives. I met Dad's side of the family. Dad's older brothers all gave me hugs. Dad's oldest brother hugged me the most. I was very touched and surprised by this. Their acceptance was something of a surprise to me, as "L" was worried how I, being a non-Indian foreigner, would be received as an in-law. It seems they received me quite warmly.

The highlight of the evening was the moment when everyone sang "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" on cue with the video at the point when it was sung at the Boxford wedding. I was moved to tears immediately upon the first strains of the hymn, which the group sang loudly. I guess it was the awe of witnessing two different bodies of believers, on completely different days, and in completely different countries (Boxford, USA and Hyderabad, India) and cultures sharing a common spiritual bond via this amazing and wonderful hymn of praise. It was truly magical and divine. I took took the mic afterwards and told our guests how much "L" and I were blessed by this unforgettable moment God provided for us. Everyone applauded in agreement.

Mr. "K" did make it to the reception, along with about a dozen of Dad's relatives. Some of Dad's relatives are Hindu, along with some of the hotel employees present, I'm sure. Along with Mr. "K", we hope they got to experience a bit of God's spirit in the ceremony.

The Taj Tristar staff were very accommodating and friendly, in spite of the sometimes-tense negotiations leading up to the event. They heartily wished us all well.

Folding Arms Have Different Meanings

We had good breakfast and lunch discussions with Uncle Mamaya, Mom, and Dad. We talked about different body languages, some of which surprised me. Did you know that in India, folding one's arms across one's chest during conversation is considered a gesture of humility and deference towards the speaker, whereas in the West, most consider it defiance or defensiveness?

Around 6 pm, Dad, Mom, "L", and I rented a city cab to go to a restaurant in Kukatpally to attend a 10th anniversary party for the stepdaughter and step-son-in-law of Auntie "R", Mom's younger sister. It was quite far, about 25 km and Rs. 250-300. Dad quite in a bit of an argument with the driver, who he felt was being dishonest with the cab meter.

The ceremony was simple, with a sermon from a Telugu pastor and some hymn-singing. Dad and Uncle Mamaya also spoke (in English, for my benefit, they said). The husband/wife being honored exchanged thick garlands, a part of the Indian tradition of honor. A surprise came when the pastor asked us to come up to be prayed for. It was a way of recognizing us as newlyweds. We were asked up again later, on stage, to exchange garlands ourselves, courtesy of Auntie "R" and her husband. It was a bit awkward, as I wasn't familiar with the custom, but it was fun. I was touched by the gesture and the prayers.

Remembering Peddamma

We went to Uncle "W's" apartment around 3:00 pm. His apartment has two bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The apartment was old and somewhat decrepit. The bathrooms weren't very clean. Its doors and walls were worn, beat-up, and stained. It'd been a while since it'd been occupied. He and Peddamma and their 3 kids lived there for 20 years before moving to New Zealand, where Peddamma passed away 2 years ago. Even tho' they haven't lived there for a while, Uncle "W" still keeps it as a place for them to stay in India. He still keeps his power, cable modem, and cable TV running all this time. We hung around waiting until 6:30 pm to set up for the service. People trickled in slowly, including families and kids "L" didn't know. We sang hymns and listened to people share about Peddamma. A pastor shared some words from the Bible, along with Uncle Mamaya and Dad. "L" wrote some thoughts for me to read aloud, since she was too emotional to do so. Dad translated into Telugu. We later ate dinner and met some more relatives before piling into a city cab heading home. Dad had bought 10 chairs for use during the service. We brought them home, along with other things. It was a tight squeeze, but we made it.

Visiting The Shanties

Dad and I scootered early to go to church. Dad taught Sunday School. About 15 people showed up. He taught on 1 Corinthians.

Pastor "E" gave a long sermon on evangelism. He exhorted SBF to do more in the area of reaching out to the growing English-speaking community of Hyderabad, Secunderabad, and soon-to-be Cyberabad. We sang hymns out of an 50-year-old Baptist hymnal that had "America the Beautiful" and "The Star-Spangled Banner" in it.

While leaving, I took some pix of Secunderabad traffic. I didn't notice this before, but there is a HUGE squatter area right across the street from SBF. Several acres covered with small huts where families lived.

During the afternoon at home, we watched "Mr. Bean" on TV.

Around 4:30 pm, Dad and I joined "Y" (one of Dad's workers and a mid-20's pastor of a church reaching out to the poor) and some of his colleagues to visit some families who lived in a nearby squatter area about 2 km from Dad and Mom's home. There were 4 small, A-framed huts there. A covered latrine sat nearby. Chiseled stones arranged in circles provided the families with fireplaces. Litter was strewn about. Pigs and chickens wandered through towards the nearby Kalyan "downtown" area. The fathers of the families, along with their kids, came to listen to Dad speak on various topics. I told the little story about the boat and the lucky T-shirt to the kids, using paper they provided (Dad wouldn't let me use the paper scraps strewn about the ground). The kids really like seeing their pics on "L's" digicam. It started to rain a bit. Dad and "Y" passed out candy. Four Bibles were given to four men (presumably the dads). We left shaking hands with everyone. The kids said in broken English, "Thank you, sir" and "Bye, bye". The families, I learned, had attended "Y's" church once. They are of Hindu background. "L" and Mom said that many such families don't try very hard to take themselves out of poverty because of their Hindu beliefs in karma and of the caste system. Some still spend lavishly on Hindu festivals, in spite of their indigent state.

"Bee" Careful When Ordering Fast Food...

Slow day today. "L" and I went to the Internet café for a couple of hours. We took some pictures as well. One favorite was that of a herd of buffaloes being led across a residential road.

Dad and I went out to "5th Avenue Bakery" to pick up 4 small pizza, 2 hamburgers, and 4 drinks (all for Rs. 260). The place is quite popular, owned by Iranians who don't speak the local language well. There were large bee/wasps that swarmed part of the ceiling, which was a little weird. Probably a hive nesting somewhere in the restaurant ceiling. Yikes!

That's Eid as in "Eden", Not "Eyed"

Today is a Muslim holiday, Eid-Mubarak. I believe it's the celebration of the end of Hajj.

We spent the morning relaxing, talking, and having breakfast with Uncle Mamaya, Mom, and Dad. We talked about Uncle Mamaya's life in Oman. He invited us to come sometime. Muscat is apparently very modern, clean, and orderly, almost like any Western city, which explains why ex-pats growing up there may not want to leave.

We watched "American Idol" together. I've never watched this show, except once on someone's video tape. To think I had to come to India to see it for the first time.

Pastor "E" from SBF (a local church) dropped by for a chat. Dad and Uncle Mamaya talked about life as pastors. Pastor "E" has done some work with Ravi Zacharias. Actually, he kinda sounds like him. Later Uncle "R" (from Vizag....Mom's cousin who also married Mom's youngest sister) and Uncle from NZ dropped by. Listening to them talk about the faith community in India and abroad was fascinating to say the least. Pastor "E" said a prayer before he left.

"L" and I took a walk around. Small, A-frame squatter shacks dot the neighborhood. Barefoot children played outside in the shadow of small stores, farms, and a couple of Hindu temples. Two girls and a boy dressed in kung fu outfits practiced on a dirt field, perhaps awaiting their instructor (a sign off the road said kung fu lessons would be held there). The usual cows, chickens, stray dogs, stray cats, and pigs, of course. The sun was large, red, and soft. We took a few pix on the terrace.

Hitting A Wall

We dressed to go to a betrothal ceremony for Mom's cousin's son and his fiancé. It was outdoors. Festive marigolds, jasmine, and balloons half-dipped in psychedelic paint decorated the stage. The audience was coverd by a large, colorful, worn, quilted cloth held up by large sticks cut from trees. Several men, including Dad and Uncle Mamaya, took turns making speeches, reading the Bible, praying, and singing. Some present were Hindus, who didn't pay much attention. Many of them were colleagues of the bride-and-groom-to-be. Not as many family members were present as they wished, which made our presence all the more meaningful to them. The entire service was conducted in Telugu. The families of the groom gave gifts to the bride's family. Rings were exchanged. The bride and groom were stoic for the most part, but after the service, they seemed more loose. We went up to the stage later and congratulated them. There were plates of flower petals on chairs next to them. People would sprinkle them on the bride and groom's heads as they congratulated them.

For the first time, I felt I hit a wall culturally. I felt stifled by the traditions and expectations on me as a foreigner, American, and member of an Indian family. It's one thing to be a foreign observer, tourist, even aid worker. But having intimate connections with a family via marriage brings about new challenges I'd never anticipated. I felt too restricted, too nagged, overwhelmed by what's considered proper and improper in India. India seems more restrictive in allowing social and casual self-expression than the U.S. Expression in media (which India and the U.S. are about par) is one thing --- social interactions are another. Maybe it's still early and my education into this side of culture is at pre-school level. I also acknowledge my history of bucking, questioning, and challenging the traditions and cultures I grew up with (American, Asian, Christian). Doing so as a newcomer to a more rigid (or at least seemingly so) culture like India's is not as easy. I sometimes wonder if those close to me in India grow weary of hearing my questions about things that may be more obvious to them. So rather than try to do the "right" thing culturally, I felt for the moment it was easier to take the path of least resistance and say/do nothing or as little as possible, to avoid doing the "wrong" thing. However, I risk alienating myself or coming across as cold, impolite, and unfriendly. "L" and I had a good talk about this and cleared up some misunderstandings.

The "city cab" was a bit hard to come by, apparently because many taxi drivers are Muslim and are taking the day off for Eid-Mubarak. Also, many Muslims are taking what taxis are left for the celebration, further diminishing the supply.

Beggars are all around the streets, knocking on car windows asking for money or something to eat. Two little girls saw a half-drank bottle of Coke I had and excitedly motioned how they wanted it. I opened the window and handed it to them. They immediately snatched it and drank it together greedily.

A Man From Oman

Dad and I scootered to the airport to pick up Uncle Mamaya from Oman. Uncle Mamaya is Mom's younger brother.

Dad commented that Hyderabad used to be very simple, uncrowded, mild, back 10 years ago, but now it's become more and more like Kolkata and Mumbai. More traffic, pollution, crowds now. He said that many places just on the outskirts don't have traffic lights (I noticed very few traffic lights around where we live), which is because the twin cities (Hyderabad/Secunderabad) haven't quite caught up with the immense growth around it.

We waited for a "city cab" taxi, but couldn't seem to get one, even tho' Dad called in for one several times. Uncle Mamaya and I climbed aboard an auto-rickshaw instead. We had a good conversation along the way. Uncle Mamaya serves in an international church in Oman. He's been there the past 8 years, although he's thinking about moving on. He originally did some work in Rajasthan with the Muslims. His wife is a Christian convert from Islam and was ostracized by her family.

We had a prayer meeting at 7 pm. No one came for the first half-hour, during which time Mom, "L", and I sang songs while I played guitar. Two couples came later. We sang more songs and then shared. Dad came by eventually. We shared requests and then went around the circle to pray. One woman named Samla shared how she'd been sharing with customers at her store. They'd been asking questions about her faith and she welcomed the opportunity to share. All the ones she shared with come from a Hindu background.