There’s not much to do in Mithapur. There are the beach and Saturday night movies on the lawn, two restaurants, and supposedly, a disco … but that’s about it. In a way, this is alright because, as a factory town, everyone here works six days a week. People *need* Sunday for relaxation. (I know I do!) Needless to say though, we haven’t gone out much since arriving here three weeks ago. Plus, with all the precautions we’ve been given about food and water, we’ve been hesitant to partake in anything outside our hotel.
Last night was our first real night out.
Mr. Kamani, the Tata Community Development staff in charge of the Natural Resource Management programme, invited Lee, Jamal, and I for dinner. He sent a car to pick us up at 7:45, and we arrived at his home at around 7:50. Nothing is too far in Mithapur.
Mithapur housing is all owned by Tata and houses are allocated to employees based on seniority. As a fairly senior person here, Mr. Kamani and his family live in a pretty nice house near the beach. It’s not a free-standing home … more like a condominium. He chose to re-locate to this particular unit a year ago because it has a large open courtyard with a swing, as well as space for his wife’s kitchen garden. We sat outside with Mr. Kamani’s wife and his eldest son, Kayed, who is about 15 and in the 10th standard (grade). Like most young people in Mithapur, Kayed speaks very good English.
After chatting on the patio for a while, we were invited into their home to eat. His wife had made an assortment of Gujarati dishes, including spicy potatoes (seasoned with lots of chilis), seasoned chick peas, fresh, pureed mango, a buttermilk dhal (soup), chapatti (flat bread), and okra covered in a peanut-paste. (Sorry I don’t know any of the proper names of these dishes!) We were given a “thali,” which is a silver platter with two little cups for soup or more liquid-y dishes. We served ourselves and ate in the living room.
One major difference between India and the West is that Indians use their hands to eat. Utensils are usually available, but locals prefer to break off a bit of chapatti (flat bread) and use it for picking up bites of food.
I have been watching people eat lately, noticing how the locals tend to rip off a piece of chapatti and feed themselves with one hand. The movement involved in ripping off a piece of chapatti with one hand seemed awkward to me … it’s much easier to use two hands. Last night, it occurred to me that the reason they rip their chapatti this way is because the left hand is considered dirty (see prior post for the reason behind that!). I have known for a long time that the left hand is not supposed to be used while eating, but I hadn’t really thought much about it during my time here … and as a result, I found myself using my left hand last night, something they probably think is downright disgusting behaviour! As soon as I realized it, I started making a conscious effort to use only my right hand, but it was hard. I kept telling myself, “You do not have a left hand. Your left hand is nailed to your leg. Do not use it!” It took a lot of concentration … and even this morning, back at the breakfast table, I found myself breaking bread with my left hand again. The man servants that watch us eat must think I’m a pig! Oh well …
I don’t feel so bad about my bad behaviour in front of those guys. They have some pretty appalling behaviour by my standards! In particular, they sometimes avoid interacting with me directly and will ask Lee to speak on my behalf. A typical exchange goes like this:
Man Servant guy: Sir, would you like some juice?
Lee: Yes, please.
Man Servant guy (still looking directly at Lee): And madame? Would she like some juice?
I can’t help but to laugh. Sometimes I just pipe up and answer, sometimes Lee will say, “I don’t know, why don’t you ask her,” and a couple of times, I’ve said, “Hey, I’m right here. You can ask me directly.” The thing is, it doesn’t much matter what we say … their English isn’t that good, so I don’t think they understand what we mean anyway.
This sort of treatment is not just limited to the Mitha Mahal Guest House. I get it everywhere. I think most people around here think that Lee and I are married and that I am just here as his wife, supporting him while he works. This is the normal modus operandi of any woman staying at Mitha Mahal. It seems unusual here for a married woman to have a job, to be traveling without her husband, and to speak to men directly as I do. People just don’t know what to make of me.
Just a few days ago, I was riding in a car with another woman without Lee. So far, the Community Development staff have felt it important for Lee and I to see the same things. Now, we are getting into our individual projects, which means we are going off on separate field visits. Anyway, this woman noticed that I was on my own, without Lee and she said, “Your partner is not here today?” I replied rather defensively, “He’s not my partner, he’s my co-worker … and no, he’s not here today.” Who knows the implication of “partner” in these parts – maybe she meant “co-worker.” Regardless, I think Lee and I both want to be seen as individual characters – definitely not as a couple!
The other thing that often happens is that another man will ask Lee a question about himself, such as “What are you studying?” or “Where are you from?” They do not look at me or even think to ask me the same. Again, I think this is the assumption that I am Lee’s wife and that wherever he is from is where I am from … and what I’m doing here is supporting him.
Lee and I have a great time with this … we try to gently correct the assumptions and change the dynamic. Plus, as you would expect, I can’t easily fall into line with this … I still address men in just the way I do in the US or UK. People may think it’s distasteful, but whatever: I’m happy to challenge that view a bit.
It should be noted that the younger generations do not seem to have this same view of women. I work in an office with several Indian management trainees (women and men), who are usually from universities in big cities. They interact with me and with each other in just the way we would in the West. I think I have to remember that I am in a very rural part of India where some antiquated norms are still very ingrained in the culture. I wish I could also do a bit of my internship in a place like Mumbai … just so I could properly compare the two.
Back to the dinner at Mr. Kamani’s …
The food was excellent. Everything was better than at Mitha Mahal, and Mitha Mahal ain’t bad.
After dinner, we spent about an hour looking through photo albums from Mr. and Mrs. Kamani’s wedding up through vacations taken just last year. You might expect these pictures to look very different from family photos in the West, but that was not the case. Families are families are families – it doesn’t matter where in the world we are. In many cases, I could have replaced the Kamani faces with Fitton faces and had a picture that looks strikingly similar to one that actually exists in my mother’s photo collection. Birthday parties, sporting events, family vacations, naked baby pictures … it’s all the same. The only noticeable difference was in the pictures of ceremonies. Weddings are much more colorful, boisterous events here … none of the white dress and elegant centerpieces.
At around 10:30, Mr. Kamani said, “Let’s move!” (This is often the way people tell us that it’s time to go somewhere.) I wondered if he had hired a car for us, but that was not the case … and I panicked a little (in my head) when he started up his motorcycle. I have seen groups of four riding on one motorcycle but never intended to try that out myself! Fortunately, Kamani’s son also had a mini-motorcycle. I rode with the son and Lee and Jamal rode on the back of Mr. Kamani’s bike. Until a week ago, I have never, ever ridden on a motorcycle. I witnessed bad motorcycle accident in Florida several years ago and decided that motorcycle riding was not for me. But, just last week, my boss Rehana took me on the back of her scooter and now again, last night, I found myself hanging on for dear life, thinking “OMG! This is SCARY/FUN!”
Obviously, I made it home alright and the ride capped a good night off with a thrill.