Sticky in Chennai

Devali!  The Festival of Lights! Devali is a super high caliber Hindu festival which celebrates the victory of good over evil, or was it the victory of good over ignorance?  Something like that...

Mostly the holiday is about giving away boxes of sickly sweet sweets, taking days off of work, buying new clothes, and mostly, by far, setting off lots and lots of fire crackers, or simply 'crackers.'  And, as far as I can tell, this is the main part of this holiday - lots of screaming kids blowing things up all day long.  It is like a 1,000 4th of Julys + 400 Chinese New Years put together.  Just countless small and large explosions going off all day long.

I have seen very few fireworks or other 'crackers' with stimulating visual effects, mostly they just go bang.  Some of the bangs are small.  Some large.  Sometimes you hear a hundred small bangs going off together, and other times just one massive bang that sounds like a laser guided smart bomb just landed in our neighbour's yard.  But one thing is for sure, I have not heard more than three seconds of silence in the past 12 hours. 

I heard one of co-workers comment that people brag about how much money they have spent on crackers - apparently blowing many crackers is a symbol of social and economic prestige.  One women commented that her family no longer buys crackers since that time they visited the small city whose entire livliehood is dependant on the production of crackers.  Turns out all the crackers are pinched and rolled by tiny little eight year old hands.  At this city, the name of which escapes me, starting from the day after Devali a large army of children is recruited to make crackers all year round in preparation of the coming Devali.  I was also surprised to hear that the one other industry in the town is creating matches.  (Total winning combination no?  I mean, when you get a cracker isn't a box of matches the first thing you look for?)

But round these parts the only small hands you see are those belonging to smiling and laughing children as they light yet another cracker.  Take for instance the gang of eight year olds on top of the building next to ours who are tossing cracker after cracker right outside our bedroom window.  As westerners, of course, the full majesty of the holiday is lost on us and we are left scratching our heads and thinking "Where the hell are their parents?!?"

Tomorrow I hope to get some good photos of the festivities.

Update:  A kind visitor has provided the name of the firecracker city Sivakasi. Here is an intresting article about child labor and crackers: http://www.frontlineonnet.com/fl1709/17090400.htm

Please recall that the date of Fitzmas was correctly predicted on this blog over a week ago. Fitzgerald wished to use every single day of the mandate handed to him to sweat out the White House goons. 

My take: Libby was indicted first to make him crack.  If he admits, as part of a deal, that White House officials knew that Plame's identity was classified when they planned to out her to the press, than at least one if not several major WH officials may go to jail.  Will Libby crack?  Or will he go to jail as a good mafiaso soldier should?  Has he already been promised a pardon after the 2006 mid-term elections?  Only time will tell... 

If you haven't yet, go to CNN or NYTimes and read the actual indictment.  It is a pretty light read.  The really intresting part:  Libby lied not just a little, but quite a lot.  Fitzgerald has caught him in lies left and right.  What on earth was Libby thinking?  It is also fascinating to see how many people at the WH were openly talking about "Wilson's wife." 

At first I was dissapointed that Rove escaped indictment - but now I realize this is quite good news for angry liberals  like me who have been sharpening knives for a Bush turkey dinner for a good five years now.   Happily, Fitzmas is no longer just a one day event, we will now have the exquisite pleasure of celebrating this holiday over several days...kind of like Fitzaunukkah.  And if this goes on long enough it will even become Fitzamadan. 

Happy holidays everyone! 

Oh yeah, about the Wilson's comment that this is a sad day and that no one should be celebrating - yeah, whatever.  Today I am very happy.  When the slow hand of justice begins to reveal the lies that brought a nation into an unnecessary and horribly wasteful war it is time to break out the champagne.   

And for those poor souls who are learning about the details of Fitzmas from stickyinchennai.com (Lord help us...) please do read www.talkingpointsmemo.com for some commentary with just a bit more depth.

One of the great things about South Indian cuisine is that they use banana leaves as plates. The good side of this is a) it looks beautiful and b) this practice is about as environmentally friendly as it gets. At the end of the meal the waiter just rolls up the leaf and chucks it into a waste basket. No waste of water or energy by washing plates, no non-biodegradable refuse.

The bad side is that a banana leaf is pretty flat so sauces and stuff can just roll off the plate and right onto your lap if you are not careful. Idea for great business: Steam press banana leaves into actual plate shapes and then ship to the US market. I think Americans would go crazy over such handsome biodegradable disposable plates. This would especially be a hit with the small but vibrant hippy observant Jewish crowd. What liberal Jew would not want banana leaf plates at their shabbos meal?

When eating on banana leaves waiters frequently come around with steel buckets offering additional servings of whatever strikes your fancy. To the right of Iris below you can see the bucket within which dinner is served.

It'a been raining for a two days straight with no pause.  Raining very hard.  The streets are flooded.  This reminds me of when I used to work in Arab towns in Israel.  A heavy rain would cause a ' rain day' and no one would go to work.  Here it is a bit different because I do not think people could get to work even if they wanted to - last night many of he roads were submerged.  Iris and I will venture out later to get some snap shots of what is going on. 

This bug electrocutor is placed in the main dining area of a very popular South Indian fare restaurant. It was placed right next to a table of four, seemingly happily eating away. It made me shudder and gave me goose bumps. Thankfully I did not hear any insects sizzle. Yet I couldn't resist, crouching down right next to it after dinner and photographing it for your viewing and grossing-out pleasure.
Today, in my pricey organic sourdough bread, purchased at a fancy new-agey organic food and otherwise nature-oriented store, I found a not-so-small fly embedded in the slice I had just cut for myself. It was the last slice of this bread and the last time I will every buy bread there. It was until this time, the preferred bread choice, but only amongst lots of disappointing options. Still looking for good bread, and not the Indian roti or naan. There's an abundance of great bread in that category obviously. Now I have to be wary of the organic jams and pastas I have bought at this organic store. I just want to let my guard down.

Ian found this tacky figurine of a schnauzer at Spencers Plaza, South India's largest indoor shopping mall, and I am told for a time India's largest indoor shopping mall. It is air conditioned, has many floors and different sections which are called "phases". This mall provides one-stop shopping for all your home and personal needs. We have bought our television, iron and numerous other things there, that is until we were told where many locals go to buy their appliances. But Spencers remains an interesting cultural experience. Many Indians come just to hang out, use it as a meeting point, eat at the food court or people watch.

Ian bought this little statue, the type one would see at a card and gift shop and wonder who buys such crap, for us to remember Max our miniature schnauzer living in New York. Such ugly trinkets become meaningful because of their emotional, shall we say, power. Now it is a decoration adorned with flowers (malipoo) with the prominent position on the coffee table.

I buy these local flowers, "malipoo" almost every day. They are basically jasmine and so have a beautiful scent. I buy a few strands and leave them around the home under a fan and the whole place smells like a poo, which means flower in Tamil. Here I am buying some.

Here is an expression of missing Max. You can take it any way you want.

Hey, we are having a blast! Really, we love it here. It’s paradise! Really. really.

Except, of course, for the horrible pollution that has given me a non-stop hacking cough since the day we got here. Also, it is a bit of a hassle that it is impossible to even take a simple walk down the street because of a) the sidewalks are all 18 inches high, b) the sidewalks are all blocked by all sorts of weird obstacles, like electricity boxes and telephone circuitry, that anywhere else on the planet would either be high in the air or deep underground, c) the sidewalks are actually a place called ‘home’ by a large portion of the population of Chennai d) the sidewalks are caked, and in some places even fully submerged, under years and years of accumulated filth and refuse and e) the sidewalks are really just one massive urinal.

And really, I love the locals. Really. Sweetest people you could ever hope to meet. Honest golly. Just a few weeks ago I made a post reading INDIANS: THE NICEST PEOPLE ON THE PLANET SECOND TO NONE. What I have discovered, however, is that being nice is not their only distinguishing characteristic.

Example #1:
At our last hotel, the Raintree, the staff was very helpful. When we would go for breakfast inevitably the same eager young man would stride up to the table “Tea? Coffee?” He would offer with a wide smile. “No, thank you.” 5 minutes pass, the man returns. “Tea? Coffee?” “No” 5 minutes. “Tea? Coffee?” “No.” 3 minutes. “Tea? Coffee?” “No, leave us alone.” Repeat several times until we crack and flee the restaurant for the security of our room.

Example #2:
Monday: “Yes madame, the internet will be ready on Thur, no doubt! Yes madame!” Head bobbing madly in complete and total affirmation.

Thursday: “Madame, it turns out we need to get a permit from the city to dig a hole in the ground for the internet. Saturday, no doubt, the internet will be ready!” Cue head bobbing.

Saturday: “Yes, we got the permit madame, but we need to install the wire from the roof down to the ground. Just one more day madame!”

Sunday: “Oh, sorry, the office is closed today. Really, tomorrow it will be ready, oh yes!”

Monday: “Oh, you didn’t sign the forms the right way madame. Oh so sorry.”

And it goes on and on….

Example #3:
“Manu! We would like to get the paper delivered to our apartment. Is this possible?”
“Oh yes! We will bring the newspaper up to you’re apartment. No problem.” Cue head bobbing.

Next morning, Sunday 6:00 AM. Ian and Iris are enjoying glorious sleep. Ian is recovering from a grueling work week. The door bell rings. The couple ignore the bell. The bell rings again. The bell rings again. The bell rings again. The couple are in complete and total shock. The bell rings once more, 10 minutes of silence follows. And, unbelievably, THE DOOR BELL RINGS AGAIN!

Ian storms to the door to find a gentle smiling man. “Oh, so good sir! Here is your newspaper” he says with great pride.

Now there was a time (3 weeks ago) when I thought all of this was just simple cultural confusion, but now a part of me is starting to suspect there is something else going on. There might be something a bit darker at play… The man delivering the newspaper, with his broad smile and loving demeanor, perhaps, just maybe, while he was incessantly ringing the bell was he maybe thinking deep in his subconscious “Oh, you want your newspaper! I’ll give you your newspaper! Here is your newspaper rich white man! Come and get your newspaper whitey!” ring, ring, ring… “Oh yeah, your newspaper is waiting!” ... Just a thought.

Let’s just say the bloom is off the rose.

After being here a few weeks, Ian and I started noticing something peculiar that we had not seen elsewhere. In the more residential and quiet parts of Chennai, there are dogs sleeping in the middle of the street. They can be in the many dog positions of sleep, curled up, stretched out, but smack dab in the middle of the darn street. They often barely move when a motor vehicle is approaching. They know that the vehicle will not hit them or at least slow down and give them time to get out of the way, lazily getting out of the way, after all they were sleeping and are groggy. These are stray dogs mind you that are very friendly but not interested in receiving a massage from a silly woman who misses her dog. I am often making attempts, through useless words and gestures of course, to pet them but they glance at me and seem bored, or they just keep prancing on. Obviously I need to offer some food. Quid pro quo in the interspecies world. I don’t feel snubbed the way I do when dogs who don’t need to “make a living” refuse my attention. These pampered pets are expressing discriminating tastes that are not in my favor. These street dogs after all have to scavenge for food, defend territory, play, get rest, and otherwise survive in the streets. They have more important things to tend to.

Indians are zany crazy consumers of astrology.  Many an Indian will not make any significant decision without consulting an astrologer.  In particular Indians run to an astrologer when selecting a mate as it is essential for there to be a harmonious congruency between the star charts of possible life-long partners.

Yesterday, after stopping for flowers and coconut water on the side of the road, we noticed a sign across the street that read: 

INSIGHT ASTROLOGY SERVICE

ACCURATE COMPUTER HOROSCOPE PRINTING & PREDICTIONS

astrology - numerology - marriage matching - lucky gem finder - birthday forecast - name change

It was a lazy saturday evening, we had no where to go, so we said, "hey, why not?"  Truth be told, we were a tad dissapointed once we entered the astrologer's office.  Behind a glass door was a tiny office with a small table, a computer, and a pleasant woman in a sari.  We waited a bit while the astrologer finished dealing with a customer and then she explained to us how she could provide a full astrological life-chart which would reveal much of what would occur in the coming decades.  A full life-chart and plan which would run over 40 pages, she said, would cost 150 rupees.  (Around $3.)

She also explained that she herself is not an astrologer but rather she relies on a computer software program to make the necessary celestial calculations to clarify the future events in question.  If we desired, she said, she could arrange for a personal appointment with an esteemed astrologer who would be able to provide a more detailed analysis than what her computer could produce.   

During this explanation a young man slid into the office (I can't say walked, because with Hana and I already inside he had only enough room to slide in...) The man was wearing only a dhoti (that dress thing) wrapped around his loins, his forehead was fully lathered with white ceremonial paint, his long hair was slicked back and, most memorable, he had a big healthy & hairy gut juting out.  Since he was not wearing any shirt it gave Iris and I ample opportunity to study his belly up real close and personal.  As he sat down next to me I noticed that he had on finely crafted golden earrings and several rings with large gems.

"Oh, this is one of the founder's of our office here!" The astrologer / computer operater said "He is also the priest of the temple across the street."  We exchanged pleasant introductions and the priest quickly asked for a simple astrological print-out of his star chart.  Not a full-life chart, just a basic chart showing the positioning of the planets on the day he was born.  In a moment he placed his 10 rupees on the table and slid out with his chart in hand. "That's it?"  I asked. "What is he going to do with just a planet chart? Doesn't he have a question to ask?"

"Oh, he will take his chart to an astrologer who will use it to give him advice and help.  It is kind of like getting an EKG and taking the results to a doctor for an interpretation."  "Ah, yes, we understand."

So five minutes later we left the office with a full astrological life plan in hand, and with $3 less in my wallet.  How were the results?  Out of the 40 pages a full 31 of them are charts with numbers and signs that are completly meaningless - at least to me.  The remaining pages are filled with many generalisations with a few specific details thrown in.  Somehow the computer, using ancient hindu astrological secrets that have been relied upon for thousands of years, was able to correctly guess my great love for food, physical intimacy, money and travel.   Who would've known?  Actually it wasn't that bad, but it wasn't so far off from that either. 

As we exited the astrological computer operator was kind enough to let us take a snapshot.

Hana enjoying coconut water, one of life's little pleasures. After quenching her thirst and greed for coco water, Hana found out from a numerologis down the alley, that her lucky number is 3, which she has heard before. She also learned that if she goes by only her first name and forgets her last name, maiden and married, she will be luckIER. She is already lucky. Does she need to have more luck? Henceforth she is to be known as Hana, just like Cher and Madonna. Please make a note of it.
HA