I'd like to amend some of my earlier unkind comments about the CSI choir. I won't delete them because I want this blog to be an honest record of my experiences and feelings, and that sort of revisionist editing would undercut the whole endeavour. But I can offer a more positive perspective now that is equally true.

The Holy Trinity CSI church had its Christmas carol service on Saturday, and I was very pleasantly surprised by the choir. We really pulled it together over the course of the last week, and sounded very good on Saturday. And I even actually had fun singing with them. Never saw that coming. Musical ability aside, the choir is a great group of people who sing for all the right reasons and who definitely do they best they can with what they've got. and I certainly can't fault them for that. They're all very happy singing in the choir-- I was the one who had a problem and was being overly-critical.

As much as I bitched and moaned about having to practice every single night for the past two months, I'm kind of bummed now that choir season is winding down. Singing in all these choirs was a very positive experience and was an opportunity to get to know people I probably wouldn't have otherwise and was a great way to get familiar with a new language.

So consider this my apology to the choir. It's still not very well run or organized, but that's ok. It doesn't have to be. I'm sure it doesn't bother God in the least, and it shouldn't bother me either.

Fashion Disasters

Just before the college carol service on Sunday, as the choir was milling around outside the chapel waiting for the chords that would signal us to start marching down the aisle, two of my friends, Beena and Pretty (yes, that's really her name...), came over to me, grabbed my arm and whispered urgently, "Andy, we have to talk to you."

From the way they said it, I was guessing that an attempt was going to be made on my life, so I followed them with equal urgency. They led me about ten meters away from the larger group and said in hushed voices laden with gravity "You need to tuck in your shirt."

So I laughed and tucked in my shirt.

I laughed, not because of the fact that an untucked shirt was a matter of life and death, nor because they were so interested in preserving my dignity and showing the proper respect to a teacher and Westerner that they felt the need to inform me of this in private. I laughed because this is the third time I have been sternly reprimanded for my gross impropriety of dress and appearance.

For a country where most homes don't even have indoor plumbing and deodorant is completely unfamiliar, India is positively obsessed with appearances and vanity.

There are very strict codes of what is considered appropriate with regard to one's appearance. And I am daily at variance with these codes. Normally, people are willing to overlook it because I am a foreigner. But when my breaches of propriety impinge upon someone else's image, you better believe I hear about it!

The first talking-to I got was from a fellow named P.T. (not to be confused with P.I., from the last post) John at Chacko Homes. After lunch one day, John rang my doorbell and said, with the same sense of quiet, earnest urgency I heard from the girls on Sunday, "Andrew, I need to talk to you about something." I had been wearing a plain white T-shirt around that day, and apparently this is entirely unacceptable. White T-shirts are considered underwear and are not to be worn in public. This is the equivalent of showing up for dinner in your tighty whities (which is pretty high on my list of things to do, actually).

The second time my appearance became a problem was when a friend invited me to visit his family's home in the Idukki district one weekend. When he showed up on Saturday morning to collect me, he looked at me with dismay and said, "Oh no, this is very bad. I can not take you like this." I was confused. I looked exactly the same as I do every day-- khakis, button-down shirt, hair fairly neatly combed (I know, I can't believe I dress like this every day either...), so I didn't see what the problem was. But my shirt wasn't tucked in, I didn't have a belt. And worst of all was my scruffy beard. Americans in magazines, he said, are all precisely dressed, clean-shaven, and have perfect coifs.

Indians, especially Indian males age 17-23, worship all thingsAmerican and do their best to model themselves after Leonardo DiCaprio circa Titanic, the Backstreet Boys, and male models in magazines.

I am problematic because I meet precisely none of these standards. He didn't want his family to meet Andy the Missionary-- he wanted an American Ken doll to show off. Which sort of makes sense. In a place as anglophilic as Kerala, having a white American friend to show off is a tremendous status symbol, and is sure to bump up your coolness and respectbility quotient a few notches.

So on sunday, I tucked in my shirt and I don't wear white T-shirts around anymore. But my hairline is not conducive to a coif, and I like my pubescent beard so I'm going to keep it, thank you very much. I'll accomodate India to a certain extent. But like my brother says, yeah, I'm here to absorb all of India I can. But I'm also here to give India the Andy Smith Experience. So I've got to stay true to who I am.

Christmastime, Indian Style

Ellavarkum Christmasinte mangalangal! Christmas greetings to you all!

While you would never know it from the weather, it's Christmastime in India (why does that sound like a Weird Al song to me?). I'm pretty sure there won't be any white (except for me!) involved in Christmas here, and I have yet to see an actual pine tree. But there are stars being hung in front of every house, Christmas lights are even going up in places, and Christmas songs are being sung as Keralites prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The only place in India that has a reasonably high Christian population (I've heard estimates everywhere between 20-40%), Kerala is a fascinating place to celebrate Christmas, because people of all different faiths get into the celebrations. And I've gotten to partake in some of the festivities.

I should preface this by explaining that I've been singing in three different choirs for the Christmas season-- the UC College Christmas choir, the Holy Trinity CSI choir, and the YMCA Ecumenical choir. Between them, I've had at least one choir practice every day of every week for the past two months (yes, they all started preparing for Christmas in October-- that's early even by my standards!). I love singing in the college choir-- it's well organized and well directed by Thomas Phillip (TP Saar), who really knows music and is a great teacher. Plus, it's made up of a wonderful group of students and faculty who I love spending time with and getting to know.

Not quite so well organized is the Ecumenical choir, whose practices are rarely announced in advance (three times last week, Santhosh, the most competent director of this choir [there are a few different guys who seem to be vying for control], came to knock on my door while I was in varying states of undress and repose during my few unspoken-for hours, to say "hey, we're practicing now if you can join us."), and which really has no clear cut leader- or director-ship. Practices are sparsely attended at best, but at least most of the people in the choir can sing pretty well and know music in at least some nominal sense.

The CSI choir, however, is a disaster. Practices are reasonably predictable and regular, but are still laxly attended. Which is a travesty because there are many members who can not carry a tune, much less read music, harmonise or blend with other parts. And the director is, frankly, awful. I've been blessed to work with some really talented musical directors in the past-- Dick Eckstein, Sal and Bonnie, Sara from Starving Artists--, so I might not be in a fair place to judge. But this guy doesn't seem to realize that parts generally need to be taught before a performance, and that it's usually NOT a good idea to spring a new piece of music on a choir in the penultimate practice before a Christmas service. And it can't help that he's a blowhard who just likes to hear himself talk and sing, even though he can't sing a note, and I'm pretty sure he's never looked at a sheet of notation in his life. So we have sheaves of songs that have never been taught, that we're still expected to sing in less than a week; half of which are in a language that I can't understand, and use scales, modes, and rhythms completely unfamiliar to me. Good thing we've sung through these songs all of once, and that in unison on the melody.

And again, maybe I'm not in a position to judge. I can't really read music either, and I don't have a very good ear. But I'm aware of my shortcomings in this respect and thus, WOULD NEVER MAKE MYSELF A CHOIR DIRECTOR!! If only others were as considerate...

But I digress.

Like I said, I've already taken part in a pretty fair number of Christmas-related activities. On Friday, I was invited to join the final-year BSc Chemistry students' Christmas celebration, and to take part in their Christmas Friend (read: Secret Santa) activities. They had decorated the classroom with streamers and balloons, and there was an Indian Christmas tree in the corner (basically a sawed-off tree branch decorated with streamers and balloons. But hey, they get an E for effort). Once everybody had arrived, we presented our Christmas Friend with their gift, and gave them a piece of cake. I really dig the fact that cake is apparently a big part of Christmas here. Of course, since I was the guest of honour, they made me go first despite the fact that I was obviously completely unaware of the proper protocol for how this was all supposed to go down. But, I made my way through it, and presented Revathy with a little ceramic Santa and card (and cake) to cheers and thunderous applause. I learned from the example of subsequent presenters that you're supposed to make the identity of your Christmas Friend a sort of riddle and cryptically list some of their characteristics. Oh well. I'll remember that for next time (yes, there is a next time. I've got a couple more of these bad boys to attend). So the "wonderful, lovely man from America who plays the guitar" got a little glass sailboat and a small brass replica lamp. I'm stoked. I really wanted one of those lamps! Once the gifts and cake were all distributed, the students asked me to lead them in singing some Christmas songs. I had brought my guitar and all-purpose book of music, so I felt ready for anything. Trouble was, the students don't know any of the Christmas carols we do!! (That's not entirely true-- they do know Jingle Bells and Silent Night). So it mostly ended up being a solo performance, with a few teachers joining in on the songs they knew. While I would've prefered a sing-along, this format allowed me the opportunity to sing some songs they probably wouldn't have known anyway-- namely, "Blue Christmas" and, yes, Parkway South fans "Do They Know It's Christmas?". And I managed to teach them a couple of our Christmas songs. In exchange they sang me some Malaylam film songs.

That evening was the YMCA Ecumenical Christmas Carol Service. More a choir-fest than a worship service, this event showcased several local choirs singing a few songs each. I knew that the Ecumenical Choir would be singing. We had practiced and prepared for it, and our performance of two songs (one in Malayalam, and "Angels We Have Heard On High") came off very well. I was not aware that the CSI choir would be performing. We had neither practiced nor prepared for this event, and the performance, like everything else this choir touches, was a disaster. But I don't think the audience could tell. So I just smiled and mumbled the Malayalam words I was seeing for the first time as well as I could. And of course, since we're in India, the programme started late and ran much longer than anticipated, so I missed dinner. Fortunately my friend, P.I. John was kind enough to invite me back to his house for some bread and jam and biscuits so I didn't have to go to bed on an empty stomach.

And most recently, last night was the UC College carol service. Every year, the residents of the men's hostel try to outdo the previous year in terms of decorating. This year, the Chackos (thus named because they're residents of Chacko Hostel) put up a huge tree reaching almost to the ceiling of the chapel and hung a hundred and one stars around the chapel, including one that had to be more than ten metres tall on a tree outside.

The carol service seems to have been a huge success. It was very well attended-- the chapel was packed to the gills, and probably a hundred people were standing outside. The choir sang very well, and I received many compliments on my solo and on the fact that I was able to sing the Malayalam songs with apparent ease. After the chapel emptied out, the choir and the Chackos had a sort of after-party. Well, maybe "party" isn't the proper nomenclature. We sat in the pews and had tea, oranges, and cake, and anyone who wanted to made a little speech.

I tried to have a friend videotape the service for me, but my battery died after just one song-- d'oh!!

Over the next week and a half, I'l be attending a whole bunch more Christmas activities, so I'll be sure to keep sharing what Christmas is like in India!

Apologies!

To anyone who is actually interested in what I write here, and who hasn't given up on my blog entirely by now, I apologize for not being more diligent with my posts. It's certainly not for a lack of desire to write or a lack of content. I've been doing a ton of writing, and really want to share some of my thoughts, struggles, and experiences with you. But I simply don't get the time required to sit down at the computer and do it. Which is entirely contrary to what I'll be writing in an entry I post soon (I hope).

Anyway, I want to try and catch up with everything I've been meaning to post. So in order to make it a bit more manageable (for the writer and the readers), I'll try to do several relatively short posts rather than trying to catch you all up on a month's worth of life in one huge epic, which has been my tendency in the past (sorry about that too!), and which has, I think, been part of the reason that I haven't been able to post as much as I'd like. When it takes me an hour to write one massive entry, it's no surprise that I can't find the time to post often.

So bear with me while I try to catch up. I think I'll try to start with the more topical things first, and deal with the more philisophical musings later on.

peace.

November Retreat Part II
(23-26 November 2006)

Ok, so I realize it's no longer November. I again apologize for my laxity in making these posts; but believe it or not, I've actually been too busy to spend any real concentrated time at the computer.

Regardless, the weekend before last (when it was still November), all of us volunteers got together in Trivandrum (Thiruvananthapuram, if you prefer) for a retreat/exposure program. The original plan was to get together at Achen's house for Thanksgiving on the 23rd and then head to Andhra Pradesh for an exposure program. However, because of the Sabarimala pilgrimage season, we were unable to get train tickets; so we had to revise our program. Instead, we decided to head down to Trivandrum on Thanksgiving and spend the weekend there learning about the plight of the fishworkers. The only problem was that this way, it didn't look like we'd get to have a special Thanksgiving dinner. Taking matters into our own hands, the volunteers hatched a plan to make our own Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday night before we left. We'd all get together in Kottayam and make a turkey and stuffing and potatoes, and celebrate a good ol' fashioned American Thanksgiving together. But once we realized that we had no way to cook anything, and once Achen expressed his disapproval of the plan, we were convinced that we were just not meant to have a Thanksgiving dinner.

I have to admit that after our plans for Thanksgiving dinner were foiled, I did not have high expectations for this retreat. And one six hour train ride and one attack against my live-a-simple-and-responsible-life-of-mindfulness-and-love plan for my life later, I was not feeling much better upon our arrival in Trivandrum.

But such is this group that from the jaws of suckines, we can pull life, light, love, and laughter (and alliteration, apparently).

We arrived at the Animation Camp retreat centre around 6pm and all crowded into Achen's room where we reflected a bit on Thanksgiving. We told the story of Thanksgiving, explained briefly why we celebrate, and what the holiday means to us. We all shared some memories of Thanksgivings past-- Allison's slice of Norman Rockwell Americana, the story of Achen and Betty's first Thanksgiving in America, the story of how Cat's mom learned to celebrate again. And I...

How do you explain a Smith Family Thanksgiving to someone who doesn't know what a nose-flute is?

I tried, but Lord knows there are some things you simply can't describe with mere words.

Anyway, we talked a bit about things we've witnessed here that have moved us, and I think we all struggled a bit with the idea of Thanksgiving as one volunteer was moved to tears telling of a young girl who cannot attend the class field trip because her mother-- an abandoned woman who must support herself, her children, and a mother with heart disease-- can not afford the Rs. 200/- (about $4 USD) it would cost to send her. We all railed inwardly against the cruelty of a system that could allow this, and pleaded outwardly for an answer. Then, we all went around and said what we're thankful for-- loving people at home and in India, eachother, the challenges we face that help us to grow. We lifted up in prayer family and loved ones near and far, one another, and those we came here to serve.

And then it was time for dinner.

Unbeknownst to us, the staff at Animation Camp had been informed of what constituted a Thanksgiving dinner and had done their best to approximate it. So we had chicken and potatoes, and salad and veggies; none of it quite what we're used to, but all of it fantastic. The food would have been great on its own, but the love and attention that had obviously gone into it made it that much more special.

The next morning, the other volunteers presented me with a "birthday present." When we came together in the end of October for Betty's birthday, we composed and performed a song for her. I was informed that no one wanted to sing in front of me, so instead they came up with a little skit that depicted how some of my different personalities would respond to a particular situation. It was almost frightening how accurately Metal Andy, English Major/Teacher Andy, Buddhist Andy, and Crohn's Disease Andy dealt with the onslaught of an overly zealous Christian fundamentalist Indian student (played with gusto by Achen). It was embarrassing, humbling, and wonderful. I was mortified, I laughed until I cried, and I am still curious when and how they put this together.

The rest of that day was spent with two activist/film-makers, both named Santhosh. With them, we watched and discussed films and documentaries that relate to issues of interest and our work in India. We had some really good conversations regarding these films, and I think we all gained some valuable insights. And those of us working in colleges got some good advice on how to try and make students care about social issues and engage in meaningful discussion about them.

The following morning, we were up at the crack of dawn so that we could leave Animation Camp by 5am to get down to the beach by sunrise to watch the fishing boats do their thing. From a pier jutting out into the ocean, we watched as dozens of small fishing boats set out from the beach and spread their nets in hopes of a bountiful catch-- an increasingly unlikely scenario, as the ocean floor is being decimated by commercial trawlers that lack the personal connection to and understanding of the sea that these fishermen have cultivated for generations, and entire species of fish are being wiped out by the loss of this ecosystem and through overfishing. It was beautiful to see the sun rise over the sea, and it was interesting to watch the fishworkers pull the boats and nets onto the beach. But sadly, we actually learned very little. While we had some representatives of the fishworker's union with us, they really just talked amongst themselves in Malayalam and completely ignored our presence for the most part.

This scenario repeated itself again later when we visited Srothus, a community centre that works with women and children from the city. While we were again ostensibly meeting with representatives from the union to learn about the plight of the fishworkers and the role the union is playing in their struggle, a more accurate description would involve us struggling to stay awake while the "grown ups" talked with eachother in a language that even the best of us only understand the barest rudiments of. On the bright side, we got to met Sister Annie, the nun who runs Srothus. She's an absolutely amazing woman who has done some really incredible stuff-- like working in the Belgian Congo during its struggle for independence. As if we needed any further reasons to love Sister Annie, she gave us food. We ate breakfast and lunch at Srothus. Between the meals, we briefly went to a park where we sat under a palm tree sipping tender coconut water, and sat on a beautiful beach for a while. After lunch at Srothus, we went to Kovalam, another beautiful beach that seems to be a major tourist destination for Europeans (particularly Germans). So we spent the latter part of Saturday swimming, lying on the beach, and feeling scandalized by the tourists' and eachothers' lack of clothing. Before we headed back to Animation Camp, we decided to kick back on the veranda of a beachfront restaurant and sip tropical drinks while we watched the sun set over the ocean. So maybe this doesn't fit the traditional view of missionaries. But I think we all needed it. For the women in our group, it was a fleeting but vivid moment of freedom. For all of us it was a mental break from the pressure, doubt, stress, strain, and anxiety we all face on a daily basis. Like my trip to Ft. Cochin, it was a chance to step outside our experience for a couple of hours and laugh, argue, reminisce, and reflect on our experiences while being allowed the perspective one can only gain by getting away from those experiences.

The next day we headed back to the reality of our respective sites, but I know I at least felt refreshed and ready for whatever may happen next.