Sunday, November 14, 2010
I Crashed... Sort of
I guess, I have been in a rickshaw accident. It was all very surreal. One moment, I was talking to the ACM student in the rickshaw with me, ignoring the typical afternoon press of traffic; the next, there was a jerk as the rickshaw tried to stop, the screeching of tires, and another jerk as our rickshaw slammed into the left taillight of a big gold van. Rickshaws, as essentially a motorbike fused to a frame with a bench behind, cannot back up. So as our rickshaw driver tried to use his feet, Fred Flintstone style, to push his vehicle free; a frightening large police man appeared out of seemingly nowhere equipped with night stick and massive gun to yell at our driver. To my dismay, our driver yelled back, which I thought was going to get us all thrown in jail or worse. Until, the police man turned and started yelling at the driver of the van. the driver of the van then yelled back; the police man yelled at him more and gripped his night stick menacingly. Then the driver of the van just drove away. Soon after, our driver started up our rickshaw; and we drove away like nothing had happened. The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes and had almost no consequences. Only in India.
Nose Piercing in Pune
Along with more than half of the girls here at ACM, I got my nose pierced. I was the last one to do so. I put it off mainly becuase I wanted my parents to acclimate to the idea, to affirm to myself that I really wanted to do it, and to gauge the health of the nose piercings of my fellow classmates.
So a few weeks before my 22nd birthday (September 24th), I walked down Karve road with two piercing survivors to the jewelry store where the words Anju and ACM triggered a major response. It was quickly pointed out to the staff that I was the intended victim and a spread of three different sizes of nose studs, ranging from 130 to 160 rupees was laid out before me. I picked one; and then the guard (nearly all stores have one) went outside to fetch my piercer, a man who we had passed sitting outside on the dirty stoop. He came inside with a pair of pliers and immediately set about straightening out the selected nose ring to its full (almost one inch) length.
He then walked up to me, brought the stud to my nose, adjust it subtly, and abruptly shoved it through my left nostril with just the pressure of his grimy thumbs. At this point, my eyes watered; and my piercer grabbed his pliers, stuck them up my nose, clipped off the extra metal, and twisted what was left to ensure that it would stay in. Then, I was done...with only a little pain, no blood, and it only cost about three US dollars: $2.50 for the ring and $0.50 for the actual piercing. Sometimes I really love this country.
So a few weeks before my 22nd birthday (September 24th), I walked down Karve road with two piercing survivors to the jewelry store where the words Anju and ACM triggered a major response. It was quickly pointed out to the staff that I was the intended victim and a spread of three different sizes of nose studs, ranging from 130 to 160 rupees was laid out before me. I picked one; and then the guard (nearly all stores have one) went outside to fetch my piercer, a man who we had passed sitting outside on the dirty stoop. He came inside with a pair of pliers and immediately set about straightening out the selected nose ring to its full (almost one inch) length.
He then walked up to me, brought the stud to my nose, adjust it subtly, and abruptly shoved it through my left nostril with just the pressure of his grimy thumbs. At this point, my eyes watered; and my piercer grabbed his pliers, stuck them up my nose, clipped off the extra metal, and twisted what was left to ensure that it would stay in. Then, I was done...with only a little pain, no blood, and it only cost about three US dollars: $2.50 for the ring and $0.50 for the actual piercing. Sometimes I really love this country.
Ajanta and Ellora Caves Part 2: Paparazzi
We had a second set of unexpected adventures on our trip to the Ajanta and Ellora caves. Five minutes after entering the famous Kailash Temple, we found our group of twenty-nine (26 students, Anju, Gene, and our guide completely surrounded by pushy, loud, and overly friendly Indians. They were determined to get our attention and get photographic evidence of these exotic, pale-faced people. They quickly got so loud and demanding that the man who is employed to protect the temple had to leave his post to become our personal body guard, using his flashlight and khaki uniform to shoo away the crowds and clear a path to the next statue. He then stood guard while our guide gave her explanations to block the throng from getting too close.
Despite his vigilance, a young man or two would occasionally slip through and stand by us, gesturing wildly to his distant friends to take a picture of him by the foreigners.
Our fans made navigating the narrow and sometimes very dark passage ways with thirty people (including our body guard) more than a bit difficult. But we finally, haphazardly finished our guided tour and were turned loose to explore on our own.
Two other girls (Molly, Izzy) and I headed out and immediately picket up an entourage of eight 20-30 year old men, who asked us incessantly, "Madam, madam, picture? Madam, photo? Hello, madam, photo?" A request we refused to grant because we knew they would keep us there posing until they had each taken about a dozen photos in various positions and because we weren't exactly sure what they wanted these pictures for and probably didn't want to know. So we tried to ignore them as we traipsed warily into unlit and tight passage ways with the men following a little distance behind us.
There was some help along the way. The temple guards were always very helpful, using their flashlights to show us down pitch-black, uneven staircases and shoo our crowd away.
On our way out, a woman ran up to us, yelling the same "Madams, madams, photos?" we had heard so much that day. For her, we relented and for the next fifteen minutes we posed for pictures with her, her husband, her friend, and her friend's husband--all of them throwing the arms onto our shoulders or holding our wrists, like we hadn't just met minutes ago. I'm sure they will show those pictures to their families and perhaps their future children by proclaiming us to be their American friends.
Despite his vigilance, a young man or two would occasionally slip through and stand by us, gesturing wildly to his distant friends to take a picture of him by the foreigners.
Our fans made navigating the narrow and sometimes very dark passage ways with thirty people (including our body guard) more than a bit difficult. But we finally, haphazardly finished our guided tour and were turned loose to explore on our own.
Two other girls (Molly, Izzy) and I headed out and immediately picket up an entourage of eight 20-30 year old men, who asked us incessantly, "Madam, madam, picture? Madam, photo? Hello, madam, photo?" A request we refused to grant because we knew they would keep us there posing until they had each taken about a dozen photos in various positions and because we weren't exactly sure what they wanted these pictures for and probably didn't want to know. So we tried to ignore them as we traipsed warily into unlit and tight passage ways with the men following a little distance behind us.
There was some help along the way. The temple guards were always very helpful, using their flashlights to show us down pitch-black, uneven staircases and shoo our crowd away.
On our way out, a woman ran up to us, yelling the same "Madams, madams, photos?" we had heard so much that day. For her, we relented and for the next fifteen minutes we posed for pictures with her, her husband, her friend, and her friend's husband--all of them throwing the arms onto our shoulders or holding our wrists, like we hadn't just met minutes ago. I'm sure they will show those pictures to their families and perhaps their future children by proclaiming us to be their American friends.
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