While it might seem a little silly in some ways, I suppose, one of the things I really wanted to get on this trip was a sense of real life in India. That is, of course, real life for a typical, middle-class family -- specifically, my husband’s family. What’s it really like to go through the daily acts of simply living here? What does it feel like to be here, to have this as your anchor point to the rest of the world? What does one think about throughout the day? (Big questions, I know.)
I’ve been here on five trips previously, of course, so I’m no stranger to Indian life. But as a first-time visitor, a co-worker on assignment or a wedding attendee (at my own or someone else’s ceremony), it’s impossible to see what a normal, run-of-the-mill day might look like in a normal, run-of-the-mill week.
I’m happy to report that, in my eight days thus far, I am getting a sense of what a normal day at home looks like, at least -- and so while it might bore the Shankar-Bhatnagars, Mathurs and Indian friends following this blog, I shall now report back to you what I’ve learned. In a nutshell, it centers on food -- but perhaps that’s just my skewed view. It also centers on mornings, which, perhaps owing to the high temps of the afternoons, seems to be when most of the work gets done.
Mornings, as I got the sense a few years ago in Bombay, are quiet. It seems from outside that few people are stirring to enjoy this time, as office workers don’t start heading out until 9 a.m. From inside houses, however, I can tell you that preparations for the day are well under way. From 7 a.m. or earlier, chai is boiling, ingredients are being assembled for meals, papers are being read.
Around 8:30 a.m. today in Chandigarh, I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh morning air. The park across the street was uncharacteristically empty, as the kids, I presume, were all at school. (It’s nearly 4:30 p.m. as I write this, and the park, including its slides and swings, is now teeming with kids.) The traffic on the main road behind the house was calm, such that, aside from the trains just beyond the road, the world was quiet and calm.
Of most interest to me, in this unusual calm, were the street vendors pedaling by on their bikes and bike carts. Vivek has always said that you can get anything delivered in India -- but here in Chandigarh, I’m able to really see it. Veggie wallahs bike by with carts full of turnips, cabbage and those delicious red carrots I’ve only seen in India. Men with burlap sacks tied to their bikes yell out for the “Paper!” they’d like to recycle. Saree- and scarf-sellers even come by -- and last evening, we saw a vendor with a cart full of plastics. The stack of his wares must have been four feet high!
But back to the morning. Sometime during or after breakfast, domestic help arrives, in the form of maids and cooks. Deliveries also begin, including milk, freshly-pressed kurtis from the dhobi or tiny puris for panipuri (Vivek -- you should have been here).
After the rush, lunch happens -- sometime after 12, but closer to it Pops is deciding -- and is often followed by a nap. (Pops told me the other day about how his naps became longer and longer as he got older. I’m trying to keep mine to under an hour for fear that I’ll somehow reverse the defeat of my jet lag.) Kids begin to get out of school around this time, and you can see them walking or biking or even scootering home in their uniforms and backpacks.
A nap is followed by tea (I can hear ours for today being made now), and soon after, dinner preparations begin again. Dinner, however, typically isn’t eaten until after 8 p.m., so a few hours of work for another day follow. (In my case, that’s packing for our trip to Dehradun tomorrow.)
Of course, in the midst of this, there aren't any sons or daughters running around in the houses where I'm staying. Ma and Pops are each the youngest of their respective families -- and so as their children have grown up and moved out, so have the children of my in-law aunts and uncles. But I can get a sense, least, of what a day in Vivek's life might have been like. (No doubt he'll tell us in the comments, however, if I've missed anything.)
I’ve been here on five trips previously, of course, so I’m no stranger to Indian life. But as a first-time visitor, a co-worker on assignment or a wedding attendee (at my own or someone else’s ceremony), it’s impossible to see what a normal, run-of-the-mill day might look like in a normal, run-of-the-mill week.
I’m happy to report that, in my eight days thus far, I am getting a sense of what a normal day at home looks like, at least -- and so while it might bore the Shankar-Bhatnagars, Mathurs and Indian friends following this blog, I shall now report back to you what I’ve learned. In a nutshell, it centers on food -- but perhaps that’s just my skewed view. It also centers on mornings, which, perhaps owing to the high temps of the afternoons, seems to be when most of the work gets done.
Mornings, as I got the sense a few years ago in Bombay, are quiet. It seems from outside that few people are stirring to enjoy this time, as office workers don’t start heading out until 9 a.m. From inside houses, however, I can tell you that preparations for the day are well under way. From 7 a.m. or earlier, chai is boiling, ingredients are being assembled for meals, papers are being read.
Around 8:30 a.m. today in Chandigarh, I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh morning air. The park across the street was uncharacteristically empty, as the kids, I presume, were all at school. (It’s nearly 4:30 p.m. as I write this, and the park, including its slides and swings, is now teeming with kids.) The traffic on the main road behind the house was calm, such that, aside from the trains just beyond the road, the world was quiet and calm.
Of most interest to me, in this unusual calm, were the street vendors pedaling by on their bikes and bike carts. Vivek has always said that you can get anything delivered in India -- but here in Chandigarh, I’m able to really see it. Veggie wallahs bike by with carts full of turnips, cabbage and those delicious red carrots I’ve only seen in India. Men with burlap sacks tied to their bikes yell out for the “Paper!” they’d like to recycle. Saree- and scarf-sellers even come by -- and last evening, we saw a vendor with a cart full of plastics. The stack of his wares must have been four feet high!
But back to the morning. Sometime during or after breakfast, domestic help arrives, in the form of maids and cooks. Deliveries also begin, including milk, freshly-pressed kurtis from the dhobi or tiny puris for panipuri (Vivek -- you should have been here).
After the rush, lunch happens -- sometime after 12, but closer to it Pops is deciding -- and is often followed by a nap. (Pops told me the other day about how his naps became longer and longer as he got older. I’m trying to keep mine to under an hour for fear that I’ll somehow reverse the defeat of my jet lag.) Kids begin to get out of school around this time, and you can see them walking or biking or even scootering home in their uniforms and backpacks.
A nap is followed by tea (I can hear ours for today being made now), and soon after, dinner preparations begin again. Dinner, however, typically isn’t eaten until after 8 p.m., so a few hours of work for another day follow. (In my case, that’s packing for our trip to Dehradun tomorrow.)
Of course, in the midst of this, there aren't any sons or daughters running around in the houses where I'm staying. Ma and Pops are each the youngest of their respective families -- and so as their children have grown up and moved out, so have the children of my in-law aunts and uncles. But I can get a sense, least, of what a day in Vivek's life might have been like. (No doubt he'll tell us in the comments, however, if I've missed anything.)
No comments:
Post a Comment