Markets and Hadestown

I'm really enjoying this no-pressure, low-key way of enjoying New York.  We don't have any official Institute events this weekend, so I started off my Saturday checking out the street market along University and the farmer's market at Union Square.  When I felt more like a puddle than a person in the heat, I ducked into the giant Barnes and Nobles for some air conditioning and to check my Hamilton lottery status. 

Unsurprisingly, I didn't win tickets.  I figured after a week in New York, though, it was probably about time for me to see some theater.  I'm not especially excited about any of the shows running now.  Either I've seen the ones I care about or they're on the docket for the next touring season at DCPA.  I have been intrigued by Hadestown, though, so I picked up a discounted ticket and headed to the New York Theater Workshop.

A folk opera retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth based on a concept album by Anais Mitchell, my interest, as you might expect, came from the Greek myth tie-in.  It turned out to be a terrific show - well staged, beautifully sung, clever lyrics, and the folk/jazz/blues music was so good that I was googling "cast album" at intermission. (Happily, they just recorded one that should be out sometime soon.  Yay!)

Here's a clip from the show via the New York Times:




Delicious Food of the Day: A tie between the goat cheese/ratatouille pie I had for lunch and the "Salty Pimp" I got at Big Gay Ice Cream after the show (vanilla soft serve topped with dulce de leche and sea salt dipped in chocolate)

Photo of the Day:  I'm glad someone gave Gandhi some flowers to carry.

Institute Day 5 - Turkish Poetry, Friday Services, and Poetry Duels

Morning Lecture: Dr. Kemal Silay

Topic: Understanding Turkish Culture Through Poetry: From Sufism to Postmodernism

Interesting Thing: We actually got off to a late start because of a group desire to discuss the terrorist attack in Nice. Sahar and Kemal both commented on their grief for the lives lost, for yet another horrible act done in the name of "Islam."  As a group we talked about the difficulty of holding discussions about events like this in class, about the difference between Islam and Islamism (and the difficulty of choosing an appropriate term for the Islamic fundamentalists), and about the double standards of people who are quick to put a pride flag or the French flag on their Facebook profiles in support, but there is no mention when hundreds of people are killed in similar incidents in the Middle East.  "A human life is a human life," someone said.  "But I don't feel like I can mourn publicly for them without putting my job in jeopardy."

Kemal talked about Turkey's history, looking at its secularism in the poetry that relies on the classical tradition but enables anyone to write it.  His lecture became much more apropos when news of the military coup in Istanbul broke later that day.


Afternoon Excursion: Friday Jummah Prayers at the NYU Islamic Center
Featuring: Imam Khalid Latif
Interesting Thing: Sahar was really excited when she told us Imam Latif would be giving the sermon at the services we would be attending and, moreover, that we would get to sit down with him for a bit afterwards.  I admit my total ignorance about him, but the research I did before the services began certainly justified her excitement, and his excellent and energetic sermon cemented mine.  This guy is really incredible.  As far as I can see from his credentials and experience, he's an equivalent to to one of the LDS Apostles, yet he's only 33 years old.  He is the chaplain and executive director of the Islamic Center at NYU, the first Muslim chaplain at NYU, the youngest chaplain in the history of the NYC Police Department, and he meets with world leaders, including President Obama and Pope Francis, to talk about religious tolerance and peacekeeping.


He is an excellent public speaker with a style that reminded me of Southern Preachers.  His sermon was really lovely, well-structured and he raised many good points.  He also apologized to us afterwards for delivering a sermon off-the-cuff on the day of our visit instead of a polished one.

When we sat down with him, he asked our group what questions we had for him.  I've never seen this technique before, but he did it masterfully and I really enjoyed it - instead of answering the questions one by one, he asked for and listened to all of the group's questions at the beginning, then used them to extract a couple of themes to talk to us about.  Most of his talk was about how to help students who are bullied for being Muslim (and, sadly, being bullied for many of the schools my colleagues come from goes far beyond teasing - elementary school girls being beaten on the playground for wearing a hijab just a few weeks ago, for example), student who, as he put it, are "forced to choose between either letting go of your identity or being persecuted for your identity."

There weren't any simple or easy answers, as you might expect, but his insights and compassion were remarkable.  I've been fortunate to meet more than one truly spiritual leader in my life - the kind of person who has such grace, wisdom, and love that it's a pleasure to simply sit at their feet and listen.  Imam Latif is another one of these individuals.

Afternoon Lecture: Dave Johnson
Topic: Urdu and Turkish Translations: Faiz and Hikmet
Interesting Thing: This session mostly gave me more texts and teaching ideas.  Nothing revolutionary, but certainly helpful.

Evening Activity: Verbal Duels - Poetry Readings and Competitions
Summary: City Lore hosted readings by five poets with a range of styles.  My favorite of the bunch was Robert Faird Karimi, who is quite clever, gregarious, and funny.

After the readings, the poets played a competition with the audience where audience members read them a random excerpt from a classical Central Asian poem and the poets then responded to the excerpt on the spot.  It was a fun way to interact with the texts and yet another idea I'll be putting to use in the classroom.


Food of the Day: Dark chocolate dipped pineapple gelato on a stick.  Yum!

Photo of the Day: I like the contrast of these styles of street art:

Checking In

A quick check-in again - we have another evening event.  Tonight it's a poetry reading/battle.  I'm super-curious about the battle part!

Islamic Institute Day 4 - Urdu Ghazals and a Poetry Battle

Morning Lecture: Dr. Frances Pritchett
Topic: Classical Urdu Ghazals
Interesting Thing: Ghazals are a form of poetry that messes with a lot of my (Western) ideas for how poetry should work.  It consists of a series of couplets which, instead of rhyming with each other, follow the scheme of aa ba ca da ea fa, etc.  The couplets each contain a complete thought and, aside from the first and the last, can be reordered as the performer likes.  I'm not super attracted to this form of poetry, but it is starting to grown on me.

Afternoon Lecture: Dr. Frances Pritchett (still)
Topic: Faiz Ahmad Faiz (19th century Urdu poet)
Interesting Thing: We did close readings of a few of his poems, which were fine.  Mostly I found Fran's lecture style, which is full of unapologetic humor that reminded me quite a bit of Lois, to be highly entertaining.

Afternoon Workshop: Zeyba Rahman
Topic: Bait Bazi - Urdu Verse Game
Interesting Thing: Zeyba taught us about the poetry battles that are apparently quite common, especially in Pakistan and India.  They happen both formally and informally, and Zeyba described playing it frequently with her cousins and friends while growing up.  Essentially, the players are divided into two teams.  The first team recites a verse from a poem.  The second team then counters with a verse where the first word of the new verse begins with the last letter of the previous. For example:

Team A: Do not go gentle into that good night./Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Team B: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/creeps in this petty pace from day to day...

We were divided into two teams and, since we were newbies, the leaders opted to allow song lyrics as well as poetry.  My side won, thanks largely to the Shakespearean quotes I threw in, the musical theater lyrics, the German/Arabic/Farsi/Spanish poems quoted by my teammates in the original languages, and our sly ability to constantly throw verses at the other team that end in "Y."

And, yes, once of the times when they threw us a verse that ended in "y," I countered with a bit of "You'll Be Back."

Particularly Good Food of the Day: Pad Thai.  Yum!

Photo of the Day: I was more than a little excited to find this "pocket-friendly" water bottle:

Islamic Institute Day 3 - Hafez, Rumi, Farrokhzad, Translating, and a Concert

Morning Lecture: Dr. Jawid Mojaddedi

Topic: Hafez & Rumi (Medieval Persian Poetry)

Interesting Things: 

• In Persian, there is no distinction between masculine and feminine (which, again, raises some really interesting decisions for translators!)
• "The Beloved" stands for both a love interest and for God in Islamic poetry.  Also, it is usually the Beloved who brings the wine, which represents a deep spirituality.
• I also enjoyed this tale I came across.  (Part of me really wants to find a way to work it into an upcoming Sunday School lesson.  That is the part of me that gets me into trouble with authority figures.):  Rabia Basri, a Muslim saint/Sufi mystic, was once seen carrying a pot of fire in one hand and a bucket of water in the other.  She explained, "I want to put out the fires of Hell and burn down the rewards of Paradise.  They block the way to God.  I do not want to worship from fear of punishment or for the promise of reward, but simple for the love of God."

Afternoon Lecture:  Bushra Rehman

Topic: Forough Farrokhzad/Poetry Inside Out

Interesting Thing:  Bushra, a poet, writer, and teaching artist, introduced us to Farrokhzad's poetry.  She's a 20th century Iranian poet who writes really lovely imagery.  Here's an excerpt I like from her poem "Conquest of the Garden":

Everyone knows,
everyone knows
that you and I have seen the garden
from that cold sullen window
and that we have plucked the apple
from that playful, hard-to-reach branch.

Everyone is afraid
everyone is afraid, but you and I
joined with the lamp
and water and mirror and we were not afraid.

Bushra also lead us through an excellent activity where we worked in small groups to translate the poem from which the excerpt comes from Farsi to English.  We had a glossary to work from, and it prompted a lot of discussion about word choice, grammar, and imagery as we not only translated the poem, but also worked to find a way to "make it flow." My group's version of the same stanzas went:

Everyone knows.

Everyone knows

that you and I from that opening cold and grim

a garden we nurture.

And from that playful branch

an apple we pick.

Everyone is afraid.

Everyone is afraid but you and I.

Light, water, and mirror we joined,

and were not afraid.

Also tricky?  There's no punctuation in Farsi.

Special Event: Amir Vahab in concert performing Sufi songs at the Poets House.  Something like this:

The best part of the concert was the little girl in the apartment just above the Poets House.  She spent most of the concert dancing in the window to the music once she figured out that the audience below could see her.  Who knew that Beyonce's moves would fit Sufi music so well?

Adventure of the Day: Being woken at 6 AM by the maintenance crew pounding on our door because a water pipe burst outside my suitemate's window and flooded her room.  Like, an inch of water on the floor flooded.  My room, luckily, was unaffected.

Particularly Good Food of the Day: A BBLT from Murray's Cheese (that would be a burrata, bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich that was surely not at all healthy.  Which means it was also ridiculously delicious.)

Photo of the Day: An outdoor concert in the rain?  Thank goodness I always carry my Mackintosh square!

Evening Choices

A quick check-in, since I'm getting back late tonight.  I went to a Sufi concert:

Although it was a really tough decision, since there was also this:

Talk about Sophie's choice!

(Or would it be Sufi's choice?)

Islamic Institute Day 2 - Early Classical Poetry and Langston Hughes

Morning Lecture: Dr. Muhsin al-Misawi

Topic: Classical Arabic Poetry

Interesting Thing: Early classical poems (classical as in 6th century AD-1000 AD-ish) include what's called "The Erotic Prelude" ("Nasib" in Arabic), which involves a desert setting where the narrator going searching for his love and finds the encampment deserted, then launches into a "nostalgic ode."  For example, this opening from a poem by Imru al-Qais:

Stay! let us weep, while memory tries to trace
The long-lost fair one's sand-girt dwelling place;
Though the rude winds have swept the sandy plain,
Still some faint traces of that spot remain.
My comrades reined their coursers by my side,
And "Yield not, yield not to despair" they cried.
(Tears were my sole reply; yet what avail
Tears shed on sands, or sighs upon the gale?)

Also?  There's a surprising amount of drinking and sex talk (both gay and straight) in medieval Arabic poetry.

Afternoon Lecture: Zohra Saed

Topic: Langston Hughes' Notebooks and Photographs from Turkestan

Interesting Thing:  In January of 1932 Langston Hughes was a part of a group of African-American artists, actors, and writers who traveled to Leningrad to work on an anti-racism film.  Apparently, the film was not so well researched, given that it reported that the KKK is a group who rescues young black men.  Hughes tried to help rewrite the script, but when his efforts were rebuffed the group moved on across the continent instead. Hughes wanted to tour Central Asia, but the tour organizers couldn't make last-minute arrangements.  So Hughes hopped off their (still-moving) train when it passed through a rural village in Turkestan, bringing only his record player, records, notebook, and pencil with him.  He then spent 6 months traveling around the area, meeting other writers and locals.

Afternoon Reading: Sahar Muradi

Topic: Contemporary Afghan-American Writing

Interesting Thing: Sahar, a poet and the organizer of our institute, collaborated with Zohra on an anthology of Afghan-American writing.  One poem I found interesting given the frequent discussion of modesty in the church (and the discussion of how modesty is/should be discussed) included this section:

...My skirt rebels above my knees and I am reminded with a harsh slap to the thigh that my chastity is your honour.
My Chastity is Your Honour.
There is, it seems (doesn’t it?), so much power in the thin layer of skin between my legs.
That little bit of woman
scares
inspires whole laws and customs.
Our thinnest, smallest flesh demands such attention.
Imagine the demands of my whole person.
Imagine what our whole bodies could do.
- From "Astagfurillah (God Forbid!)" by Khalida Sethi

Particularly Good Food of the Day: A sandwich from a French-Creole cafe for lunch

Photo of the Day: Manhattenhenge!

NEH Summer Institute at NYU

I'm in New York City!  Again!  For the third time this year!*  And it's terrific.

I'm here this time thanks to a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to attend a two-week institute on Islamic Art and Poetry.  I arrived yesterday afternoon, checked in to my dorm room (yes, dorm room!), then headed to City Lore for the welcome reception.

The institute is for teachers.  About 1/3 are from the metropolitan area, while the rest of us hail from across the US.  There are a lot of English teachers, but quite a few art teachers, a couple elementary school teachers, and, of course, yours truly representing the very first theater teacher to attend this institute.

This morning we met at the Kevorkian Center for Near Eastern Studies (part of NYU, on the southwest side of Washington Square Park) for formal introductions and the first lecture.

Dr. Bruce Lawrence and Dr. Rafey Habib talked about the Qur'an and about the issues of translation.  They are collaborating on a new translation of the Qur'an.  I have not heard from a book's translator before, and it was really interesting to consider some of the issues they are dealing with, including:

- Do you translate the word "Allah"?  (as in, "In the name of Allah" vs. "In the name of God")

- The Islamic God is all things, including genders.  So, when you write about a genderless (trans-gender, where "trans" is beyond) diety, what English pronouns do you use?

- How do you maintain the poetic aspects of the writing when you're translating into a language with significantly less rhyming words than the original?

We broke at noon, and a teacher from St. Paul, Brittany, and I walked down a few blocks to each grab a bahn mi for lunch (so many dining options!).  Then back to the center for a lecture from Mitra Dejkameh on the art of calligraphy.  She brought materials for us to give it a whirl, so we played with reeds, ink, and watercolors after the formal part of her presentation.

Brittany; Sean, an English teacher from a private school in St. Louis; and I walked around for a while.  Brittany's never been to New York before, so she was interesting in seeing, well, anything.  After I led them to Pop-Bar for a mid-afternoon gelato treat (they did not require much persuasion), we wandered through Soho and Chinatown before parting ways.  I walked back up to Union Square, and picked up a sandwich from Grey Dog Cafe for dinner and a mini berry tart from Le Pain Quotidient for dessert (again, super excited about the dining options!), then headed back to my sparse dorm room at Founder's Hall to blog and work on my reading for tomorrow's classes.

Photos!

My dorm room at Founder's Hall.  I can see sky from my window!

My calligraphy from today.  The blue watercolor was a mistake - the ink wasn't dry enough to obey. 
It says "Water House" in Persian in four different directions.

Mmm... gelato on a stick....

* Three times in one year is a little excessive, isn't it?  Especially when it'll actually be four times once I come back in October with Jason for a little opera?

Road Trip!

Oddly, I'm staying domestic this summer.  When I saw I had a few open weeks, I decided to take myself on a road trip to Utah to hang out with some of my favorite people.

After an quick night at the parents' in GJ, I drove up to Logan to see Andy and Jenn's new digs.  They proudly informed me that I was their very first overnight guest.  Woot!  They were excellent hosts, and we dined out at some of Logan's finest eating establishments, played a card game, and caught up in general.

After brunch the next day I drove to Sandy to see the Walls.  They had just bought and moved into a new house (less than a mile from their old place, which of course means that not only are they in a new stake, but there is an entirely different stake between those two.  Utah!  So weird!), but you wouldn't be able to tell thanks to Emily's remarkable ability to clean, organize, and generally get things done.

Caitlyn, their oldest, very kindly loaned me her bedroom for my stay; which meant I got to sleep a la tween for a bit.  I had access to as much pink, Paris, and horses in the decor as I could possibly want, not to mention a One Direction poster should I need a boyband fix.

Man, I love the Walls.  They are just an awesome family in general, and I love how Emily and Ben and I can pick up right where we left off despite not living in the same state for well over a decade now.  Emily and I stayed up until 3 Saturday night, I joined them for church Sunday, then Emily and Ben and I stayed up until 2 the night night reminiscing about travel, college, and our various creepy past apartments (stories of which include an Indian lamp, a love pit, a hamster grave, a stalker, a poncho, and a SWAT team) (boy, we lived in some awful apartments).

Monday I met up with Kelley and Janelle at our old favorite Thai place out by Dead President Junior High.  Kelley's teaching at the high school our old school feeds in to, so she was able to give us quite an update on how DPJH is doing.

Janelle and I hung out that afternoon before I drove up to Bountiful to spend the night with Martha, Ronny, and Josh.  I stayed in my cousin's bedroom, decorated with origami whales hanging from the ceiling, the kinda-creepy painting of cougar from Grandma Cook's house, and various items in storage (she's on a mission in Milan at the moment).

Tuesday was more time with Janelle (it was basically a giant mass therapy session for both of us).  I had a bit of unexpected time in the evening, so I walked around downtown for a bit marveling at how incredibly different it is, popped into the temple for a quick round of initiatories, then headed back to Martha's place.

Wednesday I got to have brunch with Annie.  It's been an astoundingly long time since we saw each other, so it was lovely to get to catch up with her as well.  She's got a 4 year old and twin 2 year olds, which makes me tired just thinking about it.

Back to the Walls for a bit more Emily time!  As I mentioned before, Emily and I went out for the afternoon and found frites walking around Sugarhouse before Ben joined us for the Met broadcast of "The Elixar of Love."  We were slightly better behaved with our bedtimes that night. :)

Thursday morning started off quiet with Emily and I talking while Ben played outside with the kids.  Then Logan, their nine year old, cut off the top of his index finger in the door between the basement and the garage.  That made things a bit more exciting.  And bloody.  I kept Sarah (who's 4) outside while Emily and Ben tried to staunch the bleeding, find the tip, and figure out which hospital to go to.  Quite the adventure.

My last rendezvous before driving back to Junction was with Heidi.  I haven't been in touch with her for about 6 years, and I really enjoyed having the chance to reconnect.

Happily, our entire family was able to come together for the 4th of July weekend.  We kept it low-key, mostly hanging out at Mom and Dad's house.  It was really nice to see everyone, though.  Hopefully we get to all get together again soon!

This is What I Get...

...for scheduling a field trip and the spring play performances for the same week. 

"It's the last week of April," I thought foolishly.  "We'll be fine."

Damn you, Ullr. I thought we had a deal.

(Huh.  Just discovered this never posted back when I originally wrote it. Whoops.)

The Sophisticated Life

"I have to admit," Annie told me over brunch last week, "I was nervous about picking out a place to eat."

"Really?" I asked.  We were at Kneader's, where I had just enjoyed a good breakfast sandwich.  "Why?"

"You eat at all of these fancy places," she explained.  "All I could pick was a chain restaurant."

"I don't mind that," I said.  "It was good, and I don't eat fancy all of the time."  In thinking about it, though, since Annie keeps up with my life via my blog and Facebook, I could see how it may appear that I live a jet-setting lifestyle filled with tasting menus and Met operas rather than the life where I fall asleep on the couch while eating take-out for dinner.

"You should post photos of you eating at McDonalds or something," Annie suggested.

I wrinkled my nose. McDonalds is not my cup of tea, but I could certainly post photos of my "real" life.  And so I resolved to faithfully document my next meal and/or activity.

Except my next meal was Emily and I splitting a Belgian waffle with creme fraiche and frites with fancy dipping sauces.

And then she, Ben, and I went to the broadcast of the Met's "L'Elsair d'Amore" (which was excellent, btw).

Hmm.  Maybe my life is more jet-setty than I thought.

Milestones

Whoo!  I'm officially on summer break!

After finals and graduation last week, I wrapped up the school year today with a couple of easy meetings and some thorough classroom-cleaning.  I was one of the last to leave the building (although many of the others are coming back later this week.  Not me, suckers!), but I still had time to clean my apartment, work out, have a visit from my home teachers, and cook dinner, all before my normal bedtime.

But!  Now that I don't have to get up at 0-dark-hundred anymore, I can stay up past 9:30 like a grownup!

I realized recently that I've crossed a few major milestones recently.  Namely:

1. I have officially been teaching at MTHS longer than any of my previous teaching jobs (7 school years as of today!).

2. I have lived in my current apartment for just under 8 years, surpassing my previous record of time-spent-in-one-house (6 years in Aurora) even if you deduct a year or so for all the nights I spend at speech meets/the mountain condo/Jason's/the far reaches of the earth.

3. Sometime in India, I posted my 2000th blog entry.

I feel like I should say something to show off all of the wisdom I've gained from such vocational, career, and blogging permanency; but I've got nothing.  Just, that's kinda cool, isn't it?

Whoo!

Living Art

The Indianapolis Art Museum has some of the best ridiculous paintings.  This pointillism one is a favorite, 

and when you're really sleepy you're easily talked into reinacting it:

But my favorite just might be Boobclopse:

They did have a cool book installation in the front entrance:

 

Back Again!

It's Midwest Pilgrims time again!

And this time I'm presenting:

An Exponent Series

The Exponent contacted me a few months ago to ask me to write a couple of essays for an upcoming series for their blog.  The series is on singles and the Church, a topic which I am rather familiar with. It looks like they're running them now.  If you're interested, here's the address:

http://www.the-exponent.com

I Can Barely Contain the Excitement

Chaperoning Prom.  

Woot.

In Which I am Wooed by a Married Man

You'd think that the adventures of Holi proper were enough for any good travel storyteller, but that day was not over yet.

As we'd expected, most of the city was closed for the holiday.  We mentioned to Shiva that we wanted to do some shopping, and he said he knew of a few stores that would be open in the evening (because of course).  So, showered, de-powdered, but still stained pink, orange, and green; we met Shiva outside our haveli at 5:00 to stimulate the local economy.

Our first stop was a jewelry store.  I picked out some earrings and a ring, Justin some gifts for friends, and Jason some bracelets to secure his status as the Favorite Uncle.  The store owner was pleasant and chatty and the bartering was friendly.  He liked us so much, he declared, that he was going to give us gifts.  He ducked behind a counter and rummaged through a basket, then presented each of us with our very own rock.

"Uncut [name of gem I can't recall]!" he said beaming as he held my new rock up to the light.  It was ...a rock.  But we cooed over them and thanked him for the gifts like the polite Americans we are.  If nothing else, we figured, surely our new rocks would bring spiritual enlightenment and guidance, as we saw the hippies using similar rocks in their meditations at Machu Picchu.  Jason demonstrated their use later that night for Justin:

You can just sense the zen, can't you?

Our next stop was a fabric store for textiles.  Jason was on the lookout for whatever the next trend in Elle Decor will be, having successfully purchased items on previous trips months before they showed up in the magazine; and I was looking for fabric for bedroom curtains.

One of the workers met us outside the store when Shiva parked the tuk-tuk.  He greeted us formally with a "Namaste" and a bow, then immediately launched into a well-rehearsed explanation and demonstration of block printing.

Having educated us on the process and told us all about the hard-working women who make these fabrics in small villages such as the one he's from (naturally), he led us inside.

The small room was packed with layers and layers of fabric.  We dove in and soon Jason was climbing up counters to find just the right pattern:

while Justin sorted through tablecloths and I was shown sari after sari.  None of the saris were the right colors or patterns I wanted for curtains, and I turned down the salesman's many requests for me to "just try one on!"  I looked over the bolts of fabric that stretched from floor to ceiling all around us, but found no inspiration for curtains.  I did, however, find inspiration when I overheard the salesman trying to convince Justin for the fifth time that he should get a custom-made suit.

I started sorting through the silks and cottons to look for skirt and/or dress material.  Summer's coming, after all, so it's about time for some non-costume sewing projects.  When the salesman saw that my goals had changed, he hopped right on the new sale, complimenting my taste in fabrics at every chance he found.  I was just doing the yardage calculations in my head when he mentioned that they could make me a skirt in two hours.

"Two hours?" I asked.

"Yes," he assured me eagerly.  "Or a dress overnight!"

Custom-made clothes overnight? Why not?  I firmly tucked away the pioneer voices in my head who protested, "You could make these yourself!" and decided to get me some clothes.

After a lot of fabric sorting, some browsing through their catalog of dress designs (which had less variety than promised, given that they were all in the Indian tunic style), and making a couple of sketches for the salesman to explain what I was thinking; I was perched on a stool next to a pile of fabric, waiting for the tailor to measure me.

Eventually, the navy/white one on the far left became a dress, the blue/black a knee-length skirt, and the white/multi-colored floral a flared long skirt.

The tailor was wrapping up with another customer and my salesman drifted back over to Jason and Justin, who had covered the other side of the store with pillow covers in their indecision.  I was flipping through Holi photos on my phone when another store worker sat down next to me.  He had been hovering during my shopping, offering opinions on the fabrics I was considering.  His opinions were not the most useful since they all consisted of, "Very beautiful fabric!  Made even more beautiful by you!" but I was amused by his tactics.

"Where are you from?" he asked, friendly-like.  We started chatting about the usual traveler topics - America?  Where?  Oh, Colorado!  That's near the Grand Canyon, right?  He laid on the charm a bit, but not nearly as much as before.  Nor was it anything like what came next.

"I'm Sattar," he said.  

"Amanda," I responded. 

"You are very beautiful," he said.  "Are you here with your..." he looked over at Jason and Justin, earnestly discussing the merits of a pillow cover with an embroidered gold elephant on it, "...boyfriends?"

"No," I said, "Just friends."

"Ah," he said knowingly.  "Boyfriend back home."

"Nope."

"Husband?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no husband," I replied.

"No husband, no boyfriend?" he repeated aghast.  "How can this be?  You are so beautiful!"

I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that one.  I shrugged.

"You are!" he said, getting more passionate.  "You are so beautiful!  How do you not have a boyfriend?"

"If I knew why, I'd have one," I said with an awkward laugh, really uncertain now how I was supposed to respond to comments like that.  Happily, we were interrupted by the tailor coming to take my measurements.

I was a bit distracted, though, since while the tailor measured me and we held up my fabric choices to my waist to discuss skirt lengths, Sattar stood directly behind the tailor.  Whenever I happened to make eye contact, he'd mouth the words, "Beautiful!  You're so beautiful!" at me with exaggerated deliberateness.

Measurements were taken and pickup arranged, and I rejoined the boys on the other side of the room.  They had wrapped up their purchases as well and were chatting with the original salesman.  I found out later that this chatting was strikingly similar to Jason's conversations with Mose when we visited him and Faye in Chincoteague.  Apparently, the salesman had abruptly launched into some "guy talk" by telling a series of jokes that were so inappropriate, I could only get one of them out of Jason afterwards.

Having finished our fabric shopping and, at least on my part, turned down the 14th offer to try on a sari; the salesman naturally revealed that they also sell spices!  We should come next door and take a look!

Jason and Justin were roped in against their protests.  I had declined the spice tour offer earlier, and oddly, the salesmen didn't push me on it.  I suspect there may have been some behind-the-scenes conspiring, since Jason and Justin were whisked quickly out of the store and I found myself alone with Sattar and the tailor.  

The tailor was busy behind the counter measuring and cutting my fabric.  Sattar flipped over the "Open" sign on the door and circled the room, turning off the main lights.  We were left in a soft yellow glow of the desk lamp where the tailor worked, and Sattar sat down on the couch.  "Come, sit," he said, patting the cushion next to him.  "We'll talk heart to heart."

Feeling a mixture of amusement at the situation and annoyance that Jason and Justin were so oblivious that they didn't even realize they had abandoned me to be seduced by an older man ("Ha!" Jason exclaimed later.  "I didn't even notice!" thus proving once again that any comfort my mother derives from the thought that at least I'm traveling with men who could protect me is woefully mislaid); I sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

"Amanda," he began quite seriously, "I am worried about you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I can tell that you are very strong here," he tapped his forehead, in between his eyebrows.  "You are very strong in your head chakra, but your heart chakra," he paused, shaking his head in sorrow, "that is very weak."

"Okay..." I said.  "How can you tell?"

"I can tell," he said, looking at me with a c'mon-we-both-know-that-I'm-right kind-of look.  "I can tell that you have been hurt here."  He patted his chest over his heart.

I gave him a c'mon-we-both-know-I'm-not-buying-this kind-of look.

Sattar scooched closer, took my hand, and lowered his voice.  "I can tell that you have been hurt in your heart."  He paused dramatically, looked down at my hand, then back up into my eyes.  "You have been physically intimate with many, many men, and it has hurt your heart."

I bit my lips to keep from laughing out loud and shook my head.

"No?" he asks, confused.

"Nope," I said.

"Ah, then some men.  Your last boyfriend.  You gave yourself to him physically and he hurt you."

"Nope," I said again.  "That didn't happen."

"Then why did you break up?"

I decided, as I often have to do, to stick with the parts of the assumptions that are easiest to explain.  "It just..." I shrugged, "... didn't work."

"Because you were physical with him and with so many other men." He patted my hand sympathetically like the best confidant ever. 

"No..." I said, really starting to wonder what exactly it was about me that gives off such whorish vibes.  Time for cliches.  "We just wanted different things."

 "I don't understand," Sattar said, hurt evident in his expression.  "Why would he let you go?  You are so beautiful!  Why wouldn't any man want you?  They should be lining up for you back home."

Again, this was a comment that I had no idea how to respond to.  Sattar decided to return to his main point.  "Your heart chakra and your head chakra are not in balance," he said, releasing my hand to illustrate his statement with gestures.  "Your heart is full of hurt because you have been physical with many men."  He looked at me for confirmations of his recap.  

I shook my head.  

He tried again.  "Because you were physical with your boyfriend back home?"

I shook my head again.

Guess #3: "He left you because you would not be physical with him?"

"No," I said, starting to wonder what the crap was keeping Jason and Justin.  Were they actually buying the spices?

"You have not been physical with any men?" Sattar asked, sounding the most incredulous yet.  I decided we were done playing Guess My Sex Life.

"How do I fix my heart chakra?" I asked.

"Ah!" Sattar said, straightening up again.  "For this, there is a mantra.  I will tell you this mantra, and you must repeat it every morning.  Can you take one minute for yourself every morning to fix your heart?"

I dutifully agreed that I could, and he insisted that I pull out my phone to write down the mantra.  "Om shani deiwai namah," he repeated, reading my notes over my shoulder to make sure I took it down correctly.  "Repeat this every morning and you will begin to heal.  You can also come back to India to heal. Do you like India?"

I assured him honestly that I did.

"Good," he said.  "You come back to India and you text me and I will take you to my village and will help you heal."

"You'll show me your village?" I asked to clarify.

"You will come to my village and stay with me," he said confidently.

"What about your wife?" I asked.  

He looked surprised.  "My wife?"

"Aren't you married?" I asked, taking a shot.  "You showed me a picture of your son earlier."

He laughed.  "My wife is happy," he assured me.  "You can come to my village."

To my relief, the door opened and the boys came in.  They didn't seem to take any particular notice of the mood lighting or Sattar's proximity to me on the couch.  The salesman gestured for them to sit on the floor and called for their assistant to bring in some tea.  We tried to decline, but we were not getting out of there without tea.

 It was actually very good tea - lemon with the right kind of spices for my taste, and we chatted as a group.  I cannot for the life of me recall what we talked about, probably because I was still trying to figure out what makes me seem so promiscuous.

As we finally began to extract ourselves from the shop, a group photo was called for.  I had my phone out, so I directed the men to group together to get a picture:

From left to right: the tailor, Shiva, Justin, Jason, Sattar, the original salesman, and the assistant

As I checked the photo I had taken, one of the men called out, "Who is the most handsome?"

They laughed, and I shook my head, laughing.  "I can't answer that!"

They called out protests at my dodging until the assistant figured out the right answer and proudly announced - "You!" he gestured at me.  "You are the most handsome!"

The men affectionately ruffled his hair and chuckled at his smoothness.  "Beautiful," Sattar corrected.  "Not 'handsome.'  She is beautiful."




My phone buzzed the next morning over breakfast.  I looked at the screen and snorted.

"What is it?" Jason asked.

"Sattar," I said.  "I made him a contact on WhatsApp in case there's a problem with picking up my clothes."  I showed them my phone.

It buzzed again.

Oh, dear.  I decided to send him the group photo, another reason he insisted we should be contacts.  He was quick to respond:

I ignored the text.  He sent me this:

He sent me my own profile picture.  I was confused, but his next message confused me more:




A bedazzled elephant sleeping on a blue rose?  Okay....

I decided to stick with my plan to ignore the texts.  To my relief, Sattar wasn't there when we picked up the clothing at the shop that afternoon, and soon we were on our way to Agra.  The next morning, my phone buzzed again:

And the next day:




And the day after that:





I started to wonder if he just keeps a slew of "Good Morning" bling photos on his phone.

I continued to ignore his texts, only feeling a little guilty about my disregard of social etiquette.   After all, he's friendly, highly entertaining, and truly seems to have my best interests at heart.

My slutty, slutty heart.

Holi in Jaipur

Many of you very nice people have reminded me that I have yet to blog about India.  "I want to see pictures!" you say.  And so, I give you pictures. Some of my favorite pictures of the trip, since they tell the story of our Holi celebration.  (Because I'm giving myself reasonable expectations for blogging and I am going to go by story priority this time instead of in chronological order.)

For me at least, Holi, the Hindu festival of spring and colors, was the entire reason to go to India over spring break.  It's been on my To Do list for some time, but I just figured I'd wind up playing colors in Utah at some point.  To have the festival align with my break dates was sheer providence, and I wasn't going to pass an opportunity like that up.

If you'd like the tl;dr version of this tale, our Holi experience is pretty much summarized in this clip from our ride around the city:

But if you want the details, by all means keep reading.

We arrived in Jaipur on Wednesday, and our haveli (former mansions turned hotels in India) greeted us with carnations:

Holi is actually a two day festival, with a bonfire and festivities the first night and the color games on the second day.  Our hotel, eager to offer "safe" celebrations for their guests, encouraged us to join in at the bonfire that night.

They greeted us with red and gold thread wristbands, dots of red on our foreheads, and handfuls of popcorn:

 

It was a fairly tame celebration, and we turned in for the night shortly thereafter.

Thursday morning we donned our Holi clothes and headed out on the town.

 

It occurred to me that this is an excellent opportunity to pull out my Thai monastery clothes.  We also put the waterproof iPhone cases Jason put in our Christmas stockings to good use.

Problem is, we weren't quite sure how to go about finding festivities.  Our hotel was hosting a Holi celebration that included a buffet lunch and "safe, organic colors."  This sounded unappealing to me.  I didn't want to spend Holi in India behind the garden walls of a hotel surrounded by other tourists.  I wanted to be out in the town!  See the real thing!  Be accosted by and celebrate with strangers!  Warnings from guidebooks, websites, and our hotel hosts be damned, I wasn't going to waste this holiday in sheltered safety.

And frankly, we were absolutely fine.  We met lovely people, had a blast, and aside from some lingering hugs from a few guys and one unexpected enthusiastic groping (which I'll tell you about in a moment) I was not harassed or treated inappropriately in the least.

A big part of the success of the holiday we owe to this guy:

That's Shiva.  We met Shiva when we stepped outside the walls of the haveli and he pulled up in a tuk-tuk.  "You want a driver?" he asked.

We hesitated.  We didn't have a plan yet; which if you know any of us you know means we were all feeling a bit wary, exposed, and overprotective.  Still, this is what I wanted, isn't it?  So let's go for it.

"Sure," we said, climbing in.

"Where to?" Shiva asked.

"We want to see Holi," we said.  And suddenly, we had a plan.  Or at least Shiva did.  He assured us that we were in good hands, put a bit of color on us to get the party started, and we were off.

We drove for all of one block before Shiva stopped next to a group of people at the start of color play.

It was a mix of foreigners and locals, and at least the locals seemed to know Shiva.  He greeted the group as if he was friends with all of them.  The other foreigners seemed a bit shy like us, but they gradually started patting colored powder onto our faces.  Shiva thrust a bag of color into Jason's hands so we could repay the favor, and soon we were exclaiming over the vibrant colors and happy atmosphere.

It wasn't long before Justin broke out those dance skills he honed at BYU:

and even Jason acquiesced to getting messy; although I think his expression in this video shows just how big a concession that was for him:

Soon Shiva suggested we move along, so we waved goodbye to the revelers and hopped back in the tuk-tuk.  

Shiva took us through the city, showing us parts of Jaipur and stopping at one of the many stands to get each of us a bag of color of our own:

 

He also stopped to get himself the turban he's modeling in that first photo of him.  We didn't buy any of the hundreds of water guns we passed at similar stands, but we did get attention from passing revelers.  They'd point at us, wave, call out "Happy Holi!" and, if we were at a stoplight, they'd hop off their motorcycles to pat color on our cheeks and receive color from us in return.

One fellow sidled up next to me at a stop and asked, "Selfie?"

"Okay," I said, and smiled for his camera.  I held up my phone to indicate wanting a photo of my own.  He nodded enthusiastically, then swooped in:

We heard loud music thumping up ahead and soon came upon a group of men partying.  Shiva pulled the tuk-tuk over and encouraged us to hop out and dance.

Jason and Justin jumped into the crowd, but I hung back to get a few photos.  Well, the photos were mostly an excuse since dancing's always a bit intimidating for me.  Soon Shiva gestured for me to join in, Jason called out to me from the throng, and I reminded myself that I was there to celebrate Holi, dang it.  I tucked my self-consciousness deep down, picked up my skirt, and started dancing.

The men cheered.  It wasn't long before they were taking turns dancing alongside and/or with me.  A few of the braver ones would take my hands or pretend to grind while their friends cheered them on.  One fellow plunked a turban on my head and snapped a few photos of me in his headgear.  Another worked up the courage to stop dancing, hold out his arms and say, "Hug?"  Laughing, I hugged him as the surrounding guys hooted and called out, "Lucky!  Lucky fellow!"  Next thing I knew, they were coming in for hugs from all directions.

We decided to move on not too long after I got an accidental mouthful of color powder.  As I rinsed and spit out bright pink water over and over again, Shiva shook his head and counseled, "When playing colors, eyes closed, mouth closed."

After looping around the city in his tuk-tuk, Shiva invited us to go back to his house to see how the locals celebrate.  He had explained that families all celebrate at home and the public revelry is really just the guys who want to go out and get drunk.  Indeed, we had yet to see any Indian women out in our adventure, so I was eager to see a family celebration.

Shiva is also a liaison for an international volunteer organization, so we swung by their dorms to pick up a teenager from Bogota who's been under Shiva's care for a few months; then headed back towards the hotel to Shiva's neighborhood.






He parked near our haveli, next to the entrance to an alleyway.  There were some other tuk-tuk drivers and tourists there, and after we all did the compulsory color-patting on each other, Shiva led the way between the buildings.

"This is where my family lives," he said cheerfully.

"How many people?" we asked.

"About 1500," he said.



We encountered more and more kids as we went further in, some of whom were brave enough to say, "Happy Holi!" and put a bit of color on the foreigners.

At one point, one of Shiva's friends (cousins?) grabbed my wrist and announced, "Women this way," pulling me into one of the homes.  There I met a group of women who were in the midst of cooking lunch.  They greeted us and we exchanged colors.  The cousin pulled an older woman up from the floor of the house and insisted that we give her some color.  We refused at first, she since was obviously telling him quite sternly that she did not want to get messy, but he told us to do it anyway.  "It's Holi!" he said.  "It's expected!"

I held out my bag of color and the woman dipped her hands in and patted my cheeks green.  I dipped in a finger and brushed a dot onto each of her cheeks.  She beamed at me, then gracefully turned to repeat the ritual with each of the ladies the cousin had pulled inside.

We rejoined the rest of the group and Shiva led us through the maze of dirt paths between cement and pink and white-washed walls to his house.




 Shiva's wife poked her head out of the kitchen when he called a greeting, then came out smiling shyly.  Pros by now, we greeted her with pats of color.  She used our color bags to put a bit of powder on Jason and Justin's cheeks.  She patted my cheeks as well, then grinned cheekily and shoved her hand down my shirt.  "Happy Holi!" she shouted as she flapped her hand between my breasts, covering my stomach and chest with color.  I exclaimed in surprise and had barely caught my breath when she grabbed another handful and lifted up my shirt from the bottom to clap even more powder on my stomach.

By this point, we were certainly colorful messes:










Shiva introduced us to his kids, who ran up to the kid from Bogota and quickly covered him in color.



They obviously knew him well, and when Shiva's daughter came at him with a bowl of muddy-looking colored water, he stopped looking as shy and uncomfortable as we seemed to make him and joined in the fun, grabbed her as they both squealed and giggled:



 Shiva fetched a blanket from inside and spread it on the ground for Jason and Justin to share, then found a small plastic stool for me to sit on.  Shiva's wife came out with a plate of food we passed around and sampled.



The yellow stuff on the right tasted sweet and coconut-y while the nut mix on the left had some kick to it.  Shiva brought out a photo album to show us pictures of his kids, of his family, and of the various travelers he's met.  At every picture of a foreigner, he would tap the photo, tell us his/her name, and proudly announce what country they were from. 

Someone turned on some music and soon the alley was packed with people.









I was chatting with two girls from Australia when a man showed up with a small metal bowl of spicy yellow rice.  The man (Shiva's brother, perhaps?) went to each of us in turn and insisted we try the dish "because it's Holi!"



 Jason got away with taking his sample with his fingers, but the fellow scooped up a big helping with his wee metal communal spoon and pushed it directly into my mouth before I could object.

As the party seemed to be winding down, we excused ourselves to head back to the haveli for a late lunch.  We called out farewells, I was force-fed another spoonful of rice, Shiva walked us back out, and we made plans to meet him again later in the day for another excursion.  We paid him, thanked him, hugged him, and walked to our hotel just down the path.

After the exuberance of the street celebrations, the hotel's affair looked so much the quieter.  We picked up some food from the buffet and took a seat in the large dining tent.



We were certainly not the only tourists covered in powder, but I think we may have had the most layers.




We took turns in the bathroom trying to scrub the color off our hands, but as I ate speckles of red and purple kept falling on my plate from my face. I ate around them the best I could; then figured that if I was going to die of color poisoning, the mouthful of pink from earlier is what would do me in.  (That's homemade cinnamon ice cream in a banana leaf cup Jason's enjoying, btw.)


As forecasted, the celebrations were pretty much wrapped up by then, about 2:00 in the afternoon.  We weren't quite done yet, though.  There were two elephants in the driveway of the hotel, and we were going for a Holi ride, dang it!



The attendants got all three of us up the ladder onto the elephant on the left, and once we were settled we took off for a loop around the driveway.  The attendant took my phone at one point and shot about 600 photos of us on our 8 minute ride.





When the elephant returned to the tent, the attendant instructed Jason and Justin to step on the elephant's head and hop down:



I scooted forward to do the same, but both attendants flapped their hands and insisted I wait.  And so I sat on the elephant waiting.



And waiting and waiting.  It was long enough for me to wonder if they were going to let me get down or if I was going to get a bonus ride.  It was also long enough for both of the elephants to let loose phenomenal amounts of urine, which actually made me glad that I was a good nine feet or so above the splash zone.

Eventually, they brought a ladder to the elephant so I could climb down from my elephant as a lady should.






The hotel had put out giant barrels of water in the garden, so we stopped there on our way to our room to try to get the worst of the powder off.  Justin wasted no time stripping off his shirt and soaking his head.




I meanwhile was a little less sucessful getting the color off:



We took turns in the shower, gingerly avoiding touching anything until we had sloughed off the worst of it all.  Even with a lot of soap and scrubbing, my skin stayed pretty pink.  Well, except for my belly which, thanks to Shiva's wife, stayed pretty green.  It took a couple of days for the pink stains on my face to fade, and my scalp stayed pink long after I got home.

I tossed out my skirt and garments but kept the t-shirt and bra, which I now fondly think of as my Holi bra, streaked with pink, purple, and brown as it is.  Relatively clean, we headed back out to meet Shiva for some shopping, which is a good enough story to merit its own post.

And that was Holi!  It was an absolute delight and one of my favorite things I've ever done while traveling.  I am happy that we didn't stick to the safety of the hotel, and I am really grateful that we met Shiva, since he made the day what it was for us.  It's fun to think that in Jaipur there's a photo album that I'm sure now includes a picture of me, which Shiva will point out to his future guests and say, "This is Amanda.  She is from America."