mehndi – An American in Kerala

Well, you did it. You packed up and shipped off to another country; your dreams of wanderlust coming true. Soon enough, weeks or months have passed, and you’ve settled into a routine. But things aren’t as fun as you’d hoped.

Your bathroom looks weird, beds and pillows are too hard or soft, and the grocery store doesn’t carry anything you like. The climate is too hot or cold. It’s exhausting trying to do anything official where no one speaks your language. Everyone else’s concept of time is different from yours.

These are small problems, but small seems huge when you’re away from what’s familiar. Before you know it, homesickness creeps into your stomach.

A lot of blood, sweat, and tears goes into living overseas. You need to break down your beliefs and values, maintain your boundaries, cry a lot, and laugh more than you cry.

Believe me, I know. I’m going on a decade here in Kerala, and my physical and emotional changes careened through ups and downs. I never had any desire to live in another country. I was content to live in or near Pennsylvania for the rest of my life. Well, life had something else planned for me.

When I arrived in Calicut, I was a starry-eyed newlywed, thrilled to live with my husband. Not one thing about India bothered me. Giant cockroaches? Fine. All-day powercuts? Bring it on.

Then our daughter was born, and I ran face-first into a cultural wall. Everything I found endearing became an imposition, and I went into an “I’m here on a long vacation” mindset. Over time, I pulled away from that thought and grew to love my life. Now, I can’t imagine living anywhere else but Kerala. No matter where I am, I’ll leave a piece of my heart here. It’s my home.

But it wasn’t until recently that I figured out how I fell in love with Kerala. There are a few definitive things I did that made me feel like I now belong here. So, for the sake of anyone plunging into a new culture, I’m giving the few tips that helped me the most.

1.) Be observant.

When moving to a new country, this is the best piece of advice. Observe people. Check out their behaviors. Watch what they’re doing, but even more importantly, watch what they’re not doing. I learned so much about how to behave in India by shutting my mouth and observing.

Some things I learned: eating with my right hand and without utensils, not crossing my legs when I’m visiting someone’s home, replacing handshakes with head nods when meeting someone. These are small things, but people notice when you do them differently.

2.) Learn the language.

You knew this was coming. I’m not telling you to only learn to communicate with people. That is, of course, the biggest benefit to studying a new language. You create and deepen new connections with native speakers.

Learning the language blows your world wide-open. You can understand a new slew of music, movies, jokes, and idioms. For me, few things have been more satisfying than finally understanding Malayalam memes.

Learning a new language has a host of benefits. It stimulates the brain, stalls cognitive decline, and boosts creativity! So get signed up for a class and start your language journey!

3.) Throw yourself headfirst into the local culture.

Throwing yourself into anything when you’ve moved to a new country seems like the last thing you want to do. But please trust me on this one. It gives you an enormous appreciation for your new home. Take a dance class, a singing class, an art class. Pick something and try it, even if you’re terrible forever.

Learn the history of the art form. Attend a local performance or exhibition. You won’t regret it.

As for me, I’ve written before that I learned (and am still learning) mehndi. And right before the pandemic, I started Bharatanatyam lessons, which I love, love, love. Both have rich histories, and I gained new admiration for all mehndi artists and Bharatanatyam dancers.

4.) Cook the food. This, my friends, is what pulled me out of my cultural adjustment funk. When you cook the local cuisine, you tie yourself to much more than the food itself. You become connected to history, language, and relationships.

Recipe by recipe, I restored my self-esteem by perfecting a huge part of Malayalee culture – their food. Pride wells inside when I hear a Malayalee say, “Brittany is an expert in making biryani.”

5.) Stay humble. Over the years, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve culturally screwed up. It’s fine to make mistakes! But when Zac would explain how to avoid issues in the future, I’d rear up and demand why I had to change my behavior. The answer is rather dissatisfying: Because I had to.

Remaining culturally humble isn’t easy. It requires daily self-reflection: wondering how I can better communicate with and listen to people, and how I can better show my respect. It’s understanding the history and dynamics of where you’re living.

There is no sensitive way to say this, but it is neither your job nor your place to change the society where you live. Instead, amplify the voices of locals and citizens who are already changing things. They have done the hard work and deserve recognition.

I hope no one has read through this and now believes I sit stiff as a board and don’t speak so that I don’t offend anyone. If that was true, I wouldn’t have written this. Around friends and family here, I am totally myself. Frankly speaking, though, I am not the same person as the one who existed a decade ago, and that’s a good thing.

And there you have it. My five main tips for adjusting to a new country. While these won’t solve many other daily frustrations (a whole other ballgame), I hope they help people appreciate their new homes.

422217_607087879584_1611614569_n — What started it all.

I watched the young woman with her steady hand drawn lines on my inner wrist, moving towards my palm. The dark brown paste chilled my skin, and its earthy scent wafted into my nose.

My fingers wanted to twitch, but her thin hand held my hand in place so she could complete her art. Art for the skin – that’s what mehndi is. I’d never seen anything so intricate.

The flowers and paisleys she left behind dried and crusted. When I scraped the remnants off, the design had dyed my skin a burnt orange, which darkened to a deep auburn.

In the days that followed, I caught myself bringing my hand to my nose to capture the remaining scent of the henna paste. I admired the artist’s handiwork – spirals, dots, lines, and loops all making a trail to my fingertips.

I was in love, and I wanted to learn it. That was five years ago.

Like many, I suffer from impostor syndrome, so my doubt held me in check. Was it cultural appropriation for me, a white woman, to learn mehndi? Would I even be good at it?

In India, it’s an art that’s passed through families, where people learn on their own. The street mehndi artists (the best) taught themselves all the techniques. The proper shading, the right pressure to place on the cone for dispensing, and the creativity to create large designs that cover entire arms, hands, and feet.

There was no way I’d learn it, I decided. I snuffed out my desire and moved on with my life.

I moved on until last September, when my husband, daughter, and I were milling around our local grocery store. There, crammed on the bottom shelf of the beauty section, were henna cones.

I kept glancing at them but left empty-handed, still not confident that I could learn it. Instead, I went home and searched how to do it online – is it easy or difficult? Which kind should I use? Which designs are good for beginners?

And I asked the opinions of others if I should even bother with trying (they were all encouraging).

So, the next time we were at our grocery store, I slapped three cones in front of my confused husband and said, “I want to learn.” I braced myself for his laughter because I had zero confidence in my ability. Instead, he said, “Okay,” and paid for our groceries.

My first attempt at mehndi was terrible. I cut the cone down too far, so the paste came out too thick, and I couldn’t draw much with it.

I learned that mehndi isn’t too forgiving – you cannot afford to make many mistakes with it. Still, I felt a thrill run through me that I was actually doing it, and even my husband complimented my shoddy design.

My second attempt improved a bit. I drew a peacock, which has since become my favorite, but I still had no idea how to create a motif that flowed together.

I began scrawling on paper with the paste when I ran out of room on my hands and feet. It soothed me. Squeeze the cone and watch the paste twirl into flowers, peacocks, tikkas, and geometric shapes. The more I did it, the steadier my hand became, and the easier it was to flow shapes one into another.

14409914_10100160737792694_6393383317865594523_o — Baby mehndi!

14568191_10100165597753294_2548914229940432121_n — My first tikka design.

14915183_10100176739914314_3678420025893639935_n — I love to do these kinds!

14882320_10100175352285134_6672077399914304653_o — Tikka on the side of my wrist.

14956371_10100177894700114_1412266896920392784_n — A small motif for my mom (with my daughter’s name)!

One of my more recent, and super quick, designs.

Seven months and fifty henna cones later, I now draw on hands, feet, and shoulders with ease. I create permanent designs on unfinished wood, including letters, bangles, necklace pendants, bird houses, and photo cubes.

I’ve even started using acrylic paints to make designs on journals and Mason jars.

If I’m already this good after seven months of practice, I cannot wait to see where I am seven more months from now.