I’ve been trying extremely hard not to write an entry like this because I was never sure how people would take it. Heck, I’m not even sure how I’m really taking it. I’m so torn about writing it. Living in India is very conflicting. Some days my heart is so full of being grateful and appreciative for having this opportunity, living in such an ancient culture, seeing the historic monuments and buildings, spoiling myself with massages and such because we can afford it here, living in luxury with our three rooftop swimming pools at our apartment buildings. Other days, I find myself daydreaming about driving my own car down one of Sullivan County’s empty roads. No car horns, no temple music, just blissful silence. Or I get wistful and dreamy about the spacious and roomy parking lots at Walmart ( you will never understand how lucky you are) after a day of frustrated shopping where we can’t find a single parking space at our overly crowded grocery store. Or I wish that I don’t have to second guess what I’m wearing when we go into public, never knowing if it’s fully appropriate for the conservative culture here. Or I wish that I could heat style my hair without it protesting into a ball of frizz or that my make up wouldn’t melt off my face. These may seem like small things, for sure, but when you’re living them everyday, the pangs can get really strong. Most days I’m fine, but some days, I swing from one extreme to the other with me wanting to stomp my feet like a child and scream, “I don’t want to adapt. ANY. MORE.”
I’ve been having waves of homesickness since Christmas Eve, and it’s been getting worse and the waves have been getting a little longer since it’s coming up on a year when I went to the US. In fact, yesterday, I was listening to “California Girls” by the Beach Boys, and I was so stupidly overcome with emotion that I had to sit down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands. So, even though I feel like I’m complaining a bit with this, it just poured out of me and felt sooo therapeutic. I think that even though India overall has been kind to me, it will never accept me as Brittany, wholly American and unchanged. I’ve had to tone down my sense of humor (sarcasm, pretty much), what I wear, how I approach people, how I address people, who I make eye contact with, who I smile at, who I say hello to (which is no one unless I know them). I’ve even had comments on my hair because it’s shorter than what is considered traditional here. The “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” mindset doesn’t exist so much here. Good in some ways, and not so good in others.
I’ve been keeping tabs on this thing called the Kerala Blog Express, sponsored by Kerala Tourism, where they bring a group of foreign bloggers to see the best Kerala has to offer. And that’s just it – they’re only seeing the best. As I was reading the latest blog, cheekily titled 12 Reasons to Never Visit Kerala, I felt a huge disconnect between what the blogger had written and my own experience. It’ll be my fourth year here this October, so I’m starting to believe that my feelings and opinions about living here may actually have some clout. I have about 6 to 7 pages handwritten on this topic already, and I’m not even done yet, so I’ve decided to split up all of it in to shorter, easier entries. I’ll probably post once a week until I get it all typed.
First of all, this blogger talks about how hot and humid it is here and how you’re always covered with sweat (all true). But then he talks about how he slathered on SPF 50 when going out on the beaches and hiking, and I just…..I had to stop reading. I can’t even remember the last time I willingly went into the midday sun unless I’ve been 1) under a very large umbrella, 2) in an air conditioned car, or 3) hiding in the shade of a very tall, very broad building. Anyone who lives here knows that being outside between the hours of 10 and 6 is a huuuuge mistake. That’s why many of our beach photos are of sunsets – it’s not for romance. It’s because it’s too stinkin’ hot to go any other time of day. But we have made the mistake of going to the beach in the daytime. More than once, because we kept thinking it would improve each time we went. It didn’t. 10 am – traipsing through hot sand, hot sun, and….ugh….hot air. The beaches are all gorgeous, no doubt, but I think the sunbathers are nuts. No offense. I mean, good grief, it’s so hot outside, why did we think it would be fun? Then, in the car, on the way home, the A/C is cranked to the max, and we look at each other like, “Why did we just do that?” We’re exhausted from the sun, we’ll have to take yet another shower when we get home, and then the rest of the day is shot because we have to rest up since we have real lives to live here. So, yes, the tally – tourist in Kerala: appreciates the heat and sweat and sun and doesn’t miss out on any fulfilling activities because of this; and expat in Kerala: dives into the nearest building like some kind of vampire, counting the hours until I can go outside again. You can’t age me, Kerala sun! NO. WAY.
The next thing on this guy’s list that struck me as odd – he writes that Indians have permanent smiles on their faces. To be honest, I have no idea what he’s talking about. With the exception of my husband, who smiles for approximately 85% of his day (not counting his sleepy time), Indians aren’t smilers. In my experience, the average Indian has a very serious, even borderline unfriendly appearance. I won’t even discuss the blatant stares I still get once in a while from people….or maybe I will, who knows where this paragraph will lead me? But appearances aside, Indians are some of the happiest, friendliest people on the planet. Don’t ask me why they’re so happy – they have lots of reasons not to be, so I’m still trying to flesh all that out.
And this friendliness and happiness leads to such unbelievable hospitality. People are so happy and so proud to have you as a guest in their home. And this, this is when Indians smile. I will never forget, on my first trip to India, we visited the Dhobi Ghat slum in Mumbai, and a young man invited our small crew to see his tiny, well kept home – I mean, it was tiny and most of his belongings were covered with the laundry that he was washing for the Mumbai residents. He just stood there with a broad smile on his face, gesturing for us to enter his home, and I’m sure he would have served us tea if we hadn’t been in such a hurry. This poor man would have given us something that he most likely struggled to earn, and he would have done it with a good, genuine heart. I can’t even fathom it – it leaves me speechless.
Well, now that I’ve waxed poetic about the friendliness and hospitality of Indians, I’m going to tell you that it hasn’t been easy at all for me to make friends here. In fact, I didn’t make any friends at all until we moved to this new apartment complex in October 2015. That’s three, count ’em three, years of having no real, live friends to talk to besides my husband. But I remember the days at our old house when I would cry because I was so lonely for just one other female friend. Just one other mom friend, who could at least pretend to understand how destabilizing it can be to be a stay at home mom in a foreign country. Someone who could sympathize with me on the days when I’m feeling a bit homesick and like I’ve lost a sense of my identity – that I have no idea what I’m good at anymore. Someone who could understand why I protest keeping a maid and a cook because, while it’s extremely difficult to maintain a home here with all the dust and dirt, I didn’t like that my self-sufficiency was completely shredded. It’s taken me a long time to find those people.
And it’s not that there weren’t any women around me. I’ve had female neighbors the entire time I’ve lived here. But they were local Kerala women, at least one generation separated from me, and, I felt, an entire world away in values and interests. I vividly remember (because I felt so mortified) sitting in one woman’s home, she had made me tea, and after the initial “what are you preparing for lunch” conversation (topic of choice here), there was nothing but silence because we had no idea how to continue. And as for me, being a bit socially awkward, my brain kicked in to overdrive panic mode – What do I say? What do I say?? WHAT DO I SAY??? And that made it all much worse.
It has gotten easier. I’ve learned by the example of my husband, in those situations, it’s best to ask about family members – as many details as you can about as many members as you can think of. People love to talk about their families. This tactic has very much saved me from any more awkwardness. The tally – Tourist in Kerala: is greeted by smiling hotel representatives and tour guides and then thinks everyone here is constantly smiling and in a good mood; Expat in Kerala: sees and experiences the real deal (which I think, despite my complaining, is the better deal).
I hope I haven’t turned anyone off from visiting India. I promise you – it changes your life in the most unexpected ways. I sound like a broken record because I know I’ve written this before. Like I said, my emotions are always in a constant battle – it’s a duality, much like India itself. The extreme good and extreme bad, extreme wealth and extreme poverty learn to co-exist with each other somehow. People say that you either love India or you hate it when you visit for the first time, and I can assuredly say that it’s possible to love and hate this place in the same breath. This is my experience and mine alone. I’ll be posting the next entry sometime next week. Stay tuned!
An American in Kerala 