“Why on earth did Melissa decide to go to India of all places, and for 6 months no less?!?” many of the folks back home are no doubt wondering. Several reasons exist, but above all: I wanted to experience a culture as different as possible from the familiar flaw-filled northwest Indiana culture that I grew up with. Don’t get me wrong: every society has its draws and flaws, India not excepted. But I believe that being immersed in another way of life is the excellent opportunity for learning. Being immersed in a way of life so completely different—on the surface, at least—from the one I grew up with: that, to me, is the ultimate learning experience.

That was what drew me to India (and NO, I was NOT drawn here by any desire to contract malaria, to get myself killed in some other horrible way, or to channel the devil through yoga, as some of the homebodies back home might have thought…) And so far, I have NOT been channeling any devils (though I have been doing yoga every morning) I have NOT felt the least bit ill (knock on wood), and I am still alive. Moreover, I have been experiencing a completely different culture, I have been learning loads from the experience, and I’ve been enjoying myself immensely all the while. The world is bigger than a cornfield, after all.


Adventures from my first full day (November 19):

Despite the previous days potentially exhausting record of 52 hours without a wink of sleep, I was awake—and feeling full of energy—before 5 a.m. the morning after I arrived. For a while, I simply sat on the firm mosquito-netting-surrounded bunk listening to the chanting flowing from the loudspeakers of the local Hindu temple.

Home half a world away from home:

Among the things stood out to me about what my fellow students said about the Vijnana Kala Vedi Cultural School, whether they were staying a week or several months, was that the school was always referred to as “home.” My first day in my new home was the last day for 6 students. With many apologies, the VKV staff moved me out of the office building from my initial accommodation in what is fondly known of as “the hospital room”—a room usually reserved for families as it contains 4 beds—to one of the actual houses. Hooray! My new room—with only one bed—had a much more home-like feel. Three other students currently call the Tharayil House home.

Tharayil House Cast of Characters…

Sarah~ My floor mate, Sarah, is a girl from Portugal who has been here since August studying Hindi and dance in hopes of becoming a Bollywood movie star. I can tell when she’s in her room by the constant stream of Bollywood music blaring from down the hall. Instead of being bothered by it (like some of her former floor mates apparently have) I appreciate living next door to someone with good taste in music. And Sarah appreciates living down the hall from someone who appreciates her music.

Shadi~ In the room just below mine lives an polyglot anarchist named Shadi (pronounced Shah-dee) who was born in Switzerland, raised mostly in Turkey, and has been living in India for the past 15 years. While very nice and incredibly interesting, the one downside of living above Shadi is that he likes to sleep until noon, which has prevented me from practicing tabla.

Elsa~ Down the hall from Shadi lives a Swiss girl with four dreadlock rattails snaking down her back. She’s here doing an intensive woodcarving course. I’m enjoying practicing my francais avec Elsa.

Larry the Laughing Lizard~ A permanent fixture in my room, Larry is a roughly 6-inch long yellow gecko who likes to serenade my every night with a surprisingly loud call that sounds eerily like laughter. Though he woke me up my first night in Tharayil, I’ve gotten used to Larry. In fact, we’ve become friends: he helps keep my room mosquito-free.

Neighbors~ Tharayil House is for the most part surrounded by the homes of Indian families, with whom, I was disappointed to hear, there is virtually no contact. Behind the house, however, are some residents with whom I’m glad there is little close contact: just behind Tharayil house is a large, lush pen live at least 3 elephants reside. Two are taken out frequently to pay visits to the local temple, while the other (who I’ve heard is violent and slightly insane…) is kept tethered in the backyard.

Becoming acquainted with Aranmula:

At breakfast, I tried to get a feel for what everyone was doing with the weekend free day, wondering if perhaps I could tag along (and not be left to fend for myself my first full day in India). No such invites came my way. The morning was spent settling into Tharayil (I decorated my bed and added color to the room by draping colorful scarves that previous students had left behind) and wandering around Aranmula.

At lunch, Atman, one of the administrators at VKV, offered to give Tam (an English woman who’s also relatively new to the center) and me a biking tour of Aranmula. We all mounted our bikes, I in my new churidar (a knee-length tunic type shirt/dress worn with pants and a shawl), and took off for a visit to the mural painting gallery. This small-scale museum was filled with impressively detailed traditional style mural paintings, mostly of traditional subjects. My favorite piece of art in the place was a portrait of Gandhi-ji. Seeing works of this art form done by professionals was a good prelude to my mural painting classes, which begin Monday.

The next stop on our tour was the studio of a family who does the traditional mirror-making craft of the village, Aranmula Kannady. A group of guys sat in their dhotis sanding and scraping and polishing the metal mirrors. After the biking tour and before dinner, I went on a walk around Aranmula with 3 women—Tam (a Brit), Brit (from Sweden), and Meeran (from Spain) down along the Pampa River that runs around the outskirts of Aranmula. A long canoe ferried us across the river. On both banks, people (mostly men, who surprisingly didn’t seem disturbed by our presence) were bathing. Later on, a bunch of men were giving a bath to an elephant (and the elephant certainly didn’t mind our stares). After exploring the paths through the jungle-like forest on the far side of the river, we sat on a ghat and watched the sunset. As darkness fell over Aranmula, the cacophony of birdcalls grew louder and several giant fruit bats swept overhead. What an introduction to Aranmula!


Laughing Lizards, Dying Dogs: the Struggle with Sleep in Aranmula

I’ve introduced you to my noisy new friend, Larry the Laughing Lizard. Like I said, he enjoys serenading me at night. Once I got used to Larry’s loudness, I began to hear a host of unfamiliar night noises: the elephants talking to each other, the dog across the street whining all night in such horrific tones that it sounds like he’s, if not dying, at least in pain or under torture. And of course there are cars and trucks on the road at all hours of the night. Using their horns at all hours of the night.

And then by 5 a.m. every morning, the temple chants begin. Though the temple is at least a half-kilometer away, the chants (which some of the students living nearer to the temple say sounds like an unpleasant Indian rendition of polka) are blasted over loud speakers for the entire village to hear. This nightly racket prevented me from a decent nights sleep for a few days. After being here a week, however, I hardly notice them any more. Perhaps because I’m so exhausted every night from my accumulated lack of sleep. But every morning, I wake up full of energy (probably still running off of adrenaline) to experience this amazing place.

The People around Aranmula:

One feature of VKV that I appreciate is being in the midst of adventurous like-minded travelers from around the world. I’ve gotten to know several students from Swizerland and Spain; one from Sweden; a few from France; women from Israel, England, and Australia; a man from Turkey/India; and a couple from France. I enjoy my frequent conversations with Louba, a former French citizen who founded the cultural school and has lived in Kerala for over 30 years. The center’s staff members—teachers and administrators—are also friendly and interesting.

The one downside of the center is that even though we are located in the midst of the Keralan village of Aranmula, there is little contact with people of the village. All around us, they go about their lives wearing their colorful saris and skirt-like dhotis, staring and occasionally smiling at us students. But on the whole, the center acts as an enclave for foreigners. Though the accommodations of the center are integrated into the community, I’ve gotten the feeling that it is difficult for us Westerners to become part of it. Even for Louba, who has lived here 30+ years. One of the biggest barriers between us is language. Few Aranmulites speak English. None of the center students, not even Louba, are fluent in Malayalam. One of my goals for my stay is to attempt to break out of these established barriers.

Classes:

Aracanut, betel leaf, and 1-rupee coin in hand, I was initiated as a student of tabla and painting. This interesting gift, called a dikshana, is traditionally presented to by a new student to a new teacher. I presented the same to Ashok-ji (my tabla teacher) and Anil (my painting teacher) before beginning classes last Monday. In one week of studies, I’ve learned much about these traditional Indian arts while learning about the culture they come from. Though initially a little intimidating, I’ve been overall impressed with the progress I’ve made with tablas. The first few days, I must admit, I found it—while enjoyable—a little frustrating. I needed frequent reminding that I’d never touched a percussion instrument before in my life. But on Wednesday of last week, I received my very own tabla set. Being able to practice what I learn has allowed me to feel much more comfortable with the instrument. (Although I do feel sorry for my fellow Tharayil residents having to listen to me practice…)

Painting came a lot more naturally for me, considering that I’m no stranger to the paintbrush. The traditional mural painting that Anil is teaching us is a highly stylized form of art using established ideas of form and a limited palate of yellow, brownish red, green, and black. These few colors are used to create impressively detailed works of art. I saw early on that creating a painting like this is a very tedious, time-taking process. My first week of studying painting, I didn’t even touch a paintbrush. I copied what felt like hundreds of hands and feet and faces and jewelry in different styles and positions. This Monday, I was thrilled to be finally ready to use a paintbrush. From the other students, I understood that typically we are able to choose, from a portfolio of options, which Hindu deity or scene of Indian landscape we would like to paint. For me, for whatever reason, Anil handed me an outlandishly minutely detailed drawing of Ganesh and said, “You, paint this.” I’m pleased with Anil’s choice—after all, what could be more Indian than Ganesh—but it’ll take a while.

In addition to these two subjects of my choice, there is also the option of studying Kalaripayattu, a Keralan form of martial art. This I did for four days. I’m glad I had the experience. But my knees could deal with it no longer. I’ve decided to save them for yoga and biking around Aranmula. The Kalari (martial art) teacher, Ravi, tells me every time he sees me, “You should go to see Hari, the ayurvedic doctor. Your knees he can fix in one day.” Perhaps I’ll give it a go once my crazy class schedule becomes more manageable. Also, every Monday-Wednesday-Friday, students have the option of attending a group yoga class. I of course attend every session. Learning yoga from an Indian guy named Swami-ji on a palm-thatched platform in the middle of a rainforest… What a way to start a morning!

All in all, I find this to be THE MOST beautiful, incredible, interesting, enjoyable, and overall outstanding place I've ever been. I send my love to all you eager followers of my adventures back home. In Western culture, you would say, "I send my heart." Supposedly, however, according to Anil (my painting teacher), affection in Malayali culture is not said to come from the heart. But from the liver. So I send you my liver! Namaste for now!