So, I know I have been a horrible blogger for the past two months. The good thing is I haven't stopped writing about my life here in India, and I have recently come up with the idea of having a podcast. It's to the left of these posts and will be updated quite regularly. I'll probably put up the writing as well. I've been doing a lot of interviewing lately so hopefully I'll be able to incorporate that as well. This past week was very difficult to be in India-all I wanted to do was celebrate Obama's win in the States! There's no doubt that his win has made it easier to be a foreigner abroad.
Life has been settling down here. The apartment gets more furnished with each week and is starting to feel like an actual home. I've also started cooking more which is something I never thought would happen. In the next two weeks I'll be taking two trips through southern India: one to Hampi and another to the BR Hills. The semester ends in early December, but I'll definitely be staying here throughout break. It will be nice to have some time off.
That's it for now, look for the podcast updates!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Diwali
This time last week firecrackers burst through the streets like raging rapids rushing downstream. I listened to the commotion for 72 hours straight, which was mainly led by small boys competing to see who was least afraid of fire but also by families who shot off fireworks from their rooftops late into the evening. The Indians around me were quite entertained by my loose nerves and the frantic yelps I would release immediately following the unexpected pop! of a firecracker. The boys would cover their mouths with their right hand and laugh at my responses, grabbing each other with mixed excitement and amusement. I would continue to walk on through the day which had given way to the battleground of Diwali. To Western ears, the noise placed me in a war zone, where the crackers were bombs and the fireworks missiles sailing past my window. I was used to an hour of fireworks on the fourth of July but nothing could have prepared me for this.
It began in the early hours of Monday, when I was awakened not by the light of the rising sun but by the harsh racket resonating from my neighborhood. I opened the door to the balcony and watched below as eager young children lit off dozens of tiny explosives. It had to be before seven in the morning. One went off after another and at first I nonchalantly shrugged off the action but after several hours of no break, irritation began to settle in and I shook my head side to side, baffled by the need to constantly make noise. But at nighttime the fireworks appeared and it seemed now, that they were truly celebrating the festival of lights. I calmed down a bit, hypnotized by the colors bursting across the night sky.
To Americans, Diwali is like a mix of fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, all rolled up into one nice package. Sweets are devoured, presents are often given, and of course, pyrotechnics are ubiquitously embraced. Indians describe Diwali as a time to celebrate the victory of good over evil and of light over darkness. Colorful candles sit outside the main door, greeting the visitor and welcoming them into the house. Rangoli, a form of art which uses sand and often has intricate designs, decorates the floor beside the candles. School children neglect their classes for a couple of days to bask in the excitement and even the adults seem to lose themselves in the holiday’s fun. Diwali is a time for family, to embark together in the New Year and for all Indians, regardless of religion, to rejoice and unite.
I think back to the second week I was in India, when the festival of Ganesh Chaturthi was taking place. I was quickly struck by the passionate regard for festivity in India and couldn’t believe that the same level of enthusiasm was exhibited quite regularly. Truly, only a few weeks later, Indians were celebrating Navaratri, a festival of dance that occurs for nine nights. Less than a month later, Diwali season was here in full force.
In the United States, not one of our holidays (besides perhaps Christmas) shares the same intensity of India’s festivals. On the last day of Diwali, after I was certain I was going deaf in both ears and had suffered from numerous sparkler burns, I regarded the Indian festival with astonishment. Here, in a country which has substantially lower standards of living than in the U.S., its’ people still manage to celebrate life on a more regular basis. We Americans race through our days searching for success and happiness and often forget how blessed we truly are. At what genuine times do we sit to reflect on what we do have? By our criteria, Indians have “much less” and yet they reflect constantly, they appreciate life continuously. Indian festivals have inspired me to think that we Americans are the ones who have “much less. “
It began in the early hours of Monday, when I was awakened not by the light of the rising sun but by the harsh racket resonating from my neighborhood. I opened the door to the balcony and watched below as eager young children lit off dozens of tiny explosives. It had to be before seven in the morning. One went off after another and at first I nonchalantly shrugged off the action but after several hours of no break, irritation began to settle in and I shook my head side to side, baffled by the need to constantly make noise. But at nighttime the fireworks appeared and it seemed now, that they were truly celebrating the festival of lights. I calmed down a bit, hypnotized by the colors bursting across the night sky.
To Americans, Diwali is like a mix of fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, all rolled up into one nice package. Sweets are devoured, presents are often given, and of course, pyrotechnics are ubiquitously embraced. Indians describe Diwali as a time to celebrate the victory of good over evil and of light over darkness. Colorful candles sit outside the main door, greeting the visitor and welcoming them into the house. Rangoli, a form of art which uses sand and often has intricate designs, decorates the floor beside the candles. School children neglect their classes for a couple of days to bask in the excitement and even the adults seem to lose themselves in the holiday’s fun. Diwali is a time for family, to embark together in the New Year and for all Indians, regardless of religion, to rejoice and unite.
I think back to the second week I was in India, when the festival of Ganesh Chaturthi was taking place. I was quickly struck by the passionate regard for festivity in India and couldn’t believe that the same level of enthusiasm was exhibited quite regularly. Truly, only a few weeks later, Indians were celebrating Navaratri, a festival of dance that occurs for nine nights. Less than a month later, Diwali season was here in full force.
In the United States, not one of our holidays (besides perhaps Christmas) shares the same intensity of India’s festivals. On the last day of Diwali, after I was certain I was going deaf in both ears and had suffered from numerous sparkler burns, I regarded the Indian festival with astonishment. Here, in a country which has substantially lower standards of living than in the U.S., its’ people still manage to celebrate life on a more regular basis. We Americans race through our days searching for success and happiness and often forget how blessed we truly are. At what genuine times do we sit to reflect on what we do have? By our criteria, Indians have “much less” and yet they reflect constantly, they appreciate life continuously. Indian festivals have inspired me to think that we Americans are the ones who have “much less. “
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