Welcome Home

Back to the 5 am wake ups! But that's all right, because it has already been a productive morning as a result.

The trip back from India took about 30 hours in total travel time. This may even be a little bit of an underestimate. It was a long trip full of my usual misadventures. 

It began with the taxi that switched drivers through the course of a 1.5 hour, twisting and winding drive through random parts of Bombay to the airport. We ran 3 red lights that were nearly fatal (this is post Bombay Diana speaking. Which means I got used to cars essentially scraping the door of the cab I was in, turning in front of us, nearly hitting bikers, cows, trucks coming the wrong way down the street... etc.) I joked about it once, but I am fairly certain that the only way I personally could survive driving my own car in India would be if I was completely out of my mind. Either because I had lost my mind or I was drugged out somehow and unable to fully understand everything going on around me. You have to leave everything at the door and survive by instinct. Everything happens in milliseconds on those roads. From the heels of your plastic rain flats melting to the bottom of the car, to the driver pulling over, jumping and and being replaced by some guy who walked out of a convenience store... yeah. None of these things would fly in the US. Cool life experience...?

I made it to the airport by blaring music in my ears and disorienting myself as much as possible (not something I am normally ok with doing) but it meant I was a lot calmer by the time I reached the airport than I usually was after stepping out of cabs in the city. 

The following hours were a mix of papers, filling out forms, being absolutely scalped in the exchange rate for my last rupees into dollars (there are signs everywhere before you enter Satan's Playground, also known as the desks in the airport where you go through the final immigrant exit proceedings for India, that declare: Rupees are a controlled currency, you cannot carry them past immigration. The men sitting at the exchange counters lit up and looked like their were about to jump into the air and click their heels when they saw me walking by reading their signs. YES YES COME HERE DUMB TOURIST YESSSSSS, was what their faces said to me.) I then sat in various airport public spaces trying to figure out what time my body THOUGHT it was versus what time it actually was...

and unimaginable kindness. All because my arms were marked with henna! 

First episode of this kindness took place when I went through the gender segregated security check at the Mumbai international airport. The woman who had to screen me after I somehow set off the metal detector (I honestly wasn't wearing anything but thin cotton and a watch) tried so hard not to smile at me. She was a really tough looking lady. And then her face cracked, as she point to my arms and said, "henna!" She grinned at me during the rest of the very brief check before she waved me off. Of course, I was still super excited about it, so I was babbling about how creative the student who painted my arms was, and where I went and all of this. 

Second episode was when I needed to buy a water bottle found out a few nasty little surprises:

1) the airport only accepted rupees

2) JUST KIDDING ABOUT RUPEES BEING SO STRICTLY CONTROLLED THEN! Awesome. I was burned in the exchange rate on the way back AND didnt have anything to give the guy that he would accept for the water bottle. stellar. 

As I was thinking about how I could get rid of my headache (which was from not drinking water all day... because I am brilliant like than sometimes...), one of those rare cases where a random stranger commits a random act of kindness happened.

The man standing behind me in line bought me one and tossed it to me. He had listened to me argue in vain and nearly try to bribe the guy behind the cash register with dollars for a water bottle, and then decided to help me out. I was speechless. He pointed to my arms and said that he liked them. In an airport of all places. I consider airports to be the spaces where rudeness is almost acceptable because everyone is confused and lost and tired. I dont really seem them as spaces for random acts of kindness but I was stunned and very happy!

Later on when I was searching for a very specific kind of candy that my father loves and requested that I find for him 7 weeks earlier when he heard that I was flying through Britain en route to Boston, a saleswoman stopped me and asked about my arms. She was curious about the color and the design and the meaning of the patterns. It was nice. She tried to give me chocolate and some other samples from all over the store but I still felt queazy from from flight and had to say no. All the same, she was extremely friendly, helpful and nearly went on the quest for this candy with me until I found what I wanted. 

And on the last flight from London to Boston, when I felt stir crazy for the first time in a LONG time, I was sitting next to a little girl who looked like me when I was 8 years old. Same hair color, skin tone, eye color. (This has been a trip with a weird number of dopplegängers running around) She and her grandmother (?) were Romanian, so they couldnt really talk to me, but they were really cute with each other so it made me smile. The little girl liked my henna, I kept seeing her staring at it, so eventually I reached out my arm and let her touch it. She traced some of the lines and grinned at me. I felt like I was sharing HOW AWESOME this experience was with everyone.

So many kudos to Mishel.

And now I'm back. Still wearing my brightly colored Indian clothes everyday, but now my henna covered arms and feet are visible to all. I'm loving it :)

Henna Masterpiece

To the Women Street Vendors in Colaba

I purposely look for the women on the causeway (this is a long street in Colaba where street vendors gather to sell their wares everyday. You can find anything from the harem/"genie" pants, to wooden elephants, to henna, stamps, silver rings, metal glittery bangles, shoes, (occasionally pirated DVDs... though these are mostly in Fort, along with the roadside used Dildo stands [yep. So many reasons that is an uncomfortable and, naturally, dark alley to walk through when we walk back home from Fort])... etc.

I look for the women for several reasons. Let me get the #fairtradeshadegrownveganhipster reason out of the way first. One: Statistically, women working as street vendors in India are very likely to be the sole breadwinners for their households/families. A few of the women I've found and slowly befriended are supporting themselves and themselves alone, but as far as I can tell, a few of the others also seem to be supporting their kids. There is a lot of incentive for women to enter the informal economy because there are lower barriers to entry, women can earn the same wages as men when they are self-employed, and there is less (definitely still some... but less) gendered-based job discrimination.

I keep running into the old woman who sold me my jingling anklets. She smiles at me now and winks. It's good to see, because she is usually huddled into a corner looking a little frightened that people in the sea of legs around her might step on her or the blanket she uses to show her wares. She's tiny and wears a green sari with blue and yellow stripes, the top of it draped over her head. Her hands and feet are tiny, but she is a very effective saleswoman: She catches you looking, grins the most mischievous, charming... enchanting! smile, looks at what you pick up for a moment and then quickly picks something better, hooks it around your one ankle and then the other and perfects it. All before you notice what is going on... But here's the thing: She picks something that works for you better than you would have for yourself. Truly. And I pride myself on being a designer/very set in my fashion decisions. So this woman is clearly good at her job. She may also just know that I am not so secretly in ADORATION for her, and will seek her out to make sure she is there whenever I walk the street. For whatever reason, her face will always stay in my mind. And the music in my step (but actually). 

Two:  When you ask them for an opinion, these ladies give it to you straight. 

Which is how I run the show too, so I appreciate it. You say, ooh I like that (stamp/book/etc) and they'll say... yeah it's ok but here's a better one for the same price. Unlike the men who look at me, think HAHA GLORIOUS IT'S A DUMB WHITE CHICK and then try to sell me things at a 500% mark up (woo woo), they'll cheat me at a more reasonable level and then dont try to flirt with me when we bargain. They realize, believe it or not, I dont actually visit street stalls to flirt with/pick up men. Not really my scene. So I appreciate the interaction as business partners that I get from the women.

Three: There are less of them. They are competing with loud, aggressive, and actively seeking men who wink, call and touch you to try and get you to look on their wares. Women dont do that. As someone who wishes EVERYDAY that I could blend into the wall and walk down the street unnoticed, like I do in the US, this is golden. I see you and reward your patience. Mostly because it makes me so much more comfortable when I talk to you. It's a little overwhelming when you are uncomfortable because you are bargaining and you are trying not to be grossed out by someone making a pass at you. The number of times I've answered: No I dont know where I live/I dont want your number/erm... haha... um NO. is astounding. 

Four: They sometimes have better taste than I do. As seen by the henna print that the woman printed on my hand yesterday with wooden stamps. I started to pick my own, which she took out of my hands and replaced with her favorites. And friends, they are far better than what I was looking at.

As proof by the fact that my entire body is now covered with semi-permanent prints in gorgeous paisley henna designs. I look a little bit like an overzealous human paisley scarf, but I LOVE IT.

Because I can.