December Newsletter
Well, it's official. I've just reached a new personal record for longest time spent outside the U.S. Everything from this point on is completely uncharted territory (not that being in this particular country and living without Americans nearby isn't entirely new too). I do feel that when I crossed into the New Year, I really did enter into a new phase in my time here. Whereas December was one of the busiest Christmas seasons I can remember, this January is very calm. I returned to the C.M.S. College in the New Year to find many of the students missing and the campus virtually deserted, but more on that later.
Let me back up to where I left you off last time. Christmas in India is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. Though some cues for how to celebrate have been taken from the western standards, they almost all come with a Kerala twist. Instead of giving Christmas presents, many people give Christmas cake. Instead of hanging lights from houses, people hang gigantic paper stars. There is no snow, of course, and Santa has taken on a whole new persona.
Santa (known as Father Christmas here) has a hilarious bit that he does whenever he shows up to a party. I call it "Stumblin' Mumblin' Santa." Santa enters when the music swells and the drums start pounding out a frenzy. At this point Santa dances around, but also inevitably bumps into chairs, tables, people, whatever else may be in his path. This topsy-turvy entrance isn't because Santa has had too much Christmas cheer, but rather because the Santa masks that everyone wears do not come prepared with eyeholes. Some attempts are made to fashion crude openings, but these mostly fail.
Once Santa makes it up to the stage he is given a mic and asked to say a few words, but all that comes out is mumbled gibberish. Luckily someone is always on hand to translate what Santa is saying. I initially thought that the muted tone of his words was also a byproduct of the mask, but it turns out that Santa really is just speaking nonsense. After all, the real Santa did not know how to speak (insert your choice of Indian languages). "Stumblin' Mumblin' Santa was definitely my favorite of the Kerala Christmas traditions, and I hope to continue this tradition even at home.
In the final days before I left Kottayam on Christmas break a very unique caroling opportunity presented itself. I was invited to join carolers who have been at it for over a decade and they have a very unique take on caroling. Rather than walking around the neighborhood, or visiting a hospital, or the houses of our friends, we went straight for the biggest, gaudiest, most wealthy mansions in the entire city. Some of the places were veritable palaces complete with fountains and gardens, a fleet of German made automobiles, and a small army of security guards to watch over it all. The leading sandal makers, jewelry sellers, photograph developers, and newspaper publishers of Kerala all live in Kottayam. I was bit skeptical of this plan. I mean, I wanted an inside look at the monstrous houses as much as anyone, but invading in the form of carolers didn't exactly seem in the Christmas spirit. Nevertheless, I went. At the first house we sang three songs, they clapped and then, to my great amazement, handed over a large wad of cash. One of my fellow carolers was even ready with carbon copy receipt for the exact amount. What kind of caroling is this anyway? This pattern continued until past one in the morning. Amazingly, at almost every house we visited we were warmly welcomed, even on into the wee hours.
As we hunkered down after the rounds to enjoy a little late night grub, I had to ask, "Can someone please explain why people are giving us money and what we're supposed to do with it?" Turns out all the proceeds go to a local charity (a different one each year) and the reason we visit all of the mansions is because, well, they give the most money. Ah ha, it finally makes sense. Maybe this sort of caroling does fall within the realm of Christmas spirit. The caroling continued for four days until Christmas night and the result was a handful of really tired guys and the largest donation they've collected in their eleven-year history. This is another Kerala Christmas tradition that I will never forget.
At this point I boarded a train and spent Christmas day en route to Andhra Pradesh, a neighboring state and home to one of India's tech centers, Hyderabad. We were not going to that westernized metropolis, though. We were headed for the plains and cotton fields of rural AP. For now, suffice it to say that we made it there and back safely, and it was one heck of a ride. I've devoted the feature article below to explain that experience in greater depth.
We celebrated New Year's back in Aluva, the very city where we began our journey and home to our fearless leader, Thomas John Achen. To ring in the New Year we attended a late night service at Holy Trinity Church. Midnight slipped by me completely unnoticed sometime during the prayers of the church. I was a bit surprised at how it sneaked past me. However, the contemplative beginning to this year seems appropriate.
That mood of contemplation has followed me even now that I am back in the campus. Many of the degree students are in the midst of testing and some students still have not arrived back from the holiday break. Compared to the bustle of December, I barely know what to make of this quiet. This break has given me a chance to reflect on some of the things I've done so far and ask myself how best to spend my future months here.
My regimen of classes has continued, and I'm continuing to visit the boy's home in Kanam each weekend. On the horizon, there is an international globalization conference in town next week, and I've been asked to be an official reporter, so that should keep me busy. I'm also working on putting together a Holden Evening Prayer service (a truly beautiful setting) for this season of Lent.
As always, thank you for the support, warm wishes, generous Christmas presents, and letters that you've sent my way. Though I have a wonderful and loving network of supportive friends here, it always makes my day when I get some little news from home. I wish all of you the very best in this new year.
Christmas at Parkal Mission, Andhra Pradesh
Does the Polar Express have an estranged cousin living and working in India? I think so, and I'm pretty sure we boarded that train Christmas morning en route to Parkal Mission located in the state of Andhra Pradesh.
Aboard the Polar Express, passengers view magical snowy wonderlands, the like of which they've never seen. As we traveled on the Parkal Express, we traversed across the Western Ghat Mountains on the border between Tamil Nadu and Kerala. The spectacular view and the drastic change from the coastal plains of Kerala seemed magical to us. On the Polar Express there are magical people aboard who elicit feelings of wonder and mystery to all who meet them. Passengers of the Parkal Express will meet the pilgrims on their way to worship Aiyapan in Shabarimala. These pilgrims, dressed entirely in black, covered from head to toe in flowers and barefoot to boot are also a great mystery. Finally, the Polar Express takes those aboard to a place unlike anything previously imagined. The Parkal Express brought us to a place we also could not have imagined. Though Andhra still counts as "South India" from the landscape to the language, from the food to the climate, it was like visiting a whole new country. For all of us, our idea of "what India is" just got a lot broader.
Kerala is covered with people and green plants. The lines between villages and cities are blurred, one just runs right into the next. Andhra, on the other hand was full of wide-open spaces, miles between villages and a color palette along the lines of sand/dirt.
After spending all Christmas Day and night on the train, we awoke to find ourselves in this new land. The air seemed a bit lighter as the humidity was almost non-existent, but the oppressive heat more than made up for any relief we may have experienced. Needless to say, there's a good reason that people here nap from 2-4, it's too hot to do anything else.
From the train station we made our way to the Parkal Mission, a mission site founded by the C.S.I. (Church of South India) about 80 years ago. The story about the foundation of the mission is actually a great one. A bishop from Andhra went to a meeting of pastors in Kerala, where the Christian presence is much greater than in AP. He explained the dire condition of life for many people in the rural areas and asked if anyone would devote themselves to this mission field. One young pastor, Rev. Eepan, stood up, pricked his finger and wrote out the words "I will commit to Andhra Pradesh" with his own blood. Some versions of the story say that he even had to prick himself multiple times to finish the message. Anyway, it's a great story, and I have no doubt that the foundation of this particular mission sight did involve quite a bit of blood, sweat and tears.
The site we visited was a home for orphaned boys, or boys without a stable home life. They ranged in age from pre-school to undergraduates. During the day while the boys were at school, we visited some nearby villages to get a feel for the "rural life." I'm afraid to say there aren't too many idyllic aspects about life on the farm here. Many farmers rely on cash crops (like cotton) that have huge initial investment costs. If the crops fail or if the market for the crops is weak, they default on the loans they took out to pay for planting in the first place and thus begins a truly deadly cycle of debt. There is also an issue with land barons. While in Kerala there are land reforms that limit how much land can be held by an individual, in AP one man can own thousands of acres and then hire these village workers into a sort of share-cropping. For the landless, this leaves them without any ability to increase their capital, organize effective labor unions or really wield any sort of power in society. Despite these desperate conditions, the people we met were very excited to show us around the village. We even got a peak at the (illegal) distillery that makes the local brand of moonshine. Now that is trust.
Back at the Mission we spent the evenings with the boys. Language presented a bit of a problem at first since these boys spoke mostly Telugu, whereas we've been only exposed to Malayalam. We did learn that "manji" means "nice" and so we got a lot of mileage out of that word. Manji food. Manji song. Manji boy, etc.
Our evening program was centered on a nightly prayer service. I loved the nightly prayer service. It would always begin with the boys singing a song. I'll take it on good faith that they knew more than one song, but the drums always overpowered the singing, and the beat was always the same. But it was a catchy beat - ::thun, tha-thun, thun::. Next we would sing a song, and then teach them that song. At first I was a little skeptical about the success teaching these songs, I mean, I worked at a summer camp. I know how resistant some kids are to learning songs. To my amazement, these little boys learned the songs twice as fast as the typical American campers, and these boys didn't even really speak English. Next we had a skit (again, very thankful for camp counselor experience) and a message from the sister (as in nun) in charge, whom we affectionately called kochamma (small mother). After praying the final prayer, everyone dashes for the dinner table. We all ate at an open-air table, which was perfect for the perfectly cool Andhra nights.
Our week in Andhra continued on like this, and we grew to love our nightly routine, but all too quickly the time passed and we had to return to our home in Kerala. The ride home was a little less magical than the ride out, especially as it came time to sleep. Crawling into my berth I found a pair of wet briefs. Not exactly my favorite bedfellow. At three in the morning, one of the pilgrims tried to crawl into bed with me, and at four the pujas (prayers) began, complete with tambourine, drum and "everybody now" choruses.
The experience at the mission really affected all of us that visited. The homey atmosphere they've created is wonderful, but the financial situation of the site remains in dire straits. Parkal Mission is not alone in this way. Also at the boy's home I visit in Kanam money is in no great supply. Buildings are falling apart, the children's clothing is falling apart, and they play cricket using crude bats and balls fashioned from coconut husks and branches. It's impossible to visit these places and not be amazed both by the quality of the kids and the utter tragedy of the living conditions.
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