Saturday, September 13, 2008
Kerala
Formally known as Malabar, this beautiful state is full of water, rich dance traditions, cocconut trees, has the highest literacy rate and the only state communist government in India.
Kanyakumari
The southern tip of India. The Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean blend together as you watch both the sunrise and the sunset from one ledge of rock.
The Indian Elephant in the Corner
In Indian rooms, classrooms and even churches, I saw elephants in the corner. The elephant sits there placidly starring at everyone with its gentle monstrosity. It carefully crosses and uncrosses its podded feet to gently touch the floor. As it often goes, no one notices or speak of the beasts lurking in corners- those looming and obvious issues. Pachyderms of injustice, hierarchy, fear and even solutions stare out to those who notice.
Elephants in India are a presence; their image inhabits temple carvings, graces bedsheets, pottery vessels, choztkys and enshrined as the hindu god Ganesh. They are bulldozers to move logs or are gilded with gold and admired in the outdoor temple festival. They walk the festival streets and people glaze over this four-podded giant tip-toing beside them as an ordinary dog out for a walk.
In India, heated discussions swirl in a tiny office while an elephant sits in the corner, when momentarily, the discussion pauses and all bronze eyes glance in the corner, for a glimpse and to make sure to not get stepped on. At the train station, trash is thrown on the tracks, and a lone 8 yr old sifts it, with the elephant staring at her through the hurrying legs of the crowd.
In America, elephants in the corner are briefly noticed as a joke that we wave at, chuckle at its rubber satellite ears, and titter at its tiny switching tail that emanates from the hulking form. We sit in our large offices, safely away from Dumbo, and read in awe of an Indian elephant who rampaged at a temple Pooram festival, killing four. A chill runs down your back as the cause of the rampage was a man who touched the tusk of an elephant, sending it off. You wonder why he wanted to touch a presence, something better left unsaid, or unnoticed. Your blue eyes dart to the corner, and sense that the tiny switching tail leads to no joke, but an issue left unchecked.
Elephants in India are a presence; their image inhabits temple carvings, graces bedsheets, pottery vessels, choztkys and enshrined as the hindu god Ganesh. They are bulldozers to move logs or are gilded with gold and admired in the outdoor temple festival. They walk the festival streets and people glaze over this four-podded giant tip-toing beside them as an ordinary dog out for a walk.
In India, heated discussions swirl in a tiny office while an elephant sits in the corner, when momentarily, the discussion pauses and all bronze eyes glance in the corner, for a glimpse and to make sure to not get stepped on. At the train station, trash is thrown on the tracks, and a lone 8 yr old sifts it, with the elephant staring at her through the hurrying legs of the crowd.
In America, elephants in the corner are briefly noticed as a joke that we wave at, chuckle at its rubber satellite ears, and titter at its tiny switching tail that emanates from the hulking form. We sit in our large offices, safely away from Dumbo, and read in awe of an Indian elephant who rampaged at a temple Pooram festival, killing four. A chill runs down your back as the cause of the rampage was a man who touched the tusk of an elephant, sending it off. You wonder why he wanted to touch a presence, something better left unsaid, or unnoticed. Your blue eyes dart to the corner, and sense that the tiny switching tail leads to no joke, but an issue left unchecked.
Photo glimpses
Christian Medical Center in Vellore, where Andrea spent two packed weeks doctoring at one of the best hospitals in India, and being amazed at the range of people and health coming through.
The street outside of a temple festival.
A typical meal, served on a banana leaf- no waste!
How babies get to sleep on the train.
Tea fields in Ooty
Directing Midsummers in India
When initially talking about the project, where I directed the college drama club, I wanted all of the show to be based in India- the lovers, the workman, etc. An objection arose because if the lovers in the play were Indian characters, then the character's decisions about love would be condoned. Namely the fact that the lovers run away from the will of the parents and chose for themselves who they wanted to love. This is, as they say in India, a western love marriage. In southern India, arraigned marriages are still the norm, where the man and wife meet maybe once, and it is set up by the parents. There are variations of how much the parents set up, but predominately the parents have a strong role in the decision.
When we talked to people about their arraigned marriages, we never met one who was bitter. A common phrase was that you learn to love, no matter what. One lady described how good it was to trust her parents, for them to make the decision, rather than have the pressure on themselves to make the right decision. A couple of times Indians would make jokes about how complicated western style of love becomes. The love in Shakespeare's Midsummers is complex, layered and poetically dances back and forth. So I guess it is true. A point to debate is if our culture and art make our understanding of love more complex, layered, or if love is truly that way. Anyways, the decision for the production was that the lovers and parents would be westerners on a holiday in India. So the rude mechanicals and fairies were in Indian style of dress, which did make them more fanciful and important.
When we talked to people about their arraigned marriages, we never met one who was bitter. A common phrase was that you learn to love, no matter what. One lady described how good it was to trust her parents, for them to make the decision, rather than have the pressure on themselves to make the right decision. A couple of times Indians would make jokes about how complicated western style of love becomes. The love in Shakespeare's Midsummers is complex, layered and poetically dances back and forth. So I guess it is true. A point to debate is if our culture and art make our understanding of love more complex, layered, or if love is truly that way. Anyways, the decision for the production was that the lovers and parents would be westerners on a holiday in India. So the rude mechanicals and fairies were in Indian style of dress, which did make them more fanciful and important.
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