Another Home there
in India & Culture Shocks
-Nameste-
The moment one steps into India, in all probability, the
first word one gets to hear will be Namaste! (Namaskar by the natives) is a
traditional Indian style of greeting or parting phrase as well as a gesture. It
is derived from the Sanskrit language, which means "I bow to you"
literally. – Namas (‘to bow’) and Te (‘to you’). Thus, the connotation is 'I
bow to you out of respect'. It is done by pressing both palms together, all the
fingers pointing upwards in front of one’s chest, and at the same time, one
bows his/her head slightly, looking at the person s/he says “Namaste” to. So, I
nameste you as I share my experiences in the Incredible India!
During the Kiss of Peace in my first Tamil Mass, which I
participated through gestures, Nameste ‘happened’ but without words since the
gesture without actually saying the word, means the same thing. It basically
symbolizes what it verbalizes too. Let me go straight to say it was amazing
celebrating Easter of this year with the beautiful family of St. Therasa of
Avila, Nungambakkam in Archdiocese of Madras-Mylapore. To Padre Lawrence Raj
and Praveen et al, on you I muse the words of Isaiah 52:7, “How beautiful on
the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, "Your God
reigns!"
Oh, what amazing cohorts of choir that most gracefully
sing in angelic formations! Indeed, music as you make it, not only refreshes
the body, it replenishes the mind and enriches the spirit. You’re a awesome!
And oh, what a voice, such that flows like flutes from the ‘world of forms’
does Cicily possess? Sing on Cicily for you let the glory fall upon earth.
And I felt the sluice gate of grace at the Grotto of the
Blessed Virgin Mary as the flowing water poured on my palms; the relics of the
holy Saints in the Chapel especially that of my patron, St. Johnbosco stunned
and tuned me to sing, “He touched Me” in Chennai. These sweet and blissful
memories are memorable gifts for life, especially the exotic green shawl.
Tamil Nadu (Chennai) is a beautiful place in India. I
love the trees, the birds and flowers, especially the early morning scents of
the lilies usually stringed together, and tied routinely on the long silky
streaming hairs of some women. Such freshness and of course with the burning
incense and incensation to the divine in some hol(y)i places is flamboyantly
ubiquitous.
There are these other religious markings on the foreheads
through which humans significantly open up to the divine. This is out of the
ordinary: the Kumkuma, the bindi et cetera all represent such unseen reality.
Bindi is a bright dot of red colour applied on the centre of the forehead close
to the eyebrows, but it can also consist of other colours with a sign or piece
of jewellery worn at this location. Bindis enhance beauty especially the
modernized self-adhesive ones (sticker bindis) which are easy to apply and
disposable substitutes for older tilak bindis. They come in many colours,
designs, materials, and sizes.
Besides, Indian ornaments are exquisitely crafted; the
bracelets, amulets, rings, and the earrings worn by both sexes. There’s this
long golden ones that fall atop the ear lobe like subtended glittering
waterfall. I would not fail to mention the kajal of course.
The graceful apparel the women are adorned in and the men
who dress gorgeously in their kind: Sari and Dhoti (with Sattai) may be poetic
in sound; but are imbued with the aesthetics of otherworldly beauty. Of course
‘beautifulness’ is a native of India naturally. She, India, is like a bride,
adorned with roses and mehndi designs of a beatific happy-ever-after!
However, I shuddered when I saw a woman with a shaven
head like the face of a full moon. Traditionally, it must be for a grave reason
for a woman to shave her hair in Africa. In some places, widows scalp off their
hairs to mourn their deceased husbands.
My tourist guide said, “It is prayer.”
I understood men as well shave all hairs, perhaps annually for some religious
or spiritual reasons in the temple.
Physically, nature is naturally is nurtured with utmost
reverence and appreciation here. The earth is sufficient in providing, and
deficient in nothing that vegetarians are satisfied from the ever flowing milk
of mother earth! The variety of foods and fruits are a testimony from the
respective shops where they are profusely displayed.
It’s no wrong therefore
for one to try one’s teeth on the tasty nuts, delectable fruits and the
mouth-watering Indian dishes.
Chicken or mutton biryani is closer to the familiar than
other rhythmic chapati and puri, bonda and vada to mention but a few. It was a
wonder to fellow Africans at a meal, and for once, I thought it was magical I
relished the meals with delightful countenance; though I prayed within
intermittently. Ideally, I liked the idli with the coconut sauce and other
savoury condiments foreign to me; but the spices in some were spiky to my taste
buds. The tongue however, often reacts to such actions independent of the
desire to experience the cuisine contrast culturally.
Many thanks to Fr. Ifesinachi whose cookery or even
‘chefry’ made us to ‘chefuo’ (Igbo word for ‘forget’) the familiar scrumptious
native dishes at home. Sunflower oil, brau coffee, spinach, blended fresh
tomatoes and carrot mixed with honey, Slice mango drink, magnum; and stuffs
like that made a day each day! Even when there was no palm fruit oil (mmanu
nri), he still could make soup one cannot, but say ‘nandri’ satisfactorily with
the feeling of yet, “Another Home there in India.”
Meanwhile, the roadside sugarcane-machine extractor, the
coconut road-sip, the roadside passover style of meal, the fruit pulp and
juices are do-come-back-again back to India if you enjoy it. I definitely have
to try these when next I visit.
The tongue as cultural identity is another thing. I mean
the language here. It is on the fast or rather faster lane I could scarcely
place the wheels of mine to speak. Interestingly, the mother tongue
interference on other spoken languages especially English is on the dominant
side. An encounter with the locals who may not have learnt English is an
example of “Love without language.” I had smiled away a number of times without
my balance from one or two auto drivers because we couldn’t communicate
further.
On another day, I saw a beautiful girl draw on the floor with henna on a feast day, I guess it was Holi.
I had seen colour splattering on the TV and I
wished I had seen one on such a grandiose feast day. The symmetrics and
precision of the flower the girl made distracted my attention from another
attraction. Again, we couldn’t talk. I only took photographs of her art. Just
smiles. Then, I had wished I could once upon a time speak and also write in the
Indian language and intricate alphabet.
We drove off to the traffic. Right-hand drive that took
me time to reconcile. I deliberately didn’t install that into my consciousness
(Adjustment phase of culture shock), so that a Re-Entry on my own homeland road
might not be an importation of confusion to other road users.
On another day, I saw a beautiful girl draw on the floor with henna on a feast day, I guess it was Holi.
Yet, the smiles and the toggling of heads and ‘namestic’
gestures become a refuge in such difficult moments.
I could say my shocks came
at this juncture. Basically, culture shock is the personal disorientation a
person may feel when experiencing an unfamiliar way of life due to immigration
or a visit to a new country, a move between social environments, or simply
travel to another type of life.
Speaking English without conjunctions is difficult. It
was difficult to relearn so as to be understood by the not too many illiterate
ones. Like calling a cab and speaking over the phone, “Come, hotel room, pick
me, go food shop, now...” This kept me on the edge of fears of exclusion or
inclusion of one caste and not the other. This really got me limping!
The caste system is topical another day.
However, comprehension is a celebration I would say. I
love it especially when kids in dialogue toggle their heads sideways time and
again to show they follow or understand.
Everyone does it here. I learnt it and
good to have it for keeps. In my native land however, if one does that or turns
head 90˚, it clearly means, “I do not understand” or “I do not follow your
views” or even a rejection of offers. On the contrary, one jerks one’s head up
and down to indicate agreement, support or understanding.
I understand the Indian economy is slow and steady. A
very good shot! The import duties are high, with already existing breeding
ground for production of local goods. Investments notably are on the increase,
whilst patriotism does not permit any compromise detrimental to national
consciousness. The spittle doesn’t matter nor the air pollution. The good news
is that it is under control.
With the image of the great Mahatma Ghandi on every
currency denomination, a purpose driven life is sighted even from a far range.
And with every single coin so embossed, numismatics is increasingly becoming
interesting.
Thus, it is no wonder that most well packaged items sold
in the supermarkets and malls are products of the Incredible India. On a
lighter mood, the home made chocolates, cupcakes etc are of great taste. One bite
is as good as another!
In fine, there’s this beautiful rose of Chennai called
YCPG (Young Couples Prayer Group.) It is an eye through which I beheld and
still behold the great potentials, beauty, posterity, honour, prosperity, and
royalty of India. I nameste you as well even as I leave to live with you still.
I would now consciously recall few names that ryhme with
mine: Osita (dimma) – Chiquita, Brigitta, Shweta... and others I also learned
like Suchita which means (Beautiful), Nikita (Excellent), Shanta (Peaceful),
and Sarala (Simple).
Nandri!
By Fr. Ositadimma Amakeze
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