I sit on my bed. Sweating. Body sore from wretching all afternoon. Our makeshift curtain billows before a subtle, stereotypical breeze brushes my face - bringing with it the characteristic smells of wives cooking dinner with coriander, turmeric, and chili powder. Spices I will be avoiding for a time. Considering the inevitability of illness, I forgive my stomach for its angry and cruel rejections. Besides, it is another example of the two-sidedness that pervades here (and everywhere) – like how the tanner I try to get my skin so that I “blend in”, the blonder my hair becomes - but more to the point, how bad is accompanied by good.
Since falling ill (the bad part), my phone has been ringing and the door has been knocking with people concerned about me (the good part). Making sure I’m drinking “electric water*” and insisting they can take me to a doctor. In America, the customer may be king, but here in Kachchh, there’s an expression that says, ‘Guest is God.’ The warmth and hospitality I’ve received as a newcomer living in Bhuj makes me feel like I do at the end of watching Rudy. Neighbors insist on feeding us and feeding us, our hunger levels completely irrelevant; friends take us under their wings and on their bikes for errands and escapades into the desert; co-workers include me in the laughs and clue me in on the plans. I’ve had to stop complimenting jewelry because twice, despite my firm resistance, the owners have taken it off and given it to me.
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| The Salt Deserts - I'm Far Left |
So, with a pretty bracelet and ring on my hand, I think about the bad and good of being an outsider - how hard it is to be different, but how nice it is to feel special. And not just because of the jewelry. People so generously take care of us and include us. Although I don’t know exactly why, there are at least a few reasons I can surmise: a. the duty of being a good host is very important b. they want us to love their country (it’s working) c. because perhaps happiness, like everything under the sun here, is something meant to be shared.** From food to joyous occasions to personal space, the attitude is ‘what is mine, is yours.’ As an American, I may be stereotyped and stared at, but the eyes that open towards me are nothing compared to the arms that have opened for me.
* I believe they were referring to electrolyte drinks like Gatorade. Speaking of funny [Foer-like] mis-translations, I saw a sign for gift baskets : “Festive Hampers Available.”
** Generosity permeates the culture. On your birthday, it is customary not to receive gifts, but to give them. At work, any food brought from home is shared with everyone. Yesterday, our friend came over to our house (and all his friends’ houses) with sweets because his brother had a baby.
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| Celebrating Holi with my Wonderful Coworkers |
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| Bhuj from a Terrace as the Sun Fades |
