Making Good Impressions

9.5.07

September is towards the end of the monsoon season. It rains every day, although each shower lasts no more than an hour. Downpours are usually followed by sun. The rain does nothing to cool things down. What is hot, dry and dusty temporarily turns to hot, humid and muddy.

After a morning of rain Alexander and I met Jay at a local barbershop. We watched as the barber shaved the delicate skin beneath Jay’s chin with a sharp silver razor. After wiping the chin clean, the barber applied a thin layer of white talcum power to Jay’s face in an attempt to lighten his skin. It was one of infinite daily reminders that whiteness is extremely desirable.

Jay drove us across the Sabarmati River into the Old City, where we had been invited to eat lunch with his grandmother. Girls sped by in their motorcycles, their heads wrapped in swatches of fabric to filter the polluted air. We passed a busy market where drooling camels yawned over the bartering crowds, a carpet of trampled iceberg lettuce beneath their feet. Women walked at the edge of the dirt road with large baskets balanced on their heads. Their saris stood out against the dusty storefronts in shades like canary yellow, bubblegum pink and hibiscus red.

We parked in a sunny alley with rows of drying clothes above our heads. We climbed two flights of stairs and greeted his grandmother with “Namaste” and a traditional bow. She ushered us into her home where she lived with her daughter-in-law. It seems that when Jay’s uncle had taken a second wife after his first proved barren, Jay’s grandmother had invited the woman to live with her. Both women share a love of laughter and relaxed personalities.

Their home was quaint with rose-colored walls and fresh air. We sat in a circle on the floor. Alexander’s jeans had become stiff in the humid heat and- much to the delight of the women- was unable to bend his legs. He struggled to sit cross-legged (as Jay’s grandmother giggled) and eventually took her offer to use a chair.

We ate traditional Gujarati food consisting mainly of dahl (a sweet soup-like liquid made from lentils that is eaten with rice), cauliflower and tomato curry, whole-wheat roti (thick, tortilla-like bread) and sour pickles. Jay’s grandmother complemented us. “You are so beautiful,” she said with a smile. “And I am impressed you like Gujarati food. I thought it might be too spicy.” Then she told us that her last dying wish was to see Jay go to America. “Help him,” she said, gesturing with her arms.

On the way home we passed ten different clusters of men, women and children, each group dancing and cheering around a statue of Krishna. Jay explained that they were celebrating the end of the Krishna festival. Soon those bright statues would be taken to a bridge where they would be tossed into the Sabarmati River. “Will they dissolve in the water?” I asked Jay. “No. If the river was drained, there would be a million statues sitting there in perfect condition.”