The party

The other night the owners of the building I live in threw a very large and important party. When I mean large, I mean huge, crowded, noisy, and somehow fitting over a thousand guests into a three story building that has on average five or six rooms per level. There were people sleeping on the roof, people on the balconies, the stairs and the landlord even asked us if he could use one of our rooms. We of course said no, but were not sure what effects this had on our relationship with the man. 

I find the landlord a very funny man. He looks as if he has popped out of a typical Indian religious painting. He has very large almond eyes which sit quite close together. The inner corners of these large cat-like eyes tilt in toward his nose so that the outer corners are slightly higher. Taken together his two eyes sit at 'V' like angles. Underneath the 'V' his nose is like a big fat cigar resting above two plump dark pink lips. A  large red smudge between his caterpillar eyebrows as well the numerous strands of either round red or maroon beads around his thick neck signify his devotion to hinduism. He can usually be found sitting beside the building's personal cow, with a long piece of cloth tied as a skirt and white sleeveless undershirt hiked up exposing his large pot belly. When ever I pass by on my way up the stairs he was always sure to open his eyes, sit up in his red plastic chair and place his hands together wobbling his head while delivering a kind "nameste" (Nah-mehs-day).

The occasion for the large party was for this man's son, a tall skinny curly haired boy with an innocent face, but crooked deviant smile. The boy had reached an age where he was no longer a 'boy' and was now ready to be inducted into the Hindu version of 'manhood'. This occurrence meant that three days would be spent with many guests performing various ceremonies and rituals with the grand finally being an all out, all night extravaganza. 

The preparations for this party started weeks before. First the entire building was repainted. For five days we had to endure an army of men in white pants and undershirts slopping bright pink paint on every surface of the building as well as the delightful fumes associated with the wet color. The fumes weren't as bad as the fact that these men did not use newspapers on the ground or seem to care about splatter. Every morning they would appear, paint brush in one hand and bucket in the other. Starting on the top floor they would carelessly splash bright pink paint on any vertical surface. As a result of their tactics, whether we liked it or not many of our things as well as floors have adopted a new decor of pink polka dots. The shoes outside our doors, the drying cloths on our lines, as well as the floors behind our open windows (which we had not closed while away in order to avoid turning our rooms into saunas) now sport rose colored speckles. Also during the mid afternoon heat, while Jenneke and I sat in our rooms reading we heard the tap from the kitchen running. We emerged to find the men had marched in, had filled OUR cups with water from OUR sink and were taking a break in OUR kitchen... Looking back I have to laugh because of course the let themselves in. It's India-the concept of privacy does not exist. 

Finally after the entire building had been transformed into what looked like an Easter egg the lights went up. For three days men came and like monkeys and climbed the walls of the building stringing blankets of colorful Christmas lights from every surface. At least now I know what it feels like to sleep inside a Christmas tree. 

Then the guests started arriving and the ceremonies began. For three days the building was filled with the scents of curry and incense. There were constant sounds of bells, chanting, singing, and laughter. The floors were littered with colorful flowers, candles, powders, silver plates crusted with leftovers, and of course people. The building was so busy that we had to meet the teenagers at a nearby park because often it would take 20 minutes push through the crowd and climb the stairs to the second floor where our office was located. By the last night I had really had enough. This was the night of the big finale party. Next to our building a large white tent had been set up and was filled with long tables. Atop these tables were beautiful gold platters detailed with flowers and other intricate designs filled with mountains of food. Jenneke and I had specifically been invited to eat with the other guests and attend this last extravaganza. However I was so tired of the  people, noise, and commotion as well as was leery of eating food that I did not know who and how it had been prepared. So instead I decided to head out to town and meet a friend for dinner. I must say that I had a lovely dinner with this 18 year old dutch girl that I met. We really hit it off and i greatly enjoyed hearing about her experiences volunteering in an orphanage in Nepal and the stories from the bits of solo travel around India in which she was currently engaged.

So i returned that night and snuck up to my room in an attempt to fall asleep through the loud chatter from below and bright festive lights. The next morning (after yet another night of sleeplessness) I grumpily stumbled down stairs over sleeping bodies on my way out to the Internet cafe. However when i passed the landlord he looked at me and instead of his regular 'nameste" he demanded "why you not come yesterday!?". I was shocked that he had noticed my missing face amongst the literally thousands of people. In reply i said "Oh I was there--there was just a lot of people you didnt see me!" He said, "this is not in my memory. I do not have you in my memory". I said, "well I was only there a little while -very tired"... He gazed back skeptically and said... "ok well I do not have you in my memory. This event is not in my memory".

Thus ever since i skipped out on this party I no longer receive friendly 'nameste's' when I go up the stairs. Instead he just gives me a strange skeptical look and nods to acknowledge my presence. It's funny how certain things offend people in different cultures. I guess not coming and not being just what in my opinion would have just been another face in a sea of people- was actually greatly offensive. The landlord could never understand how tiring it would have been for me after the chaotic preparations, two sleepless nights, and just general exhaustion from heat and working with teenagers to try and interact with a thousand people who do not speak english. Of course I did not understand why my presence was so important because of the sheer size of the party and my very informal relationship with this man his son who I hardly know. Yet I do realize that it is very hard to understand other's positions and takes a great amount of imagination and often explanation. However Cultural misunderstandings are part of the experience. Also sometimes too much is too much and we do have to have personal boundaries. I guess I no longer will receive friendly 'namestes' from the landlord but such is life. I have learned something about indian culture and can understand that perhaps not fulfilling an invite could be very offensive in some cultures. 

One last interesting point is how if doing research on a culture or wanting to do social work/research  it is very important to learn as well as follow cultural etiquette. I was talking to an American professor of 'cultural studies' at the local university here and he was saying how that if you really want to do social work/research in India you have to drink the water, eat the food, have chai with the locals and go to the parties. He said when offered things it is rude to refuse and you must eat and drink to be accepted. If you are never accepted they will never listen to you or trust you. For example it is useless to attempt to teach a population about sexual health or women's empowerment with out first being accepted. Unless you are accepted they will not listen to you, especially in the most rural and traditional areas. However I pressed, "but what about your own health?" He said, "well, if you're afraid its best to choose another culture". I was a bit shocked by this thought but really believe it is true. I know when I wear more 'traditional clothing' people are much nicer, helpful and kind. I guess it would be like if someone came to the west completely covered in a black bur-qua-sure we understand but I know I would personally find it easier to interact and not be as self-conscious if the women was in western clothing even though i know it is cultural. So should people sacrifice themselves to diarrhea and other aliments (or go to parties when exhausted!) to help others or for the sake of research? Apparently so. I guess this will always be the challenge when attempting to help others, how much of yourself should you give away--Something to think about if I ever choose to do a PhD in anthropology!