Close Encounters of the Indian Kind

It’s a rainy day in Palampur, and for the first time in the three weeks since I got here, it feels like I can finally sit down and relax. It’s time to make an evaluation of my life here to see I am coping well, and I am glad to say that results are positive. I can say that I’ve settled into my house, my routine and my diet, at least as much as I am able. I’m walking to work, making friends and navigating the market with a little more confidence. Yep, I’m definitely starting to feel comfortable here.

Although I’m not at all comfortable with the staring.

In India, it’s not rude to stare at people. Openly. Repeatedly. I’m realistic and I understand that in this small town, there are almost no white people. For some, like my rural neighbors, I’m the only westerner that they’ve ever seen. Most have never even been to a major city like Delhi. It’s only natural for them to express their curiosity the only way they know how: by staring openly at the strange white kid with the sunglasses when he butchers the pronunciation of “Namaste” because it’s the only greeting he knows.

In a fairly short time, I have had several interesting, funny or strange encounters with complete strangers that bear mention, solely because of their uniqueness in comparison with Western culture. I hope you have as much fun reading about them as I had experiencing them:

Agata and I were walking to town for lunch when two young men on a motor cycle slowed down and shouted to Agata, “You look beautiful in Indian dress!” She had purchased what’s called a Punjabi outfit so as to fit in more with the culture, which is baggy pants and a non-revealing tunic recommended for Western women who are accustomed to wearing tank tops and tight jeans. Moments later, the same men came back and asked if we wanted to buy ganja. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way drug deals go down in the states.

I am frequently accosted by young children on the way to work who want to practice their English, but they seem too shy to just open up and talk. Usually they run next to me for about two minutes (I walk fast and they have short legs), talking to each other in Hindi before they ask, “Your good name? Your country? Oh, USA? America, yeah!” Then they run away. This happens at least twice a week.

To get to the mud hut, I have to take a short, winding dirt path that snakes in between my neighbors’ houses. Yesterday, several of them were gathered on their porch when I passed, and one of them motioned for me to join them. Why not? When I walked down the steps to their patio, the girls retreated to the far corner and started giggling and whispering. I shook them men’s hands, promptly forgot all of their names and just stood there. No English. For at least three minutes. Then Sanjeev (yes, I remembered one!) said, “Okay, nice to talk. Bye.” And I left.

I must say, the most interesting experiences are at KLB, where I am surrounded by over 800 girls who by now all know that I make brownies. I frequently am passing groups of them, and I am able to hear them say something like, “hindi hindi hindi brownies hindi hindi.” These wandering packs will stand in a small circle and take turns glancing over in my direction, then looking away quickly and giggling when they see that I notice them.

These are not the only awkward rendezvous I’ve had, nor will they be the last. You may think, “Pat, you should consider yourself lucky. You have a thousand young single women who are fascinated by your presence.” Well, yeah, it’s awesome… but not that awesome. It’s mostly embarrassing. I just feel awkward all the time. You know that feeling when you are sure that there’s somebody looking right at you? That’s what I feel whenever I leave my house, except that in my case, I’m usually right. Sometimes I just don’t even want to get out of bed, not because I’m tired, but because I don’t want people to stare at me anymore.

Professor Ramdev says a lot of it is due to my skin color. Indian people, both men and women, strive for lighter skin. He says that it is probably latent from hundreds of years of British rule, where white skin was associated with high status. American women spend their money on UV beds and tanning cream, while Indians stay indoors when they can and apply lotion to make their skin was lighter. Obviously, there are other things besides the color of my skin that make me stand out. I frequently like to wear sunglasses, I carry my backpack on my walk to work, I wear fewer layers than most because the temperature is relatively warm for me, my hair is unusually short, I walk alone most of the time and I speak American English. But I don’t want to completely blend in. I have my identity, and I want to keep it, regardless of how much it makes me be conspicuous.

The good news is that I’ve found a way to retaliate. I’m going to stare right back. No, it’s not entirely appropriate, and if I were a woman, it would be the entirely wrong decision, but it works. They stop looking. I don’t do it every time, but every once in awhile it at least makes me feel better, and it definitely makes them stop staring (at least females). Maybe they’ll even get used to seeing me and stop looking. Or not. We’ll see.

In other news, I’ve finally had enough internet access to complete the numbers portion of my nutritional profile for the hostel. It’s really nerdy, but Excel spreadsheets, when done well, can be pretty fun. What’s next is to take all the numbers and compile it into a written report, summarizing and making recommendations when necessary. That’ll take time, but time is something of which there is abundance here. Time and unwanted attention, of course.