A Separate Peace

I shifted yesterday into my new place at the Dhvanyaloka Institute here in Mysore, Karnataka.  My room is spacious and cozy with a bookshelf, two sitting chairs, two cots, an eating table, another table, and a carpet.  The bathroom is highly utilitarian, as most Indian bathrooms are.  It's one of India's great traits of interior design, the bathroom: two bigger buckets and one smaller (to fill with hot water from an instant heater), a toilet (this time Western style), a sink and a mirror, a place to hang towels, and a stool.  I was chatting with Alicia (my sister) on g-chat a few days ago and remarked to her, "I just finished splashing some water around.  A.K.A. I just took a bath."  That about sums it up.  Don't get me wrong, with such a wide array of natural-scented, quality soaps and shampoos to choose from here I am cleaner and better smelling, generally, than I ever am in the States.  Mysore is actually known for one great brand of soap, "Mysore Sandal Soap."  As its name suggests it's made with sandalwood oil.  Anyone who knows me knows I love sandalwood above all other smells (and if you didn't know, now you know).  There's also Himalaya, an upper-end brand of beauty care products for sale at Whole Foods in the States at about $20 a bottle for which I pay less than 1/20 the price here in India.  Wow.  I am really getting off track here.
Living here at the Dhvanyaloka Institute, I will be the only resident student; I'll have access to a beautiful library, and my environment couldn't be more prettily filled with plants, trees, dogs, and birds.  There are a lot of servants around the Institute, most of whom work for Jay Shree, my hostmother and director of the Institute.  They promptly bring me whatever it is I might be in want or need of without me even having to ask.  For example: This morning I woke at 7:15 and just as I got arranged for the day around 7:30 there came a knock on the door with my morning coffee and news that breakfast will follow around 9:00.  Last night, after arriving from the gym, I was greeted with a delicious meal of bhindi masala (spicy okra), green beans, chapati (flat bread), curd, mixed fruit bowl, and rice.  After dinner I had a warm cup of milk and a bottle of water and read some history.  A wonderfully delicious and filling meal.
Earlier this week I got unfortunate news that one of my Kannada teachers, Dr. M.R. Talwar, has been in a serious motorcycle accident.  Class was canceled on Monday due to confusion in the normal schedule at the Institute due to his absence.  I plan to visit him in the hospital sometime this week, but he remains unconscious as of yesterday.  Please keep him and his family in your thoughts, prayers, and special intentions.  He is a very agreeable man, always the source of a quality laugh or two amidst a chaotic and great learning environment.
My Kannada, insofar as that goes, is coming along as can be expected of a new tongue.  I spend most of my free time just listening to people speaking, and picking up when they speak about numbers because that's what I get most practice on going to the gym everyday and counting my lifts or being told, "hattu nimesha madi," "Please do this for ten minutes."  I found upon returning to Pune in early November that this strategy of just feeling dumb and stupid in a language environment actually helps quite a lot.  I could follow and actually speak quite a bit more Marathi than I was able to do during the time that I lived in Pune; so here in Mysore I am adopting similar practices knowing that the acquisition of Kannada is going to be a long-term process, but exploiting the tool of submersion while it is available to me.  Also along the lines of language acquisition, I had yesterday a great test: A kind, though oddly proportioned man, Prakash, helped me shift from the old place to this new one.  Incidentally, I came to know of Prakash as I bought a new Kannada-English dictionary.  After purchasing the dictionary, the kind woman asked me in Kannada if I wanted anything else.  I smiled, broke into English, and asked, "Do you know anyone who has a small goods carrier?  I need to shift today from Sarasvatipuram to Bogadi Road."  I bet this is the third- or fourth-to-last thing she expected to hear from me in response to her rote, capitalist question; but being in India, she was prepared to meet any and all customer service obligations with kind professionalism and courtesy.
"Oh, just one minute, O.K.?" She said, and promptly pulled out two cell phones and began to make some phone calls.  Within about three minutes she had Prakash on the line.  She told him about me and inserted the directive, "He's a student of Kannada and Sanskrit and he knows Hindi, but speak to him in Kannada, O.K.?  He needs practice."  I smiled again, and she told me to take down the number.
In the afternoon a number of very challenging Kannada-based phone calls ensued during which Prakash would kindly break into Hindi just as my frustration levels met maximum.  Trying to find my old place on the less-popular 12th main proved challenging for Prakash, so I had to make the walk to wait for him.  But this time it wasn't my devilishly handsome fair skin that made me stick out.  No!  It was the name, ಪ್ರಕಾಶ, I can now read on the side of Prakash's truck that made me flail my hands and scream out, "Prakash!" across the bullocks and horns of traffic.  Thus began the ritual: I jumped into the vehicle, gave directives back to the house, we packed up, and headed off; but not without a little bargaining.  Prakash wanted 500 INR and I wanted to give only 200 INR.  We settled (I generously so) at 350 INR and I made him do the heavy lifting.
In this adventure I've discovered a whole new possibility of transporting larger items across smaller distances in India-- the small goods carrier.  It just yesterday became apparent that people invest in these small, three-wheeled Ape vehicles (remember how much I loved these cars in Italy, family?!?!  I got to ride in one!) to hire themselves out to transport office furniture and files, or gas canisters, or coconut husks, or anything else under the great big sky of India from one place to other locales, locally.

Chikkana is the name of one of the very helpful servants here at the Dhvanyaloka.  He makes my breakfast and dinner and keeps me appropriately caffeinated with South Indian brew--a famous type of brew I look forward to sharing someday soon with you who read this blog.  Only being here at the Dhvanyaloka for about twelve hours now, I already feel at home and more welcome than I had felt at my last flat.  Chikkana brought me idly and coconut chutney for breakfast this morning and it is delicious!
It sure is a great feeling to feel a comfort and a peace in a place that is so separated from many family and friends; but I have not been able to recreate the peace of home I experienced while back in Florida for September/October.  I think I'll need to go home for that, but I don't think my schedule will afford me such an extended stay as that I previously enjoyed.