Day three of the Chandigarh wedding was the most relaxing day I have spent in India. Wedding festivities didn’t start until 8:00 pm that evening, so we had the day to sleep in, rest, and enjoy.
My husband and I woke up and made it to the continental breakfast for the first time that weekend. I had cereal, toast, and hash browns. I’ve noticed that whenever we go out, I tend to not eat Indian food. I think there are two reasons for this (1) my cook makes much better food than anything you’ll find in a restaurant, and (2) I’m getting bored of eating Indian food, since it is what we have at home each day. Regardless, we stuffed ourselves silly, and decided on our daily plans.
Friend IH and I decided to go swimming in the rooftop pool. I had already asked the front desk, and was assured that it was okay to wear my bathing suit as-is. They are an international hotel with international guests, they proudly informed me. So we went to the spa, were given keys, towels, and water bottles by incredibly helpful (and very bored looking) employees, and headed out to the pool area.
The roof was completely empty- perfect. We selected a pair of lounging chairs, dropped our pile of sunglasses, books, sunblock, and towels, and dipped our toes into the pool. COLD! It was obviously unheated! I guess, in India, in general, heat is not a necessity for pools, since it is usually quite warm.
The air was absolutely perfect that day. It was heavily overcast, so the sun didn’t shine at all. It was pleasantly warm, rather than the heat beating down and exhausting you. The air, normally a bit muggy and heavy, was aided by a good strong breeze that rustled the shrubbery surrounding the roof. Beautiful. The pool had rapid ripples moving across it. Birds flew overhead, occasionally landing at the pool to take a sip.
I realized, during that day, that luxury in India is the absence of people. Up on that roof, with the nice breeze and green foliage in every direction, and only the birds and two stray cats for company, I was happy. Happier than I’ve ever been in this country. But it was because we weren’t in India. We had been transported into a magical country where you couldn’t hear the sound of cars honking, or see people gawking at you, begging for your money. Just peace. That saying, “you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl” is so true. I’ll never be as happy as when I am surrounded by nature.
Friend IH and I were doing our best to jump in (feet first, of course, as the pool was shallow and had warning signs not to dive), but we were slow. Basically, we were taking a step, then giggling and orchestrating that ‘I’m cold’ dance that every little kid does when entering the pool. Eventually Friend IH decided we had to jump, rather than take the baby steps, and we counted to three (first, of course, deciding if we jump on ‘three’ or on the word ‘jump’) and splashed our way in.
It was still cold, but after a few repeated dunkings we got used to it, and began to leisurely take laps around the pool. It turns out that Friend IH is quite the little fish, so it was nice to be with someone who could rescue me if I started to drown, my swimming ability being a newly acquired skill. We spent the time drifting and chatting amiably about our lives. Being alone, without all the eyes staring at us, made us feel safe and without a care in the world.
Friend IH spotted the two cats that would become our afternoon buddies. I’m not sure how the cats wound up on the roof, but they were some of the healthiest looking cats I’ve ever seen in India. Bright green eyes and bushy tails, they were terrified of us and hid behind the bushes.
Eventually Friend SK came out to the pool, announcing he’d just placed an order for a grilled cheese sandwich and French fries. That was our cue to jump out and beg Friend SK to order some for us, too! While we waited for the delivery we sat, chatting, and laughing at Friend SK when he declared the stray cats to be dogs.
Friend SK had come from the gym, and he told us it had been a creepy experience. I’ve started to become less angry when I am stared at (I guess you can’t stay angry forever), so I was doubly surprised that, as a man, he was being stared at so intensely. But he had actually left the gym because the men (employees of the hotel, I believe) actually just stood in the gym and watched him work out. That is really weird.
We did notice, every 10 minutes or so, that an employee would wander to the roof, nonchalantly make a lap around the pool, maybe under the pretense of cleaning-up, and leave. Occasionally they would stay for a couple of short minutes. But overall, it wasn’t bad staring. More like they were making sure we weren’t drowning. So who knows? Maybe they thought friend SK was working too hard and wanted to be on hand if he had a heart attack in the gym. After all, the men and women in India do their workouts with a cell phone attached to one ear, so maybe they aren’t used to seeing someone concentrate fully on the exercise equipment. Or maybe they wanted to be useful and hand him a bottle of water. Either way, it is creepy, and I’m glad no one was around the day before when I had worked out.
Soon our sandwiches (which turned out to be open faced, sort-of-grilled-cheese-like, but still quite delicious) and fries came and we ate blissfully. The cats crept close, but ran when I tried to feed them a fry. Sandwiches were soon followed by tea, and the presence of my husband, who had a more successful work out than Friend SK. Maybe the skin color has something to do with it.
My friends started playing Fruit Ninja, and I started reading. But my book was about the hustle and bustle of Mumbai and the fairly recent burning of Muslims by Hindus; it really didn’t fit with the mood of the day, and I soon stopped and just closed my eyes to enjoy the pleasant breeze.
I’ve changed a lot since arriving in India. I’ve started listening to classical music, probably because it is so nice and peaceful compared to this city. I’ve been working out a lot more, and a lot harder than ever before. And I’ve certainly become much more rude and grumpy. But that, the closing my eyes and enjoying the pleasant breeze, could very possibly be the biggest change. I’d never just lay in the sun in America. It was a waste of time, you’d get burned, it was boring, etc. But here? It was wonderful. Not a care in the world, just the sound of the plants waving in the wind.
I’m not sure how long we stayed outside, but eventually we were awakened to the realities of life. My chest was turning red. The rest of my body, covered modestly with a towel to avoid the peeping eyes of the employees, was still white. But the red chest and face stood out, and it was time to leave the fairly tale and go back to the real world.
This is a completely non-scientific opinion, but I’m sure that in India, the number one advertised thing on TV is fairness cream. White is might here, and the lighter the skin, the better you are. They have it for women, for men, and each commercial break must have 2-3 individual ads promoting the cream, guaranteed to make your skin shades lighter. So there I was, burnt to a crisp. Normally I’d be mad, since it is obviously increasing my risk of skin cancer, but I just thought of it as a non-violent way to protest this country’s viewpoints, and wore my burn proudly. What a weirdo.
After the pool, we napped, showered, and got ready for the last wedding event, the reception. Friend IH and I were both wearing south Indian silk saris, which are incredibly difficult to tie. So I started a good hour and a half early to get ready. My personal, incredibly silly way to tie one on myself is to quickly tie it in a disorganized manner, and then mark, with paper clips, where the pleats should start and end. Then I take it off, and fold all the pleats very nicely, and keep them clipped together until the end. That takes care of the part wrapped around your waist. But there is also a part that goes across your chest and hangs over your shoulder. So I pleat that part, too (the part that hangs over the shoulder). Then I put the whole thing back on, and tie it nicely, and only have to deal with the pleats across my chest. It worked out okay, and Friend IH helped with the finishing touches.
We tied hers in a much more normal manner, as there were two of us to work on the pleating. We then bangled ourselves out and headed to the reception.
The reception was beautiful, again. It was at the same location as the Sangeet, but decorated completely differently, in beautiful whites. It had a TV monitor playing pictures of the bride and groom. More food, more dancing, and even more fun!
When we first entered, we did a little (or big, who knows) social faux pas and bypassed taking a photo with the parents of the bride and groom. They were standing right near the entryway, and we thought they were just posing for a photo amongst themselves. But after passing them by, we realized that every other guest stopped for a photo! So we decided to fix the problem by sneaking out and re-entering. LOL, they’d obviously notice that the only non-Indian guests were re-entering, but at least we’d get that photo!
So we tried. But there was now a steady stream of guests entering, and no good time to cut back in line! We waited, and then, suddenly there was a gap. We were about to take advantage of it, but we saw that the gap was because the bride and groom were entering! So clearly we couldn’t cut in front of them! We cut behind them instead.
They took their photos, but then the bride and groom stayed in line! So now, rather than posing with just the parents, we looked like we had just pushed our way to be the first people to take a photo with the bride and groom. To top the hilarity off, the groom pushed his mom out of the photo and took it with just us instead! So now, we still don’t have a parent photo. But after that, we did out best to stay out of the limelight and got ourselves out of the way!
We spent several hours eating, and then dancing, and then everyone was kicked off the dance floor to eat, AGAIN. Completely stuffed, we headed back home to pack up and fly out early the next morning.
What a week epilogue:
In Mumbai, I tried to determine the best place to stand while waiting for my bag to appear at baggage claim. People are pushy here, so even if I find a place they’ll just elbow me out and I get stuck in the back row of viewing. At least I’m taller than everyone. Finally, I spotted a space next to an Asian of non-Indian descent. He had track pants on. It looked like he meant business in maintaining his coveted spot at the baggage claim. I’ve gotten quite good at believing stereotypes here, so I hoped that he was Japanese, played the stereotype that he would be extra polite, and took a firm, wide stance next to him. I figured that, if he did elbow me in the face, at least he’d take the time to apologize.
A few minutes later, he was still standing firm. But an Indian male had pushed me out of my superior viewing position; I was back to peeking over his shoulder to see my bag. Urgh. Back to the realities of Mumbai. I miss that peaceful rooftop pool!
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