The benefits of being made culturally uncomfortable

A few Saturdays back, I went to the Lake Centre to play some math games with the kids. We did math for a while, until they got bored. At that point, they handed me some lyrics from a song they learned in school, and asked me to sing it. I looked at the lyrics and laughed—the song, “Bind us Together, Lord,” was a hymn their teachers at the Catholic school had taught them. I had a really hard time convincing them that I didn’t know the tune.

It was during this disagreement when a cadre of Irish college students dropped by to visit. Their organizer had contacted Vikramshila as part of their volunteer program—they are teaching in Kolkata for the summer, as well as learning about development by attending some debates and lectures, as well as observing various NGOs. They all crowded into the already crowded room, and started chatting with the kids. Within a couple of minutes, we discovered that we were heading to Delhi on the same day. But the moment they won me over for good, if they hadn’t already with their Irish charm and friendliness and good looks, is when they proposed a song exchange with the kids. The 10 Irish students performed “Peel banana.” For your reading convenience, I transcribe the lyrics here, along with a description of the accompanying dance:

“Peel banana!! Peel, peel banana!” 2x [slow slide of the hands down the side of the body]
“Chop banana! Chop, chop banana!” 2x [karatae chop motion, alternating hands]
“Mash banana! Mash, mash banana!” 2x [appropriate and convincing mashing gesture]
“Go banana! Go, go bananas!” 2x [uninhibited flailing of arms and legs]
The kids, in return, sang “Bind us Together, Lord.” I was slightly afraid that the Irish folks might imagine I had taught these six Hindu children a Catholic hymn—in any case, they seemed to share my sense of cultural embarrassment. But, being the good papists that they are, several of them chimed in.

Immediately after the meeting, I was invited up to watch the rugby match that several of the guys (er, blokes) were playing in. I happily agreed.

The match was played at the Calcutta Cricket and Football Club (CC&FC), which is a holdover from the British era, although the vast majority of the present members are Indians. It has a posh clubhouse and a bar with discount drinks for members. The Irish students have a temporary membership thanks to their participation on the CC&FC Rugby team. I had a really nice time watching the game and drinking a couple of beers on the porch of the clubhouse as the evening cooled down. Brendon and I spent a long time talking politics, which involved me apologizing a lot for living in a country where we elected Bush, and him explaining the Irish government system to me. Somewhere in the conversation, I mentioned to Brendon that Americans, especially people from blue states, tend to have romantic notions of Europe, the enlightened and liberal place where they are civilized enough to have good trains and universal health care. Some of this is well-deserved, but some of if is a warm and fuzzy caricature of a place that has its fair share of race riots and fascists. I mentioned that the stereotypical American is that of a loudmouth cowboy. Brendon added that America is the place where they make candy bars out of corn syrup.

I was invited to play a game of football (er, soccer) the next afternoon. I happily said I would come, while warning them that I was, in fact, very bad at football. They told me not to worry.

When I arrived at CC&FC the next afternoon at 3:30, only one of the guys had shown up. Mike and I sat and talked for an hour until we had enough people to play a smallish game. The group, it seems had been out to the clubs until 5:45 in the AM, and was just about getting over their massive hangovers. We played around for a while, which was fun enough, although I was so bad that I didn’t do very much. I think I stayed out of the way enough to avoid interfering.

Later, having a drink on the porch again, I had a chat with a really nice guy named Brian, who is studying environmental science. He told me about his year in France, which he said was a blast, and about how eye-opening he finds India. It seemed like he and I would have a lot in common.

But after some conversational digging, it seemed like we had less in common than I had imagined, at least in terms of our trips to India. We started talking about the food. He said that he loved Indian food, but that it had become a bit monotonous. Their group goes out to eat for all their meals, he said, and they tend to visit the same nearby places. I asked him if they ate a lot of samosas (pyramid-shaped fritters stuffed with potatoes) and dosas (a South Indian lentil pancake that you dip in all kinds of stuff) and he had neither heard of either. I figured out why a couple minutes later when one of the guys said, “I just can’t be bothered to eat vegetarian food.” Nothing wrong with that, of course, but it pays to be flexible with your eating habits, especially in a country where so much of the good cuisine is meatless.

And another thing he said surprised me even more—Brian and some of the guys briefly discussed going out to catch a movie. One candidate was Krishh, which is sort of an Indian Superman given the Bollywood treatment—it’s three and a half hours long, and has a ton of song and dance numbers. I mentioned that it was in Hindi, to which Brian replied, “Well, but they’ll have English subtitles, won’t they?” I said I was pretty sure they wouldn’t, which was a big surprise to the whole group. Why they thought that a Hindi movie playing in India would have English subtitles is beyond me.

I realize I’m running the risk of seeming condescending here—“Oooh look at me, I have the more authentic Indian experience”—but I am thankful to have been thrown into a situation where I’ve had to sink or swim a little bit. I remember how KP introduced me to some issues of Indian etiquette. We were sitting in a teacher training meeting, and the fan above me was blowing away a piece of paper I had been taking notes on. I put the paper under my toe. Later, KP told me, “In India, we don’t touch things with our feet. It’s considered a sign of disrespect.” I apologized and told her that no disrespect was intended to the material of the workshops.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “But we just don’t do it.” KP spent six years in the states, and she knew that I thought I was just being practical. And while she understood my explanation, there are just some things you’re supposed to do.

But, when you’re in a big group of other white people, even if they are supposedly infused with a fair deal of European civility, it’s easy not to pick up on those things. To take an example, Brendon told me about being in a local bar. He was trying to get the attention of a local woman, so he, innocently enough, tapped her on the shoulder. Immediately, the woman’s brother and her husband descended upon him, and the program coordinator stepped in to try and prevent the imminent fight. In the end, the whole group was thrown out.

What’s more is that the Irish students had an orientation where they were explicitly told, “don’t touch Indian women!” I don’t know why I’ve never run into this problem, never having been warned about it: but I think it has to do with spending a lot of time around Indian people here, and watching their behaviors, and trying to go with the flow. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had my fair share of cultural blunders, and made incorrect presumptions. But because I’ve constantly been around Indians, I’ve both had the ability to correct an understanding or an action (by talking to people around me), and the necessity to correct it (or else I offend all of my friends).

Not to say I don’t like the Irish folks—in fact, they are rather wonderful. They befriended me instantly, and they are both interested in what they are seeing here in India, and committed to having a really good time. I intend to meet up with them in Delhi, where they’ve invited me to go to a series of seminars and debates on development. They are a blast to hang out with. I just feel fortunate that I’ve had the opportunity to get pushed off of the path of least resistance that tends to suck in so many travelers.