Little gifts

Today brings an appraisal of some of the brightly colored, (non-edible) bite-size morsels that make India so delicious. These are the habits and norms that I’ve seen in action every single day here: some of them have grown in charm over time; some have become so regular to my eyes that I hardly see them anymore; some struck me on my very first day in India, and have never lost their spark. In no particular order –

1. Affection between men. Co-ed friendship is a novel phenomenon in India. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that the vast majority of friendships here are same-sex ones, and perhaps that’s why these friendships are particularly close and openly affectionate. On the streets of India, one of the most touching sights to see is a pair of men holding hands: it happens all the time, and it’s completely normal. American-style bear hugs, back-slaps, and shoulder-punches are far less common – holding hands, I think, just isn’t considered emasculating, or even particularly effeminate. (And little do Indian men know that if they walked, fingers intertwined, down an American street, passerby would see them as a couple. Shocker!)

2. The natural body. Ornaments, clothes, and grooming seem to hold great importance in this country – more on that later – but underneath those concerns lies a general love of the human body as it is naturally. My guess is that many people associate physical exercise with the poorer classes: historically, a thin, toned body has been the product of hours engaged in manual labor. Gyms, where one would do this kind of labor voluntarily, are very new here. From what I’ve observed, it’s not that the ideal is gross obesity – it’s that like one’s family, caste, and community, one’s body is given at birth and so is not meant to be altered drastically. Whatever the class-ist implications of Indians’ willingness to let the human body take its course – not to mention the health risks facing many exercise-averse Indians today – I often pause to appreciate the body-acceptance that flows from this attitude. (I have more of a problem with longstanding physical ideals like fairness of skin.) You only need to watch a small collection of Bollywood movies to see that women of all shapes and sizes are considered beautiful. America’s obsession with thinness hasn’t completely hit India, and I’ll take refuge here until it does.

3. Dairies. I love being able to buy fresh cow’s milk, paneer (simple cheese with the consistency of firm tofu), ghee, dahi (slightly sour, watery natural yogurt), and even buffalo milk from the small dairies that pop up all over Indian cities. It’s great to skip all the processing and packaging that plagues American dairy production: here, you can get your dairy products almost directly from the cows themselves. Thank you, small dairies, for bringing city girls like me one scrumptious step closer to the countryside.

4. Meal timings. Trains are late, and so are meals. The only one that isn’t is chhota-breakfast (small breakfast), which takes place almost as soon as you get up. That’s just tea and biscuits. Then there’s real breakfast, taken at around ten or eleven. There’s a tea break (again, with biscuits) a couple of hours after that. Then there’s lunch between two and three o’clock – and none of this soup-salad junk, either. We’re talking about a full meal. A couple of hours later calls for more tea and biscuits. Then there’s a larger snack around six or seven, when workers and students have finished for the day. That’s when hordes of people crowd chaat stands and snack joints, all clamoring for spicy fried delicacies. Several hours later is the biggest production of the day: dinner. Most restaurants crowd at nine or ten, with entire families pushing to get in. Once, a friend and I ate at a popular Punjabi restaurant late at night – we must have started dinner shortly before midnight. Joining us were two huge Punjabi families, complete with babies and toddlers, staying up into the wee hours in pursuit of sunset-hued tandoori chicken and glistening skewers of paneer tikka. But the fun doesn’t stop, because after dinner, there’s dessert…

5. Lovers’ lanes. In Delhi, I’ve noticed that any clean, public space is a haven for young couples seeking some precious time alone. Boys play with the edges of their girlfriends’ dupattas on the steps of the Metro; couples sit with their heads together on the benches of the Lodi Gardens. They linger for hours at tables in Café Coffee Day – not working on their laptops, as is often the case in Cambridge, but gazing into each other’s eyes and saying nothing in particular.

6. There’s room for everybody, even when there isn’t. In Mumbai, I’ve seen a lot of commuter trains come and go. Each car is packed with people, including those riding perilously in open doorways and on the roof of the train itself. Women’s scarves flap in the wind as the train hurtles toward Mumbai Central or Victoria Terminus. On the Delhi Metro, it’s the same story: people will push and push and push until every last person is squeezed inside. Three passengers cram onto two seats, and seven onto five seats. When people have places to go and jobs to attend, personal space becomes an unnecessary luxury.

7. Total grooming. Unless they live in extreme poverty, Indians are rarely unkempt. Hair is always combed, oiled, and braided. Jewels are donned. Shirts are hardly ever ripped, and most often collared. Pants are tailored. Salwar kameez are washed and pressed. Shoes are shined. (None of America’s messy ponytails, baggy pants, and ripped sweatshirts! Amazing!) I admire India’s love of physical presentability: it seems, somehow, more respectful of oneself and one’s community to look clean and neat. Only occasionally do these efforts come across as vain; most of the time, they simply show that people care about being seen as responsible and respectable.

Anything I missed? The fat crow is always open to comments and suggestions --