Friday, July 9, 2010

"Can I have a moment with you in private, sir?"

Not exactly the words you want to hear from a visa applicant when you're on outreach; beyond the protection of bullet-proof glass, blast doors, and Section 214(b).

So when after a pre-departure talk with Indian students a sheepish straggler asks me this, I get ready for the worst. Almost all of the students at this talk have already gotten their visas and are now mapping their way to H-1B glory, maybe even to a green card or citizenship. But personal visa stories are often tough to hear and hard to forget.

"Can I have a moment with you in private, sir?" The other six or seven curious students pealed away in deference--they'd gotten their fill about Social Security Numbers, taxes, and how early they can enter before classes (30 days, if you're wondering).

"You did my visa interview a few days ago." Shoot. Here it comes.
"And you granted me the visa."OK--not what I expected.
"My mother passed away recently and it was her dying wish that I study in the United States. I wanted to say thank you."

I nodded a little stiffly, not sure whether to say I was glad, thank you to him, or good luck. Silence might have been best for a bit. He walked away.

Many times we hear about "hopes and dreams" and we dismiss them as ways to sneak in the country's backdoor. And many times they are. In the interview he might have been *Student to pursue MS Comp Sci at UT-Dallas. First class from Anna University, 82%, 1250 GRE, credible student...* But sometimes it's good to see life continuing beyond qualified/qualified, credible/uncredible, convinced/unconvinced.

I heard back from 1 out of 20,o00 today, but that'll keep me going for a while.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Stigmatized Symbolism

It still surprises me how a simple, equilateral cross can shock me so much. This design that is regarded by Hindus as auspicious first appeared in India during the neolithic period. The symbol spread throughout the world, showing up with ancient Greeks, with Vikings, and even with Navajo tribes. While it's name even once meant a "lucky object", the image carries now with it a very different connotation among westerners. I am talking about the swastika.

Growing up in the West, I was inculcated with horrific stories about Nazis terrorizing innocent people: all under a red flag with a black swastika. Of course here in Chennai memory of the symbol reaches much further back than the twentieth century. When an Indian walks down the street with shop signs proudly displaying the swastika he thinks nothing of it. When I walk down the very same street I am startled by images my mind automatically ties to the same design. That is one unabashedly American response that I am not likely to change no matter how long I live here.

-Abbie

Friday, March 12, 2010

"This Russian model stole the show!"

"It is International Women's Day, and we are women, and we are beautiful women!"

These words of wisdom were our only comfort before we took the stage before an audience full of photographers and fashionistas. How did five non-models end up back stage at a fashion show? Well, I am still not entirely sure!

Early last week, a friend of mine from the consulate asked if I would be willing to participate in his friend's "hair show". I told him that I would love to! It wasn't until a few days later that I heard from the show organizer. His sassy personality hooked me right away.

Me: "My friend is in town, can she participate too?"
Sunil: "Is she pretty?"
Me: "Of course!"
Sunil: "You're a blond, right?"
Me: "No, I am a brunette."
Sunil: "Humf. Could we give you highlights?"
Me: "No, I don't think so..."
Sunil: "Ok, well, we'll see."


I had visions of bright white streaks running through my decidedly natural hair. And only two and a half months before Matt and I celebrate our wedding with everyone we know! Needless to say, I was a bit worried. The only information I had was that I needed to call the clothing designer and that I needed to be at the Russian Cultural Center three days later. Not much to go on.

I didn't get a hold of the designer, Raji, until the day before the show. This meant that we had no time for alterations. My work schedule also posed a problem. All of the other girls were going to be there at 10:30am for a 4pm show. I had to be at the consulate until 1 and Sunil wanted us at the venue at 1:30. In that short window, my friend Jamie and I crossed town to try on dresses at the designer's apartment.

We didn't have many choices when it came to outfits. Neither of us fit in the long black skirt with an embroidered bottom. Jamie wasn't so sure about the dress she rightly thought made her look like a mermaid. Finally I settled on a simple, high-necked black dress and Jamie chose a tube dress emblazoned with a bedazzled peacock. We were a bit apprehensive about our choices.

Clothes in hand, we rushed to the Russian Cultural Center where we had no idea what to expect. I told Jamie that I had no idea where they were going to do our hair because as far as I knew, the building had a library, an auditorium, and some classrooms. I was mistaken.

We were whisked upstairs to a section of the building I had never seen. Behind a non-descript, humidity-warped door was a fully-functioning hair salon! The room was filled with tall, beautiful Indian women patiently enduring hair pulling and eyelash curling. Jamie and I sat down and waited our turn for our makeovers. We quickly noticed my friend Natalie and her sister Melanie. Thank goodness! We were not alone in our confusion. No one knew what was going on. Did we have choreography? When were we going to do a run-through? How many people would be there? How long would the show run? Who were all of these other girls?

We quickly decided that we were the only ones who were not professional models. Uh-oh.

Six different people worked on my hair: one straightened, one teased, one consulted, one curled, one pinned, and one watched. I am luck that I do not have a tender head! The make-up crew was much smaller but no quicker in their work. Eventually I was ready with at least fifty pins in my hair and three layers of color on my face.

...

Waiting backstage, the four Americans and one Estonian giggled about being so utterly unaware of what we were supposed to do once we got out on stage. Sunil then gave us brief instructions and moved on to the professionals. We were on our own.

The emcee announced Raji's collection and warned the audience that, unlike the previous group, we were a group of amateurs representing the international community. Their expectations were low. I went out first and my inner ham quickly emerged. I remembered practicing my model walk in Shafor Park circa 1998.

I told myself not to smile but to put all of that effort in my eyes. My friend Anandaroopa yelled "You go girl" from behind the flashing lights of the media. I was having a blast! At each corner I threw my hands to my hips and posed for the audience. When I noticed that Jamie's shoe had broken and that she was barefoot I tried my hardest to stifle a laugh. It was a classic moment.

While I had been uneasy about not knowing what was going on, I let go of my American (and as Jamie pointed out, Scorpio) urge to have a plan and had a great time! While I hope India can teach me to do that more often, I still have a way to go.

...

Two days later I received a phone call from the Consul General's wife:

"Abbie, I think you are in the paper! Well, at least I think it's you!"

The source of her uncertainty? The caption next to my picture read "This Russian model stole the show!"

-Abbie


Saturday, February 27, 2010

Let's go to the movies!

Movie posters plaster most flat surfaces in Chennai. Well, movie posters and political propaganda. Pudgy mustachioed men pose with one of two accessories: a shiny gun or a shapely gal. In reality, the latter pairing is a much more likely but equally as disturbing as the former.

This city is home to Kollywood, the Tamil language answer to Bollywood. While Matt speaks excellent Tamil, my language skills are limited to words like "no", "rice", and "ginger". I think an entire movie in Tamil might be above my level of comprehension. This is only the first of many reasons we were hesitant to go to the movies in Chennai. Our other reservations were based on reports from American friends who ventured in to Indian movie houses. But I will get to these later.

Because film is so important here, movies are shown all day long starting early in the morning. One would think that with so many showings it would be easy to get tickets. Incorrect. It can take several weeks to get tickets to new English films. I have never had to plan a night at the movies so far in advance!

A few weeks ago Matt and I finally had the push we needed make our first trip to Sathyam Theatres. A friend from the German consulate and his wife invited us to see Avatar. They took care of reserving our tickets so all we had to do was show up.

As we pulled in to the lot our friend warned us that the parking might seem crazy, but he assured us that they would work. He was right. When we pulled into the lot we told the attendant which movie we were going to see. He then flagged us to join the line of cars whose owners were also going to see Avatar. We parked bumper to bumper in the neatest line I have seen in Chennai. Matt and I exchanged puzzled looks and started asking questions like:

- "How will this ever work?"
- "You mean to say this whole line of cars has to wait for the person in front of them to leave?"

The interior of the theater was not nearly as organized. Men and women enter through different lines for gender-specific security checks. Meeting up once inside, we had to make sense of the stairs/elevators to determine where to go. Once we made it to the correct floor it was time to check out the concession stand. The movie started at 6:30, which means it was right in the middle of dinner time. We were excited to see all of the choices of yummy food such as chicken and vegetable filled pastries, cheesy nachos, and several varieties of dessert. Come to find out they only had pre-packaged sandwiches and popcorn. That made our decision very easy.

Next we picked up our 3-D glasses and headed in to the auditorium to join a truly Indian audience. Entire families chatted together waiting for the movie to begin. Every third person carried on audible conversations on his cell phone. Every fourth person received a call to a catchy and familiar ring that doubles as many cars' back-up warning. I wasn't so naive to believe that all of this activity would cease as soon as the lights went down.

Excitement spread through the theater as the movie started and half of the audience fumbled to fit the 3-D glasses over their usual "specs". Luckily, six months in country had prepared us for our trip to the movies. This means we were able to tune out all of the talking and cell phone ringing of our fellow movie-goers. We didn't even mind people standing up and climbing through the aisles! We weren't perturbed but actually amused when the movie stopped not only mid-scene but mid-sentence for a twenty minute intermission. The second half of the movie passed much like the first and ended with applause and a mad dash to the door.

I am pleased to say that our friend was absolutely correct about the parking situation. When we left the movie we were shocked to see that as we reached our car, the person in front of us was pulling away and the person behind us was getting in their car at the same time! How does it happen? I have no earthly idea but I think it's ingenious.

In the end, we were very glad we waited as long as we did to go to the movies. Knowing what to expect and having a better understanding of local custom helped us enjoy the movie much more than we would have had we seen one in our first few months! This is yet another example that the culture is becoming less shocking by the day. Perhaps I will soon be ready to forget about the language barrier and immerse myself in Kollywood!