Thursday April 20
It's Friday morning, and I wake up after 8.5 hours of solid sleep. It's the first time I laid in a proper bed in over 48 hours. I've never known the meaning of the word exhausted until now. Holy tired, Batman.
Its not just the plane ride. Everything we had done in Ahmedabad was done immediately upon arriving, including a short visit to our uncle's house, after that dinner party, until later than midnight. No one seemed tired except us. I think I'm convinced that Indians just don't sleep. Ever.
We rush out of Ahmedabad about 4 hours west to Rajkot. In every sense of the word, Rajkot is home to the Antani family. Papa and his brothers lived there, and their father did, and his father did. People in Rajkot know the Antanis. It's not because we were or are rich. We're not particularly beautiful. We don't own palaces, and though some of us do, many of us don't hold highly esteemed positions in the government. So why are we famous? The Antanis were a long generational line of doctors. Papa was an internal medicine doctor, an amazingly gentle man, who treated ailments and disease with medicine, but people with respect. I didn't know him that well, and my time with him was devastatingly short; he died when I was just shy of 8, but I didn'teven meet him until I was 4.
We visit the temple that my dad calls "the Antani temple"; it's not literally ours, but it's the temple where every major family event would have taken place throughout our family's life in Rajkot. The temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva, one third of the trinity, representing life, and all intense emotions --- love versus hate, joy versus anger --- and nothing in between. As soon as we enter the compound, we are met by a man who lives there, a priest, the son of the priest from Papa's day. His wife finds us shortly after wanting to know what she can make us. Though we are not hungry, and know we can't drink water, we eventually compromise with masala chai. Masala chai, by the way, is what people in America pay 4 dollars a cup for at Starbucks. Actually, it's what they think they buy. Comparing Starbucks to Masala chai is like suggesting Arby's will be the same as your mother's Sunday pot roast. In any case, I have been drinking it since I was 4
As we sit under the roof next to the temple, drinking our tea, it occurs to me that in every place we go, we are welcomed with tea, water, or sweets like ice cream. It's a delicate balanced of accepting so as not to offend, and protecting our delicate stomachs from water born illness, or gluten-contamination. It's my experience that deeply wrapped in the framework of Indian relationships is a show of love with food and drink. Women prepare and fetch, and men and children accept. It's not talked about, but it just is. Our brief time in Rajkot today is no exception.
I can't begin to explain the traffic getting out of Rajkot. No one brings a car there and we shouldn't have, but we didn't really know. People are pissed at us, but they take it in stride. It takes us almost 40 minutes to get out of there, and we absolutely disrupted the flow of traffic for the day. Nina, Swati, Jeff and I are mesmerized at the entire scene. I hope the pictures do it justice.
The dinner party in Rajkot is phenomenal. It was planned by Jignasa Ben and her family. Because of traffic, we are late, so we rush in without my dad, and the room goes silent. We stand there awkwardly and the four of sit down opposite of everyone else. Thankfully, they get bored with staring at us, and eventually start talking. Dad shows up soon after, and everything officially starts. Jigu Ben's husband mcs the event, and although I missed half of his jokes, people are laughing. The head man in each family introduces himself, how he is related, his wife and children, and often tells a quick story about my dad, Papa or Ben. Most of it is in Gujarati, but my dad stops them, and translates whenever he can. Then people sing, dance, or recite stories or poems. Many of them are wedding related, dedicated to Swati and Jeff. So much energy and thought was put into it, into the selections, and I am overwhelmed. It's a totally different experience than Ahmedabad. There are a lot more young people, and they don't seem as uncomfortable talking to us. Manali and Mohit, Jigu Ben's kids, particularly aren't shy, and that makes things much easier. Dinner ends after 10, and once again, we're beat
Jigu and her family want us to come back to their place, so we do. It's great, we have fun talking to Mohit and Manali, but it's after midnight when we finally leave. Mohit drops us home, and I notice a number of families at the hotel with kids who are up. They aren't just up, but they are up running, playing, shouting. I asked my dad "don't people ever sleep?" I'm pretty experienced when it comes to not sleeping, but I don't know how people here do it.
Tomorrow is Sarasia, and we leave at 6 am. The time in Rajkot is much much too brief, and we're all complete zombies.
It's Friday morning, and I wake up after 8.5 hours of solid sleep. It's the first time I laid in a proper bed in over 48 hours. I've never known the meaning of the word exhausted until now. Holy tired, Batman.
Its not just the plane ride. Everything we had done in Ahmedabad was done immediately upon arriving, including a short visit to our uncle's house, after that dinner party, until later than midnight. No one seemed tired except us. I think I'm convinced that Indians just don't sleep. Ever.
We rush out of Ahmedabad about 4 hours west to Rajkot. In every sense of the word, Rajkot is home to the Antani family. Papa and his brothers lived there, and their father did, and his father did. People in Rajkot know the Antanis. It's not because we were or are rich. We're not particularly beautiful. We don't own palaces, and though some of us do, many of us don't hold highly esteemed positions in the government. So why are we famous? The Antanis were a long generational line of doctors. Papa was an internal medicine doctor, an amazingly gentle man, who treated ailments and disease with medicine, but people with respect. I didn't know him that well, and my time with him was devastatingly short; he died when I was just shy of 8, but I didn'teven meet him until I was 4.
We visit the temple that my dad calls "the Antani temple"; it's not literally ours, but it's the temple where every major family event would have taken place throughout our family's life in Rajkot. The temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva, one third of the trinity, representing life, and all intense emotions --- love versus hate, joy versus anger --- and nothing in between. As soon as we enter the compound, we are met by a man who lives there, a priest, the son of the priest from Papa's day. His wife finds us shortly after wanting to know what she can make us. Though we are not hungry, and know we can't drink water, we eventually compromise with masala chai. Masala chai, by the way, is what people in America pay 4 dollars a cup for at Starbucks. Actually, it's what they think they buy. Comparing Starbucks to Masala chai is like suggesting Arby's will be the same as your mother's Sunday pot roast. In any case, I have been drinking it since I was 4
As we sit under the roof next to the temple, drinking our tea, it occurs to me that in every place we go, we are welcomed with tea, water, or sweets like ice cream. It's a delicate balanced of accepting so as not to offend, and protecting our delicate stomachs from water born illness, or gluten-contamination. It's my experience that deeply wrapped in the framework of Indian relationships is a show of love with food and drink. Women prepare and fetch, and men and children accept. It's not talked about, but it just is. Our brief time in Rajkot today is no exception.
I can't begin to explain the traffic getting out of Rajkot. No one brings a car there and we shouldn't have, but we didn't really know. People are pissed at us, but they take it in stride. It takes us almost 40 minutes to get out of there, and we absolutely disrupted the flow of traffic for the day. Nina, Swati, Jeff and I are mesmerized at the entire scene. I hope the pictures do it justice.
The dinner party in Rajkot is phenomenal. It was planned by Jignasa Ben and her family. Because of traffic, we are late, so we rush in without my dad, and the room goes silent. We stand there awkwardly and the four of sit down opposite of everyone else. Thankfully, they get bored with staring at us, and eventually start talking. Dad shows up soon after, and everything officially starts. Jigu Ben's husband mcs the event, and although I missed half of his jokes, people are laughing. The head man in each family introduces himself, how he is related, his wife and children, and often tells a quick story about my dad, Papa or Ben. Most of it is in Gujarati, but my dad stops them, and translates whenever he can. Then people sing, dance, or recite stories or poems. Many of them are wedding related, dedicated to Swati and Jeff. So much energy and thought was put into it, into the selections, and I am overwhelmed. It's a totally different experience than Ahmedabad. There are a lot more young people, and they don't seem as uncomfortable talking to us. Manali and Mohit, Jigu Ben's kids, particularly aren't shy, and that makes things much easier. Dinner ends after 10, and once again, we're beat
Jigu and her family want us to come back to their place, so we do. It's great, we have fun talking to Mohit and Manali, but it's after midnight when we finally leave. Mohit drops us home, and I notice a number of families at the hotel with kids who are up. They aren't just up, but they are up running, playing, shouting. I asked my dad "don't people ever sleep?" I'm pretty experienced when it comes to not sleeping, but I don't know how people here do it.
Tomorrow is Sarasia, and we leave at 6 am. The time in Rajkot is much much too brief, and we're all complete zombies.
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