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A Breakfast Lesson
Larka gaon ja raha hei. The boy is going to the village.
This pair of simple sentences lay in front of me as I ate breakfast
one morning. Part of my Hindi lesson from the previous evening.
I didn’t really like my guesthouse Noravilla at first. It
just felt a bit too colonial. My room was quiet and comfortable
enough, and I’d made lots of friends in the surrounding neighborhood.
But little things there bothered me. How they served me tea on the
balcony. Called me sir, despite my vigorous protests. Insisted on
carrying my bags. Stood and watched while I ate breakfast. And it
didn’t help that I’m the only guest staying there, and
that the entire staff fixated their attention on me.
Noraville, the guesthouse Hayden calls home. Photo by Haden
Kantor.
I sleep in Air Force Colony (where the pilots live)
and I work in Milk Men Colony (where the cows live). Indeed it seems
like there are a lot of colonies around here. And in July, Indian
Prime Minister Manmohan Singh set off a minor uproar within the
nation’s political establishment when, at a speech at Oxford,
he praised the British for their “good governance” during
the colonial era. So I guess I’m constantly trying to assess
exactly how the colonial past impacts modern India.
I do find, however, a significant amount of resistance to imperialism
both past and present. Of course, India was not only the site of
British ambitions during the colonial era, but also is a land that
enjoyed a vibrant cultural legacy for centuries. Allowing for small
modifications, borrowings, and impositions over time, this richness
remains plainly visible today: Indian thinkers are revered. Hindi,
not English, is the lingua franca of the marketplace. The
Bollywood film industry is booming. The people here fervently practice
Hinduism and take joy in its rituals and festivals. They evidently
have great pride in their homeland — its villages, monuments,
attractions, and soaring history.
But still: Women vacate chairs so that I may sit. Elderly men address
me by adding the honorific ji to their sentences. Field
workers scoop the largest quantities of the most nutritious food
on my plate during field visits. The list goes on. Are these small
but telling acts vestiges of a colonial era in which the white men
demanded certain benefits as they robbed this country of its wealth?
Or do they speak, more benignly, to a culture of hospitality, one
that places great emphasis on the comfort and happiness of a guest?
I don’t know the answer to these questions; my hunch is that
it’s usually some combination of both.
All these qualms crowded my mind that morning as I studied my notebook.
And then I noticed Chainaram, Noravilla’s cook, peering over
my shoulder. He spoke roughly as much English as I did Hindi, so
our interactions to that point had been quite limited. But as I
watched him stare at the paper, it dawned on me that this pair of
sentences could just as easily be used to teach English as they
could be used to teach Hindi: Chainaram wanted to learn.
Hayden's new community at Noraville includes staff members Chainaram,
Amit, Udiraj (left to right).
So I invited him to sit down. Together that morning, over my breakfast
of bananas and peanut butter – I’m a new vegetarian
and I crave the protein – we plodded our way through the previous
day’s lesson. Sentence by sentence. Saying them twice. Letting
each word linger in our mouths like the smoke from a fine cigar.
These English-Hindi lessons have become a regular fixture at Noravilla—not
just for Chainaram, but for the entire staff there as well. I’m
impressed by their eagerness. They pore over my vocabulary lists
like archeologists who have discovered a rare and valuable text.
Trying to explain English irregular verb endings is a bit like trying
to explain why the U.S. government favors Pakistan instead of India
if we really want to promote democracy around the world.
While I enjoy getting a little extra Hindi practice before I head
off to work, what I really like is the feeling of sitting around
the table with these guys. Although a cultural and linguistic gap
still exists and undoubtedly always will, I certainly feel more
at home here since we’ve started these sessions. It’s
the feeling of being connected to people. Of helping others, even
if it’s just a small gesture. Of sharing an experience together.
It would be rather easy, I think, to become paralyzed by issues
of identity here, overwhelmed by the insidious forces of race and
class and gender. But I have to live in this world, and deal with
the realities with which I’m presented. There’s no escaping
the power dynamics of privilege and the undead influence of colonialism;
all I can do is try to be cognizant of what’s really unspoken
in each instance. Increasingly, however, it feels like the tools
with which I measure this process are inadequate.
There will be many situations when the cultural distance is so
vast that understanding seems impossible. So I can only forge a
connection when the opportunity presents itself. Perhaps it starts
at the breakfast table: Not ignoring differences, but acknowledging
them. And then somehow finding a way to engage respectfully with
the people and culture I’m meeting.
Hayden Kantor- September 2005
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