Jingle? Jesus? or Jezelle?

Meeting the host family. I was in for a culture shock. The thought and anticipation of “this is where I’ll be living for at least two months. This is the family that will be making me breakfast, lunch, dinner. This is who I will be spending my mornings, my evenings with ,” is a LOT to think about let me tell you. India is a completely different place and I knew that before coming but it all sets in when you are actually there, or should I say here? My house, or should I say the Rajawats house, is simple. 1 floor, 5 rooms, a small but quaint backyard and a dirt strewn front yard, enough to play catch with your 5 year-old son. No grass is growing and a small garden is trying its best to survive the inescapable heat amidst dolls that are tied to the two small trees growing. The floors and walls are all cement, seemingly uninviting at first but it makes perfect sense when you realize it’s about 90 degrees outside and AC is a rarity. The beds are about as hard as those blue fold-up gym mats you’d play matball with in middle school. Most families have a water heater but it’s a different story for Amanda (my rommmate) and I. In order to bath with hot water my host mother (Krishnaji) boils the water first and then we dilute it to our liking while squatting like a frog, butt an inch from the ground pouring the water on our bodies from a cup. Poppycock! Crazy! Squatting, pouring water on myself with a cup, my tush kissing the cold cement tile?! It cannot be! But it is. And weirdly enough it is a great feeling to know how much water you save when using this method. Water is a precious commodity here, and in America we take it for granted to the max. And the rumors about the toilet, are they true? By gosh they couldn’t be more true. Toilet paper is not used here, so when done with one’s business, one fills the cup with water and pours it…well you know where and lightly rubs the get the residue off. And then of course you wash your hands. Thoroughly. Poppycock! Crazy! Wiping my own…with my…? It cannot be! But it is. Hence the notion of the left hand being ‘dirty,’ because you are supposed to wipe with your left hand. What a different culture, and a beautiful one at that.

So now to my host family. Note: when you are addressing someone older you add ‘ji’ like gee-whiz at the end of the name. So Sallyji or something like that, equivalent to Mr. or Mrs. in English. My host mother is Krishnaji, she has a handsome ‘plump’ figure with eyes that light up a room. She is quiet and dutiful (as an Indian-wife must be). Her hair is as dark as the night sky with sunset streaks of red, due to the dye that she uses keep her hair the mysterious black it is. Ji Singhji is the host dad, and my my my is he a clown! With hair only on the outskirts of his head, he always appears either extremely disgruntled or extremely happy (mostly happy). Indians have the WORST time pronouncing my name.

“Ja-zzzz-elll.”

“Zeee-zall?”

No no no. “Ja-zzzz-eeeelllll.” So Ji Singhji has settled on calling me Jesus or Indian. I guess I respond to both. He is always cracking jokes and it took him no time to make fun of me and Amanda. Noni, is my 17-year-old host brother. He is extremely quite and keeps to himself most of the time. I can’t tell whether is it because he is actually shy or if it is because interactions with women here are very seldom, only for the ‘radical, young, hip’ Indians. He spends a lot of his time studying to become an engineer and whenever I try to engage him in a conversation it is usually replied with a one-word answer. Noni is the nickname given to him by the astrologer. When I asked what it meant he didn’t say anything. Later I found out Noni means angel. No wonder he didn’t want us to know. And lastly, Bulbul, Bulbul, is my 15-year-old host sister. Bulbul is the nickname given to her by an astrologer, when I asked what it meant she said it stands for two bulls. Don’t ask. Bulbul is a spunky one, she is always dancing her Bollywood dance, always singing her Bollywood songs. She can’t wait to come back from school and tell us about her interactions with her school-crush Relish. Yep relish like the condiment on a hotdog. She loves ice cream and cheese. She has been a haven for Amanda and I, using her to communicate when there are misunderstandings or when we need protection from all the ‘western-struck’ Indian stares.  And while Ji Singhji has his fun calling me Jesus, the rest of the family calls me jingle. Yes, as in jingle bells. The family dynamic is totally different and is so fascinating to observe. It’s going to be a good semester.