OK, so I’m fairly certain that this is a legitimate cultural characteristic as opposed to just a stereotype: in India, two men holding hands is perfectly acceptable. It’s a sign of friendship or brotherhood or masculine solidarity, and in fact, it would be more unusual to see a man holding a woman’s hand. Though it’s a little strange at first, you get used it. Homosexuality is completely taboo here though if one were homosexual, it would be pretty easy to blend in.
I was walking into lab this morning when one of the guys who works in the chemistry stockroom comes up to me and grabs my shoulder. There is quite a lot of touching that goes on in the lab, and despite initial reluctance, I’ve come to like it. It’s actually a very good way of preventing accidents when you’re working in such an overcrowded space, so I’m comfortable with hand-to-shoulder contact. But, then, his hand starts ominously migrating down my arm, and the next thing I know, he has put his hand in mine. There I am holding hands with this guy as we walk up the stairs. I repress a sense of discomfort and an involuntary desire to run away as we awkwardly make small talk. He starts swinging our arms, but I can’t let go because I don’t want to offend him. There’s no escape. I’m putting as little effort into this hand holding as I can without being rude, but still our digits remain locked for a very long 15 seconds. It feels like someone is holding me underwater, and when he finally releases me, I’m able to come to the surface to breath. Just surfing, my foot.
I’ve dramatized the story a bit, but my discomfort was quite real. Behavior is influenced by culture to an astonishing degree. I was repressing my discomfort to avoid being impolite because I’ve been culturally programmed to do so. My friend, on the other hand, had no clue how I was feeling, and moreover, considered our behavior entirely normal. My cultural fire alarm was ringing while he was likely very satisfied by/with the interaction. As much as I try to accept that hand-holding is just a sign of friendship, I do believe that sexual repression is at the roots of behavior among Indian males that to the Western eye seems a little strange, but that is a topic for another post. I’m still trying to get my hands on this short video that will show you exactly what I’m talking about.
In other news, this past weekend I joined a group of nine expats (of whom four were German, three French, and two South African) and two Indians on a trip to the South Indian state of Kerala. Our destination was the Backwaters, an interesting and unusual series of freshwater canals located near the coast city, Alleppey (nicknamed India’s Venice by Lonely Planet), which I had already visited three years ago and again will be visiting in a few weeks with my family.
Our intrepid group made the 700 km journey by hired, overnight bus. Including the return trip, we spent a total of 30 hours on that bus, and with all twelve seats occupied, it was a very long, cramped, and uncomfortable ride indeed, marked by the pro forma death-defying encounters with oncoming traffic, the unfortunate conversion of the air conditioning into a sprinkler system, and all sorts of unpleasant smells and sounds emanating from both us and our surroundings.
Descending the Western Ghats, we left Bangalore’s pleasant climate behind as we lost 2,000 feet in elevation traveling from the Deccan plateau to the coastal plains. This geography explains why Kerala is so lush and beautiful – it is known throughout India as “God’s Own Country” (whether because it is like the Garden of Eden or has India’s largest Christian population, I’m not sure).
The Backwaters were satisfyingly idyllic. After the long bus ride, we boarded a houseboat and cruised lazily along, enjoying the heat and the scenery. A friendly set of staff cooked us a delicious Keralan lunch and dinner featuring fresh fish and prawns and the characteristic Keralan coconut oil, which many North Indians despise for its odd, almost gritty, fleshy flavor. In the afternoon, we went canoeing and that evening a few of us took a dip in the warm waters (this is not advised considering the water’s cleanliness, but none of us developed rashes, got violently ill, or were attacked by leeches, piranhas, or sucker fish). There isn’t really much else to say because it was so relaxing. I’ve posted a few pictures to give you an idea of what I mean.
The following day, we were kicked off the boat at an unhappy hour and eventually made our way to the beach where I went swimming for the second time that weekend. In the afternoon, we stopped in Cochin, Kerala’s largest city, to eat a late lunch and see a few remnants of Dutch colonialism, and then it was back on the bus. We arrived back in Bangalore at 5:30 a.m. Monday morning, and I was on the company bus to work at 7:35 a.m.
The weekend was rushed, but I had a fine time. I liked the group a lot and would be happy to hang out with them in the future (some of us might even be visiting Pondicherry in a couple of weekends). On the whole, everyone was friendly and easygoing, but no one was complacent, which is always a risk once you start feeling settled in.
Not that I really feel settled in – never fear, I’m still pleasantly lost all the time. That said, I’m happy to report that commenting on cultural and linguistic differences no longer defines my primary mode of conversation. They are convenient go-to topics, but fortunately, my “under-construction” life has been framed, which means that conversation focuses more and more on the structural elements of life and less and less on the environmental ones. Tonight, I plan on attending a soiree of sorts with IVES, the local Bangalore expat club, and I’m afraid that conversation will once again turn to cheap cultural and linguistic observation, but who knows? I’ll be sure to keep you all posted.
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