Humbling Devotion and Hospitality...and food, so much food!

Week one. Where do I start? So much goodness….

Let me start with some little snapshots—what my day looks like and what I get to see, do, and eat while I am here.

The work of my day consists of taking notes from the previous day, riding on a very long bus ride to my research assistant’s office, a ride that gives me the opportunity to see Kolkata and sweat enough to make up for my sugar intake, visiting with her co-workers who have graciously agreed to be interviewed for my project, then going to one of their homes to interview them and their families about their home worship, observing the evening worship performed by the women of the household, and then riding a very long bus ride home, after which I take a very needed and enjoyed shower, eat, and collapse. It is very fulfilling and exciting because I spend most of the day actually kind of doing a thing I have prepared five years to do, and engaging with the most incredible women in a complex city.

It is extremely gratifying work, but also totally exhausting. My interviews are only about 2 hours long, but it is pretty mentally draining to try to translate and speak Bangla for that entire time. The bus rides are humbling. I do enjoy them when I can get a seat by the window. I can watch the activities of people and take in all the little images that make Kolkata what it is: food stalls and people standing and eating rice and dal and fried goodies in the middle of their lunch break; the very particular brickwork of Kolkatan sidewalks; Kwality Walls ice cream stands; people on bikes and motorcycles expertly navigating around the giant buses; sidewalk bazaars selling fruit and veggies; different neighborhoods, each with their own particular kind of bazaar, sometimes for saris, sometimes for plastic goods, sometimes for auto parts; people dodging puddles and hailing cabs; uniformed school children being escorted by their mothers; the Kolkatan police in their white spaceman uniforms; the bus helper helping children on and off the bus and yelling at men when they sit in the women’s only section; that same Indian dog that you find throughout the city; goats, cows, and monkeys meandering through the street; business men dressed to the nines eating and gossiping at the tea stand; and ladies dressed in beautiful saris with their hands full of shopping bags; and every Bengali always has their cell phone and umbrella in their hand. It’s a rare opportunity to just get to view this out my window.

But if you don’t get a seat, the bus ride, for lack of a positive outlook, sucks. Its hot, it takes anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours to get to the part of town I work in, and the traffic is basically insane. That bus ride twice a day for the whole week had definitely taken its toll on me by Thursday night (after only 4 days of work in the field), and I was glad to have a break today. Of course, practically everyone else on the bus does that journey everyday because they have to. Humbling. Individual, air conditioned transportation is a privilege. (Yeah, you’re going to hear some privilege talk in this blog—deal with it).

The home interviews have been the greatest experience of the trip. I cannot believe the willingness with which these women have opened their homes and lives to me. And they act so excited to have me over. I arrive at Hena’s office and they run up and greet me saying, “You’re coming to my house today!”. I wish my Bangla were better so I could more fully express my gratitude. THAT is the hardest thing about not being fluent—I lack the ability to fully communicate the depth of my gratitude and the impact these women have made on me. For now, I just have to resort to thank yous (in English, since the Bangla equivalent is not appropriate) and “you make my heart happy”. To give you an idea of what happens in the interviews, I will share a snapshot of my first one.

I am sitting in the living room in front of their beautifully decorated and lovingly cared for shrine. They bring a light close to the shrine so we can more fully gaze upon it. We talk about worship, and eating, and God’s role in their life, and the peace that comes upon the women when they are with God, the fact that God is like a brother or a son, and that we are, in that very moment, spending time with God and, for that, making God happy. The mother explains that her knowledge of how to worship Gopal (a form of Krishna) is, indeed, a special skill, a special kind of power, that she gains more and more authority over the more she performs it. Then the father mentions that this is what makes us (Hindus and Christians is what he meant in this conversation) one—this presence with and love of God and our willingness to recognize God as the source of our gifts. That is why, he said, both Christians and Hindus recognize God as the source of “our daily bread”.

I don’t know how all this stuff works, but there has been some serious love and grace flowing between these folks and God and it was a privilege to see it and share in it. I’m not going to make universalist claims or try to explain away difference—difference is important. Hindu religious beliefs and practices should not be dissolved into some universalist or even Christian truth claims or practices. There are distinct differences between my own particular Christian religious beliefs and practices and the stories I tell, and their own, and it would be wrong for me to say “They are all the same”. To say so would deny the particularity of these women's own beliefs and practices. But I will say that these folks REALLY love God and the way they love God--like a literal part of the family that they honor and engage with in material and pragmatic ways every day--and the peace God gives to their certainly hectic and, in some ways downright difficult, lives, surely is something I will never forget; it gives me joy and challenges me to think about the extent to which I engage with, love and trust in God.

Now to another very important topic, and one that is integrally related to God: food. Oh my, the food has been so good, and such a material reminder of the goodness of life and the immense hospitality of Bengalis. Also, I promised Nate Delong that I would eat good food for him, so I have to share all of the foods I’ve been eating to prove I am keeping my promise.

 The Ramakrishna Institute of Culture serves us three really wonderful meals a day, and sometimes I have the opportunity to eat with other scholars here. This is a real gift when it happens because it can actually be quite lonely doing research on my own. I am used to sharing life with people who flutter in an out of my home throughout the day, and community mates I can see through my window and visit and share meals with, and a group of friends I know I will see each Monday at our community dinner, and I’ve come, very quickly, to re-realize the necessity of community and to miss my own. This is a topic that I am positive will recur throughout my posts. But, I digress…to the food!

Breakfast consists of strong tea, bananas, corn flakes, hot milk and fried balls of goodness called “vegetable cutlets” (vegetables and nuts rolled into balls, fried and serve with chili tomato sauce) and sometimes a really yummy dal with fried chapatis. Then at lunch and dinner they serve a total abundance of food. Meals always start with a delicious broth, then you have the main dish. So far, they have served the most delicious chicken curry, a Chinese inspired chicken dish with chilis and onions, a chicken cutlet with fried potatoes, a chicken stew with potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and, of course rice, and, on the best days, a mind-blowing collection of vegetarian dishes: spinach, potatoes, paneer curries, okra, and sometimes fish, always finished off with a whole delicious mango, a piece of sweet squash cooked in a spiced syrup, and yogurt. Every meal is a gift and a treat and I want to take a picture of them to share with you, but I stand out enough, so I’ll just hold them in my heart rather than being a total hipster and taking an instagram photo.

Then there is the absolutely humbling abundance of food that is given to me in every Bengali home.  I have been to three homes this week and in each home, I have been offered tea and food every time. And I’m not talking the tea and food I would probably offer guests, which is usually the stuff that doesn’t cost much and is low on prep time. I am talking the kind of hospitality that I think we are ultimately called to show: serving your very best joyfully. From what I can tell, every Bengali home always has a variety of sweets and treats, teas, sodas and bottled waters not to be consumed by the family so much as for guests who may come over. For example, yesterday, I went to a home and was lovingly served a plate absolutely overflowing with a variety of Bengali sweets* and even an omelets. This was given to me even though I invaded the space and then took up a woman’s time asking her questions about her forms of worship. In the other homes it was much the same story: Bengali sweets and tea, and, of course, prosad.

Prosad is the food that remains at the end of worship. During the daily worship that many Hindus perform, but especially in the forms of worship that I am studying –the daily worship that women do at the home shrine—food is offered to the divine. In many homes, all food that is cooked for the family is first offered to God, but in other homes, they will only offer particular foods during worship. Usually, they will offer fruits, sweets, some rice and, occasionally rice-based dishes.  The food is offered to God because God is recognized as a family member, the most respected and beloved family member who receives food first. God is believed to eat a portion of that food and then whatever remains is eaten by devotees as a substance that is healing and good for both the body and the mind. So, if there is prosad, it is offered to guests first, and when it is offered, you take it.  In fact, yesterday, one woman (I can’t share her name for privacy purposes of my study) literally fed me the rice and sandesh (a kind of sweet) with her hands. She told me that it was her belief that this would provide me good health and a clear mind. Every time I was offered food, I couldn’t help but think about how my own hospitality pales in comparison, not just because of the sheer gastronomic abundance, but the really genuine joy that you could see on people’s faces when they shared time and food, and especially prosad with you. And the crazy thing is that I am imposing on them. Im coming into their homes, taking their time, asking them questions about their intimate religious practices and beliefs, intruding on their worship, and after three hours they tell me, with total authenticity, that it was a joy to have me in their home.  I like having people over, hosting community dinner or having a community mate stop by, but I don’t shower them with food and bow down telling them that they have brought my heart joy. Usually I’m in the kitchen too quickly trying to clean dishes or sweep the floor.

But the hospitality I have been met with extends beyond the home or kitchen, although I have felt it most poignantly there. Everyday, when I walk into Hena’s office, I am greeted by the women I have been working with as if I am a long lost friend. They immediately compliment my clothes, ask how I am doing, inquire how I liked the family I spoke with the night before and then tell me how much that family enjoyed me being there. They offer me drinks, pull me into the bathroom to fix my hair and put a tip (the little decorative dot worn on the forehead) on my forehead, and then give me the prosad from their office shrine (usually a cookie and a piece of Tulsi, a kind of basil that is believed to be sacred). They individually tell me when they are leaving and tell me to have a good day and inquire after my health.  And they do all of this when I have walked into their office space and interrupted their time.

I have also had incredible kindness from strangers; I’ve had so many people take pity on me when I look lost or tired, offering me a seat on the bus, or helping me to find the right bus. This happened last year as well.  You hear stories of people taking advantage of white folks, because, why not, but I have had such incredible, undeserved kindness. Two instances on buses are especially poignant: I had a bus driver literally chase down another bus because he knew I was on the wrong bus and the other bus was the one I needed to be on!  I also had a bus driver drive me to another bus and ask them to wait for me to get on. This is ASTOUNDING. Buses don’t stop for people to get on or off, at least not for long, so the fact that on two separate occasions, I had bus drivers go out of their way to get me on the right bus, is really special, and totally undeserved. I  don’t even know if it would happen in Bloomington. So much grace, so much kindness and angels everywhere.

Honestly, I have seen nothing but the face and hands of God everywhere. As a Christ follower, I try to commit my life to compassionate care for others. It was in my wedding vows and my baptismal vows. But this trip has humbled me, and made me realize that more often than not, I am the one being helped. I am the one being served. I hope that in the coming weeks here, upon my return home and every day after, I can have the courage—taken from these acts of love and hospitality—to be the kind of servant I have met again and again here.

I have many more stories to tell, but I’ve written enough for now. I am going to Hena’s house to eat a lunch her Aunt has spent four days cooking (yes, more radical hospitality!). I can’t wait to tell you all about it. Please keep my health and safety in your prayers and share with me any way I may be in prayer for you.

Blessings,

ashlee

*A quick note about Bengali sweets: Bengali cuisine is probably best recognized for its incredible variety of deserts, or sweets (in Bangla : mishtie). These are usually bite-sized little bits of goodness made out of everything from milk, cheese, rice, wheat, sesame seeds, nuts, sugar and jaggary.  Besides fruit, this is the most common item offered to the divine in worship so they are found in shops throughout the city, and, like I said, in basically every Hindu Bengali cupboard.