Lost in Translation

Vasentha and the Old Man are engaging me more and more. (I mean beyond the evening tea ritual they’ve pleasantly implemented with me and Monica.)

In turn, I spend long hours wondering if they’re doing their jobs, if I should be giving them more direction, and if so—how?

The nights before Vasentah comes, Monica and I agree upon which tasks we want her to do, then take turns assuming the responsibility of miming the messages to her the next morning.

And the Old Man? Forget about it. I’m in over my head.

But still, they look to me eagerly. They tell me things about the house and the forest and wait for my response. As if I have any clue.

This afternoon they were particularly animated. Something about cashew trees, branches of wood, and something above their heads. A bird was eating the cashews? Is that it? They mimed movement. People are stealing the wood?! What???

They dragged me to a couple sites on the land where bundles of cashew branches rested or where the earth was scarred from a recent fire. They gestured to the surrounding trees and leaves damaged by smoke. They pointed into the depths of the land and hollered wildly. Then they spewed more Tamil and waited for my reply. Four deep brown eyes staring at me. Two mouths biting lips in anticipation.

That’s when I cracked. I fell to my knees laughing hysterically, Gopal kissing my face, the sun beating sweat from every pore in my body. “I don’t know!” I cried through my incessant giggles. “I don’t know what you’re saying, and I don’t know what to do, and I just don’t know!”

The workers laughed too, but I’m not sure they knew why.

I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt and tears burst from my eyes. “I’ve lost it,” I muttered. “I’ve finally lost it.” I called out names of people who surely will not come soon.


Alas, I recovered. There’s a way to fix this, to understand, to explain. I just don’t know it yet. I marched to the kitchen and asked Vasentha for tea. And I learned another lesson in patience.

Everything in Auroville (And perhaps everywhere? It’s just more noticeable here?) happens in its own time, in its own way, and it’s all connected—if only you have faith that the answer will emerge in time. Only moments after I recovered from my fit, a friend who speaks Tamil happened to come by. I begged him to translate.

“They’re just telling you that there’s wood all over the land, not in one place, and tomorrow Vasentha will spend her day carrying it on her head to move it instead of helping indoors. Is that ok?”

I swallowed hard. It was my pride, I think. “So they not only know what they’re supposed to do, but they’re doing it?”

“I guess,” he responded, perplexed by the humor I seemed to find in the situation.

And I laughed some more. “Seri, seri!” I said to the workers. Ok, ok!

I’ll be better at Tamil long before I get better at charades.

The Case for Dogs

The land is lined with coconut tree gravestones of puppies long past. Something about dogs and this place doesn't work; they fall ill or injured and pass away long before their time is due.

But the land needs a dog. For example...

These days there are always strangers on the land. Dozens a day, from early morning until the heat becomes to much to bear. They come to pick cashews, but they wander too close to the house, use our water tap, sit in the kitchen. They ignore Raja’s request to keep away from our space and stick to the cashews.

One day Raja cracked. He was sick of the villagers coming too near, so he walked inside and concocted a plan.

He download sounds of dogs barking from the internet. And he played them, over and over, all the while shouting at his “dog.”

Slowly, slowly, the people moved away.


He told me this story after an afternoon of chasing cows. Out of breath, I could only reply: “Can we train our fake dog to herd cows too?”

Of Cashews & Fingernails

We returned to find Vasentha removing cashew nuts from sickly sweet over-ripe cashew fruits. I had to see how it was done.

Vasentha laughed as I brushed ants and worms off a mushy green sample and pulled the nut off, squealing with delight. "Monica," I giggled, "you gotta try this!" Especially since I had to go. Business calls.

"What are you going to do while I'm at the meeting?" I asked Monica through the red walls of the house. I was concerned I was trapping this fair-skinned lady in a land she didn't know. "Will you read? Nap?"

"Nah. I'm going to help her with the cashews."

Perfect.

Later that night, she gave me her feedback: "It was great," she said. "We sat together until the whole pile was gone. We talked... I guess. I mean I talked to her in English and she talked to me in Tamil, and we just pretended we knew what hte other was saying. Or maybe we pretended the other was responding with whatever response we were hoping for."

I noticed then I was smiling so widely my cheeks ached. "Tonight we'll petition Raja for Tamil lessons."

"Right," she responded. "As soon as I cut off my nails. I don't think I'll ever lose the smell of the dirt and ants and worms and rotten fruit!"

And just then, Raja entered with gorgeous smelling flowers for our hair...