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.

Daily Activities

People from the States keep asking me what life is like these days.

The thing is, running a forest is a lot of work. Period.

Twenty acres is a lot of land. Period.

And there are animals to protect! Just this morning the villagers brought their dogs to collect cashews and—as they do almost every morning—the dogs chased the chickens. For the third time since June, one of the dogs succeeded in catching a poor bird, and I had to come with a stick to free the cock.

Plus, our Gop__ needs a lot of loving (which I’m more than happy to give) and company (which I spend simultaneous writing about watsu and/or complementary currencies). He’s just a puppy, after all…

And the cows come several times a day to eat the young trees and blooming flowers, and the house/kitchen/storeroom always offer improvement projects, and the workers—my God, the workers.

Everyday they try to teach me Tamil. However, the lessons include me repeating what they say without any clue what it means. We laugh a lot. Then they ask me serious things in Tamil and look at me with expectant eyes. I suddenly have to make a thoughtful decision based on a frantic stream of grunts and hollers which meant absolutely nothing to my ears. Sometimes we play charades, but I’ve always been bad at that game.

They look to me more and more for direction. I point and explain what needs to be done around the house. But in the forest? I clearly have no idea, and even if I did, the Old Man would have no idea what I’m saying.

Thus, after working on watsu and economics, between fighting village dogs and chasing cows, while tending to Lumière’s puppy and employees, I’m now researching Tropical … Forests and practicing Tamil online.

So, my fellow Americans, my only answer to you is: I’m keeping busy.

A Day at Lumiere

This morning I awoke with a jolt; something huge had landed on the thatch roof above my hammock bed. I followed with curiosity its heavy footsteps as it traversed the ceiling. Then, to my great delight, I watched a peacock descend and linger in the garden before trotting into the wilderness. What a way to start the day.


This afternoon Raja climbed a tree while Monica and I sipped wine, read, and hollered orders or encouragement to him from our swaying hammocks. Who ever said It's a man's world?

In the night we had delicious sambar cooked by Vasentha, who was in a particularly pleasant mood all day. We were serenaded by an unusually happy Old Man. And now, with the breeze bringing some cool fresh air to the land, we'll fall asleep with smiles sealed on our lips.

This is life at Lumiere.

Not bad, right?

Raja, Monica & Me

Raja is taking good care of the land and of us.

The evening we arrived, he gave us a perfect welcome to the country: two weddings and a "coming of age" party--all in Tamil. "We like family now!" he shouted over and over, his voice thick with sweet enthusiasm.

Two days later, we were family... dining with his brothers and parents in a tiny hut in the local village.

We spend our evenings driving around Auroville and Pondy, walking the beaches and building dreams for what we'll do this summer on the land. A better water filter. More mirrors along the path. A new bedroom. A new garden. Or two. More flowers, more fruit, more animals. Whatever. A land of love and life and light--Lumière.

Raja is also our teacher. We are learning salsa, tango, and self-defense. He sits behind me with grave patience as I try try try to master the motorcycle. But my favorite lessons happen almost every evening as we collect our notebooks and sit cross-legged in a circle outside the front door. There, he teaches us Tamil.

"Soon," I tell Vasentha even though she doesn't understand me. "Soon we will be able to chat."

Tonight, Raja bravely led the caravan to the windmill, which we diligently climbed to catch a glimpse of the full moon.

And, of course, I already have a rash. So Raja, our teacher and caretaker, roamed the land and gathered all the right herbs for a perfect healing bath.

It may be India. It may be in the middle of the woods. But don't worry Ma, I'm in good hands.

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...

Arrival

I am not as much of a stranger to this life as my previous post infers. In fact, I come from a land that absorbed me like this land absorbed its steward; in Camarat, the soft scratching of sanglier startled me from my deepest sleeps, the maze of forest paths are clear as highways, the local herbs and spices and flowers and fruits were put to good household use. So in some ways I am used to life in the wilderness.

Plus, this isn't my first time in Auroville or at the Forêt de Lumière, which is why--to my great pleasure--Vasentha and the Old Man greeted us so warmly upon arrival.

They laughed at our obnoxious amount of luggage and gasped at Monica's fair skin. We were carefully guided into the home and allowed to rest. I curled up in the hammock with my favorite sheep-pillow-cased pillow and slept like I'd never slept before. But not for long.

A slight breeze broke the heavy heat and carried tamil to my ears; I recognized my name through the harsh grunts and words. Walking down the windy staircase, I smiled. Vasentha had made us a plate of jackfruits (which I'd never had before) and a variety of mango (which I'd never seen before), and two cups of perfect Indian tea. God, I forgot how I missed chai.