the ladies’ locker room

 I have been in Chennai for nearly a month and a half, and I sometimes feel I have had little chance to see India. Yesterday, I pondered over how different my life would be if my traineeship was in another country. For a few short moments, I was sad that it might not be by much. I then realised the truth.

 Every day, for six days a week, I dress for work in the Ladies’ Locker Room. Here, mobile phones play a heady concoction of Bollywood hits and Western ballads. Here, we braid one another’s hair, and help to put sari safety pins securely into place. Here, girls squeal and tease, running about.

 Here, we gossip about pasts and futures, and grumble often about men. Here, we massage one another’s aching shoulders, delighting at the end of yet another shift.  Here, we get homesick, and cry into each other’s arms; here, Muslims and Christians bow their heads, praying side by side.

 It is here, in the Ladies’ Locker Room, that I see India. I see her rich diversity as the North and South dress together. I see her sisterly culture unite each and every woman. I see her fierce pride and defence of not only this country, but of each state and each city that is called ‘home’.

 Most poignantly, I see her determined acceptance of difference, and of otherness; I am living, for certain, in India.

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the eternally damned french knot

 It is midday on Sunday. My shift today is 3pm – 12am, and I am preparing myself as per the Taj Grooming Standards. I began on the French Knot almost an hour ago.

 My first mistake was assuming that once I had triumphed, it would never torment me again. I remember gleefully walking into work a few weeks ago and announcing that I had got it in one go that morning. Never again would the French and their damned hairstyle reduce me to nervous hissy fits in the bathroom.

 Oh, how I was so wrong. Today it has been pinned and unpinned no less than five times, much to the amusement of my room mate Olga. She is cooking Russian food on the stove, and there is a sharp incongruity between her homely scents wafting out from the kitchen, and my angry curses echoing in the bathroom.

 Praise the Lord! It is finally done, and she assures me that it looks good. And so we have:

 England: 1
 France: 0

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a thousand thank yous

 I write this through the eyes of a newly turned 22 year old. I wonder if I am any wiser, but I know that I am very blessed.

 To my flatmates, thank you for turning off the lights at midnight and for the ‘lighter cake’! For singing my first Happy Birthday and making me feel so at home. To my workmates, for a hundred birthday handshakes, and for gleeful birthday hugs! For giving me an easy day and letting me run off early.

 To Magda, thank you for the beautiful purse, and for being home to calm me before I left: to advise me on what to wear and offer reassuring words. To Pasha, for saying wow! To the T Nagar flat, for jumping on me in the lobby and turning up first. For lounging with me on the corner bed while the rains raged overhead (if only we had had longer).

 To the wonderful management at The Park, thank you for so calmly moving us to club, and for giving us umbrellas. For the beautiful birthday cake and the extra bottle of champagne. To Ieva and the Shenoy Nagar family: for ‘swimming’ to the party (!), and for the beautiful jewellery. To Brian for the Chinese gifts!

 To Vikas and Brammanand, thank you for the perfect present and the beautiful flowers. To Nienke, for being my friend as soon as my flight had landed; for our ladies toilet gossip, our matching necklaces, and your beautiful smile. To Amelia, for all your generosity, for that special present, and for being my piece of home!

 To the AIESEC boys, thank you for the forbidden photographs, and for chilling with me on the balcony. For all night dancing, for Indian dancing (!), for keeping me so safe. For the pink rug! To Leevin: for making it all happen, for answering your phone, for the flowers and the cake and the DJ birthday wishes. Thank you, truly.

 To everyone: thank you for coming, despite the terrible rains. Thank you for a hundred Happy Birthday songs, for spinning me around on the dance floor, and for holding my hand to steady me. Thank you for such warmth and friendship, though I am so new to Chennai: I am away from home, but you are making this home.

 Thank you, a thousand times over.

 —
 See the carnage here!

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