AWOL

Today, I did a bad bad thing.

I lied. To my mother-in-law.

Oh, wait, everyone does that.

The past two days, I went to a training seminar with Janvikas. You remember that class in school where, no matter how hard you tried to pay attention, it always seemed like the teacher must be speaking some other language? For me, it was physics. And most math classes. And probably some others I have blocked from my memory. Well the last two days were a lot like that, except the teacher actually was speaking another language. Two days of development training fully in Marathi, with maybe three or four breaks throughout the day of just a few minutes to sum up what had been discussed for six hours. Did I need to be there? Obviously not. But it was something to do.

By the time I came home yesterday, the night of the big party, I was in a foul foul mood. You see, the training was located close to where my father-in-law and brother-in-law play tennis. So both mornings, I went with my brother-in-law when he went for tennis, more than an hour before I had to be at the training. I did this so that no one would have to change their schedule to accommodate me.

On the morning of the first day, I told everyone that I would be done at 6pm. So at 6, I called my in-laws to see who would be coming to pick me up and see where I should meet them (I had walked to the training site from the tennis center, so no one really knew where I was). My mother-in-law was at home, as always. My brother-in-law was at the gym, as always. Papa was at work, as always. No one could make any adjustment to come pick me up. So I took a rickshaw, and, being a foreigner, was horribly overcharged. No one cared about that either.

On the second day, the day of the party, I asked if I needed to come home early to help set up. My mother-in-law told me to come back with my brother-in-law when he finished with tennis, so that no one would have to go back to get me. He only plays for one hour, the training would not have even started by that time. So she said someone would call when they came that direction, and I would just have to leave then. Ok, no problem. The whole day passes with no call. So when I'm done, I call them. Again, no one can pick me up even though that night everyone was at home. So again, I took a rickshaw and again got overcharged. After many many requests, still no one would give me money to pay for the rickshaws, so I had to draw money from my U.S. account for a pretty fee. Even though my brother-in-law has been given money every night to go out drinking with his friends, I can't get money for a cab.

As I waited by the side of the road for a rickshaw, two little girls in school uniforms walked past. They smiled up at me and said "hello didi (sister)." I smiled back at them...and then started to cry. It was the most polite thing anyone had said to me pretty much since my arrival here.

When my husband called, I cried to him about how I have never felt so in the way in all of my life as I do with his parents. His aunt and uncle and cousin never made me feel like a nuisance even though they had to go hours out of their way to accommodate my trip into Mumbai from Thane. His best friend and her friends never acted like I was in the way, with someone always dropping me home at the end of the night even though we stay far far away from everyone else. But with his parents...I don't even feel like they want me here. And so I cried.

Then I washed my face, and went to host a party!

The last day of training was to be today. This morning, while I was in the shower, my brother-in-law left for tennis. Without me. I gathered my things, and went to tell my mother-in-law I was going to take a rickshaw to training. I didn't expect her to offer to drive me, but I assumed she wouldn't let me take a rickshaw either and I would be stuck at home.

As expected, she would not drive me. She was going to take a nap. She told me to take the bus.

I don't know who had invaded the body of the woman who won't let me out of the house alone, but I wasn't asking any questions. I ran for the door.

Once outside, I decided I needed to decompress. Not sit through hours of things I can't understand just to battle another rickshaw driver home.

So I sat and had a coffee. And then I called a rickshaw driver that B often uses. He had picked me up once and taken me to her house, even walking me to the door because I didn't know which apartment it was. So I called him, and he came to pick me up.

I asked him to take me to tulsi bhaag, a large market where I'd heard I could find good inexpensive kitchen items. Hubby and I are in need of a small pot for making tea, and nothing in the U.S. seems to sell a pot small enough for just two cups of anything. I also wanted a new...whatever it's called that you roll out the chapatis on...because the one we have (that my mother-in-law brought for us last year) is poorly made and the paint is peeling. (This is another sore spot. I had told my mother-in-law that I wanted one just like hers, which is unfinished wood so the dough is less likely to stick and it's very sturdy. She said she would take me to get one. Instead, she brought one home as a "surprise" for me...it was painted and shellacked and nailed together, exactly what I had not wanted.)

So we go to this market area in the middle of the city so that I can buy the things I want. When we arrive, the driver asks if I know the area. When I say no, he offers to park the rickshaw and accompany me. Since he's a very nice man and speaks excellent English (and therefore is easy to talk to), I agreed.

Boy am I glad I did! The market is located in an already busy shopping area. The main road and side streets are all lined with shops. And then you turn down an alley and find yourself in a labyrinth of shops and stalls. This is tulsi bhaag. I would have gotten lost within five minutes and never found my way back out again if it weren't for my rickshaw driver.

He alternately led and followed me around to the stalls. He was amused by the fact that I make chapatis, and entertained by my attempts at haggling over prices. In India, for the most part there are no fixed prices. They expect you to bargain. The problem is that, being American where every price is fixed, I have no skills in this area. And, being American, the price they state is so much higher than they would charge an Indian, that I'm lucky if I can bargain my way down to the starting Indian price. So, rickshaw driver from heaven threw his weight around and made sure I got Indian prices for my things.

I found everything that I wanted, and when we were done he drove me back home. During the drive there and back, he also acted as a tour guide, telling me what the road names are and what the important buildings and landmarks are, as well as some history and dates of the architecture.

In short, I had more fun in a few hours with a rickshaw driver than in nearly two months with my in-laws.

When hubby called this evening, I told him about my day with the strict instruction that he not mention any of it to his family. They think that I took the bus to training, and took a rickshaw back home. No wandering through the city on my own with a random stranger.

What they don't know won't hurt them ;-)