Jodphur, India

India is....

Hmmm...

elegant and gaudy;

ancient and modern;

familiar and foreign;

extraordinary and ordinary;

full of rickshaws with photos of Hollywood

stars and gold streamers, ghee, street urinals,

lentils, unparalleled generosity, Green Apple

Fanta, yogurt, stray dogs, and water buffalo...

All at the same time!

-- Shulamit Warren

Eric Littlepage

In this article, my study abroad companions and I will undertake an impossible task. We will attempt to explain to you the experience of studying abroad through the University’s Semester in India Program last fall. I say this is impossible because nothing that I or anyone else can say will ever convey to you the excitement and adventure of living in a foreign country. Studying in India changed my life entirely, as any of my friends can tell you. But don't get me wrong; it didn't change me in the "I went to India and found God" way. I suppose that may happen to some people, but that wasn't the case with me. Rather, my time there opened my mind to a completely different way of living, and it broadened my understanding of the world.

Emma Aller

Our first glimpse of Mehrangarh Fort, where we would be living for four months, occurred while we were still on our rented bus, hurtling down the one lane highway on the way to Jodhpur. Suddenly, someone in our group let out a shriek when he realized the huge mass high on the horizon was not just an innocent cloud rising above the city, but actually was the silhouette of the fort.

Slowly, as we got closer to Jodhpur, we could see more and more of the imposing structure, and we could barely believe our eyes. It is the city’s most distinguishing feature, not only symbolically, but also physically, as it rises out of a cloud of pollution produced by the new industry and growth of the city. The fort has an all-encompassing view of both the old city and the new housing and shopping developments. It encapsulates the oldest traditions in Jodhpur -- those of the Maharaja's power and the influence of royal culture.

At the same time, though, the fort has been witness to changes that reflect India's own evolution. No longer is Mehrangarh the seat from which the Maharaja rules the region of Marwar. Instead, it has been converted into a museum. Many visitors to this bastion of traditional Rajput ethos are from distant cities such as Bombay or Calcutta, which are the epitome of urban change in India. A huge part of our experience living in Jodhpur was attempting to understand traditions and changes while striking a balance in our own interactions and perspectives.

Kate Skiba

A typical day in Jodhpur: I wake at 6 a.m. and hear the cooks enter our hostel to begin making toast and chai for the program’s breakfast. Giving them a quick namaste, I head through the courtyard past the rooms of the other sleeping students and teachers. Outside the hostel, guards with long, curled moustaches are reading the morning paper. More namastes, and they unlock the massive centuries-old gate. To exit Mehrangarh Fort, I must pass through six more enormous spiked gates that were erected 500 years ago to halt charging elephants.

As the sun rises, I jog down the hill for about a kilometer to a small shop with a Pepsi slogan painted on the side. I see people sleeping on roofs. Men and women greet me with the Rajasthani Ram Ram Sa, and stray dogs wander for food. This is one of the most peaceful times of day, for soon the sounds of traffic, the marketplace, and the temples will mix as they float up to the fort.

In the afternoon, some of the other girls and I meet with our dance teacher to learn a traditional, Rajasthani dance that will be performed at the Marwar Festival and for the Maharaja of Jodhpur. Evenings are a bit more varied in Jodhpur - some are spent in town with host families, some in the fort and many in Jodhpur’s finer eating establishments. I order Paalak paneer from Priya for dinner, followed by a visit to Softy-n-Softy - where else can you get a saffron-cardamom flavored milkshake?

Shulamit Warren

The first day we arrived in Mt Abu marked the final day of a week-long Ganesh festival for the Hindu elephant-headed god of good luck, and beginnings and obstacles. In town, a massive procession wound through the streets. Papier-mâché Ganesh statues on carts and floats were accompanied by the loud thumping of drums and dancing. Handfuls of pink powder were thrown high into the air. Over five hours later, the procession ends at the holy Nakki Lake, which is believed to have been carved out by a god's toe. At this place, the idols "go swimming" (as my Hindi professor told me) and eventually dissolve.

Some of the other students and I wanted to observe from the sidelines, but a group of women motioned for us to join in the fun and continue on with them in the festival. It was truly wonderful how the women fully embraced us by taking our hands. We exchanged names and greetings, and they made appreciative comments about our new salwar suits. Making sure we stayed with them and away from the men, they introduced us to their children and invited us over to their homes for chai. Our new friends taught us different dances and songs, and insisted we buy colored bangles and silver anklets like theirs.

As the drum beat grew stronger, we found ourselves spending the next three wonderful hours right in the middle of the festival, only to part later with enormous sadness. This would not be the last time that we were welcomed into the lives of the people we met; nor would it be the last time we had to reluctantly bid farewell to our new friends.