A gummy grin wrapped in a Sari

I was in a rural village in India standing amongst a sea of colorful Saris listening to the chanting of a Hindu priest. Our local guide had took us to his temple for prayer and it was fantastic sharing in the local custom. I stood in silence, hands pressed together in front of me, listening to the chanting that was rising up around me. I looked next to me and caught the eye of a little old lady. She looked close to 100! She turned to me and smiled. She had no teeth and gave me this nice gummy grin. I smiled back and she slowly walked over. Her back was hunched and she leant on her walking stick with every step. She was so tiny and so frail, wrapped up in her lime green sequined sari. She stopped in front of me, took my hand and just stood smiling at me, holding my hand.

We often talk about “The gap between us” – meaning the gap of wealth/options/education. But there is another gap between us. I have never seen my Nanna smile as genuinely as this old lady smiled at me. She looked content. She did not ask me for anything, she did not seem to want anything except to share the prayer with me. The gap between our societies is vast but not just in wealth. Wealth doesn’t make you happy and this is blatantly apparent standing in this Temple. This old lady was happy, simply happy.

Occasionally she looked from me to the priest at the front praying, still smiling that big gummy grin. As the Priest concluded the ceremony she patted my hand with her free one, said “Namaste” and shuffled back to the group she was originally standing with.

I stood smiling with a similar less gummy grin, yet close to tears, feeling like I’d had a spiritual experience that had nothing to do with Shiva. 

Family Christmas traditions - the good and the bad

Being part of a family is both fantastic and difficult. Not because it is hard to become part of a family, you can often be included in the outer throng of several families whether you like it or not, but because the idiosyncrasies and traditions that make a family the organism that it is, are both difficult to stand and fantastic.

Every family will have their traditions, some that are chosen, some that are not. Most revolve around the holidays. My family has a tradition of having a live native tree for Christmas, (we’re very proud that it isn’t a plastic pine one) and no fault to my Mum, but some years it is decorated before Christmas, some years it isn’t. Every Christmas after presents and breakfast we all go down to the beach for a swim, a surf and a sunbake under the hot Australian sun. The beaches are empty, the water is warm and clear and there are smiles and laughs all around.
Unfortunately we also have a tradition that by midnight on Christmas at least half of the family will have cried. The latter we don’t choose, but it happens nevertheless – We’re an emotional family.

Last Christmas I spent it abroad with my extended family. Although I Skyped my family (yes, they were sitting around a sparsely decorated gumtree crying intermittently,) it didn’t feel like Christmas. It should have - The pine tree was decorated with lights and tinsel, it was snowing lightly outside, the kids were showing off their gifts from Santa and the adults were full of fantastic food and Christmas cheer. My sister-in-law had even bought candles scented with mint and cinnamon so it even SMELT like Christmas. It was like being in a Christmas card. It was fantastic family fun, we went carolling and built snowmen in the yard, but without the chirp of cicadas and the smell of eucalyptus it didn’t feel like Christmas, except for one thing.

My extended family opened their arms and welcomed me into their home. They included me in their family Christmas traditions and although different to my own, being part of the inner workings of a family felt a lot like Christmas.  

Behind kohl lined eyes

As we wandered into the rural Indian town of Orchha we came across an old man with a little boy on his grandpas shoulders. The boy was around three years old and as we walked past him he sheepishly peeked glances at our group of girls. He wore nice new clothing from head to toe, including clean sandals and combed hair. In complete contrast his grandfather was wearing rags and barefoot. His hair was white and his skin looked like tanned leather. He was missing most of his teeth. The boy was shy but when I smiled at him and waved, he outstretched his little hand towards me. I walked over and held it; he started smiling at me and shook my hand as hard as he could, giggling. His grandfather smiled and took the wriggling boy off his shoulders. Immediately he ran around our group of girls smiling for pictures and hurriedly looking at the camera screens to see his reflection. His eyes, that were outlined in kohl for protection against evil spirits, were full of excitement. This was making his day!

Our group had moved on so unfortunately we had to go. The boy started to get upset and in his angst, started asking for something from us – food, money, anything really. His grandpa, who has been standing off to the side, ushered some soft words to him. He stopped asking immediately and walked back to his grandpa. And just like every other 3 year old in the world, he started sulking, but only a little. My heart went out to him and not just because these adorable kids are making me clucky, but because he seemed to be such a sweet little boy, with such a caring grandpa, who obviously gave him everything he could. I had a banana in my bag and because giving fruit to children seems a legitimately nice thing to do, I gave it to the little boy. His face lit up, his sweet brown eyes smiling out from the black kohl. I couldn’t imagine any western children being half as happy over a banana.
As I walked off to rejoin our group I looked back. He was back on his grandpas shoulders smiling and hastily scoffing his banana.