Opera comes to Kerala...

…Composers often wrote music for castrati singers during the Baroque period. What is a castrato? Well, I must be quite frank and explain what castration is…
Imagine trying to explain castration to an auditorium of college students and professors in India. Yes, I did have to do that. I wonder if any of them truly understood my awkward description. Who knew that an English seminar lecture could be so racy?

On Thursday afternoon, I gave a lecture about opera at an English seminar at Bishop Moore College in Mavelikara. In November, an English professor friend asked me to speak and to sing at their annual department seminar because she thought that a lighter, more fun lecture would be good a cultural opportunity for the students. I agreed to come and thought that the event would be informal and small. However, I was wrong.

My fellow YAV in Mavelikara, Ariel, called me earlier this past week and told me that her students were excited about the opera performance. Then I panicked for three reasons. First, people were actually anticipating my speaking/singing engagement. Second, people thought that I was performing an entire opera, and attempting to do a one-person, a cappella opera would be quite an undertaking. And third, I had a cold and was a mucous factory. I have the uncanny ability to get a virus around the time of singing engagements. Although I appreciated the enthusiasm, I felt the pressure of my upcoming and eager audience who wanted to learn about a foreign art form. Since opera and classical singing have such a hold on my heart, I usually grow shy and avoid singing when people ask me to sing in a casual setting. Busting out an aria, melodie, or a lied often freaks people out with the volume, the foreign language, and the vibrato. Could my explanation and a cappella singing of a few arias give justice to opera, an art form which I love?

Armed with a Power-point presentation, a few audio samples, and myself, I condensed a few hundred years of music history, musical terms, story lines, and vocal technique in about one hour. (And I probably talked too fast at times.) When I do public speaking, I can usually gauge an audience’s interest level and try to cater to them, but gauging interest of a large foreign audience is very difficult. In addition, I was worried about their reaction to my singing—due to my cold, two Italian arias which were not too straining—because I initially scared some of my choir students by the loudness of my singing during our rehearsal warm-ups. However, the students’ reaction surprised me because they listened intently, gave a hearty applause, and approached to me after the program to talk. The English professors enjoyed the presentation because it introduced culture and explained some of the operatic references in English literature which they previously did not understand. (An example: Walt Whitman refers the term aria in "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking.") After my lecture and singing, the morning keynote speaker felt inspired and grabbed the microphone to sing a medley of African-American spirituals during the closing of the ceremony. Then he asked me to give “a full evening of song in the sometime future” to his community a few hours away. I had no idea that sharing one of my passions in lecture form could make such a splash.

Although the saying, “music is the universal language,” feels cliché, my experience in India has confirmed the truth of that statement, and God uses music to bring so much sense and joy to my life. Since I dedicated the past four years of my life to studying music, I have daily moments where I miss formal musical training: I miss having a choral director lecture about lifting the soft palate, searching for best words to describe an instrumental theme, going over historical performance practice, needing to go over my German diction, singing scales and arpeggios, searching a rare musical score in a specific key, and even waiting for a practice room to be available. Now, I have different kinds of musical moments. These moments may not always substitute for my formal training cravings, but they show me why I chose to get a B.A. in Music and renew the sense wonder that music brings. While walking to Bishop Moore College, I stopped to talk with a book stall vendor, and in our conversation, he said that music brings us closer to the divine and explained some concepts about Carnitic music to me. (Carnitic music is south Indian classical music; I must be thankful for the required Worlds of Music class at the College of William and Mary because I can talk to people here about Indian music.) At school, my students ask to learn new songs all the time. During Christmas in Andhra Pradesh, we loved sitting on the roof and singing folk songs all night. Music has that magical ability to connect and to inspire people across cultures, and it has helped me build so many relationships. I feel so privileged and am blessed that I could introduce opera and music to a wonderful group of people.

"Genuine music fills the soul with a thousand things better than words. The thoughts which are expressed to me by music that I love are not too indefinite to be put into words, but on the contrary, too definite." -Felix Mendelssohn

Christmas abroad...

My friend, Sarah, laughs at how I often verbally preface questions and stories, and we’ve coined this characteristic speaking pattern as “prefacing.” Why do I this? Well, I sometimes become embarrassed that my train of thought has tendency to move fast and makes strange connections between ideas. In fact, I’m prefacing my own preface.

And thus, I must preface this blog with these comments:

Due to the neglect of my blog during the month of December, I have a lot of brief description about events but hate having to quickly gloss over some things. If I could write everything that I want to say, my blog would become more verbose than it already is. To truly convey all of my swirling thoughts, events, and emotions of the Christmas holiday season feels impossible, and I will attempt to give you a hint of my experiences here. Although I missed many of the Christmas traditions of home, the Christmas holiday—now stripped of my cultural trappings—began to reveal the significance of Jesus’ birth, and I had one of the most memorable and enjoyable holidays ever.

Moving on…

On December 19th, school closed, and I left for Aluva and stayed with Sudie for a few days in her apartment at senior citizens’ home. David, John, Sudie, and I had the opportunity to rest and to relax for those few days, and after all the craziness of rehearsing and preparing for my school choir’s debut, I welcomed the slowing and lack of schedule.

One day, Sudie, John, and I dressed up in our Kerala finery—saris for the ladies and a mundu/djuba combo for John—and went to a Hindu festival of the Dalit community where Sudie tutors a few days a week. At first, we were waiting around near the food preparation and were dropped off the side of the rode to the beginning of the procession. With women holding lamps made of coconut and oil, dancers, and drummers, we processed down the road for a long time and watched. Then we arrived at the colony and the community’s shrine, which was full of torches, candles, and decorations. Although we did not stay for the entire festival (we were there from 2 p.m. to 7 p.m.), I appreciated the invitation and hospitality of our neighbors.

Finally, Ariel and Becca arrived to Aluva on December 22nd, and we—volunteers, Achen, Kochamma, and their son, Binu—celebrated, sang Christmas songs, and had a special Christmas Eve style dinner. Among the volunteers, we had a white elephant/Secret Santa form of gift exchange. Then we closed the evening and prepared for the epic journey to visit Achen’s sister and her orphanage in Andhra Pradesh, a neighboring state about 1300 km northeast (about 800 miles).

Although the distance from Aluva to the orphanage would take 13-15 hours by car in the U.S., the train journey lasted about 24 hours, and the long distance train travel in India is quite an experience because everything becomes more chaotic at night at times. We rode Sleeper Class and had bunk reservations, but many people disrupted our sleeping at night. To make matters even more confusing, the noise occurred in several languages (English, Hindi, Malayalam, Telugu, and Tamil) because we were moving between states (each state has its own language). The journey drained us all, and I stumbled off the train in a state of bewilderment because the warm, dry air hit my face like a Christmas Santa Ana from home in San Diego.

Arid, extremely hot, and full of agricultural laborers, Andhra Pradesh greatly differs from the lushness and more developed nature of Kerala (the state where I live). For example, Kerala has some sort of enforced minimum wage of 250-300 rupees (around $5-6 US) for a day’s work in the agricultural sector, and Andhra Pradesh is the heart of Indian’s agriculture and food supply yet lacks an existing labor policy. Instead, the average laborer earns about 50 rupees (about $1 US) a day*. The poverty is much more pronounced than Kerala, and in where we were visiting, villages scatter the country-side among the fields of cotton, straw, and peanuts. On the roads in Andhra, oxen pull carts, and herds of cattle and goats can block traffic. In Kerala, the population contains around roughly equal amounts of Hindus, Muslims, and Christians, and Andhra Pradesh contains primarily Hindus. Many people told me that Kerala differs a lot from many places in India, and from my visit in Andhra, I now see it.

After we got off the train in Warangal, Achen’s sister, Anu, and her older “children” picked us up in a school bus, and we had to drive a ways to Gandhi Nagar, a village. An inspiring nun, Anu runs the Home of Love for Boys (the orphanage), two schools, and helps with providing health care and various needs to the neighboring villages. Allowing the boys to call her amma (mother in Telugu), she views herself as a mother and has 22 boys with ages ranging from five to fifteen. However, she also provides support, education, and a place to stay during holidays and vacation for the older “children” who picked us up at the train station, and the older children—ranging from ages 20-27 and having jobs or graduate school educations—come back to help with the Home of Love when possible and view the other boys as their brothers. The whole place functions like a very large family, and love permeates the atmosphere. I’ve visited a few orphanages in Mexico, but none of them felt as close or intimate as the Home of Love, which is a family who welcomed us all with such graciousness and hospitality.

Upon first arrival, the boys gave me a tour of the compound and showed me the various fruit trees and places. Since the language of Andhra Pradesh is Telugu, the boys and I struggled speaking at times, but some of them know some English. Being excellent hosts, they gave me some small, strange berry-like fruit and climbed up a guava tree to find a good guava for me to eat. We played and hung out for the afternoon (I taught Kamal, an adorable five year old, to high five and to pound it afterward), and I fell in love with their patience, energy, kindness, earnestness, and hospitality. During the whole visit, we had chances to worship, to sing, to dance, to interact, and to play games together.

On Christmas day, we woke up, had a big breakfast, and went to church across the road early in the morning. Boisterous beating drums and clapping dominated the Christmas songs, and I loved the energy behind the worship because my worship experiences in Kerala have a much more austere atmosphere. As a custom, the church presented us, visitors, with garlands of marigolds, and then we sang a few Christmas songs for them. We sat on the floor of the church, and to my surprise, the church overflowed with very young people. Although Achen does not know Telugu, he gave the Christmas message in English, and then Anu translated it into Telugu.

Based on Luke 2, Achen’s message emphasized the crowded inn and the humble beginnings of Jesus. These particular questions from the message resonated with me during the holiday: Is there room for Jesus? Do we crowd out Jesus? To be honest, most of our Christmas merry-making does distract us from Jesus’ life and message.

During most of the month of December, I struggled because I did not feel or see Christ’s suffering yet transforming redemptive love in all of the carol programs, Father Christmases, gifts, and decorations. In a Christmas program with the Tiruvalla Choral Society, I sang a hymn which contained the following words:
Thou didst leave thy kingly crown
When Thou camest to earth for me;
But in Bethlehem’s home
There was found no room
For thy holy nativity.
O come to my heart, Lord Jesus
There is room in my heart for thee!
Ironically enough, I had mixed feelings about that evening during that particular evening because the celebration was so full of pomp, bright lights, nicely dressed people, and cordiality while Jesus’ birth was in a dirty, messy, stable. The cognitive dissonance of that squeaky-clean church hall full of propriety and wealth and Jesus’ birth haunted me, and it simply did not feel right.

A few hours later, we arrived at second church in a different village for more worship, and many women were already singing and sitting down. Becca, Sudie, Ariel, and I sat down in the back because we did not want to crowd anyone. However, women and children continued filing into the small church, and I began to feel claustrophobic in the back corner because I was so squished. Most of the men sat in chairs outside the church door in order to let the massive amounts of women inside. The content and nature of the service remained similar, but the amount of people packed into the church overwhelmed me. To see these women—who have difficult daily lives—turn to God in such earnestness tugged at my heart. There was no room in the church, but there was plenty of room for Jesus.

While in Andhra Pradesh, I felt so much community, love, and warmth in the simplicity and genuineness of our celebration with the Home of Love and the local villages. Their reliance on God is much greater than my own, and they offer so much of themselves and what little they do possess to others and to God. They invited us into their home and created space for strangers and for Jesus.

Last year, if someone told me that I would eat mutton curry and rice for Christmas lunch, play volleyball in the dirt without shoes on Christmas day, would go to two Christmas day worship services in villages, and sing American folksongs of the 1960s and 1970s on the roof on Christmas night, I would have said that is crazy and is very different than my usual Christmas flavor. Growing up, My sister and I would often mention how the late afternoon and eve of Christmas day feels a little depressing because all of the expectation and anticipation is gone. However, this unexpected Andhra Christmas stealthily made room in heart for Jesus. Unlike the Christmas afternoon depression from years past, I experienced a deep joy which cannot easily flit away. Rooted in Jesus, this hope and joy sustains me so that I can continue moving forward and loving my neighbors each day.


*These are very rough figures that I heard from various people, and I mention them to illustrate the difficulty of agricultural life and differences between the states. Please do not take these as a pure statistics.