The Hobbit- Chapter Eight: Flies and Spiders, Entry 2

There was the usual dim grey light of the forest-day about him when he came to his senses. The spider lay dead beside him, and his sword-blade was stained black. Somehow the killing of the giant spider, all alone by himself in the dark without the help of the wizard or the dwarves or of anyone else, made a great difference to Mr. Baggins. He felt a different person, and much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach, as he wiped his sword on the grass and put it back into its sheath.

The first memory that came to mind when I read this was taking an auto rickshaw to Indra market with my friend, Amy. I told her I had already decided I was going, with or without her company. She didn’t need to go, but kindly volunteered to come with me. Indra Market is a small place, the kind you see on travel shows. It has one main road lined with fruit and vegetable sellers, shops selling frames and household goods; carts selling jewelry, toys and hair accessories. Shopping there is a tight squeeze, considering all the hawkers, shoppers, stray dogs, rickshaws, motorcycles and the occasional cow or car. The road then descends into a couple of dimly-lit gullies jammed full of more shops. On the right is a cloth shop, a jeweler, a small stand selling beauty items, and large vats for dying cloth. The opposite side is home to a DVD shop and a sandal stand. Farther down one gully is a shop selling trim and lace. But wait, there’s more! A toy store, a shop for steel dishes, and a tailor shop, as well as a kitchen store and a flurry of brightly-colored scarves overflowing from the stand across the way. Indra market was a bit overwhelming to me at first, probably because I had been in the country only four months and still preferred to shop at the mall or bigger markets where there were set prices and, thankfully, air conditioning!

I felt more comfortable to go out and about with another expat that offered the advantage of an additional voice to help me haggle over price or stumble through giving directions. Eventually, however, the day finally came when I had to face my fear and strike out on my own. It was up to me to haggle with the autowala or the cycle rickshaw driver and give directions in broken Hindi with a terrible accent. I had to shop at the markets, travel on the metro, call for a cab. I didn’t like it, but it had to happen if I was to become a functioning member of Delhi society. These small, everyday tasks loomed like tall mountains to be climbed, one at a time.

Still, as I persevered from day-to-day those mountains soon became mere molehills. I will not deny that the experience was strewn with mistakes and punctuated by moments of frustration when I parted with more rupees than was necessary. Yet, in the end I am happy to report that I have conquered those “mountains” and now stand on the summit a wiser resident of Delhi.

The Hobbit- Chapter Eight: Flies and Spiders, Entry 1

That was one of his most miserable moments. But he soon made up his mind that it was no good trying to do anything till day came with some little light, and quite useless to go blundering about tiring himself out with no hope of any breakfast to revive him. So he sat himself down with his back to a tree, and not for the last time fell to thinking of his far-distant hobbit-hole with its beautiful pantries. He was deep in thoughts of bacon and eggs and toast and butter when he felt something touch him…

During my first three months in India I often remembered my paternal grandmother, perhaps, at least in part, because she died the month before we moved. I don’t know why I reminisced, but I would mentally wander through that two-story house in New Jersey, remembering the hours spent playing outside, or recall the delicious meals “Grammy” would cook. That humble abode had its own unique characteristics: A rock garden, black metal porch railing, red geraniums, a sun room; the attic with its tiny cupboards, and a basement full of my grandfather’s Lionel toy trains. The backyard was often festooned with clotheslines, doors and windows were adorned with box fans, and then there was the kitchen and the cookie jar. Those walls held many happy childhood memories. To me, that is my Bag End, my far-distant hobbit-hole that I cannot forget. Sadly, no matter where my adventure takes me I will never be able to return to that place at the journey’s end. It lives on in memories only.

The Hobbit- Chapter Seven: Queer Lodgings, Entry 2

Later in this same chapter all the dwarves are being introduced to Beorn. It is their turn to say the polite thing and discover that it is not well received in the other culture.

“Hullo!” said Beorn. “You came pretty quick- where were you hiding? Come on my jack-in-the-boxes!”

“Nori at your service, Ori at…” they began; but Beorn interrupted them.

“Thank you! When I want your help I will ask for it. Sit down, and let’s get on with this tale, or it will be supper-time before it is ended.”

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 Just at that moment Balin and Dwalin appeared and bowed so low that their beards swept the stone floor. The big man was frowning at first, but they did their best to be frightfully polite, and kept on nodding and bending and bowing and waving their hoods before their knees (in proper dwarf-fashion), till he stopped frowning and burst into a chuckling laugh: they looked so comical.

“Troop, was right,” he said. “A fine comic one. Come in my merry men, and what are your names? I don’t want your service just now, only your names; and then sit down and stop wagging!”

“Balin and Dwalin,” they said not daring to be offended, and sat flop on the floor looking rather surprised.

In cross-cultural communication there is going to be some offending. It is important, however, to be like Balin and Dwalin and not be offended as two cultures learn about each other and are willing to take a risk and become friends.

The Hobbit- Chapter Seven: Queer Lodgings, Entry 1

“Farewell!” they cried, “wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end!” That is the polite thing to say among eagles.

What a great example of cross-cultural communication! Living in India I say the polite thing to say among Americans but it doesn’t convey the same meaning to my Indian hosts. In America we are taught to say “please” and “thank you” umpteen times a day, but if my Indian friend offers me a drink and I answer, “No, thank you,” then she is confused because “thank you” is more often paired with gratitude when receiving something. Or after having chai and snacks, when I say “Thank you,” I have been formal and not polite as I had intended. Indians say that among friends there are no “sorries” and no “thank yous.” So, I have learned to say, “The chai was very nice,” instead.

In general, as an American living in Delhi I am much too formal. I say “Thank you” all the time out and about in the markets. I speak to my househelper and rickshaw drivers in the polite form of you (aap instead of tum), and answer “yes” very politely (ji-haa instead of haa) and call them Ji (meaning Sir/Madam). I do default to the polite; better to be too formal than too informal. I am still learning to navigate this verbal maze of “What are manners?” here in Delhi.

In Indian culture it depends on who you are with, who you are speaking to or where you fit on the social scale compared to that person, as to which forms of you (aap, tum, or tu) you use or don’t use and how respectful you are. This has proved to be a bit of an enigma for me as I struggle to create my “hybrid American-Indian self.” For example, when I speak to rickshaw drivers and beggars in the proper you form (aap), am I conveying to them the message of, “I view you as being as much of a person as I am?” Or are they thinking, “That foreigner sure doesn’t know how to speak normally?” I always come to the same conclusion: This is just going to take a lot more time and experience to sort out.

This little excerpt also makes me think of the different greetings spoken here. Usually you will say, “Namaste,” but to be proper you can add a ji, “Namaste-ji.” Or to sound more local you can say, “Namashkaar” (I have yet to learn the Muslim greeting). But sometimes you are told to stop being so formal and just say, “Hello!”