05/26/2017
13 Years ago when I returned from India, I was struck by the cement world we live in. I drove from San Francisco Airport to Kerman without seeing a single human outside. I saw them in their cars, in the windows of restaurants, malls and buildings but not walking on the street. This year, I was struck by the same thought.
In India it was impossible to go far without encountering a human outside. There were people everywhere. Not like pictures of Asia where people move in a giant crowd -- more like the pleasant meandering crowds at the Organic Stone Fruit Jubilee. I took the time to reflect on how this difference affected my humanity and outlook.
Two months ago, in India I found it hard to focus on, or, be overwhelmed by the grief of my momâs death because of the sound of peopleâs conversations drifting around me: from flat rooftops, people walking by our open courtyard doors, drumming ahead of me on our narrow village streets, giving way and pushing forward in city crowds, moving aside when vehicles wanted to drove by on the road to the farm. My brother commented that people seemed to recognize the need for cooperation. He had voiced bewilderment at the Punjabi tendency to make five lanes out of three by crossing lane boundaries. I responded that they were geniuses. In America, drivers donât know what to do in a traffic jam, here, the drivers saved themselves time by using every inch of the road. He observed traffic and said the reason there wasnât accidents on the highway was because everyone gave way. No one wanted an accident, so people learned to slow down, or move aside, without getting angry. They were keenly aware of the humans around them and the choices they might make.
Today, I realized that phones and technology have made people unaware of their environment or the humans around them most of the time. GPS tells us how to get places so why should people memorize the city streets? Cell phones store our phone numbers so we donât have to remember any. We donât have our friends and familiesâ addresses or phone numbers memorized. We know details of their lives from their social media posts.
In India, my cousins, on the neighboring street, knew if I had left my home that day. Villagers kept close tabs on the comings and goings. In Anne of Green Gables, Mrs. Lynde had to know everything that was going on too. On the other extreme, we now live in an environment where we donât know who our neighbors are, nor do we generally care. We donât look for, or notice, whether our friends are at the event or store we are at.
Today this difference manifested itself in our family. We went to Home Depot for caulking at 8 a.m. In the parking lot, my eyes roved the humans going in and out. I noticed the African American man, James, trying to make connections with customers so he could work and earn some money. I had noticed James last time we were here. He used to live at the motel across the street from our restaurant, Revive CafĂŠ. On Sundays and on Christmas, James started coming over as I worked alone packaging the dry goods. His wife and two children were his primary concern. Sometimes they needed a couple of spoons or napkins. During the week, sometimes, he needed to borrow bus fare for a job interview. He finally got a housing voucher and moved out.
I got out of the car and headed towards James instead of the Home Depot entrance. âHi there!â I called. He turned, confused, and then his face lit up. We hugged and I showed him how much older Daniel and Sarai were. He saw Mark approaching and gave him a big hug. As we walked away, the family asked me who he was and I reminded them.
We walked into the garden center to look at plants. Mark walked past a woman in her early seventies. I walked past her and noticed her watching the kids closely as they trailed loosely behind. She smiled broadly, wishing for them to notice her and say hello. They walked past, obliviously. As they reached me, I said âHello, how are you today?â She smiled and said âOh, fine!â I apologized for the children and said they hadnât noticed her and that is why they hadnât greeted her with a âHello.â My mother had raised me to greet everyone who passed me if they made eye contact. She started talking to them and said they had beautiful smiles. She didnât comment on Saraiâs chipped front tooth from her bicycle fall. She was in bliss. I told the kids to hug her just as my mother had taught me to do with the older women we met.
We walked up the paint aisle to the caulking and I saw the female employee who had helped me in 2003 when we moved to Kerman and fixed up our house. I greeted her warmly and asked how she was. She remembered me but seemed a little harried. I told her she looked great and commended her for losing weight. She looked up and asked, âYou think so?â âDefinitely!â I responded. I told her that her skin was glowing too and her face seemed happier. She said she had a one year old and thought she was heavier than before. This child was born ten years after her youngest. I told her Daniel was born fifteen years after our twins. Soon, she relaxed and became joyful.
At the farm, Josephine, our pig mama has become less fearful of humans and doesnât run away squeeling when I set down her pig pot. Her mistrust had allowed Marley, our other pig who canât have kids, to hog the food while Josephine waits in the wings for any scraps. Oreo and Brownie, our chickens, are fake friends to Max the maltipoo who hungers for attention. They get all friendly when we put his food out so they can eat it while the silly puppy runs around playing. I told the kids about our dogs in India and how my mom would give Fino, our greyhound, a cup of goatâs milk every day. The kids were preparing to give Max his supper and I reminded them of the foods dogs canât have and I said dairy. Daniel said âOther than goatâs milk right Mom?â Mark said the milk in India was fresh and raw, unlike the white colored water milk we get here. The kids understood.
Iâve never owned a cell phone. I borrow my husbandâs when I need it. It allows me to notice the people around me and do things I want -- rather than reacting to otherâs. I see the neighborâs peeking over the fence as they drive by on a tractor or in their pickup. I live in California, a State of 39 million people. Canada has a total population of 36 million. In Toronto, Iâm reminded of India. People walk in their neighborhoods and take public transit. I see people.
Facebook is great because I can interact with friends and family I wouldnât normally see or speak to. It isnât so great if that is the only place we interact with humans though. I find myself battling my grief more often than not in my seclusion. There are no physical reminders in the faces of humanity around me that life goes on and we all endure pain. I miss people watching. I believe it reminds us of our humanity. Iâm not encouraging nosy, busy bodies (although Rachel Lynde loved Anne dearly) but I am encouraging interest in one another.
I hope to see as many of you as can make it at the Organic Stone Fruit Jubilee on June 24th from 5:00 pm to 8:30 pm at MOA farms, 5790 Indianola Avenue, Clovis, CA. I need a reminder of your humanity and love in a city bustling with people where I donât seem to connect to anyone for days. If you would like to volunteer at the Jubilee, I am the Volunteer Coordinator this year and need another fourteen kind souls to help with directing parking and other tasks. You volunteer for two hours, save the $5 admission and get a free bag of stone fruit. We are going to have Stone Fruit beer this year to celebrate the 10th anniversary of this amazing festival. I hope to see you there. Love always.
