Supernatural South India

            This next blog post includes a little bit of the supernatural as my title suggests; or at the very least some unexplained mysteries.  At first I was hesitant to include this simply because I'm not entirely sure what's been going on in my apartment on campus as of late but since this is a blog about my adventures in India I figured to exclude it would be a shame.  Also since I can't seem to form a solid opinion on what's going on perhaps an outside perspective might solve some of these "mysteries".

 

              You might be wondering what in the world I'm going on about right now and I don't blame you.  My own unwillingness in assigning a word to what has been going on is merely due to the fact that it's hard to judge what you're experiencing when you live alone and have no one else to bounce ideas off of.  The issue I'm skirting around is the ghost that I may or may not be sharing my room with. 

               Now before I go into the 4 episodes that have currently happened (all from around July of this year onwards) I feel I should explain my position on ghosts and the supernatural.  Those of you that know most likely know of my penchant for watching shows about haunted houses or might even remember the time I tried to round up willing volunteers to go down with me to Kentucky to explore the supposedly haunted rundown Waverly Sanatorium.  Although my curiosity in these matters all stems from the fact that I have never experienced any ghostly activity myself and have always been curios as to how I would react in the face of an unseen guest.  But more to the point, I don't find it hard to believe that ghosts exist.  Considering the many traumatic deaths that have happened all over the world throughout history to me it seems naive to think that there wouldn't be some dissatisfied souls wandering about. 

               However, I'm not sure if that's what I've got on my hands or not.  Like I said, living alone has made it hard for me to make a final verdict either way; but I am fairly certain after the 4th encounter that this isn't something I'm making up in my head. 

               Without further adieu, I present to you the four odd cases that have occurred in my room for which I cannot find any rational explanation.

              

Case #1:

               I think this was sometime mid-July, it was night-time and I was sitting on my bed facing the open doors to the living room and past that the kitchen.  The only light on was in my bedroom but I had a clear look into the other rooms.  As I was on my computer I looked up to notice that there was some kind of white object hanging in the kitchen, but the moment I saw it I realized it was moving straight for me.  Now in the short amount of time it took for this white "ball" to come at me I remember thinking I wonder if it's a moth or something.  Having been in India for a year now I'm well accustomed to the bugs around here, especially the ones that frequent my room but this was not something I had seen before.  The strange thing about it was that when I saw it all the way back in the kitchen it definitely had some mass to it, despite there being no lights on I could clearly see it from two rooms away, and unlike bugs that fly around pretty erratically this object shot straight from the kitchen like an arrow headed right for me. 

                And even as it comes right for my face it doesn't change trajectory, before I can even move out of the way I see it right next to my eye and feel something soft hit my hair right above my ear.  I remember thinking, damn I've got a bug caught in my hair, although that didn't make sense as I didn't hear any buzzing or wings flapping and despite a frantic search for whatever it was there was absolutely nothing caught in my hair.  Also there was nothing flying around in my room, nothing lying on the ground around my bed where it hit me, no matter where I looked in my small bedroom this white ball was gone as soon as it showed up.  Now you might be thinking something like that could have easily escaped or flown off without my knowledge, but if I'd been able to see it distinctly from two rooms away in the dark you would think I could spot it in my well lit bedroom up close.  Not to mention there was no buzzing sound, nothing.

               I couldn't figure out what it was and I have not seen anything like that before then or afterwards.  And the strange thing was I felt oddly calm about it, when whatever had bumped into my head it was a strange feeling.  I felt a depression in my hair but nothing after that and I remember thinking that it simply felt like someone was trying to get my attention.  A little friendly pat like, 'hey buddy why aren't you paying attention to me?' 

               And that was case #1.

 

Case #2:

               This was maybe a few weeks after the first incident.  I had long since written off what had happened, figuring it was some kind of fluke or perhaps I somehow made it up.  Mostly I just forgot about it, out of mind out of sight. 

               I had brought home a bag of mangoes I bought off the street and placed them on top of my refrigerator, it's pulled far enough away from the walls that no bugs or little rodents can get into open containers so I tend to put sweet items there. 

               Later that day I was again sitting on my bed listening to music with my headphones on.  I can't hear a damn thing going on in the outside world when I wear these so any noises would have gone by unnoticed.  As I was about to get up from my computer I pulled out an earbud and as soon as I did I heard rustling coming from my living room.  I could hear something rummaging around in a plastic bag and it was so loud that I was convinced a rat had somehow gotten into the mangoes I bought that day.  Not only was it loud but it was a constant rustling, it sounded like something wrestling around in a plastic bag. 

               I was not eager to deal with a rat, I had in fact long since worried about this day.  Not that I mind rats, they are preferable to cockroaches any day of the week, but I was never sure how I would get it out of the room without squashing it and getting rat guts everywhere.  While I pondered what to do and looked around for a heavy enough shoe to take with me, the rustling got louder until I distinctly heard a rapid, thud thud thud.  I knew right away what must have happened, the mangoes rolled off the refrigerator taking the plastic bag with them. 

               I readied myself to go into the room fully expecting to find a large, tooth rat, big enough to rival those in NYC.  And what did I find?  Absolutely nothing.  No rat, no plastic bag, nothing on the floor, and the mangoes still sitting pretty right on top of the refrigerator right where I left them.  Despite scouring the small living space there was not only nothing on the ground, there were no other plastic bags save for the one that was sitting on the refrigerator.  And no rat.  Absolutely no explanation for what I heard, nor why everything seemed to happen the second after I took my headphones out, the only time I would be able to hear all this commotion.   

               Though this might seem innocuous enough I couldn't help but be bothered by this; probably because I was mustering up all this strength to go in there and chase a rat only to find everything sitting in perfect order with nothing amiss.  It was incredibly frustrating and felt like someone was playing games with me.

 

Case #3 -

This next one is even more of a mystery to me.  Skip a few more weeks ahead after the mango incident, I was sitting on my bed most likely scouring facebook with my back to the door.  Next to said door is a dresser that I've ended up dumping all kinds of miscellaneous items on top of (a bad habit I have) and one of these was an old foundation bottle I had. 

               I don't remember when I left it there or how it got there but it was just one of those random items that floats around your room until it eventually meets the trashcan.  Anyways, as I said my back was facing that direction so I was unable to see what happened next.  Spread out on some pillows with nothing moving around the room, I all of a sudden heard something hit the ground behind my head and bounce once or twice before coming to a stop.  I look over and that foundation bottle that had been sitting on top of my drawer was now lying in the middle of the ground at least a good  2 feet away from the drawer.  My reaction was just to look at it in pure confusion, I mean how in the hell did that just get to the middle of the room on its own (I knew it hadn't bounced from the bottom of the drawer because I heard it hit the ground right behind my head which was parallel to the middle of the room)?  I thought perhaps it might have been teetering on the edge and finally fell down.  But that didn't make any sense as most of my drawers were slightly pulled out (another bad habit of mine) and if it had merely slipped off the edge it would have landed inside one of them.  Just in case that was what happened I tried to reenact it only to find that even when dangling precariously on the edge it still needed a nudge to fall down and even then it barely made it a few inches away from the drawer. 

               That container hadn't bounced before it hit the middle of the floor, I heard that distinctly because my eyes immediately went to where they heard the first noise which was nowhere near the drawer.  Basically, there was no way it could have gone flying off like that unless someone gave it a good, firm push.  Despite this I still wasn't nervous or scared so much as stumped as to what was going on.  It had been a perfectly normal boring evening and then out of the blue that thing went flying.  The only thing that was somewhat unsettling was that so far everything had been going on in the other rooms, now it seemed my bedroom was starting to have it's own curious episodes.

 

Case #4 -

               Now for the latest case and according to the few I've mentioned this to the most unnerving.  This one is harder to describe simply because the timing of it has gotten muddled around in my head.  But again it started with another boring night, spent with me watching T.V. online and about to take a shower.  I had been procrastinating said shower so I was sitting on the bed for a good hour or so.  Deciding to finally face the inevitable and muster up the courage for an ice cold bucket shower I  felt something on the right side of my body; I can't remember the exact feeling but just that I noticed something felt different.  There were two spots on my right leg that felt peculiar and on my upper body but I'm used to random twinges and aches like this so it didn't leave much of an impression on me.  I got to the bathroom, poured some water over myself and noticed a burning feeling on the right side of my body.  I look down and notice on my right calf three scratches right next to each other, then on my upper thigh three more identical scratches, keep looking up and the same three scratches on my right side and on my upper right arm.  As I'm typing this I'm sure there are those reading that will think, 'holy crap I would freak out!'  But for some reason, either because it just seemed ridiculous to think that someone scratched me or something else, I wasn't really that freaked out by it.  Despite the bright red scratches that were left, they didn't really hurt just burned.  Soon after, maybe like 10 minutes later, the scratches were completely gone.  Not a trace that they had ever been there.   

               Now I have had eczema since I was a little kid and I'm no stranger to scratches.  But this was not the same, to give myself red scratches like that I would have had to dig my fingernails in pretty deep and pretty deliberately.  Whenever I scratch an itch it simply leaves behind all these small white lines, you know when your skin is a bit ashy, but the scratches are so harried and scattered it just looks like a mess.  In no way is it typical to leave three scratches like that.  Also I don't see how I could have done it to myself without noticing, especially in 4 different places on the same side of my body.  They weren't there before I got in my room and they certainly weren't there the hour before I sat on my bed.  I wasn't walking by anything, and there was nothing on my bed that could have given me those scratches. 

               I'm not saying someone or something gave me them, I'm just saying I have no explanation for how they got there or why they would disappear so quickly afterwards.  A scratch like that should stay for a while, I know because when I was younger and my brother and I would get into fights all I could do was dig my fingernails into his skin.  And trust me, those marks don't go away easily.  But I do know this, they don't make me any more nervous than I was before. 

               Despite everything I still don't feel threatened when I'm in my room and I think that's the most important part.  The one current theme running throughout each strange event is the vague sense that someone is trying to get my attention.  Not in an other-worldly way but it's the same when you think you hear someone calling your name and you turn around to see a friend waving at you.  That's the feeling I keep getting from these events. 

என் ஊர் My Native Place

Recently I've been thinking about nationality and what it means for me to be American.  See, there's no possible way you can walk around here without being asked the inevitable question, where are you from?  And while most people from the U.S. will have it pretty easy (unless you speak with an accent, if you are white people will assume you are from the states) because of my ambiguous looks I am constantly getting this question.

              When I answer, I'm from the U.S. , they look at me like they aren't quite sure what that means.  I've thrown them for a loop; what with my dark hair, my dark eyes, and brown skin I am anything but the poster child of America, despite the fact that "minorities" (i.e. brown people) more than make up the majority.  It doesn't help that I tell them I'm teaching Japanese at a woman's college but it does give them a starting point for their next question.

               "Are your parents from Japan?" 

               No siree bob, there is not a single drop of Japanese blood in my veins.  Or Chinese, or Thai, or Nepalese, or Tibetan, or Arabic.  Those are just a few of the many guesses that tend to pop up.  In fact one (drunk) Arabic guy kept following me around slurring, "But you are the most beautiful Arabic woman I have ever seen!"  Somehow my repeated protests of 'I'm MEXICAN' didn't make it past the beer haze.  But then I suppose that's my fault for trying to correct a drunk. 

               The point is people tend to guess everything under the sun except for what I am, Mexican-American.  And what does that even mean?  Do I hold two nationalities?  Nope.  Am I more Mexican than American? Well if I went down to Mexico I'm sure they would make fun of me for my funny spanish.  Yet here in the U.S. it's naturally assumed my parents are immigrants and thus I only have my birth to prove my true "heritage" (despite the fact that Mexicans have been in the Americas for far longer than our European-bred American citizens, we are still being told to go home.  Ahem, we ARE home, that's the joke).  Abroad this idea is even more implicit which is why I can never simply say I'm American. 

No Jazmin, where are you REALLY from?   

Where am I really from?  Well to be perfectly honest I have no idea.  I think the movie Selena put it best (sorry but I'm taking it there). 

               "We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans, and American than the Americans, because our home is right next door."      

               This has always resonated with me.  I know that it's not like there are people running around constantly telling us to prove our culture but I couldn't help feeling like I was never good enough for either group.  This is made even worse when I run into non-native Spanish speakers whose Spanish is more grammatically correct than mine and never fail to spell a word in Spanish correctly.  I can't help but feel an immediate dislike and anger towards them that I know is completely irrational.  I want to scream at them, pull their hair, spit at them and protect my country because as hard as they study they'll never have the ancestry that exists in the blood beneath my skin.  For some reason I feel I have to protect that heritage, yet I know I'm being a hypocrite.  Here I am teaching Japanese despite the fact that I'm not Japanese myself.  Just like those non-native Spanish speakers will never know what it's like to wake up to your parents blasting Vicente Fernandez in the early morning with the smell of burning chiles itching your throat, I will never know what it's like to be Japanese and all that goes with it. 

              

               I realize this all goes back to issues dealing with my heritage and what it means to be a Mexican-American; I still remember coming home from school telling my parents I didn't want to speak Spanish anymore because all the kids in class kept making fun of my brother and me.   I regret that moment more than any other in my life and I don't know who to hate more.  Those kids who laughed at us when we answered questions in Spanish or myself for letting it get to me. 

               Another part of this probably has to do with my difficulties in interacting with my abuelitos.  My abuelo who speaks both English and Spanish I never had a problem with, but with my abuela who only speaks Spanish I always felt like I was missing out on a closer relationship.  I wanted so badly to be able to communicate with her yet whenever my family and I spent time in Vegas I immediately became tongue-tied and nervous.  It was like I was being cross-examined by my own family and if I failed it meant I should be kicked out, although this was an absolute falsity only existing in my mind.

               You might be wondering why on earth I'm discussing this on a blog meant to be about India.  But it is in fact India that has re-awoken this turmoil inside of me.  Every time someone asks that dreaded question, "Where are you REALLY from?" I revert back to that angry child who wants to claw someone's eyes out.  The simple answer is, I don't know.  For the past 4 years I've been spending at least 2 of them abroad and the more I think about it the more I realize I might not find myself gravitating back to the U.S. anytime soon.  Do I really belong there even though so many of my fellow citizens would be more than happy to see me gone? 

               Do I belong to Mexico, a country that I've not spent more than a few weeks at a time in?  In government-terms that would be a definite no.  Even culturally, how could I say that Mexico is my native place despite never having had the chance to experience life there?  I am simply floating in a limbo of nationalities.  My passport say's American but my skin say's otherwise. Perhaps this is what globalization does to us in the end, simply scatters us to the point where we can't recognize ourselves any longer.

               The other reason I've become so introspective is because if I'm not truly a Mexicana than that means I'm simply American and that terrifies me more than anything else in the world.  In India they are constantly telling me there is a reason for everything they do.  There is a reason for the bindi, it cools the forehead (and in a place like Madurai you can bet every little thing helps); there's a reason they wear their anklets and a reason why they wear gold.  They don't just do these things because it's the cool thing to do but because their history has taught them.  They know how to utilize the heat to their advantage and what the best meals are to cook and so on and so forth.  America simply doesn't have that; partially because we are too young but also because we are so incredibly diverse there's no way we can decide on one heritage.  That's why we hyphenate everything, Mexican-American, Indian-American, Italian-American, we need some kind of identifier so we know how to categorize people.   

               But you see I want that lineage.  I need those ancestors and all the collective knowledge they've gained because without it I'm nothing but a blip.  I need something to teach to those who come after me and a firm identity in which to stamp them with.  And if I don't belong to Mexico and I don't belong to the U.S. then where do I belong?

               Perhaps this is why I am constantly on the move, always wanting to see as many new cities as possible.  I'm subconsciously searching for the place I feel a connection with and now I understand that's how I've viewed languages.  I've never wanted to learn languages that I have no interest in.  For example people kept telling me to learn Chinese but I had no desire to do so despite how beneficial it might have been.  I wanted to learn Japanese because for some reason or another something about it resonated with me.  The sound was familiar and comforting.  Maybe I'm waiting for someone to ground me to one country, I'm not sure.  I suppose I'll just have to keep searching and hope that someday that search takes me back home a mi gente.