On the second to last evening I was in Ganiyari, I ran into Anil, who speaks only a little English, but is very sweet. I was looking for him to track down a scale to borrow to weigh my luggage, and when I found him he pulled me onto a motorcycle to make the short trip into town. When we arrived I found out he wanted to buy me a shirt! A shirt costs a bit more than a day's wages, so I protested, but it became very clear that I was not allowed to refuse. Ganiyari is a small village, and there were 3 shops available, and we looked at all of them.
Finding a shirt in my size, of the appropriate price and quality, and most importantly style, was difficult. The common style in the villages is to have random designs and English words embroidered across any and every part of the shirt or jeans. That may be fine if you don't know the words, but it isn't anything I could ever wear in America
On that last day, I was given several other gifts. A shoulder bag from one of the doctors, a pen and pocket diary, a pen and large diary, a picture frame, and a hand-picked bouquet of flowers. The coolest gift I received was a "pandit cup" given by the Ayurvedic doctor, Dr. Surabi, and her husband Mahesh, who is an agricultural outreach worker. She and her husband are both from the Brahmin caste, which is the priestly caste (though neither are priests). The cup was a copper cup, 20-25 years old that had been given to her husbands father, who I believe was a priest. Mahesh was out of town, so the cup was presented to me only by Dr. Surabi.
Saying goodbye to everyone was a little uncomfortable. Many people told me what a good man I was and how they would never forget me. Being how it is unusual for an outsider, especially a white one, to come and stay for long enough to get to know them, I certainly believe the second part, but on the whole I didn't know how to respond appropriately. Mostly I just smiled and said that I would remember them too. I think for the most part that is true.
