Jagerri

710pm 9.9.8



Jagerri is a small village in Karnataka near the Tamil Nandu border. And is where I stayed for 3 days.



I was privileged to stay in the guest quarters of the parish priest here, Fr. John Bosco. The parish had a primary school, highschool, convent, girls hostel(with the convent), and a boys hostel associated with it.



They boys were fun, and were a relief for me, as I haven’t had a chance to work with kids in quite a while. I was awkward in relating to them (in part due to the language thing), though I eventually was able to teach them the finer points of slap-hands and they convinced me to sing. Of course, I chose the only song that I can pull off at a moments notice, Salve Regina (which is one of the choices for the song at night prayer).




I was really excited to be able to observe the funeral rituals of another closely related culture (Indian Catholic vs American Catholic). It’s one of those things that you can’t really ask to observe without feeling awkward, something you really wish didn’t have to happen, and something that is really a cultural experience. The funeral was very similar to an American funeral. It began with a procession to the church that was led by a band playing not quite sad, but definitely not joyous music. The mass was said, as everyone (as usual) sat on the cement church floor, with the casket in center “aisle”.



The casket was open, and draped with many traditional Indian flowers arrangements. The lid was suspended above it, by 2x2s nailed to the coffin.



After the mass a procession was made to the nearby church graveyard. Words were said, and prayers. Flowers were thrown on the casket. Then starting with the priests, everyone took some of the dirt and tossed it on the coffin in the grave, symbolically and actually burying a beloved one.



(The foil wrapped balls that are part of Indian flower arrangements, left over from the flowers being thrown on the casket)

The next day (the second full day, and the third day after the grandmother’s death), They held a memorial mass and then a prayer at the grave, which I was not a part of, but which I’m told is very important, along with the final memorial mass at 40 days.



That day, I was travelling around with Fr. Bosco, and had my first “tender coconut”. You see in India, there are two primary types of coconut, the brown ones that we know and love in the US, and then the green ones, which I’ve come to love lately.
The coconuts were cut fresh from the tree, and then a guy with a hand-scythe skillfully cut open the top, just enough that there was an inch opening, and no juice was lost.



It was an unexpected treat, but as Fr. Bosco was visiting one of the satellite parishes (what we may call a mission parish), the people felt the need to honor him, and his guest, and the two other priests who happened to show up on a visit from Tamil Nandu to one of the priest’s parents house.


(The catechism class at another satellite parish)

Later we (Fr. Bosco, Fr. Arul and I) hopped on a motorcycle and I was treated to a visit of the two local and very impressive waterfalls. Fr. Arul says it’s only rival is Niagara, and though I’ve learned to be skeptical of many Indian patriotic claims, I wouldn’t doubt this one.


(The “baby” falls)


(Three on a motorcycle)


(The left part of the “daddy” falls)


(The right part of the “daddy” falls)

I really liked the falls, though I didn’t quite like the numb thighs and butt that come with riding on a motorcycle (that was the longest motorcycle ride I’ve ever had).

The next day, after morning mass and breakfast, we left; me to Mysore, and then Fr. Arul onwards to Kutta.


(ducks)