With A Deep Breath...
June 01, 2011
Hello my friends!
So, if it wasn’t completely obvious by now, I’ve decided to make a blog this summer, to document my experiences in Bangalore, India. As many of you know, I’ll be working in a non-governmental organization (NGO) called, Swagath Education Community Action (SECA), for the next few months. This start-up NGO, run by Raghu and Roshni Hegde aims to, in their own words, “work with children, families and communities to reduce urban social and economic disparities." They, "believe in supporting education, health and employability goals to provide opportunities for positive change.” I’ll be joining their staff for the duration of my trip, to help teach English to children living in a slum area in Tilaknagar (a district in Bangalore), as well as help the NGO with some basic business-oriented organization, such as a brief videography of the children and the community.
Since you all know me, you probably get that this is something I’ve very passionate about, and what I want to make as my life’s work as well. As much as I love my second country, India is a nation that has high rates of infectious diseases, gender-inequalities, rudimentary environmental sustainability, extreme cases of malnutrition, a lack of equal education…to sum it up--for one of the oldest civilizations in the world, India has a lot more “growing up” to do. From where I stand, it’s through grassroots organizations like SECA, programs that we can really see a difference as well as betterment in the lives of many of the improvised. I have a lot of faith in the NGO I’m joining this summer, for the core reason that programs run by the people, for their own people creates a better understanding, and more sustainable development solutions.
All that being said: I’m not awfully clever, and if you've ever heard me stammer through a joke, you know I'm not funny—and in fact I’ve always shirked away from publically sharing anything that I write (granted I wrote for a local newspaper…but I only shared a few choice articles with my family, and assumed the regular readers would, at most, glance at the long, foreign name in the heading and ignore me). But for once, I really want people to listen to me, through my words. This is more than just a silly girl, who’s awfully excited about a few weeks in India. I want to write about a country that I love, problems that I want to see given the attention and awareness they deserve, and above all: the people. Everyone has a story, but not everyone gets to share it, and- even if it’s only through my eyes and my connections—I want to share as many stories of the people that I meet as I can.
Besides the more serious tone, of course, you'll probably get a healthy dose of my own masaala...There's always more than enough village excursions, random coincidences, and, of course shopping adventures (hey...I'm in India, and it's 44.8 Rs. to the dollar) to describe! Hope you don't mind it all!
On that note...with a deep breath, I'll write what I can to you; and please do keep in touch with me! It's off to India!
Hello my friends!
So, if it wasn’t completely obvious by now, I’ve decided to make a blog this summer, to document my experiences in Bangalore, India. As many of you know, I’ll be working in a non-governmental organization (NGO) called, Swagath Education Community Action (SECA), for the next few months. This start-up NGO, run by Raghu and Roshni Hegde aims to, in their own words, “work with children, families and communities to reduce urban social and economic disparities." They, "believe in supporting education, health and employability goals to provide opportunities for positive change.” I’ll be joining their staff for the duration of my trip, to help teach English to children living in a slum area in Tilaknagar (a district in Bangalore), as well as help the NGO with some basic business-oriented organization, such as a brief videography of the children and the community.
Since you all know me, you probably get that this is something I’ve very passionate about, and what I want to make as my life’s work as well. As much as I love my second country, India is a nation that has high rates of infectious diseases, gender-inequalities, rudimentary environmental sustainability, extreme cases of malnutrition, a lack of equal education…to sum it up--for one of the oldest civilizations in the world, India has a lot more “growing up” to do. From where I stand, it’s through grassroots organizations like SECA, programs that we can really see a difference as well as betterment in the lives of many of the improvised. I have a lot of faith in the NGO I’m joining this summer, for the core reason that programs run by the people, for their own people creates a better understanding, and more sustainable development solutions.
All that being said: I’m not awfully clever, and if you've ever heard me stammer through a joke, you know I'm not funny—and in fact I’ve always shirked away from publically sharing anything that I write (granted I wrote for a local newspaper…but I only shared a few choice articles with my family, and assumed the regular readers would, at most, glance at the long, foreign name in the heading and ignore me). But for once, I really want people to listen to me, through my words. This is more than just a silly girl, who’s awfully excited about a few weeks in India. I want to write about a country that I love, problems that I want to see given the attention and awareness they deserve, and above all: the people. Everyone has a story, but not everyone gets to share it, and- even if it’s only through my eyes and my connections—I want to share as many stories of the people that I meet as I can.
Besides the more serious tone, of course, you'll probably get a healthy dose of my own masaala...There's always more than enough village excursions, random coincidences, and, of course shopping adventures (hey...I'm in India, and it's 44.8 Rs. to the dollar) to describe! Hope you don't mind it all!
On that note...with a deep breath, I'll write what I can to you; and please do keep in touch with me! It's off to India!
Finally...India
June 04, 2011
I’m in India!
The flight flew by, of course, in a hazy combination of awaking groggily and disoriented from naps (only to fall right back asleep), dry bread and butter, blandly counting the minutes and miles till our destination, and staring out the window for what seemed like eternity…just watching wisps of vapor and castles of clouds float by…but nothing matches the relief (after three airports, twenty and a half hours of flight and six hours of lay-overs) of arriving in Bangalore! It’s been five years since I last came here—and it has changed SO MUCH! It hits you as soon as you step out of the terminal, into the brand new Bangalore airport (easily comparable with DIA) with its clean marble floors and big screen TV’s displaying flight and baggage information. I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, it’s not the happily chaotic India I remember! As an attempt to fight our impending jet-lag that afternoon, my mother (who is going to be in India for a few weeks before she goes back) and I went to another new, and much improved Bangalore edifice- the Mantri Mall in Malleswaram. To all my Coloradan’s out there, it’s about the size of one and a half Flatiron malls put together…you should see this place! TONS of classy shops (and not just Indian shops, but even American, British, Taiwanese, Italian…they have it all!), and a huge food court (which, other than for a single Chinese restaurant has only “authentic South Indian food”)…oh, and it even has Taco Bell and KFC! Only difference? There are hundreds of more people in the Indian mall. An ample representation of India, don’t you think? Global and yet still so blatantly Indian.
Other than that, the next few days will be spent visiting temples, as always (especially the village temples), and seeing my beautiful family!...I mainly do want to write about SECA, but I couldn’t resist talking about India a little! :)
Anyways, I’ll definitely try to come to this lovely, stuffy internet café as often as I can to write once in a while…I’ve already taken a million pictures, but I’ll upload only a choice few on this site (which you can access by clicking on the pictures tab). Pictures are worth a thousand words, anyways, right? :) The SECA pictures are yet to come—I get to meet Raghu and Roshini (and possibly the children) day-after tomorrow…(and it might be a little while till I feel like the children are comfortable enough with me to click their pictures without distracting them)
Till later, then, my friends…ciao!
I’m in India!
The flight flew by, of course, in a hazy combination of awaking groggily and disoriented from naps (only to fall right back asleep), dry bread and butter, blandly counting the minutes and miles till our destination, and staring out the window for what seemed like eternity…just watching wisps of vapor and castles of clouds float by…but nothing matches the relief (after three airports, twenty and a half hours of flight and six hours of lay-overs) of arriving in Bangalore! It’s been five years since I last came here—and it has changed SO MUCH! It hits you as soon as you step out of the terminal, into the brand new Bangalore airport (easily comparable with DIA) with its clean marble floors and big screen TV’s displaying flight and baggage information. I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, it’s not the happily chaotic India I remember! As an attempt to fight our impending jet-lag that afternoon, my mother (who is going to be in India for a few weeks before she goes back) and I went to another new, and much improved Bangalore edifice- the Mantri Mall in Malleswaram. To all my Coloradan’s out there, it’s about the size of one and a half Flatiron malls put together…you should see this place! TONS of classy shops (and not just Indian shops, but even American, British, Taiwanese, Italian…they have it all!), and a huge food court (which, other than for a single Chinese restaurant has only “authentic South Indian food”)…oh, and it even has Taco Bell and KFC! Only difference? There are hundreds of more people in the Indian mall. An ample representation of India, don’t you think? Global and yet still so blatantly Indian.
Other than that, the next few days will be spent visiting temples, as always (especially the village temples), and seeing my beautiful family!...I mainly do want to write about SECA, but I couldn’t resist talking about India a little! :)
Anyways, I’ll definitely try to come to this lovely, stuffy internet café as often as I can to write once in a while…I’ve already taken a million pictures, but I’ll upload only a choice few on this site (which you can access by clicking on the pictures tab). Pictures are worth a thousand words, anyways, right? :) The SECA pictures are yet to come—I get to meet Raghu and Roshini (and possibly the children) day-after tomorrow…(and it might be a little while till I feel like the children are comfortable enough with me to click their pictures without distracting them)
Till later, then, my friends…ciao!
Think About the Children!
June 06, 2011
I finally got to go to the NGO and meet some of the lovely children that I’ve been hearing about for months now! Before I begin (and since I’m SURE I’ll give you a detailed description of the kiddos in later posts) I’ll tell you some of the details about SECA and the children I got from Roshini and Raghu in the “crash course” style I was informed in first (if you don’t want to read the demographics, etc., you could always skip towards the bottom of this entry):
Well, to start out, unlike the slums that we typically picture, with clumsy huts, and tents made out of a hideous blue plastic, the slum dwellers in Tilaknagar’s homes are a little more dignified. In fact, after the slum’s leader, a man named Krishna, took charge of the area with his political connections a few years ago, the slum dwellers--with promises of votes towards the vying political party--were able to secure a sort of shanty-apartment complex. Although it’s nowhere near perfect, it at least has basic sanitation, and public facilities (the power of politics!). Within this apartment-slum complex, there are about 150 rooms in one building, and nearly 50 in each of the next two buildings, with each room housing four to five family members each.
The children’s homes are typically run by a single-mom, or are simply a female operated household. The fathers, most of whom have alcoholism problems (which are, of course, inevitably tied with domestic violence cases and abuse of the children), typically do not have stable jobs. Although there are a few fathers who are aware of their children’s education, and make the effort to maintain a decent family life, they are a much rarer occurrence than the typical middle-class family would be privileged with. The mothers are mainly sweepers, housemaids, servants, cleaners of local government buildings, homes, and even city workers. Their salaries range from about Rs. 1000-3000 per month (about $22-66 per month—which is obviously on the border of the typical $1 (US) per day standard set by the United Nations that measures the poverty levels of developing nations—or as my grandfather aptly puts it, “what could you buy here with only that much?”) .
Demographically speaking, the slum-dwellers are all from Tamilnadu, a state just west of Karnataka (the state I’m currently in), and are second or third-generation Tamillians. Along with their English classes, they speak Tamil, as well as Kannada, and are from either tribal families and/or are Dalits (the “lower caste” people who are typically associated with a much lower income level). There are only a couple Muslims in the slums; about 80% are Hindus, while the rest are recently-converted Christians (for religious reasons as well as personal-benefits that were a product of the conversion). Many of the children in the SECA programs are related as siblings, and, being neighbors in such close quarters, consider each other as family (or as the children themselves told me, “we are all family!”). From a brief introduction of the kids, I’ve gathered that the group that I will be working with range between 4th standard (4th graders) to P.U.C. (12th graders). All the children attend local, public, government schools in the area, and addition to the night SECA English courses.
The classroom, which is probably a little bigger than my bedroom at home, is a government-run preschool by day, and is used as SECA in the evenings. Along with a small chalkboard, and a fractured wall with peeling paint, There are a few tables and chairs, and posters lopsidedly hung around the room of “A—APPLE B—BALLOON and C—CAT…” and a few colorful Kannada banners that I can’t read….
As a part of their community action programs, and in light of the living situations of the children, SECA also offers the parents and guardians help with their children’s education in the form of advice, and help obtaining academic program and scholarship information—or any personal inquiries that the families might have about their children. They also hold separate health and hygiene courses for women ages 18-25, most of whom are married and/or have children about menstrual health, birthing, the nutrition that their children need and how to provide them with it (according the a pediatrician who did physicals on the children, most of them have a Vitamin A deficiency—an extremely common nutrient that should not actually be difficult to provide). There are health fairs that the SECA community participates in, with help from government-run medical facilities (not the best, or most reliable, but it’s better than nothing!) Through these programs, they try to infuse their education as a part of the community, to help the children obtain the environment they need to succeed as well.
As for the children… ooh! The children! They are ADORABLE! They have this all pervasive energy that just fills the small room!…you can’t even help but smile the whole time! The boys were much less shy upon seeing me compared to the girls that took a little longer to warm up to me… As soon as I walked into the classroom, a few boys stopped me enthusiastically, waving, saying, “hello Madam!” with their bright eyes shining and little waves. I must have been introduced one too many children just with their heavily-accented, “What is your name, Madam? I’m so-and-so!” ‘s… I wish I could remember all their names, but my teaspoon of a memory couldn’t pick up all 35 or so students in a single meeting. We instead sat in a circle on the floor, while the children went around telling me their names, their ages, and something interesting about themselves (trust me—most of them LOVE playing cricket. I think it’s in the Indian blood!). I found two children that aspired to be doctors and one that wants to do engineering as well. One boy described his day job to me—an on the spot fix-it mechanic, who helps maintain cars, while another girl proudly announced that she just started learning the veena (an Indian stringed instrument). When it got to my turn, I decided I needed to tell them something about myself that they might be able to connect with, so I chose to tell them that I know Bharatanatyam (the classical South Indian dance style). Definitely a good idea! :) So many girls decided t o talk to me after that, to tell me that they were interested in dance, that they liked to sing and dance, and would I come dance with them sometime? So sweet!! …oh, and I have to get used to be called “madam” all the time. I love the respect, but it’s something I have to accustom my taste to…
All the children have darker skin, and these enormous smiles plastered on their faces. Most of the girls were dressed in Indian salwar suits, while the boys all wore t-shirts. They’re pretty much all supper skinny—though many of them are taller than me (which is weird-- “talking up” my future students). One girl (I think her name is Pryia) had this cute habit of suddenly forgetting to speak in English and automatically switching the Kannada in the middle of a story she was passionately narrating, then covering her mouth with both her hands and her duppatta (scarf), giggling, and going back to translate everything she said into English again. Another boy (with possibly the prettiest eyes) who probably goes up to my stomach, apparently has the nickname, “snake” because of the way his hair folds up in this odd curly way…They were absolutely shocked that I didn’t have an IPL cricket team that I cared for (but were a bit pacified that I knew who the WWE “The Rock” was!)…Man! I can’t wait to meet these kids more, and really get the chance to learn about them!
As for Raghu and Roshini…I just have so much respect for them. I felt like they treat each of these children like their own children—scolding the boys who were teasing the girls next to them, Raghu with his arm around one trouble-maker the entire time, Roshni telling them that they had to give her their report cards. I am quite in awe of those two, and the other SECA teachers! It takes some incredible people to do what they are doing, and I really want to be that kind of human, if you know what I mean…
Anyways…I look so forward to this summer! I feel like being with these children would almost make YOU feel more alive!
More later, friends! :)
Well, to start out, unlike the slums that we typically picture, with clumsy huts, and tents made out of a hideous blue plastic, the slum dwellers in Tilaknagar’s homes are a little more dignified. In fact, after the slum’s leader, a man named Krishna, took charge of the area with his political connections a few years ago, the slum dwellers--with promises of votes towards the vying political party--were able to secure a sort of shanty-apartment complex. Although it’s nowhere near perfect, it at least has basic sanitation, and public facilities (the power of politics!). Within this apartment-slum complex, there are about 150 rooms in one building, and nearly 50 in each of the next two buildings, with each room housing four to five family members each.
The children’s homes are typically run by a single-mom, or are simply a female operated household. The fathers, most of whom have alcoholism problems (which are, of course, inevitably tied with domestic violence cases and abuse of the children), typically do not have stable jobs. Although there are a few fathers who are aware of their children’s education, and make the effort to maintain a decent family life, they are a much rarer occurrence than the typical middle-class family would be privileged with. The mothers are mainly sweepers, housemaids, servants, cleaners of local government buildings, homes, and even city workers. Their salaries range from about Rs. 1000-3000 per month (about $22-66 per month—which is obviously on the border of the typical $1 (US) per day standard set by the United Nations that measures the poverty levels of developing nations—or as my grandfather aptly puts it, “what could you buy here with only that much?”) .
Demographically speaking, the slum-dwellers are all from Tamilnadu, a state just west of Karnataka (the state I’m currently in), and are second or third-generation Tamillians. Along with their English classes, they speak Tamil, as well as Kannada, and are from either tribal families and/or are Dalits (the “lower caste” people who are typically associated with a much lower income level). There are only a couple Muslims in the slums; about 80% are Hindus, while the rest are recently-converted Christians (for religious reasons as well as personal-benefits that were a product of the conversion). Many of the children in the SECA programs are related as siblings, and, being neighbors in such close quarters, consider each other as family (or as the children themselves told me, “we are all family!”). From a brief introduction of the kids, I’ve gathered that the group that I will be working with range between 4th standard (4th graders) to P.U.C. (12th graders). All the children attend local, public, government schools in the area, and addition to the night SECA English courses.
The classroom, which is probably a little bigger than my bedroom at home, is a government-run preschool by day, and is used as SECA in the evenings. Along with a small chalkboard, and a fractured wall with peeling paint, There are a few tables and chairs, and posters lopsidedly hung around the room of “A—APPLE B—BALLOON and C—CAT…” and a few colorful Kannada banners that I can’t read….
As a part of their community action programs, and in light of the living situations of the children, SECA also offers the parents and guardians help with their children’s education in the form of advice, and help obtaining academic program and scholarship information—or any personal inquiries that the families might have about their children. They also hold separate health and hygiene courses for women ages 18-25, most of whom are married and/or have children about menstrual health, birthing, the nutrition that their children need and how to provide them with it (according the a pediatrician who did physicals on the children, most of them have a Vitamin A deficiency—an extremely common nutrient that should not actually be difficult to provide). There are health fairs that the SECA community participates in, with help from government-run medical facilities (not the best, or most reliable, but it’s better than nothing!) Through these programs, they try to infuse their education as a part of the community, to help the children obtain the environment they need to succeed as well.
As for the children… ooh! The children! They are ADORABLE! They have this all pervasive energy that just fills the small room!…you can’t even help but smile the whole time! The boys were much less shy upon seeing me compared to the girls that took a little longer to warm up to me… As soon as I walked into the classroom, a few boys stopped me enthusiastically, waving, saying, “hello Madam!” with their bright eyes shining and little waves. I must have been introduced one too many children just with their heavily-accented, “What is your name, Madam? I’m so-and-so!” ‘s… I wish I could remember all their names, but my teaspoon of a memory couldn’t pick up all 35 or so students in a single meeting. We instead sat in a circle on the floor, while the children went around telling me their names, their ages, and something interesting about themselves (trust me—most of them LOVE playing cricket. I think it’s in the Indian blood!). I found two children that aspired to be doctors and one that wants to do engineering as well. One boy described his day job to me—an on the spot fix-it mechanic, who helps maintain cars, while another girl proudly announced that she just started learning the veena (an Indian stringed instrument). When it got to my turn, I decided I needed to tell them something about myself that they might be able to connect with, so I chose to tell them that I know Bharatanatyam (the classical South Indian dance style). Definitely a good idea! :) So many girls decided t o talk to me after that, to tell me that they were interested in dance, that they liked to sing and dance, and would I come dance with them sometime? So sweet!! …oh, and I have to get used to be called “madam” all the time. I love the respect, but it’s something I have to accustom my taste to…
All the children have darker skin, and these enormous smiles plastered on their faces. Most of the girls were dressed in Indian salwar suits, while the boys all wore t-shirts. They’re pretty much all supper skinny—though many of them are taller than me (which is weird-- “talking up” my future students). One girl (I think her name is Pryia) had this cute habit of suddenly forgetting to speak in English and automatically switching the Kannada in the middle of a story she was passionately narrating, then covering her mouth with both her hands and her duppatta (scarf), giggling, and going back to translate everything she said into English again. Another boy (with possibly the prettiest eyes) who probably goes up to my stomach, apparently has the nickname, “snake” because of the way his hair folds up in this odd curly way…They were absolutely shocked that I didn’t have an IPL cricket team that I cared for (but were a bit pacified that I knew who the WWE “The Rock” was!)…Man! I can’t wait to meet these kids more, and really get the chance to learn about them!
As for Raghu and Roshini…I just have so much respect for them. I felt like they treat each of these children like their own children—scolding the boys who were teasing the girls next to them, Raghu with his arm around one trouble-maker the entire time, Roshni telling them that they had to give her their report cards. I am quite in awe of those two, and the other SECA teachers! It takes some incredible people to do what they are doing, and I really want to be that kind of human, if you know what I mean…
Anyways…I look so forward to this summer! I feel like being with these children would almost make YOU feel more alive!
More later, friends! :)
"If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain."
-Emily Dickinson
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain."
-Emily Dickinson
Random Musings Part I...
June 08, 2011
To go to my class, there is about a thirty to forty-five minute drive that I have to commute. Besides making halting conversation with the driver in my bad Kannada (I have to spend my time somehow!), I end up seeing all these little, fascinating things…like the grandeur of weddings. Oh they are beautiful! Lights and flowers everywhere, the music playing…even though I want a itty-bitty wedding with only my close family and friends one day, it really makes you smile!...and some jewelry store has billboards all over the city with the phrase “different cultures, the same emotions” with scenes of different weddings all over India (like a South Indian wedding, a Christian wedding, a Rajasthani wedding, etc.)—it’s actually really cute! (strikes a chord with the “Bollywood” in me!)...and I feel like I’ve seen so many people with these striking profiles on these drives. Seriously, I could make a photo book called, “Faces of India” or something, with just pictures of people who catch my eye with some fascinating little something that …it’d have students, and monks, and construction workers, and burqa-clad women, and guys in suits, and flower selling girls, and high-society ladies, and villagers, and…oh! So many people! Too bad I neither have the means nor the guts to stop people in the middle of the street and ask them if I can take their pictures…
So in journalism they have this pithy, sarcastic little statement: “if it bleeds it leads”--as in, if the news is sensational enough, with blood, drama or sex scandals, the public WILL want to hear it, and, hell, you’ll make a ton more profit off of that sort of news. I think Indians take it to a whole ‘nother level though. Like, on the Kannada news channel, there was a story of a young elephant who was separated from its mother in Mysore, and found itself far from its forest reserve home, in the actual city. It was frightening to watch the footage that spectators took. The child-elephant, poor thing, was terrified of being alone in a foreign place, and with people running away from it screaming or throwing stones at it. In its agitation, it knocked over scooters, rampaged buildings, killed a cow (by simply lifting it up with its trunk and dropping it-freaky), and worst footage of all—it killed a man. Someone caught the entire murder, with the elephant picking up the man as if it were a rag doll and tossing him back and forth, dashing him against stone steps, and finally easily tossing his body away before romping away from the scene (now imagine if the mother elephant was in the city, looking for her child…). It was scary to see…but I was almost ashamed of the media coverage. They seemed to think it appropriate to put this weird drumming music in the background of the footage. It’s not a TV show, or staged—this was REAL LIFE people! Treat it with some human dignity! Even the newspaper layouts seem kind of made by an amateur at times, and I find myself catching mistakes in it…I’m not saying all the journalism is bad over here…but they could seriously improve most of it…
You know what’s kind of nice about being in India? I’m literally this one little drop in a sea of a billion. I had this weird epiphany of belonging all of a sudden, when we were walking in a park in Malleswaram this evening, called the “Sanky Tank” (apparently it’s named after a road. I personally think it sounds like someone lost a bet or something), along with tons of other people. Little old men with canes, middle aged housewives with saris and mismatched tennis shoes, and a surprising amount of young couples (who even held hands once in a while. I know that sounds like a completely mundane information, but seeing that in India is actually really surprising to me. I can’t ever remember seeing that before!)… Maybe I’ve just been in Boulder too long, with the perfectly skinny white girls, but I suddenly realized—I fit in here entirely. I’m the same height, the same weight; I have the same Indian-woman curves, the same long, black hair, I’m the same shade of brown…yes, there are those little differences, but in the big picture, they hardly seem to matter. I’m just like everyone else here without even trying; and it’s somewhat comforting. Of course, the fact that I’m an ABCD is equally pronounced. It’s the little things…when anyone speaks to me in English, I automatically reply in the same, and they next to never understand what I say on the first try; or how I’m still super excited to take pictures of things like the heaping vegetable bounty in the outdoor markets, or monkeys at the temple…Damn. Guess I’ll always be stuck between the two, right? At least I have company!
As per tradition- when I arrive in India, I have to go to a) the bakery to get those delectable little eggless cakes, b) some sort of clothing store(s) and, most importantly, c) the bookstore, for a stock of books I can read while in India, and re-read about a billion times more back home…So, inevitably, I’ve finished a couple Chetan Bagath books while being here—“Five Point Someone” (what the Bollywood hit, “3 Idiots” was based off of) and “A Night in the Call Center”. They are both fantastic! Bhagath’s books aren’t anything close to literary genius—in fact they are written almost haphazardly, like the author was just typing a really long email to a friend—but in that comfortable, amicable sort of writing style, he can really give you a great read! If you’re bored, or have time, I highly recommend it! It’s totally worth it!...
Man, the rain here is wonderfullll! If there’s any reason to love the tropics (besides the fact that my feet look hideous with all the mosquito bites I’ve collected. Haha?) it’s the rains that come so suddenly…it’s like this perfect sort of shower just when it’s getting a bit too hot. Just stepping outside in it is amazing! And watching people huddled under their umbrellas wither avoiding it or basking in it (depending on the age, really), is equally amusing. Monsoon season is so cool!
Ok…those are my random musings for now. :) I guarantee you can expect many more to come…hope you’re all doing well!
So in journalism they have this pithy, sarcastic little statement: “if it bleeds it leads”--as in, if the news is sensational enough, with blood, drama or sex scandals, the public WILL want to hear it, and, hell, you’ll make a ton more profit off of that sort of news. I think Indians take it to a whole ‘nother level though. Like, on the Kannada news channel, there was a story of a young elephant who was separated from its mother in Mysore, and found itself far from its forest reserve home, in the actual city. It was frightening to watch the footage that spectators took. The child-elephant, poor thing, was terrified of being alone in a foreign place, and with people running away from it screaming or throwing stones at it. In its agitation, it knocked over scooters, rampaged buildings, killed a cow (by simply lifting it up with its trunk and dropping it-freaky), and worst footage of all—it killed a man. Someone caught the entire murder, with the elephant picking up the man as if it were a rag doll and tossing him back and forth, dashing him against stone steps, and finally easily tossing his body away before romping away from the scene (now imagine if the mother elephant was in the city, looking for her child…). It was scary to see…but I was almost ashamed of the media coverage. They seemed to think it appropriate to put this weird drumming music in the background of the footage. It’s not a TV show, or staged—this was REAL LIFE people! Treat it with some human dignity! Even the newspaper layouts seem kind of made by an amateur at times, and I find myself catching mistakes in it…I’m not saying all the journalism is bad over here…but they could seriously improve most of it…
You know what’s kind of nice about being in India? I’m literally this one little drop in a sea of a billion. I had this weird epiphany of belonging all of a sudden, when we were walking in a park in Malleswaram this evening, called the “Sanky Tank” (apparently it’s named after a road. I personally think it sounds like someone lost a bet or something), along with tons of other people. Little old men with canes, middle aged housewives with saris and mismatched tennis shoes, and a surprising amount of young couples (who even held hands once in a while. I know that sounds like a completely mundane information, but seeing that in India is actually really surprising to me. I can’t ever remember seeing that before!)… Maybe I’ve just been in Boulder too long, with the perfectly skinny white girls, but I suddenly realized—I fit in here entirely. I’m the same height, the same weight; I have the same Indian-woman curves, the same long, black hair, I’m the same shade of brown…yes, there are those little differences, but in the big picture, they hardly seem to matter. I’m just like everyone else here without even trying; and it’s somewhat comforting. Of course, the fact that I’m an ABCD is equally pronounced. It’s the little things…when anyone speaks to me in English, I automatically reply in the same, and they next to never understand what I say on the first try; or how I’m still super excited to take pictures of things like the heaping vegetable bounty in the outdoor markets, or monkeys at the temple…Damn. Guess I’ll always be stuck between the two, right? At least I have company!
As per tradition- when I arrive in India, I have to go to a) the bakery to get those delectable little eggless cakes, b) some sort of clothing store(s) and, most importantly, c) the bookstore, for a stock of books I can read while in India, and re-read about a billion times more back home…So, inevitably, I’ve finished a couple Chetan Bagath books while being here—“Five Point Someone” (what the Bollywood hit, “3 Idiots” was based off of) and “A Night in the Call Center”. They are both fantastic! Bhagath’s books aren’t anything close to literary genius—in fact they are written almost haphazardly, like the author was just typing a really long email to a friend—but in that comfortable, amicable sort of writing style, he can really give you a great read! If you’re bored, or have time, I highly recommend it! It’s totally worth it!...
Man, the rain here is wonderfullll! If there’s any reason to love the tropics (besides the fact that my feet look hideous with all the mosquito bites I’ve collected. Haha?) it’s the rains that come so suddenly…it’s like this perfect sort of shower just when it’s getting a bit too hot. Just stepping outside in it is amazing! And watching people huddled under their umbrellas wither avoiding it or basking in it (depending on the age, really), is equally amusing. Monsoon season is so cool!
Ok…those are my random musings for now. :) I guarantee you can expect many more to come…hope you’re all doing well!
Superstars and Mimics
June 10, 2011
Typically, I don’t see myself as the “kid” person—more like the exact opposite. While my mother and brother seem to have this genetic children-magnet sort of thing that makes children automatically trust and love them, it usually takes me bloody ages to friend kids…or even get past the stage where I just give them awkward smiles and pats on their back as I rack my brains of something I can talk to them about. But these slum kids are truly the warmest little guys, ever! I don’t even feel like I have to try with them, because they already, without even knowing me, accept me, and for some reason- like me! As I walk up to the classroom from the street, I hear these children yell from the steps of the classroom, “Ma’am! Ma’am!” like I’m some sort of superstar (not kidding: a few boys actually asked for my autograph). I can’t wait to climb the stairs and give them a hug or just talk to them before class…For children who seem to grow up with such little in their lives, these kids have a wealth of just this all around happiness running through their blood!
So, so far, I’ve taught the youngest children, and the oldest. I’ll tell you a little bit about both. The youngest kids were studying adjectives when I arrived, and we had a “mini-quiz” set by Nagashree (another teacher of SECA…who’s heavy lidded eyes and sharp jaw-line make her look a bit like Konkana Sharma, in my opinion). The kids had to write down words to describe things like “lion” or “family”, while I helped them with words, spellings, meanings…those sorts of things. A few of them struggled a bit, and seemed really annoyed with me for not letting them use “big” for every sentence, but I’m genuinely impressed with their English so far. For having studied English for maybe a year or two, their sentences were fairly complex…through that entire practice made me realize how stupid English spelling is. Seriously. How to you explain to a child why there is an “e” at the end of “large” or why you don’t really hear an “a” in beautiful?
A few of the little ones finished early, which gave me time to talk to them as well and get to know them…One girl (who described herself to me as, “I’m black—like South Africa!”) is particularly clever. I think, if she put her mind it, she could be an actress, or something! Quick-witted and funny…she began telling me about a black girl that had visited her school a few months ago named Gloria (might I mention—they are fascinated with Gloria’s, “little braids all over her head”), and then did this perfect imitation of an American accent for me. I was actually a bit startled at first at how accurate it sounded, and high-fived her for it. Then she turns to me, with this little twinkle in her eye and says, “But ma’am! You should like her too!” Apparently, this little girl can mimic my accent perfectly as well! It’s really something…
Sometime in the middle of class, the current actually went out in the entire building as well. Apparently this is a frequent occurrence? One little boy came around and distributed birthday candles to me, the teachers and some of the older girls, and we all either held it up, along with the dull glow of our cell phones, for the student still writing, or precariously stuck it to a padlock, letting the wax drip down to the metal. Such dedication, my friends. These children deserve to go far in life, if only for this sort of dedication to their educations….
The older girls and I had more of a conversation class, where I learn their names, and a little bit about their backgrounds and homes. Priya (the youngest, most talkative one) is sisters with Kavya and Divya (who are identical twins—I felt like an idiot for not noticing that right away). Martha’s and Ranjitha are both sisters. Khusum went to a Kannada-medium school and can’t speak much English yet, and Pavitra- who seems to love to play with my hair. All really sweet girls, who seem to be fascinated by the weirdest things about me—like the fact that I wear black nail polish on my toenails (“But it is strange, ma’am. You must paint it red!”); the idea that I never had school uniforms (“SO lucky, ma’am! Even on our birthday we have to wear uniforms.”); that I only have one sibling (“Ma’am, there are seven of us at home!”)… I told them that my best friend at home was a girl named Nhan, with slanted eyes; that my brother is almost a doctor; that, no, my teachers have never hit me at school…it’s so weird to see what types of questions they ask me, and how there are these little things that seem to impress them SO much. I guess, since this is the group that I’ll be teaching the most, I’ll get to know more about them. For now, beyond the basics, they’ve only shared a few things with me (they are a bit more reserved)…like how Martha and Ranjhita’s sister died a few years ago or that Pryia, Kavya and Divya have another three sisters at home too (no brothers)…I feel like we’ll be fast friends, though…
Oh! And they think I look like the sister of this one popular Tamil actress named Hamskia Bodhwani! I finally looked her up, because I really wanted to know. :P
To their great amusement, I have some pictures of them now. I put up a few in the picture section: one of a bunch of the kids, finally smiling for the camera, one of the girls doing their schoolwork before the SECA class started, one of the classroom, and one of one of my favorite little boys, Aditya, who sings Tamil and Hindi songs in this clear, child-like voice before class everyday…:)
Peace out!
Typically, I don’t see myself as the “kid” person—more like the exact opposite. While my mother and brother seem to have this genetic children-magnet sort of thing that makes children automatically trust and love them, it usually takes me bloody ages to friend kids…or even get past the stage where I just give them awkward smiles and pats on their back as I rack my brains of something I can talk to them about. But these slum kids are truly the warmest little guys, ever! I don’t even feel like I have to try with them, because they already, without even knowing me, accept me, and for some reason- like me! As I walk up to the classroom from the street, I hear these children yell from the steps of the classroom, “Ma’am! Ma’am!” like I’m some sort of superstar (not kidding: a few boys actually asked for my autograph). I can’t wait to climb the stairs and give them a hug or just talk to them before class…For children who seem to grow up with such little in their lives, these kids have a wealth of just this all around happiness running through their blood!
So, so far, I’ve taught the youngest children, and the oldest. I’ll tell you a little bit about both. The youngest kids were studying adjectives when I arrived, and we had a “mini-quiz” set by Nagashree (another teacher of SECA…who’s heavy lidded eyes and sharp jaw-line make her look a bit like Konkana Sharma, in my opinion). The kids had to write down words to describe things like “lion” or “family”, while I helped them with words, spellings, meanings…those sorts of things. A few of them struggled a bit, and seemed really annoyed with me for not letting them use “big” for every sentence, but I’m genuinely impressed with their English so far. For having studied English for maybe a year or two, their sentences were fairly complex…through that entire practice made me realize how stupid English spelling is. Seriously. How to you explain to a child why there is an “e” at the end of “large” or why you don’t really hear an “a” in beautiful?
A few of the little ones finished early, which gave me time to talk to them as well and get to know them…One girl (who described herself to me as, “I’m black—like South Africa!”) is particularly clever. I think, if she put her mind it, she could be an actress, or something! Quick-witted and funny…she began telling me about a black girl that had visited her school a few months ago named Gloria (might I mention—they are fascinated with Gloria’s, “little braids all over her head”), and then did this perfect imitation of an American accent for me. I was actually a bit startled at first at how accurate it sounded, and high-fived her for it. Then she turns to me, with this little twinkle in her eye and says, “But ma’am! You should like her too!” Apparently, this little girl can mimic my accent perfectly as well! It’s really something…
Sometime in the middle of class, the current actually went out in the entire building as well. Apparently this is a frequent occurrence? One little boy came around and distributed birthday candles to me, the teachers and some of the older girls, and we all either held it up, along with the dull glow of our cell phones, for the student still writing, or precariously stuck it to a padlock, letting the wax drip down to the metal. Such dedication, my friends. These children deserve to go far in life, if only for this sort of dedication to their educations….
The older girls and I had more of a conversation class, where I learn their names, and a little bit about their backgrounds and homes. Priya (the youngest, most talkative one) is sisters with Kavya and Divya (who are identical twins—I felt like an idiot for not noticing that right away). Martha’s and Ranjitha are both sisters. Khusum went to a Kannada-medium school and can’t speak much English yet, and Pavitra- who seems to love to play with my hair. All really sweet girls, who seem to be fascinated by the weirdest things about me—like the fact that I wear black nail polish on my toenails (“But it is strange, ma’am. You must paint it red!”); the idea that I never had school uniforms (“SO lucky, ma’am! Even on our birthday we have to wear uniforms.”); that I only have one sibling (“Ma’am, there are seven of us at home!”)… I told them that my best friend at home was a girl named Nhan, with slanted eyes; that my brother is almost a doctor; that, no, my teachers have never hit me at school…it’s so weird to see what types of questions they ask me, and how there are these little things that seem to impress them SO much. I guess, since this is the group that I’ll be teaching the most, I’ll get to know more about them. For now, beyond the basics, they’ve only shared a few things with me (they are a bit more reserved)…like how Martha and Ranjhita’s sister died a few years ago or that Pryia, Kavya and Divya have another three sisters at home too (no brothers)…I feel like we’ll be fast friends, though…
Oh! And they think I look like the sister of this one popular Tamil actress named Hamskia Bodhwani! I finally looked her up, because I really wanted to know. :P
To their great amusement, I have some pictures of them now. I put up a few in the picture section: one of a bunch of the kids, finally smiling for the camera, one of the girls doing their schoolwork before the SECA class started, one of the classroom, and one of one of my favorite little boys, Aditya, who sings Tamil and Hindi songs in this clear, child-like voice before class everyday…:)
Peace out!
Of Religions, Rivers and Relations...
June 11, 2011
So, today was more of a rustic, village tour of the beautiful countryside of Karnataka for me. And when I say beautiful—I mean, the area by Cauvery River is like a tropical paradise! My God! You want to just keep deeply breathing in as you walk along these ancient stone steps on the bank of the river, and just stand there, letting this perfectly cool water lapse against your feet for ages. There are tall palm trees surrounding you every which way you look, you can see small fish swimming right next to your feet in the water, and the river stones on the bottom of the shallow banks are so massaging and relaxing as you tread through the water… And even thought there are people all around you, they all seem equally at peace there for some reason. Some saying prayers as they dip their bodies in the water; a man washing his cow; some girls drying out saris on the opposite shore. Everyone’s in their own little, happy sort of world, and even though you see poor villagers next to Abercrombie dressed city-dwellers playing “Bheegi Si” on their radio—they all have the same smiles on their faces as they turn to the people next to them. It’s simply incredible. I feel like there’s this all pervasive peace that surrounds the entire area that you can’t get anywhere else…
…especially not at the temples anymore, at least. I suppose the main point of today’s trip was to go to a famous Lakshmi temple, Nimishamba, in a village about three hours of a drive away. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore—but I just don’t find temples peaceful or divine at all anymore (or is there something wrong with me?). I used to have this deep respect for religion and temples and God…but going to these temples feels…for lack of any word to describe this deep emotion I’m feeling: wrong. There are always tons of people waiting in line in thick clusters, elbowing each other and pushing each other for a look at an idol, while these round-bellied priests aggressively telling people to get out of the way after about two minutes, regardless of the hours of driving that a devotee might be making. It feels fake, and mean, and not at all like a temple, but more like some sort of rude Disneyland. I don’t know why, but it’s like I suddenly get this immensely sad feeling standing in front of the deity. Like I don’t know what I’m doing there, or why I’m standing here praying. Or if I’m just sad that I lost something that I believed in so much before?... And for a person that, unfortunately, feels less and less like there’s any divinity in this world seeing how utterly messed up this place is, it’s not a feeling I want to walk away with…I figure I’ll stick to the riverbanks, and the orchards that we stopped to walk through. The presence of even a little of a God feels much more pronounced when people aren’t’ there to politicize or ruin it for you…
Oh, and you know when we’re in Colorado, and we see brown people, we get irrationally excited, and try to figure out what language they’re speaking, or what nationality of desi they are? (We Browns are a rare breed in the Centennial State…) Evidently, I commit the inverse action in this country- I actually look for the white people, and point them out to my mother like they’re some kind of tourist attraction (Yeah, weird. I know. I’m apparently biased in both countries). Granted, we barely see any whites out here, other than for the occasional suited European businessman or the cargo pant-clad hippie…though today, as we drove back through the village to the temple and the riverside, we encountered a couple of lost looking goras. Half out of curiosity, we stopped to see if they needed directions, and ended up giving them a lift in the car with us. Turns out Sarah and Gayel, are both French, who’ve lived in Bangalore for the last several months. Gayel, with short cropped hair and a plain white kurtha, has been working in Nokia since February, while his much more reserved, tight, pink t-shirt wearing girlfriend, Sarah, happens to be a student at the Bangalore University studying international business. We sat with them for a bit, and ended up sipping coconut water from thin orange straws on the stone steps in front of the temple, as we held a very surface level sort of chit-chat. I know it sounds a bit ridiculous to say this aloud, but you don’t know how relieving it is to feel understood! It’s not that no one understands me here—but to not have to repeat myself, in an American accent I really can’t cure, thirty times is kind of a nice respite, you know! I don’t think I even realized how much I missed the feeling till I spoke with them, and they nodded along in agreement without a, “what?”…I am genuinely curious about how these French felt about their Indian experience (without even attempting to be politically-correct with us), but at least it was an international relation, right? :)
Aur revior for now then, all…!
So, today was more of a rustic, village tour of the beautiful countryside of Karnataka for me. And when I say beautiful—I mean, the area by Cauvery River is like a tropical paradise! My God! You want to just keep deeply breathing in as you walk along these ancient stone steps on the bank of the river, and just stand there, letting this perfectly cool water lapse against your feet for ages. There are tall palm trees surrounding you every which way you look, you can see small fish swimming right next to your feet in the water, and the river stones on the bottom of the shallow banks are so massaging and relaxing as you tread through the water… And even thought there are people all around you, they all seem equally at peace there for some reason. Some saying prayers as they dip their bodies in the water; a man washing his cow; some girls drying out saris on the opposite shore. Everyone’s in their own little, happy sort of world, and even though you see poor villagers next to Abercrombie dressed city-dwellers playing “Bheegi Si” on their radio—they all have the same smiles on their faces as they turn to the people next to them. It’s simply incredible. I feel like there’s this all pervasive peace that surrounds the entire area that you can’t get anywhere else…
…especially not at the temples anymore, at least. I suppose the main point of today’s trip was to go to a famous Lakshmi temple, Nimishamba, in a village about three hours of a drive away. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore—but I just don’t find temples peaceful or divine at all anymore (or is there something wrong with me?). I used to have this deep respect for religion and temples and God…but going to these temples feels…for lack of any word to describe this deep emotion I’m feeling: wrong. There are always tons of people waiting in line in thick clusters, elbowing each other and pushing each other for a look at an idol, while these round-bellied priests aggressively telling people to get out of the way after about two minutes, regardless of the hours of driving that a devotee might be making. It feels fake, and mean, and not at all like a temple, but more like some sort of rude Disneyland. I don’t know why, but it’s like I suddenly get this immensely sad feeling standing in front of the deity. Like I don’t know what I’m doing there, or why I’m standing here praying. Or if I’m just sad that I lost something that I believed in so much before?... And for a person that, unfortunately, feels less and less like there’s any divinity in this world seeing how utterly messed up this place is, it’s not a feeling I want to walk away with…I figure I’ll stick to the riverbanks, and the orchards that we stopped to walk through. The presence of even a little of a God feels much more pronounced when people aren’t’ there to politicize or ruin it for you…
Oh, and you know when we’re in Colorado, and we see brown people, we get irrationally excited, and try to figure out what language they’re speaking, or what nationality of desi they are? (We Browns are a rare breed in the Centennial State…) Evidently, I commit the inverse action in this country- I actually look for the white people, and point them out to my mother like they’re some kind of tourist attraction (Yeah, weird. I know. I’m apparently biased in both countries). Granted, we barely see any whites out here, other than for the occasional suited European businessman or the cargo pant-clad hippie…though today, as we drove back through the village to the temple and the riverside, we encountered a couple of lost looking goras. Half out of curiosity, we stopped to see if they needed directions, and ended up giving them a lift in the car with us. Turns out Sarah and Gayel, are both French, who’ve lived in Bangalore for the last several months. Gayel, with short cropped hair and a plain white kurtha, has been working in Nokia since February, while his much more reserved, tight, pink t-shirt wearing girlfriend, Sarah, happens to be a student at the Bangalore University studying international business. We sat with them for a bit, and ended up sipping coconut water from thin orange straws on the stone steps in front of the temple, as we held a very surface level sort of chit-chat. I know it sounds a bit ridiculous to say this aloud, but you don’t know how relieving it is to feel understood! It’s not that no one understands me here—but to not have to repeat myself, in an American accent I really can’t cure, thirty times is kind of a nice respite, you know! I don’t think I even realized how much I missed the feeling till I spoke with them, and they nodded along in agreement without a, “what?”…I am genuinely curious about how these French felt about their Indian experience (without even attempting to be politically-correct with us), but at least it was an international relation, right? :)
Aur revior for now then, all…!
Random Musings Part II
June 14, 2011
Before I ramble, a few more stories from Tilaknagar…
I got my first glimpses of the actual homes of the children the other day. It was one of the kid’s (Kavya/Divya/Priya’s) parent’s wedding anniversary, and, to celebrate, they had invited people to their home in the colony for snacks. The mother, adorned with an enormous bindi and a bright green sari, absolutely insisted that Roshni, Raghu and I come over, and, more because of how curious I was to see the homes, I tagged along. The colony, built in 2004, is definitely an improvement from the tents they used to live in, though the homes are small, and have little to no space between them. You mainly see street dogs, children and mothers on the streets, and a few older boys loitering in the allies (who the little boy escorting me muttered, “rowdies” and took a longer path to avoid)…there are clothes hanging out to dry outside nearly everywhere, and on the most innovative places, like posts and bushes. The girl’s home consisted of a bathroom, a kitchen (hidden behind a bed sheet), and a living room/bedroom. They had a television set, though, and the whole place was decorated in the typical sort of mismatched-furniture-and-curio-items Indian style. Honestly, the first thing I thought upon seeing the place was, “oh! This isn’t too bad, right?”…then I realized I have a lovely studio apartment awaiting me in Pennsylvania that’s pretty much the same size (or bigger) as this home—and this family consists of seven people (sometimes it takes random things like that to sober you up to reality, right?). But such a generous mother! She’d made a ton of snacks for us, and kept pushing plates of food towards us in steel plates…obviously I hadn’t thought the entire thing through when I agreed to come—I can’t necessarily eat all the food in India without getting sick (yeah, pathetic. Looks like I have an American stomach), and politely refusing her wasn’t really working (she’d hand the food to me anyways with a huge smile)…in the end, I just ate most of the food anyways. I figure something cooked with so much love can’t harm me too much, and, hell, if I get ill, it’d be worth it! A lovely, hospitable family, though…I’ll probably be visiting them much more often too, since Kavya and Divya have agreed to help me shoot the documentary I’m supposed to be making for SECA, and they’ll be my tour guides, translators, and interviewees!
Ooh, and this weird thing happened the other day: So, in the middle of the class, this unnaturally skinny man with a visible, unhealthy burn across his chest and a thin, white undershirt suddenly barges in, and, grandly opening with an English, “you will excuse me please” (which amused the children), begins demanding to see Gayatri with a cracked voice and a colloquial sort of Tamil. The man is flailing his arms dramatically the entire time, and he’s obviously drunk, and the room becomes completely silent as he’s standing at the doorway- maybe out of recognition, or alarm, or something. From what I understood of the Tamil conversation (which is about 80%), Raghu gets up and politely asks him, who Gayatri is. The man yells, “my daughter!” and keeps rudely asking where she is. Raghu finally takes him outside, and tells him that Gayatri is not there, and he needs to keep calm because this is a classroom. With a bit of a fuss, the man continues to yell (and begins to scream at another mother who was there to pick up her child), and we finally end up closing the classroom up (which, trust me, makes the room stuffy and stiflingly hot) until the man leaves…According to Roshni that rarely happens, but, since most of the fathers are drunks, I guess the children and kind of used to the intoxicated rambling.
As for my own randomness…
Oh. My. God. I’m being eaten alive, people. By mosquitoes. Do you think I’m joking? I feel like I look bloody deformed now! Bulging bumps and angry, red scratches across my arms and feet. Oof. In desperation, I even went to the pharmacy and asked for a cream to stop the burning, but apparently, this rarely happens to Indians, and the dude gave me some little bottle of cream that I’ve seen no actual results from. He was even confused as to why I asked, until I showed him my arms. Seriously. I hate bugs.
You know how Gandhi once said that there were two Indias? One of the poor, and one of the rich? It’s so true…it’s amazing how one minute, you’re driving on the highway, and you see a all these people huddled around a truck, with these brightly colored jugs on their hips and heads to catch just a little bit of water…and next second, you’re totally distracted by a gigantic mall, with this fresh, blazing, white paint and a huge Mc Donald’s sign in English, Kannada, and Hindi scripts. It’s like you don’t feel anything for long. Everything’s like this long stretch of highway in this country, where you feel something strong like awe or anger, but then it’s gone in another instant…
The other day we visited Lal-Bagh- the second largest gardens in India, with acres and acres of these glorious, 300-year old trees…wow! It’s breath-taking! And the stories behind the place sound so romantic in a story-book kind of way…like the idea that the Tipu Sultan, the King of this area planted a mango tree there, which still bears fruit, old English garden domes and fountains, and the petrified wood…it’s incredible! I feel like I could spend hours there on end, just walking through canopies covered in ivy, underneath bougainvilleas and colorful trees….
I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’ve noticed that there are a lot more North Indians working in the service industry in Bangalore. Like, workers in clothes stores, waiters, tailors…that sort of thing. One of my family members will speak to whoever’s in charge in Kannada, and, when that person shouts directions to his/her staff, I’m suddenly, dully aware that everything just switched to Hindi. I have no idea if that a new migration trend or something within India (and if you know, you should tell me! I’m interested!), but it’s been interesting to note… I actually had a man from Nagaland cut my hair the other day as well, and spoke to him in some Hindi (he was highly amused, I think), after I figured out that that was the language he was more comfortable with (what was more amusing to me was the fact that, from my accent, he assumed I was actually an Anglo-Indian…I am not that fair!).
Before I ramble, a few more stories from Tilaknagar…
I got my first glimpses of the actual homes of the children the other day. It was one of the kid’s (Kavya/Divya/Priya’s) parent’s wedding anniversary, and, to celebrate, they had invited people to their home in the colony for snacks. The mother, adorned with an enormous bindi and a bright green sari, absolutely insisted that Roshni, Raghu and I come over, and, more because of how curious I was to see the homes, I tagged along. The colony, built in 2004, is definitely an improvement from the tents they used to live in, though the homes are small, and have little to no space between them. You mainly see street dogs, children and mothers on the streets, and a few older boys loitering in the allies (who the little boy escorting me muttered, “rowdies” and took a longer path to avoid)…there are clothes hanging out to dry outside nearly everywhere, and on the most innovative places, like posts and bushes. The girl’s home consisted of a bathroom, a kitchen (hidden behind a bed sheet), and a living room/bedroom. They had a television set, though, and the whole place was decorated in the typical sort of mismatched-furniture-and-curio-items Indian style. Honestly, the first thing I thought upon seeing the place was, “oh! This isn’t too bad, right?”…then I realized I have a lovely studio apartment awaiting me in Pennsylvania that’s pretty much the same size (or bigger) as this home—and this family consists of seven people (sometimes it takes random things like that to sober you up to reality, right?). But such a generous mother! She’d made a ton of snacks for us, and kept pushing plates of food towards us in steel plates…obviously I hadn’t thought the entire thing through when I agreed to come—I can’t necessarily eat all the food in India without getting sick (yeah, pathetic. Looks like I have an American stomach), and politely refusing her wasn’t really working (she’d hand the food to me anyways with a huge smile)…in the end, I just ate most of the food anyways. I figure something cooked with so much love can’t harm me too much, and, hell, if I get ill, it’d be worth it! A lovely, hospitable family, though…I’ll probably be visiting them much more often too, since Kavya and Divya have agreed to help me shoot the documentary I’m supposed to be making for SECA, and they’ll be my tour guides, translators, and interviewees!
Ooh, and this weird thing happened the other day: So, in the middle of the class, this unnaturally skinny man with a visible, unhealthy burn across his chest and a thin, white undershirt suddenly barges in, and, grandly opening with an English, “you will excuse me please” (which amused the children), begins demanding to see Gayatri with a cracked voice and a colloquial sort of Tamil. The man is flailing his arms dramatically the entire time, and he’s obviously drunk, and the room becomes completely silent as he’s standing at the doorway- maybe out of recognition, or alarm, or something. From what I understood of the Tamil conversation (which is about 80%), Raghu gets up and politely asks him, who Gayatri is. The man yells, “my daughter!” and keeps rudely asking where she is. Raghu finally takes him outside, and tells him that Gayatri is not there, and he needs to keep calm because this is a classroom. With a bit of a fuss, the man continues to yell (and begins to scream at another mother who was there to pick up her child), and we finally end up closing the classroom up (which, trust me, makes the room stuffy and stiflingly hot) until the man leaves…According to Roshni that rarely happens, but, since most of the fathers are drunks, I guess the children and kind of used to the intoxicated rambling.
As for my own randomness…
Oh. My. God. I’m being eaten alive, people. By mosquitoes. Do you think I’m joking? I feel like I look bloody deformed now! Bulging bumps and angry, red scratches across my arms and feet. Oof. In desperation, I even went to the pharmacy and asked for a cream to stop the burning, but apparently, this rarely happens to Indians, and the dude gave me some little bottle of cream that I’ve seen no actual results from. He was even confused as to why I asked, until I showed him my arms. Seriously. I hate bugs.
You know how Gandhi once said that there were two Indias? One of the poor, and one of the rich? It’s so true…it’s amazing how one minute, you’re driving on the highway, and you see a all these people huddled around a truck, with these brightly colored jugs on their hips and heads to catch just a little bit of water…and next second, you’re totally distracted by a gigantic mall, with this fresh, blazing, white paint and a huge Mc Donald’s sign in English, Kannada, and Hindi scripts. It’s like you don’t feel anything for long. Everything’s like this long stretch of highway in this country, where you feel something strong like awe or anger, but then it’s gone in another instant…
The other day we visited Lal-Bagh- the second largest gardens in India, with acres and acres of these glorious, 300-year old trees…wow! It’s breath-taking! And the stories behind the place sound so romantic in a story-book kind of way…like the idea that the Tipu Sultan, the King of this area planted a mango tree there, which still bears fruit, old English garden domes and fountains, and the petrified wood…it’s incredible! I feel like I could spend hours there on end, just walking through canopies covered in ivy, underneath bougainvilleas and colorful trees….
I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’ve noticed that there are a lot more North Indians working in the service industry in Bangalore. Like, workers in clothes stores, waiters, tailors…that sort of thing. One of my family members will speak to whoever’s in charge in Kannada, and, when that person shouts directions to his/her staff, I’m suddenly, dully aware that everything just switched to Hindi. I have no idea if that a new migration trend or something within India (and if you know, you should tell me! I’m interested!), but it’s been interesting to note… I actually had a man from Nagaland cut my hair the other day as well, and spoke to him in some Hindi (he was highly amused, I think), after I figured out that that was the language he was more comfortable with (what was more amusing to me was the fact that, from my accent, he assumed I was actually an Anglo-Indian…I am not that fair!).
More From Tilaknagar
June 15, 2011
So for SECA I intend to make a short documentary that the NGO can use to explain their programs and possibly ask for donations at some point. It’s an interesting experience, seeing as I’ve barely ever made formal videos (crappy movies I put together for Hindi class assignments aside). I’ve been taking Raghu’s camera with me, trying to document the area the children live in, their own interests, the class, etc…The first shots (and easiest) I decided, were the living quarters of the children. Along with a couple of my students, Kavya, Divya and Aditya, I toured the slum next to the massive Swagath Garuda mall. It’s not utterly horrible living conditions, but when you walk in you realize how poor everyone really is. Houses are sparsely decorated (though most have a TV, surprisingly), women are bringing water in brightly colored plastic buckets, and there seems to be too much trash lying around next to sleeping street dogs. It smells awkward (I’d rather not try to think of what odors they were), and all of the tightly crowded homes have clothes prominently displayed on lines outside the doors. And children. Children everywhere! I knew that the students who come to SECA have a bunch of siblings, but the area simply seems to be teeming with kids playing games, or reading books, or gambling in the lanes dividing the homes. A few times I looked up to see some dark complexioned little boy, chewing on the collar of his too-big t-shirt, watching me with big eyes besides an open trash collection. As miserable as it sounds (and as horrible I feel looking at it), I realized that if I legitimately worked for an NGO, and I wanted funds? This was the exact shot I’d take. It’s the same sort of thing you see in Red Cross or United Nation’s World Food Programme pictures—the images that make people’s heart hurt enough to make them want to part with their money. I didn’t really take any of those pictures…but I kind of feel like that’s an image that will be seared into my memory’s albums anyways.
Anyways, I walked through the colony, with my posse of some ten children (all whom I know from class), shooting clips of random scenes that I think I could use. They all insisted on pointing things out to me—their mother and brother, their uncles, their houses, their friends, and I was continuously submerged with little, “Ma’am! Ma’am! Ma’am!”s from a myriad of voices below my shoulders. At some point, one little boy yelled, “Ma’am! Look!” and I automatically turned to look at what his extended finger stretched towards. “Ma’am look! A dead rat!”…yeah, not my thing. I jumped back and yelled, “my GOD!” which, for some reason, completely amused the little boy, who went to join his friends poking the rat’s body with tiny sticks as he asked me why I didn’t like rats. Man. I freaked out about a mouse in my Boulder apartment. A rat in the street is a whole other story.
I’ve also started to teach some of the older girls Bharatanatyam. :) Wow. It’s HARD. Now I know why my dance teacher used to yell at me so much (I deserved it, I admit). It’s hard to make people remember to keep their hands straight, or their mudras firm withoutyelling a bit…a kind, “Do this, do that” only gets you about a minute of accuracy, while a firm command gets you about five minutes…I wasn’t intending to teach dance at all over here, since it’d only be here for a few weeks, but the older girls have learnt about a year’s worth of Bharatanatyam before their teacher, another SECA volunteer, left, and I guess they really wanted to continue. I’ll only get to teach them dance once a week, so I’m not sure how far along they’ll get, to be honest. It’s more because they are simply really dedicated and excited that I feel I should at least attempt it for their sakes…There’s one girl, Kavya, that seems to dance the best, while the others keep looking at each other, and stumbling through the moves, and I’m not even sure how hard I should try to correct them each time (I mean, I want to still be nice…I learnt dance for nine years and I was terrified of my dance teacher for about eight and a half years!). Anyways, it’s quite something to be the one that gets to stand and shout commands, clapping and rhythmically chanting “Ta-Tai-Tai-Ta” steps, rather than sweating away and stressing about your imperfect footwork…
So for SECA I intend to make a short documentary that the NGO can use to explain their programs and possibly ask for donations at some point. It’s an interesting experience, seeing as I’ve barely ever made formal videos (crappy movies I put together for Hindi class assignments aside). I’ve been taking Raghu’s camera with me, trying to document the area the children live in, their own interests, the class, etc…The first shots (and easiest) I decided, were the living quarters of the children. Along with a couple of my students, Kavya, Divya and Aditya, I toured the slum next to the massive Swagath Garuda mall. It’s not utterly horrible living conditions, but when you walk in you realize how poor everyone really is. Houses are sparsely decorated (though most have a TV, surprisingly), women are bringing water in brightly colored plastic buckets, and there seems to be too much trash lying around next to sleeping street dogs. It smells awkward (I’d rather not try to think of what odors they were), and all of the tightly crowded homes have clothes prominently displayed on lines outside the doors. And children. Children everywhere! I knew that the students who come to SECA have a bunch of siblings, but the area simply seems to be teeming with kids playing games, or reading books, or gambling in the lanes dividing the homes. A few times I looked up to see some dark complexioned little boy, chewing on the collar of his too-big t-shirt, watching me with big eyes besides an open trash collection. As miserable as it sounds (and as horrible I feel looking at it), I realized that if I legitimately worked for an NGO, and I wanted funds? This was the exact shot I’d take. It’s the same sort of thing you see in Red Cross or United Nation’s World Food Programme pictures—the images that make people’s heart hurt enough to make them want to part with their money. I didn’t really take any of those pictures…but I kind of feel like that’s an image that will be seared into my memory’s albums anyways.
Anyways, I walked through the colony, with my posse of some ten children (all whom I know from class), shooting clips of random scenes that I think I could use. They all insisted on pointing things out to me—their mother and brother, their uncles, their houses, their friends, and I was continuously submerged with little, “Ma’am! Ma’am! Ma’am!”s from a myriad of voices below my shoulders. At some point, one little boy yelled, “Ma’am! Look!” and I automatically turned to look at what his extended finger stretched towards. “Ma’am look! A dead rat!”…yeah, not my thing. I jumped back and yelled, “my GOD!” which, for some reason, completely amused the little boy, who went to join his friends poking the rat’s body with tiny sticks as he asked me why I didn’t like rats. Man. I freaked out about a mouse in my Boulder apartment. A rat in the street is a whole other story.
I’ve also started to teach some of the older girls Bharatanatyam. :) Wow. It’s HARD. Now I know why my dance teacher used to yell at me so much (I deserved it, I admit). It’s hard to make people remember to keep their hands straight, or their mudras firm withoutyelling a bit…a kind, “Do this, do that” only gets you about a minute of accuracy, while a firm command gets you about five minutes…I wasn’t intending to teach dance at all over here, since it’d only be here for a few weeks, but the older girls have learnt about a year’s worth of Bharatanatyam before their teacher, another SECA volunteer, left, and I guess they really wanted to continue. I’ll only get to teach them dance once a week, so I’m not sure how far along they’ll get, to be honest. It’s more because they are simply really dedicated and excited that I feel I should at least attempt it for their sakes…There’s one girl, Kavya, that seems to dance the best, while the others keep looking at each other, and stumbling through the moves, and I’m not even sure how hard I should try to correct them each time (I mean, I want to still be nice…I learnt dance for nine years and I was terrified of my dance teacher for about eight and a half years!). Anyways, it’s quite something to be the one that gets to stand and shout commands, clapping and rhythmically chanting “Ta-Tai-Tai-Ta” steps, rather than sweating away and stressing about your imperfect footwork…
Road Trip
June 17, 2011
Yesterday consisted of a two-day trip to a family Rama temple about four hours away from Bangalore.On the way we stopped at one of the most beautiful places, Belur…It’s is simple incredible. It’s a massive stone temple, built in the 11th century by the Hoysala Empire, a powerful dynasty of kings in this state, Karnataka. The entire temple took 103 years to complete, and is full of thousands of carvings of dancing women, animals, and Hindu deities. Each little, individual sculpture was built out of a single stone, and placed around the building to create these intricate carvings that took hundreds of sculptors to complete. And it’s not simple figures either—there are these little details that set the entire thing apart, like how the bangles on some of the figures can actually rotate, or how you can see a tiny lizard eating a fly in the corner. It’s fascinating to realize how much history you are touching, running your fingers over the carvings. And it’s actually quite intriguing how, ten centuries later, the temple is still intact, in pristine condition (While a lot of the archeological wonders in this area were destroyed by the Muslim invasion of India, this temple, lost in the middle of a dense forest, was unharmed)…I feel like I could spent hours there, just looking at all the little details of the monument. Beautiful!
And Karnataka! Just driving through the state makes you realize what an exquisite land it is! Everything is so green—green almost seems like a weak way to describe it. There are these wet, neon-green rice patties that stand out on the drive, and these lush dark green coffee plantations in the shadier forests, and a completely different sort of muddy-green with vegetables being plowed by a pair of bullocks…Breath-taking, my friends. I don’t think I could ever live in a village (I’m overly-cautious, and I have a certain standard of living, I suppose), but it seems like it would be the most peaceful life you could have in this world. I spent the longest time, sitting on the stone steps behind the temple, just watching the fields and staring out at the rolling hills of the Ghats (local mountain range) in the background. And you know what’s incredible? You’re staring out at these fields, in this clam contented way, admiring at how quiet and simple it is, when out of the blue, this white bird, will shoot out of the middle, and fly away. For about five seconds, you are just transfixed on this perfect white bird before it once again becomes a part of the ruddy landscape…I am in awe. If I never completely understood why my parents were patriotic to Karnataka, I can genuinely say I get it now…
So wonderfully peaceful...Incredible India. :)
Yesterday consisted of a two-day trip to a family Rama temple about four hours away from Bangalore.On the way we stopped at one of the most beautiful places, Belur…It’s is simple incredible. It’s a massive stone temple, built in the 11th century by the Hoysala Empire, a powerful dynasty of kings in this state, Karnataka. The entire temple took 103 years to complete, and is full of thousands of carvings of dancing women, animals, and Hindu deities. Each little, individual sculpture was built out of a single stone, and placed around the building to create these intricate carvings that took hundreds of sculptors to complete. And it’s not simple figures either—there are these little details that set the entire thing apart, like how the bangles on some of the figures can actually rotate, or how you can see a tiny lizard eating a fly in the corner. It’s fascinating to realize how much history you are touching, running your fingers over the carvings. And it’s actually quite intriguing how, ten centuries later, the temple is still intact, in pristine condition (While a lot of the archeological wonders in this area were destroyed by the Muslim invasion of India, this temple, lost in the middle of a dense forest, was unharmed)…I feel like I could spent hours there, just looking at all the little details of the monument. Beautiful!
And Karnataka! Just driving through the state makes you realize what an exquisite land it is! Everything is so green—green almost seems like a weak way to describe it. There are these wet, neon-green rice patties that stand out on the drive, and these lush dark green coffee plantations in the shadier forests, and a completely different sort of muddy-green with vegetables being plowed by a pair of bullocks…Breath-taking, my friends. I don’t think I could ever live in a village (I’m overly-cautious, and I have a certain standard of living, I suppose), but it seems like it would be the most peaceful life you could have in this world. I spent the longest time, sitting on the stone steps behind the temple, just watching the fields and staring out at the rolling hills of the Ghats (local mountain range) in the background. And you know what’s incredible? You’re staring out at these fields, in this clam contented way, admiring at how quiet and simple it is, when out of the blue, this white bird, will shoot out of the middle, and fly away. For about five seconds, you are just transfixed on this perfect white bird before it once again becomes a part of the ruddy landscape…I am in awe. If I never completely understood why my parents were patriotic to Karnataka, I can genuinely say I get it now…
So wonderfully peaceful...Incredible India. :)
Play Ball!
June 19, 2011
Today was a field day with the children…So much fun! Raghu and Roshini noticed that, at school, the children are often gender-segregated, and often, the girls are left out of playing outside in allotted recess times. On weekends, while the boys are allowed to do as they please, the girls often have a variety of household tasks (cleaning, cooking, taking care of younger siblings, etc.) that they are expected to complete, which takes up most of their days. To kind of counter this minor sort of gender discrimination, the NGO decided to have a SECA field day once a month, so all the children could play together—especially the girls who value the play days tremendously…that being said, I had a fun morning in the hot Indian sun, playing in a dusty construction-site-come-playground called Madhavan park; jump-roping with little girls, teaching hand games like “Miss Mary Mac” to the elementary schoolers, and of course, partaking the national religion: cricket…..Let me tell you, cricket in India is quite something! Everyone- even these slum kids playing with plastic wickets- are damn good! Perhaps it’s just my lack of knowledge about the sport or that I’m just over-enthusiastic about the children, but I think, if these kids had the opportunity to join their school teams, they could totally go places. Like one boy, Vignesh. All “sixers” and the star of the match for sure- even when Raghu (the NGO coordinator) pitched to him! And, like pretty much every Indian guy I know, the SECA boys get so into the game, diving and sliding all over the place, and yelling in this half-Tamil half-English combination of excited exclamations, like, “Catch it, Da!!” …oh, and apparently, my “Lagaan”-based knowledge of cricket didn’t get me too far. As in: I suck. The children on my team were very kind to me, even though I could tell at least the boys wished I was much better (apparently my pitching is decent compared to my horrendous hitting)…and the children all wanted me to play some game called “ko-ko” which I’d neither heard of nor played before (I instead sat and made flowers out of leaves with the little girls on the side)…it was an exciting game all the same though, and so pleasant to see the children outside of the typical classroom setting!
Oh, and it might be weird (and very random) to say this, but the children remind me of cats. They have these nimble sorts of feline bodies, and can seem to climb anything without difficulty…for example, the area where we were playing cricket is next to this 10 foot high barbed wire sort of fence, which divides the dusty Madhavan grounds from the smooth concrete basketball courts of the upper class neighborhood kids. If the ball accidently goes over to the other side, the children kind of throw themselves up on the fence, shimmy themselves up easily with muscles that a 10-year old probably wouldn’t normally have, and are over the fence in about five seconds. I was rather impressed to be honest…
On a slightly related notes (since there’s this clear distinction of upper class and lower class playgrounds that I saw), it’s ridiculously how much these slum kids are discriminated against for socio-economic reasons in their own cities. The government and these high-end residential areas keep closing things off, or even building large infrastructures on the few shabby grounds the slum kids have, just to prevent them from being in the same area. Makes me sick. Ajay was even telling me that the security gaurds of the Swagath Garuda mall, which is literally some ten steps away from the slum, bar the children and their families from entering. Of course, Ajay said he made friends with the security guard at the back gate, and now he get’s access to the mall when that guy is on duty. I guess, when there’s a will there’s a way…
Today was a field day with the children…So much fun! Raghu and Roshini noticed that, at school, the children are often gender-segregated, and often, the girls are left out of playing outside in allotted recess times. On weekends, while the boys are allowed to do as they please, the girls often have a variety of household tasks (cleaning, cooking, taking care of younger siblings, etc.) that they are expected to complete, which takes up most of their days. To kind of counter this minor sort of gender discrimination, the NGO decided to have a SECA field day once a month, so all the children could play together—especially the girls who value the play days tremendously…that being said, I had a fun morning in the hot Indian sun, playing in a dusty construction-site-come-playground called Madhavan park; jump-roping with little girls, teaching hand games like “Miss Mary Mac” to the elementary schoolers, and of course, partaking the national religion: cricket…..Let me tell you, cricket in India is quite something! Everyone- even these slum kids playing with plastic wickets- are damn good! Perhaps it’s just my lack of knowledge about the sport or that I’m just over-enthusiastic about the children, but I think, if these kids had the opportunity to join their school teams, they could totally go places. Like one boy, Vignesh. All “sixers” and the star of the match for sure- even when Raghu (the NGO coordinator) pitched to him! And, like pretty much every Indian guy I know, the SECA boys get so into the game, diving and sliding all over the place, and yelling in this half-Tamil half-English combination of excited exclamations, like, “Catch it, Da!!” …oh, and apparently, my “Lagaan”-based knowledge of cricket didn’t get me too far. As in: I suck. The children on my team were very kind to me, even though I could tell at least the boys wished I was much better (apparently my pitching is decent compared to my horrendous hitting)…and the children all wanted me to play some game called “ko-ko” which I’d neither heard of nor played before (I instead sat and made flowers out of leaves with the little girls on the side)…it was an exciting game all the same though, and so pleasant to see the children outside of the typical classroom setting!
Oh, and it might be weird (and very random) to say this, but the children remind me of cats. They have these nimble sorts of feline bodies, and can seem to climb anything without difficulty…for example, the area where we were playing cricket is next to this 10 foot high barbed wire sort of fence, which divides the dusty Madhavan grounds from the smooth concrete basketball courts of the upper class neighborhood kids. If the ball accidently goes over to the other side, the children kind of throw themselves up on the fence, shimmy themselves up easily with muscles that a 10-year old probably wouldn’t normally have, and are over the fence in about five seconds. I was rather impressed to be honest…
On a slightly related notes (since there’s this clear distinction of upper class and lower class playgrounds that I saw), it’s ridiculously how much these slum kids are discriminated against for socio-economic reasons in their own cities. The government and these high-end residential areas keep closing things off, or even building large infrastructures on the few shabby grounds the slum kids have, just to prevent them from being in the same area. Makes me sick. Ajay was even telling me that the security gaurds of the Swagath Garuda mall, which is literally some ten steps away from the slum, bar the children and their families from entering. Of course, Ajay said he made friends with the security guard at the back gate, and now he get’s access to the mall when that guy is on duty. I guess, when there’s a will there’s a way…
Random Musings Part III
June 20, 2011
The other day my mother and I were chatting on the terrace of my grandparent’s home as it as the evening slowly progressed, when we suddenly saw this massive bat. I don’t even mean like the tiny bats you see in the Denver Zoo who just harmlessly flap their wings against the glass in that plastic enclosure. I mean this glorious, sweeping creature, with a wingspan as long as my arm (I’m not exaggerating), flying in low circles up and down the street. I’m not fond of bats, but- wow! It was incredible…Sometime I think it’s easy to forget you are in the tropics when you’re in Bangalore, with only commercial life surrounding you. It takes something that stunning to realize where you are, and maybe imagine what this city was like before all the people and urbanization.
Hmm, to my immense irritation, I had to finally cave in and visit a doctor a couple days back. Apparently India doesn’t agree with me most of the time (It’s almost embarrassing how weak my body seems to be here, and how easy it is for me to get sick). After being nauseated with my stomach perpetually hurting for a few days, my mother dragged me to a 24-hour clinic down the street, from which I was prescribed four tablets to take for a few days (apparently I’m competing with my grandfather on number of medications to take). As annoying as the visit was (I despise doctor visits) I suppose I can’t remember when I last went to a doctor’s office in India…I guess I should just see it as yet another experience to add to my summer—though a rather bad one, unfortunately. The doctor pretty much addressed only my mother, refusing to speak to me directly (my mother says she couldn’t understand my accent, but I think, if a bunch of slum children can understand me, a medical professional should be well aware of what I’m saying); there were, for some reason, three other nurses in matching blue salwars hanging around in the room at the same time, doing nothing but listening to my symptoms, with what I can only imagine is mock interest; and the doctor didn’t even ask me questions I feel I’d know to ask—like what medicines I’m allergic to, or (excuse the bluntness) if I was on my period. Only good part of the entire thing: a doctor’s consultation and prescription drugs cost about $10. The perfect medical treatment for the bargain shopper…
Do you realize how amazing pizza tastes after eating ONLY Indian food for a few weeks? Ah...heaven, my friends :) (My mother disagrees with me, but that’s ok!). Aah…lovely, cheesy Dominos pizza (don’t you love globalization?)…and the best part is, in India, there are a TON of options for vegetarian pizzas! At least twenty compared to the one standard “veggie lovers” you get over there…of course, I’m not crazy enough to try things like, “masaala pizza” or “paneer pizza”, but still. Man, after eating SO MUCH RICE (the stereotype of South Indians is very accurate), it’s kind of a relief. Even the novelty of eating out off of a banana leaf wears off after the second time.
Something rather amusing has happened to me every time I’ve come to India. I’ve always “made friends” with some little girl in a village, while we’re on the road driving. It always happens in remote areas in India…for just a second I connect to some girl with a smile and a wave, and even though we live completely different lives on opposite sides of the world, and even though I’m well-aware that I’ll never see them again in my life, they make this second of a difference to me and I feel like I’ll always remember them… the first girl was pumping water in a forest in a tattered sort of dress. She looked up, saw the car on the road in the distance and enthusiastically waved to me…the second was a girl combing her little sister’s hair by a set of train tracks as her mother cooked dinner inside a tarp-covered tent. And this trip, it was a girl working with her family at a construction site, balancing a basket of mud on her head. I wish I had a picture of each of these girls to remember them by, since it was so random, so friendly…but I guess that’s part of the mysterious charm of a simple connection like this—just a blink and they’re gone from everything but my memory…
You know something a bit depressing I’ve noticed about India? Every single person here seems to have problems with this country. The education system, the government, the corruption, the industrialization…it’s a never ending list. Everyone from my uncle who is a professor in one of the top institutions of this country, IISC (Indian Institute of Science), to my cousins, five years older than me, working in various industries, to my grandparent’s driver who drove a lorry across South India for years, Suresh. Everyone gives me a list of India’s ailments and what all should improve, and (no offense to the people I just mentioned), at the same time no one does a thing about it. I think that’s one thing I’m fascinated by with Raghu and Roshini. That they are actually doing something for the causes they believe in. But…even they can do so little in such a large nation. I feel like if more people just took up a cause and actually fought for it passionately, without just lethargically telling me about how the country is failing in so many categories of development, India could actually develop much faster, and in a much better way. It’s not all about wider roads and light rail metro systems, like Bangalore is currently creating (while falling some 70,000 trees in the “Garden City” in the process). It’s about making something sustainable, and environmental that reaches every pocket of the country, from the slum kids to the upper middle class. You probably think its rich of me to say all this, sitting comfortably in the US, but I’ll try my best in the future! I want to be one of those people that does something that will impact my “other” country in the right way.
Well, as of day-after tomorrow, I’m actually off to Ahmedabad, to attend Dhaiwat, Dhwani’s older brother’s, wedding. I’m crazy excited, and can’t wait to be a part of a North Indian wedding! I shall write again when I get back on the 26th, though...and with a plethora of stories, I'm sure! For now, my dear friends, ciao! :)
The other day my mother and I were chatting on the terrace of my grandparent’s home as it as the evening slowly progressed, when we suddenly saw this massive bat. I don’t even mean like the tiny bats you see in the Denver Zoo who just harmlessly flap their wings against the glass in that plastic enclosure. I mean this glorious, sweeping creature, with a wingspan as long as my arm (I’m not exaggerating), flying in low circles up and down the street. I’m not fond of bats, but- wow! It was incredible…Sometime I think it’s easy to forget you are in the tropics when you’re in Bangalore, with only commercial life surrounding you. It takes something that stunning to realize where you are, and maybe imagine what this city was like before all the people and urbanization.
Hmm, to my immense irritation, I had to finally cave in and visit a doctor a couple days back. Apparently India doesn’t agree with me most of the time (It’s almost embarrassing how weak my body seems to be here, and how easy it is for me to get sick). After being nauseated with my stomach perpetually hurting for a few days, my mother dragged me to a 24-hour clinic down the street, from which I was prescribed four tablets to take for a few days (apparently I’m competing with my grandfather on number of medications to take). As annoying as the visit was (I despise doctor visits) I suppose I can’t remember when I last went to a doctor’s office in India…I guess I should just see it as yet another experience to add to my summer—though a rather bad one, unfortunately. The doctor pretty much addressed only my mother, refusing to speak to me directly (my mother says she couldn’t understand my accent, but I think, if a bunch of slum children can understand me, a medical professional should be well aware of what I’m saying); there were, for some reason, three other nurses in matching blue salwars hanging around in the room at the same time, doing nothing but listening to my symptoms, with what I can only imagine is mock interest; and the doctor didn’t even ask me questions I feel I’d know to ask—like what medicines I’m allergic to, or (excuse the bluntness) if I was on my period. Only good part of the entire thing: a doctor’s consultation and prescription drugs cost about $10. The perfect medical treatment for the bargain shopper…
Do you realize how amazing pizza tastes after eating ONLY Indian food for a few weeks? Ah...heaven, my friends :) (My mother disagrees with me, but that’s ok!). Aah…lovely, cheesy Dominos pizza (don’t you love globalization?)…and the best part is, in India, there are a TON of options for vegetarian pizzas! At least twenty compared to the one standard “veggie lovers” you get over there…of course, I’m not crazy enough to try things like, “masaala pizza” or “paneer pizza”, but still. Man, after eating SO MUCH RICE (the stereotype of South Indians is very accurate), it’s kind of a relief. Even the novelty of eating out off of a banana leaf wears off after the second time.
Something rather amusing has happened to me every time I’ve come to India. I’ve always “made friends” with some little girl in a village, while we’re on the road driving. It always happens in remote areas in India…for just a second I connect to some girl with a smile and a wave, and even though we live completely different lives on opposite sides of the world, and even though I’m well-aware that I’ll never see them again in my life, they make this second of a difference to me and I feel like I’ll always remember them… the first girl was pumping water in a forest in a tattered sort of dress. She looked up, saw the car on the road in the distance and enthusiastically waved to me…the second was a girl combing her little sister’s hair by a set of train tracks as her mother cooked dinner inside a tarp-covered tent. And this trip, it was a girl working with her family at a construction site, balancing a basket of mud on her head. I wish I had a picture of each of these girls to remember them by, since it was so random, so friendly…but I guess that’s part of the mysterious charm of a simple connection like this—just a blink and they’re gone from everything but my memory…
You know something a bit depressing I’ve noticed about India? Every single person here seems to have problems with this country. The education system, the government, the corruption, the industrialization…it’s a never ending list. Everyone from my uncle who is a professor in one of the top institutions of this country, IISC (Indian Institute of Science), to my cousins, five years older than me, working in various industries, to my grandparent’s driver who drove a lorry across South India for years, Suresh. Everyone gives me a list of India’s ailments and what all should improve, and (no offense to the people I just mentioned), at the same time no one does a thing about it. I think that’s one thing I’m fascinated by with Raghu and Roshini. That they are actually doing something for the causes they believe in. But…even they can do so little in such a large nation. I feel like if more people just took up a cause and actually fought for it passionately, without just lethargically telling me about how the country is failing in so many categories of development, India could actually develop much faster, and in a much better way. It’s not all about wider roads and light rail metro systems, like Bangalore is currently creating (while falling some 70,000 trees in the “Garden City” in the process). It’s about making something sustainable, and environmental that reaches every pocket of the country, from the slum kids to the upper middle class. You probably think its rich of me to say all this, sitting comfortably in the US, but I’ll try my best in the future! I want to be one of those people that does something that will impact my “other” country in the right way.
Well, as of day-after tomorrow, I’m actually off to Ahmedabad, to attend Dhaiwat, Dhwani’s older brother’s, wedding. I’m crazy excited, and can’t wait to be a part of a North Indian wedding! I shall write again when I get back on the 26th, though...and with a plethora of stories, I'm sure! For now, my dear friends, ciao! :)
Band Baaja Baarath
June 26, 2011
Hello! I’m back from Gujarat and Dhaiwat’s wedding! Man, it was just brilliant!...There are so many exquisite little details I’d share to be honest, which I subjected my parents and brother to, but I suppose--for the sole reason that I don’t think I could write everything down--I’ll just hit some main points of the wedding…
So the first day that I was in the Ahmadabad, I got to join Dhwani in a Mehendi party at the bride, Bhoomi’s, home. I don’t know what it is about henna, but the leafy smell, the intricate designs…it all makes it feel festive—makes it feel like you’re really in a wedding…I spent half the time looking down and admiring my own hands and half the time watching the artists apply mehendi on all the other women so deftly and quickly (a skill I so wish I had!). They even had a couple women singing in Gujrathi the entire time; one beating a spoon with a twang-y noise to a rhythm, and the playing a drum as she encouraged all the women to dance in the living room for the bride. Oh, and my mehendi turned black within a few hours! Apparently they say that the darkness of the mehendi shows how much someone (as in, a significant other) loves you…looks like my future husband will love me lots? ;) (I’d like to believe that!)
The following night was a gharba (I know! I got to do a gharba in Gujarat! Couldn’t be cooler!)…The gharba is this traditional dance, where you repeat steps while moving in a circle (they have a large gharba in Colorado and all over the U.S. once a year as well!). I wouldn’t call it simple since the steps get more complicated and quicker, but nor is it hard to participate in, since everyone’s moving in the same direction and style. I’d already gotten a taste of it at Dhwani’s home, dancing in the courtyard late in the night with her family (I swear, I think gharba comes as a natural instinct in all Gujarathis! Young or old, thin or thick--they’re all so good at it and I honestly don’t think they’re even trying too hard) Both the groom and bride’s side were so inclusive too, pulling me in to join them even if I didn’t know all the steps yet…but I found it’s not too hard to actually pick up, and your shyness evaporates anyways. Soon, you forget about anyone else being there since you’re so focused on the dance. It’s amazing…Dancing the night away in spinning, rhythmic sort of circles till even the warm hairdryer sort of Ahmedabadi breeze felt like a relief…
The next day was followed by a pooja for the groom’s side (which I got to attend) in the morning, and of course, the grand marriage in the evening. Let me tell you--the wedding itself felt like seeing Bollywood movie in real life! Everyone impeccably dressed in finery, the lights, the colors, the vibrancy and life in everything! And the bride and groom looked so perfect together it kind of made you “aww” in your head the entire time…And I got to participate in a baarath (the procession in which you dance the groom to the wedding hall) for the first time in my life! All the men wore these pink, cloth turbans, and we followed a live band playing popular Hindi songs all the way to the hall. The wedding is SO unlike a South Indian wedding, though. I feel like we end up with several more hours of prayers and rituals, while the North Indian wedding was full of games that include the close members of the family…and while we have the nasally valga (a Indian clarinet) playing, and drummers beating at every major point of the wedding, they just had dhandiya players lead the entrance of the bride in her palanquin…
As for the city itself…well, I think if it weren’t for the wedding, I might have hated the city (no offense, Gujjus). Not that it’s a bad place, but--It’s HOT. Like, I had dripping beads of perspiration within two minutes if either the fan or the A/C wasn’t on, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved to drink water and eat ice cream before. It’s somewhat poorer than Bangalore as well, with people sleeping on the sidewalks (apparently Ahmadabad is so densely populated that they don’t even have room for slums to exist), there are a lot less trees, and instead of the whining singsong of coo-coo birds greeting you in mornings, there’s the shrill kind of call of hawks…I mean, it’s a in a desert (and I’m practically in the tropics of the South right now) so it’s a bit unfair of me to give this criticism, but it did make me realize how much I love Bangalore!... Personally, the entire time I was in Gujarat during this wedding, I kind of felt like I wasn’t even in India anymore. Or just not the India I know. The North and South as so distinctly different- in language, cuisine, clothing, culture, religious practices, etc.- that it’s like your practically in a different country. How India manages to stay as one nation is beyond me…
And you know, it’s so nice to have a friend in India. I’ve always been surrounded by older cousins and aunts and uncles in India, but I’ve never gotten to share (for lack of better term) the country with someone who knows me and my life in the U.S. too It’s kind of something I’ve always wanted, or always half-imagined would be wonderful, and I guess Dhwani gave me that experience as well!
Anyways that’s just a brief something for a pretty amazing trip!
Hello! I’m back from Gujarat and Dhaiwat’s wedding! Man, it was just brilliant!...There are so many exquisite little details I’d share to be honest, which I subjected my parents and brother to, but I suppose--for the sole reason that I don’t think I could write everything down--I’ll just hit some main points of the wedding…
So the first day that I was in the Ahmadabad, I got to join Dhwani in a Mehendi party at the bride, Bhoomi’s, home. I don’t know what it is about henna, but the leafy smell, the intricate designs…it all makes it feel festive—makes it feel like you’re really in a wedding…I spent half the time looking down and admiring my own hands and half the time watching the artists apply mehendi on all the other women so deftly and quickly (a skill I so wish I had!). They even had a couple women singing in Gujrathi the entire time; one beating a spoon with a twang-y noise to a rhythm, and the playing a drum as she encouraged all the women to dance in the living room for the bride. Oh, and my mehendi turned black within a few hours! Apparently they say that the darkness of the mehendi shows how much someone (as in, a significant other) loves you…looks like my future husband will love me lots? ;) (I’d like to believe that!)
The following night was a gharba (I know! I got to do a gharba in Gujarat! Couldn’t be cooler!)…The gharba is this traditional dance, where you repeat steps while moving in a circle (they have a large gharba in Colorado and all over the U.S. once a year as well!). I wouldn’t call it simple since the steps get more complicated and quicker, but nor is it hard to participate in, since everyone’s moving in the same direction and style. I’d already gotten a taste of it at Dhwani’s home, dancing in the courtyard late in the night with her family (I swear, I think gharba comes as a natural instinct in all Gujarathis! Young or old, thin or thick--they’re all so good at it and I honestly don’t think they’re even trying too hard) Both the groom and bride’s side were so inclusive too, pulling me in to join them even if I didn’t know all the steps yet…but I found it’s not too hard to actually pick up, and your shyness evaporates anyways. Soon, you forget about anyone else being there since you’re so focused on the dance. It’s amazing…Dancing the night away in spinning, rhythmic sort of circles till even the warm hairdryer sort of Ahmedabadi breeze felt like a relief…
The next day was followed by a pooja for the groom’s side (which I got to attend) in the morning, and of course, the grand marriage in the evening. Let me tell you--the wedding itself felt like seeing Bollywood movie in real life! Everyone impeccably dressed in finery, the lights, the colors, the vibrancy and life in everything! And the bride and groom looked so perfect together it kind of made you “aww” in your head the entire time…And I got to participate in a baarath (the procession in which you dance the groom to the wedding hall) for the first time in my life! All the men wore these pink, cloth turbans, and we followed a live band playing popular Hindi songs all the way to the hall. The wedding is SO unlike a South Indian wedding, though. I feel like we end up with several more hours of prayers and rituals, while the North Indian wedding was full of games that include the close members of the family…and while we have the nasally valga (a Indian clarinet) playing, and drummers beating at every major point of the wedding, they just had dhandiya players lead the entrance of the bride in her palanquin…
As for the city itself…well, I think if it weren’t for the wedding, I might have hated the city (no offense, Gujjus). Not that it’s a bad place, but--It’s HOT. Like, I had dripping beads of perspiration within two minutes if either the fan or the A/C wasn’t on, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved to drink water and eat ice cream before. It’s somewhat poorer than Bangalore as well, with people sleeping on the sidewalks (apparently Ahmadabad is so densely populated that they don’t even have room for slums to exist), there are a lot less trees, and instead of the whining singsong of coo-coo birds greeting you in mornings, there’s the shrill kind of call of hawks…I mean, it’s a in a desert (and I’m practically in the tropics of the South right now) so it’s a bit unfair of me to give this criticism, but it did make me realize how much I love Bangalore!... Personally, the entire time I was in Gujarat during this wedding, I kind of felt like I wasn’t even in India anymore. Or just not the India I know. The North and South as so distinctly different- in language, cuisine, clothing, culture, religious practices, etc.- that it’s like your practically in a different country. How India manages to stay as one nation is beyond me…
And you know, it’s so nice to have a friend in India. I’ve always been surrounded by older cousins and aunts and uncles in India, but I’ve never gotten to share (for lack of better term) the country with someone who knows me and my life in the U.S. too It’s kind of something I’ve always wanted, or always half-imagined would be wonderful, and I guess Dhwani gave me that experience as well!
Anyways that’s just a brief something for a pretty amazing trip!
Dance Pe Chance
June 29, 2011
Ah, there’s something that really made me feel heavy the other day at the slum…See, there’s one boy, Praveen, who attends Swagath classes with us. He’s this tall and handsome, young 16-year-old boy who caught my eye from the first day because of this easy confidence he exudes when he stands. I think he’s a “cool guy” in his area, with this fake earring clipped onto either his lip or ear at all times, and this slightly attempted “cold” sort of look where he crosses his lanky arms and leans against walls like there’s a camera focused on him somewhere in the distance (personally think the whole “cool” thing is a charade since he’s always really sweet and respectful towards me when we’re alone together)…anyways, this boy is a particular favorite of mine, for some reason, though I’m a bit disappointed in him of the late. The other day I was in the slum to pick up the keys to the classroom with my usual posse of children accompanying me, when Ajay points Praveen out to me. “Look, ma’am,” he says, “Praveen is gambling.” My heart honestly sank a little to see that. These kids barely have enough money in their families. The average amount of people in one small room in this area is literally ten people per home! The last thing they need is to gamble and lose what little they have—even if it’s coins! So I march up to Praveen and the other boys kneeling over their game, drawn in with sticks in the mud. “Are you playing for money?” I demand from Praveen, looking up at the boy who’s about a foot taller than me. He sheepishly nods, “Yes ma’am,” while the other children escorting me report that he plays for money regularly. So I begin to tell-off Praveen a bit, informing him it’s wrong to play with money, he needs to stop the game, and how it’s disrespectful to how hard his parents work to play with money. The other boys (not part of SECA) all smirk in the background as the “cool boy” gets yelled at by some short girl armed with a camera in hand. When I pester him enough for it, Praveen finally promises me that he won’t gamble for money anymore, without looking me in the eye. Of course he is still going to gamble. I’m leaving in a month. He has absolutely no one to tell him that what he’s doing is wrong, and the only male figure in his life is probably Raghu- who doesn’t live in the slum. It hurts to see…Praveen looks to me like he has so much potential, and even his “cool guy” act is endearing in a way. And to know that there’s no good influence to make sure that he makes the right choices, to ensure that he’ll make good use of the education he has…I hate it. I intend to talk to Raghu and Roshni about him next I see them, but all I could do at the time is give him a big smile, a half hug and thank him for his promise to me.
My mother, for those who don’t know, is a teacher for children around a kindergarten age. I’ve always thought she was patient, but-- Oh. My. God. I have NO idea how my mother manages to work with little children every single day of her life! I’m supposed to be teaching one class (just one!) of hyper nine to eleven year olds, and I can genuinely say that after trying different activities to explain pronouns, (including making groups, and drawing on the chalkboard) I was completely at my wits end of how to deal with the children. The kids wouldn’t sit down, they didn’t want to listen to me, they all shouted answers when only one child was called on, one girl had a serious attitude problem that was getting on my nerves and, in all, I think that was the most disastrous class I’ve ever held thus far. I think “exasperating” sums up how I felt that day. Apparently, I can’t do any activities that do not require a pen and paper, or I lose control of the class completely! I was literally watching the clock like I used to do in math class in high school, just waiting till my lesson would be finished, and I could dismiss them with a homework assignment. Apparently, I am not cut out for teaching the young ones. Older children, I can handle, but the little ones? No idea how my mom does it…
In more happy news…yesterday I actually got to Tilaknagar a bit early, and was chilling in the classroom with some of my favorites as we awaited the smaller children’s arrival. The boys started playing this intricate hand game, which, when done right, sounds like a really cool, complex sort of Indian beat. I really wanted to learn, so I asked tiny Subash to teach me (which he did in rapid speed. I’m not sure how I was supposed to pick it up). After a few minutes of struggling to get it perfected, and to make up for my abysmal coordination, I decided to teach them that silly step-team hand game we used to do in Smoky Hill High School. I suppose it kind of sounds like a “rap” when you do it, though it’s really a simple combination of hitting your chest, snapping your fingers, and clapping. They thought it was simply brilliant, though! We ended up having a blast trying to synchronize together and make a mini band for a few minutes (this might be the only time I wished I could beat box-just to add to the effect!)…After laughing at each other’s mess-ups, they asked me to teach them more things from “my home”. I wasn’t sure what else I could do with them that’s really “American”, till I racked my brains--and came up with swing dance for some odd reason (I have no idea why. I’m not even good at swing!)…After politely asking one girl, Kavya, if I may have a dance, I ended up doing some simple swing step, trying not to hit anything in the small room, as we pulled each other back and forth, and spun each other around. Soon all the children wanted to dance with me, and a few started pairing up and making up an odd version of swing mixed in with bollywood on their own in the corner… somehow it also evolved to waltzing around the classroom, with me paired up with the older girls as their male partner, trying to hum something that could vaguely sound like a waltz, and Ajay experimenting with waltzing to a Tamil song. It was simply adorable! I know I’ve said it before, but truly: these children teach you what happiness really is. They might have so little in life, but they know how to live with a genuine, bright smile on their faces all the time.
Till later…!
Ah, there’s something that really made me feel heavy the other day at the slum…See, there’s one boy, Praveen, who attends Swagath classes with us. He’s this tall and handsome, young 16-year-old boy who caught my eye from the first day because of this easy confidence he exudes when he stands. I think he’s a “cool guy” in his area, with this fake earring clipped onto either his lip or ear at all times, and this slightly attempted “cold” sort of look where he crosses his lanky arms and leans against walls like there’s a camera focused on him somewhere in the distance (personally think the whole “cool” thing is a charade since he’s always really sweet and respectful towards me when we’re alone together)…anyways, this boy is a particular favorite of mine, for some reason, though I’m a bit disappointed in him of the late. The other day I was in the slum to pick up the keys to the classroom with my usual posse of children accompanying me, when Ajay points Praveen out to me. “Look, ma’am,” he says, “Praveen is gambling.” My heart honestly sank a little to see that. These kids barely have enough money in their families. The average amount of people in one small room in this area is literally ten people per home! The last thing they need is to gamble and lose what little they have—even if it’s coins! So I march up to Praveen and the other boys kneeling over their game, drawn in with sticks in the mud. “Are you playing for money?” I demand from Praveen, looking up at the boy who’s about a foot taller than me. He sheepishly nods, “Yes ma’am,” while the other children escorting me report that he plays for money regularly. So I begin to tell-off Praveen a bit, informing him it’s wrong to play with money, he needs to stop the game, and how it’s disrespectful to how hard his parents work to play with money. The other boys (not part of SECA) all smirk in the background as the “cool boy” gets yelled at by some short girl armed with a camera in hand. When I pester him enough for it, Praveen finally promises me that he won’t gamble for money anymore, without looking me in the eye. Of course he is still going to gamble. I’m leaving in a month. He has absolutely no one to tell him that what he’s doing is wrong, and the only male figure in his life is probably Raghu- who doesn’t live in the slum. It hurts to see…Praveen looks to me like he has so much potential, and even his “cool guy” act is endearing in a way. And to know that there’s no good influence to make sure that he makes the right choices, to ensure that he’ll make good use of the education he has…I hate it. I intend to talk to Raghu and Roshni about him next I see them, but all I could do at the time is give him a big smile, a half hug and thank him for his promise to me.
My mother, for those who don’t know, is a teacher for children around a kindergarten age. I’ve always thought she was patient, but-- Oh. My. God. I have NO idea how my mother manages to work with little children every single day of her life! I’m supposed to be teaching one class (just one!) of hyper nine to eleven year olds, and I can genuinely say that after trying different activities to explain pronouns, (including making groups, and drawing on the chalkboard) I was completely at my wits end of how to deal with the children. The kids wouldn’t sit down, they didn’t want to listen to me, they all shouted answers when only one child was called on, one girl had a serious attitude problem that was getting on my nerves and, in all, I think that was the most disastrous class I’ve ever held thus far. I think “exasperating” sums up how I felt that day. Apparently, I can’t do any activities that do not require a pen and paper, or I lose control of the class completely! I was literally watching the clock like I used to do in math class in high school, just waiting till my lesson would be finished, and I could dismiss them with a homework assignment. Apparently, I am not cut out for teaching the young ones. Older children, I can handle, but the little ones? No idea how my mom does it…
In more happy news…yesterday I actually got to Tilaknagar a bit early, and was chilling in the classroom with some of my favorites as we awaited the smaller children’s arrival. The boys started playing this intricate hand game, which, when done right, sounds like a really cool, complex sort of Indian beat. I really wanted to learn, so I asked tiny Subash to teach me (which he did in rapid speed. I’m not sure how I was supposed to pick it up). After a few minutes of struggling to get it perfected, and to make up for my abysmal coordination, I decided to teach them that silly step-team hand game we used to do in Smoky Hill High School. I suppose it kind of sounds like a “rap” when you do it, though it’s really a simple combination of hitting your chest, snapping your fingers, and clapping. They thought it was simply brilliant, though! We ended up having a blast trying to synchronize together and make a mini band for a few minutes (this might be the only time I wished I could beat box-just to add to the effect!)…After laughing at each other’s mess-ups, they asked me to teach them more things from “my home”. I wasn’t sure what else I could do with them that’s really “American”, till I racked my brains--and came up with swing dance for some odd reason (I have no idea why. I’m not even good at swing!)…After politely asking one girl, Kavya, if I may have a dance, I ended up doing some simple swing step, trying not to hit anything in the small room, as we pulled each other back and forth, and spun each other around. Soon all the children wanted to dance with me, and a few started pairing up and making up an odd version of swing mixed in with bollywood on their own in the corner… somehow it also evolved to waltzing around the classroom, with me paired up with the older girls as their male partner, trying to hum something that could vaguely sound like a waltz, and Ajay experimenting with waltzing to a Tamil song. It was simply adorable! I know I’ve said it before, but truly: these children teach you what happiness really is. They might have so little in life, but they know how to live with a genuine, bright smile on their faces all the time.
Till later…!
How Different Life Is...
July 1, 2011
Aren’t cultural perceptions funny? The other day, after class I was standing with Roshini and some of the older girls, chatting. Divya, which her arm casually resting on my shoulder, looked at me at some point and said, “you’re so thin, ma’am!” Wow! I’m thin? Yes!!...I was so thrilled, and was responded with a heartfelt, “Aww! Thanks, Divya!” Turns out she wasn’t done though. “You should be fat, like your sister,” she said, gesturing towards Roshini. Oh man! What are you supposed to say to something like that? And I wouldn’t describe Roshini as fat at all—she’s probably medium sized, though a little bigger than me. “Ouch!” I said to Divya, “I’m neither that thin, nor is Roshini fat!” Roshini, smiling at the comment gave me an aside: “actually, they’re complimenting me. That just mean’s I’m healthy, and they think you aren’t.” Oooh. Right…but I’m still a girl. Anyone genuinely calling me thin, regardless of the cultural context, is going to make me really happy!
The older girls, my “rhino” group (they name the levels of classes with animal names) is simply wonderful. After the little ones give me an abnormal amount of stress, these girls give me such a delightful respite. I had to teach them active voice versus passive voice the other day, and they picked up the concept after just a few examples, answered all of my questions correctly, and listened to me when I called on just one girl to answer the question. Ahh, so easy! Apparently, my teaching capacity is limited to older, and really good students (which, in my opinion pretty much defies the role of teacher—aren’t’ they supposed to be the inspiration for the challenging students?)…Though I suppose I can’t call my “rhino” group the girls any more. I also had a new student on Thursday—an older boy named Gautham (I love when the kids are namesakes with my friends/family members! It’s so much easier to remember their names). Gautham’s a young man with more muscles than normal for a seventeen-year-old (in my opinion). Apparently he had to drop out of school for a year after 10th grade to work for his struggling family, but, much more importantly and to my happiness, he’s back to school now, and more than willing to learn. Even he picked up my lesson quickly (and was obviously quite proud of himself when I complimented him). He rather interests me, though. When he was introducing himself to me, one of the younger boys next to him blurted out, “he’s the don, ma’am!” “Don?” I asked, genuinely thinking I heard wrong. “Yes, ma’am, gang-leader!” Gautham turned, and, with a phrase in Tamil, silenced the little one, and turned back to me. I wonder if he really is his gang-leader of the area. He’s even taller and bigger than Praveen (the “cool” boy I mentioned last time), and I could see him wielding some power amongst the children… but these older boys are so respectful and helpful to me that’s it’s hard to picture them in a gang, or even violent context. I suppose that might be the reality of their lives out of the classroom—though I hope that’s not true.
And talking about violence, one thing I’ve noticed about the children is that they hit each other. A lot. And it doesn’t seem to just be a playful push…it’s more like they slap one another, and actually punch each other in the arms or shoulder with force. I’m always taken aback, and yell something like, “hey! No hitting!” to them--to no avail most of the time. I once asked Roshni about it and she mentioned that they really do have a tendency towards violence, partly because that’s how they are raised in their household. When they do something wrong, they are often scolded with a severe beating, and, according to her, the children are exposed to a lot of domestic violence which influences them. This is going to be added to my ever-growing list of things I’m incredibly grateful for in life. Even for the stupidest things I’ve done, I’ve only been verbally scolded by my parents. Even my older brother’s a pacifist and won’t hit a girl regardless of how much I annoy him. Another point of my cushy life that I’ve taken for granted…
Oh, and random side note: I feel pretty cool, now. Last night, when I was walking back to the car from the slum, in a drizzling sort of rain, two rats jumped out from the street gutter, and scampered across from me—and the real surprising thing of the situation is that I didn’t freak out. I just watched their thick tails dart from one side to the muddy courtyard of the slum across from me. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but I might actually be the world’s biggest pansy! Rodents (that are not behind a glass or cage) typically freak me out, and I was all proud of myself for being so clam…then again, when it’s in a slum, you half expect to see “creatures,” and you become prepared for it. When it’s in your own clean, comfortable home or apartment in the States, I feel like paranoia is more acceptable (and I hear the east coast has a ton of cockroaches, which I’m already worried about!).
Peace Out!
Aren’t cultural perceptions funny? The other day, after class I was standing with Roshini and some of the older girls, chatting. Divya, which her arm casually resting on my shoulder, looked at me at some point and said, “you’re so thin, ma’am!” Wow! I’m thin? Yes!!...I was so thrilled, and was responded with a heartfelt, “Aww! Thanks, Divya!” Turns out she wasn’t done though. “You should be fat, like your sister,” she said, gesturing towards Roshini. Oh man! What are you supposed to say to something like that? And I wouldn’t describe Roshini as fat at all—she’s probably medium sized, though a little bigger than me. “Ouch!” I said to Divya, “I’m neither that thin, nor is Roshini fat!” Roshini, smiling at the comment gave me an aside: “actually, they’re complimenting me. That just mean’s I’m healthy, and they think you aren’t.” Oooh. Right…but I’m still a girl. Anyone genuinely calling me thin, regardless of the cultural context, is going to make me really happy!
The older girls, my “rhino” group (they name the levels of classes with animal names) is simply wonderful. After the little ones give me an abnormal amount of stress, these girls give me such a delightful respite. I had to teach them active voice versus passive voice the other day, and they picked up the concept after just a few examples, answered all of my questions correctly, and listened to me when I called on just one girl to answer the question. Ahh, so easy! Apparently, my teaching capacity is limited to older, and really good students (which, in my opinion pretty much defies the role of teacher—aren’t’ they supposed to be the inspiration for the challenging students?)…Though I suppose I can’t call my “rhino” group the girls any more. I also had a new student on Thursday—an older boy named Gautham (I love when the kids are namesakes with my friends/family members! It’s so much easier to remember their names). Gautham’s a young man with more muscles than normal for a seventeen-year-old (in my opinion). Apparently he had to drop out of school for a year after 10th grade to work for his struggling family, but, much more importantly and to my happiness, he’s back to school now, and more than willing to learn. Even he picked up my lesson quickly (and was obviously quite proud of himself when I complimented him). He rather interests me, though. When he was introducing himself to me, one of the younger boys next to him blurted out, “he’s the don, ma’am!” “Don?” I asked, genuinely thinking I heard wrong. “Yes, ma’am, gang-leader!” Gautham turned, and, with a phrase in Tamil, silenced the little one, and turned back to me. I wonder if he really is his gang-leader of the area. He’s even taller and bigger than Praveen (the “cool” boy I mentioned last time), and I could see him wielding some power amongst the children… but these older boys are so respectful and helpful to me that’s it’s hard to picture them in a gang, or even violent context. I suppose that might be the reality of their lives out of the classroom—though I hope that’s not true.
And talking about violence, one thing I’ve noticed about the children is that they hit each other. A lot. And it doesn’t seem to just be a playful push…it’s more like they slap one another, and actually punch each other in the arms or shoulder with force. I’m always taken aback, and yell something like, “hey! No hitting!” to them--to no avail most of the time. I once asked Roshni about it and she mentioned that they really do have a tendency towards violence, partly because that’s how they are raised in their household. When they do something wrong, they are often scolded with a severe beating, and, according to her, the children are exposed to a lot of domestic violence which influences them. This is going to be added to my ever-growing list of things I’m incredibly grateful for in life. Even for the stupidest things I’ve done, I’ve only been verbally scolded by my parents. Even my older brother’s a pacifist and won’t hit a girl regardless of how much I annoy him. Another point of my cushy life that I’ve taken for granted…
Oh, and random side note: I feel pretty cool, now. Last night, when I was walking back to the car from the slum, in a drizzling sort of rain, two rats jumped out from the street gutter, and scampered across from me—and the real surprising thing of the situation is that I didn’t freak out. I just watched their thick tails dart from one side to the muddy courtyard of the slum across from me. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but I might actually be the world’s biggest pansy! Rodents (that are not behind a glass or cage) typically freak me out, and I was all proud of myself for being so clam…then again, when it’s in a slum, you half expect to see “creatures,” and you become prepared for it. When it’s in your own clean, comfortable home or apartment in the States, I feel like paranoia is more acceptable (and I hear the east coast has a ton of cockroaches, which I’m already worried about!).
Peace Out!
Random Musings Part IV
July 02, 2011
Oh wow! It’s already July? I only have sixteen days left in India…time flies!
You know, I read in the Deccan Herald (the local Bangalore media source, and my grandfather’s newspaper of choice) that every two minutes in Bangalore there are approximately 2,000 traffic rules broken. I definitely had a good laugh at that! Only 2,000? I didn’t think anyone paid attention to traffic rules! Scooters still zoom across the sidewalk in traffic jams, I’ve never seen a stop sign obeyed, traffic lights are optional (depending on the presence of a policeman) and I’m still amazed at how many people (without helmets) can fit on a single scooter! And as a pedestrian…man, you’re going to need God’s blessings most of the time! It’s one big, confused mess…but you know what? I love it all the same. We’re so proper and careful back home. To me, traffic is one of those weird things I associate with this country. What would India be without the sound of honking, the smell of car exhaust and the grinding noise of auto-rickshaws?
So after years of dedicatedly following Bollywood movies across an ocean away I finally watched my first Hindi movie in India (took 22 years!)…The new Imran Khan movie, “Delhi Belly,” which, judging by producer Aamir Khan’s track record, I thought would turn out to be a classic. It was…decent. It had it’s amusing points, but I guess it’s just not something I’d chose to be my first Hindi film to be honest (lots of crude humor…and turns out I didn’t learn enough cuss words (or as my cousins who took me put it, “Mumbai-Rikshaw Hindi”) in Hindi class to follow the dialogue completely, without subtitles). And I was so disappointed with the songs! I assumed that the theaters here would place a heavy emphasis on the Bollywood tracks, but instead, they skipped over all the songs that they’ve been repeatedly playing on TV advertisements, and just made the music part of the background tracks (at least when the hero was running from the villans and they played one of the tracks in the background, people in the theater started cheering and singing along! That’s part of what I expected from an Indian theater!). Dark comedy is wonderful, but even if life teaches you the hard way that love stories don’t work out the way you hope they do, I think a part of me still wants to see the cheesy stuff with happy endings—just to have something to believe in, in the love department. :) Meh…I guess this just means I’ll just have to go see another Hindi movie…preferably the this-would-never-happen-in-real-life, super colorful sort of stuff…
A little blub about travelling in India that I had jotted down on the plane back to Bangalore: Traveling within India…whew! Perhaps this was an unusual flight situation, but some Indian airports seriously need to organize things a bit more. They procrastinated telling us the gate that we were supposed to be departing from till just before the flight, making us moves in a suitcase-armed herd to the waiting area at the last minute. And a few more signs, would have been helpful--I forgot that India still has separate lines of “ladies” and “gents” for pat down searches (I definitely went into the men’s line without realizing it)…and this has to be the only country where everyone--even little old grandmothers with heavy mangalyas (wedding necklaces) and dime sized bindis on their foreheads--forcefully push you out of (what I take substantial liberty in calling a) “line”—then still respectfully touch you then their eyes in forgiveness when they step on you. If there’s any reason that I couldn’t live in India, it might be because my suburban-American conditioning has not taught me the basic Indian instinct of nudging your way through people.
So, what is up with Bollywood now? When did Indians become so slutty? I still love watching the Hindi music channels, like B4U Music, to figure out what some of the new songs are for the season (by the way, I currently recommend “Saibo” from Shor in the City, and “Ik Junoon” from Zindagi Na Mili Do Baar)…but I’m embarrassed to even turn on the music channels when my grandparents are around! There’s about an 80% chance that some scantily clad girl is going to be thrusting her chest and provocatively batting her eyes in front of the camera, with a flock of, if possible, even more skimpily-clothed white girls in the background. And, with my grandfather who can’t even hear well any more, I think it looks like I’m watching some weird, erotic sort of junk rather than just listening to the Desi beats. I’m glad India is willing to accept modernity and that people are not looked down upon for their westernized choice of dance and attire despite still living in fairly traditional societies. And it’s terrific that we’ve moved on from the impractical, black-and-white Hindi movies where the most physical contact was the hero putting a flower in a blushing actresses’ hair…but I also think it’s high time we found a balance between the seductive moves and a more real Indian context. Besides, we have the most colorful, gorgeous, sequined and mirrored outfits in the world. I say the Bollywood ladies flaunt it as much as they can!
There was a disturbing statistic that I read about India other day—apparently this nation is ranked #4 in the most unsafe place for women in the world (we’re only behind by Somalia (#1), Afghanistan, and Pakistan). Oh, and note that three of those nations are in South Asia. Apparently, they judge this through things like, instances of rape, female infanticide, gender discrimination, etc. Isn’t that sad? I was so ashamed to read about it. It’s one of those things that I wish, so badly wish, that I could change. India is an amazing country. And I’m not just saying this as the “Overseas Citizen of India” that I am. I’m saying this knowing what an ancient history we have, how diverse we are as a people, how many religions and languages and cultures we exist with. Even the land, with the Himalayas to the rainforests to the deserts…it’s simply an amazing country! I find it just wrong that we are still on the top of almost every “problem” list in development! With such an educated population, such able people who, if they just worked on it, could genuinely make a difference, why is India still so behind? As an International Affairs major I hear depressing statistics like this all the time. Disease rates, gender inequity, education discrepancies, malnutrition…every time the professor would put up a map with countries shaded-in based on the depth of the disparity with the particular problem, my eyes would automatically jump to India first. Why is it that we’re always one of the darkest countries on the map? Every single time? This needs to change people! That’s what I really, really want to do in my life…Trying to change those statistics, even if that’s just for a small group of people. But all I can say is that one person is not going to be the change. It takes a movement- dedication to change from a group of people who want the same thing. Like I said earlier, every Indian just sits and talks about the problems in this country, and doesn’t do anything about it. I’m tired of it, people! I really don’t even know what I’m getting at here, other than, (especially you Indians) please do something! India does not deserve to be on these lists, and even if you do something tiny to improve someone’s life, DO IT. Please. For your own people; for the sole fact that you are a human being sharing this world with six billion others; because every single person deserves a good life….
On that dramatic note…I take your leave once again! Peace be to journey! ;)
PS—Check out this commercial. I actually think it’s a nice advertisement for Indians to see…”Athiti Devo Bhava”
Oh wow! It’s already July? I only have sixteen days left in India…time flies!
You know, I read in the Deccan Herald (the local Bangalore media source, and my grandfather’s newspaper of choice) that every two minutes in Bangalore there are approximately 2,000 traffic rules broken. I definitely had a good laugh at that! Only 2,000? I didn’t think anyone paid attention to traffic rules! Scooters still zoom across the sidewalk in traffic jams, I’ve never seen a stop sign obeyed, traffic lights are optional (depending on the presence of a policeman) and I’m still amazed at how many people (without helmets) can fit on a single scooter! And as a pedestrian…man, you’re going to need God’s blessings most of the time! It’s one big, confused mess…but you know what? I love it all the same. We’re so proper and careful back home. To me, traffic is one of those weird things I associate with this country. What would India be without the sound of honking, the smell of car exhaust and the grinding noise of auto-rickshaws?
So after years of dedicatedly following Bollywood movies across an ocean away I finally watched my first Hindi movie in India (took 22 years!)…The new Imran Khan movie, “Delhi Belly,” which, judging by producer Aamir Khan’s track record, I thought would turn out to be a classic. It was…decent. It had it’s amusing points, but I guess it’s just not something I’d chose to be my first Hindi film to be honest (lots of crude humor…and turns out I didn’t learn enough cuss words (or as my cousins who took me put it, “Mumbai-Rikshaw Hindi”) in Hindi class to follow the dialogue completely, without subtitles). And I was so disappointed with the songs! I assumed that the theaters here would place a heavy emphasis on the Bollywood tracks, but instead, they skipped over all the songs that they’ve been repeatedly playing on TV advertisements, and just made the music part of the background tracks (at least when the hero was running from the villans and they played one of the tracks in the background, people in the theater started cheering and singing along! That’s part of what I expected from an Indian theater!). Dark comedy is wonderful, but even if life teaches you the hard way that love stories don’t work out the way you hope they do, I think a part of me still wants to see the cheesy stuff with happy endings—just to have something to believe in, in the love department. :) Meh…I guess this just means I’ll just have to go see another Hindi movie…preferably the this-would-never-happen-in-real-life, super colorful sort of stuff…
A little blub about travelling in India that I had jotted down on the plane back to Bangalore: Traveling within India…whew! Perhaps this was an unusual flight situation, but some Indian airports seriously need to organize things a bit more. They procrastinated telling us the gate that we were supposed to be departing from till just before the flight, making us moves in a suitcase-armed herd to the waiting area at the last minute. And a few more signs, would have been helpful--I forgot that India still has separate lines of “ladies” and “gents” for pat down searches (I definitely went into the men’s line without realizing it)…and this has to be the only country where everyone--even little old grandmothers with heavy mangalyas (wedding necklaces) and dime sized bindis on their foreheads--forcefully push you out of (what I take substantial liberty in calling a) “line”—then still respectfully touch you then their eyes in forgiveness when they step on you. If there’s any reason that I couldn’t live in India, it might be because my suburban-American conditioning has not taught me the basic Indian instinct of nudging your way through people.
So, what is up with Bollywood now? When did Indians become so slutty? I still love watching the Hindi music channels, like B4U Music, to figure out what some of the new songs are for the season (by the way, I currently recommend “Saibo” from Shor in the City, and “Ik Junoon” from Zindagi Na Mili Do Baar)…but I’m embarrassed to even turn on the music channels when my grandparents are around! There’s about an 80% chance that some scantily clad girl is going to be thrusting her chest and provocatively batting her eyes in front of the camera, with a flock of, if possible, even more skimpily-clothed white girls in the background. And, with my grandfather who can’t even hear well any more, I think it looks like I’m watching some weird, erotic sort of junk rather than just listening to the Desi beats. I’m glad India is willing to accept modernity and that people are not looked down upon for their westernized choice of dance and attire despite still living in fairly traditional societies. And it’s terrific that we’ve moved on from the impractical, black-and-white Hindi movies where the most physical contact was the hero putting a flower in a blushing actresses’ hair…but I also think it’s high time we found a balance between the seductive moves and a more real Indian context. Besides, we have the most colorful, gorgeous, sequined and mirrored outfits in the world. I say the Bollywood ladies flaunt it as much as they can!
There was a disturbing statistic that I read about India other day—apparently this nation is ranked #4 in the most unsafe place for women in the world (we’re only behind by Somalia (#1), Afghanistan, and Pakistan). Oh, and note that three of those nations are in South Asia. Apparently, they judge this through things like, instances of rape, female infanticide, gender discrimination, etc. Isn’t that sad? I was so ashamed to read about it. It’s one of those things that I wish, so badly wish, that I could change. India is an amazing country. And I’m not just saying this as the “Overseas Citizen of India” that I am. I’m saying this knowing what an ancient history we have, how diverse we are as a people, how many religions and languages and cultures we exist with. Even the land, with the Himalayas to the rainforests to the deserts…it’s simply an amazing country! I find it just wrong that we are still on the top of almost every “problem” list in development! With such an educated population, such able people who, if they just worked on it, could genuinely make a difference, why is India still so behind? As an International Affairs major I hear depressing statistics like this all the time. Disease rates, gender inequity, education discrepancies, malnutrition…every time the professor would put up a map with countries shaded-in based on the depth of the disparity with the particular problem, my eyes would automatically jump to India first. Why is it that we’re always one of the darkest countries on the map? Every single time? This needs to change people! That’s what I really, really want to do in my life…Trying to change those statistics, even if that’s just for a small group of people. But all I can say is that one person is not going to be the change. It takes a movement- dedication to change from a group of people who want the same thing. Like I said earlier, every Indian just sits and talks about the problems in this country, and doesn’t do anything about it. I’m tired of it, people! I really don’t even know what I’m getting at here, other than, (especially you Indians) please do something! India does not deserve to be on these lists, and even if you do something tiny to improve someone’s life, DO IT. Please. For your own people; for the sole fact that you are a human being sharing this world with six billion others; because every single person deserves a good life….
On that dramatic note…I take your leave once again! Peace be to journey! ;)
PS—Check out this commercial. I actually think it’s a nice advertisement for Indians to see…”Athiti Devo Bhava”
Films, Flowers, Family and Familiarity
July 05, 2011
First, and mainly because I’m a bit sad I missed seeing firecrackers from my window this year, Happy (belated) Independence Day, my fellow countrymen! I hope you all cheered our country in your own way on the 4th!
To add to my list of firsts: I finally saw an English movie in India! Kung Fu Panda II. Quite brilliant, if you haven’t seen it yet! Comes highly recommended from me, and it definitely made me laugh…(though I’m sure I would have laughed aloud even more if either Krishna with his obtrusive, not-always-the-right-time-to-laugh chortle, or Nhan, who laughs at practically anything :)…) best part is, the audience quite literally whooped and whistled through the climax. Let me tell you—it makes it even more climactic to have so much energy in the theater! Though, another thing I think I’ve learnt about people: they are slightly shocked when you (a girl? An Indian girl?) are alone, and not with, either a boyfriend, defiantly holding hands in public, or with a gaggle of giddy girls. I guess I have always had the latter with me—and come to think of it, this is the first time I went to a theater by myself (movie-viewing, to me, is more of a social sort of act)—but honestly! I didn’t feel like it needed to be so…publicized! (I feel like Americans would think about your solo-outing in their heads, while Indians, with their inherent need to know, flat out ask you) First the man at the ticket counter gave me two tickets (I suppose he thought he misunderstood me the first time) and after I handed one back he incredulously asked me, “only one?” The person handing out the 3D-glasses raised an eyebrow, asking, again, “But you are alone?” followed by the group of people sitting next to me leaning over at the advertisements before the movie to ask if I had only bought one ticket (as if I had been stood-up on a date or something). I half wanted to tell them something, like: I’m new to the city? I’m from America? Yes, I’m alone—you have a problem with it? But, like I typically do, I just smiled and said, “yeah,” and settled in to watch a good film.
And now a little acknowledgement to the people who have made this trip possible for me—my wonderful grandparents! I’ve been staying at their house the entire trip, getting petted by my grandfather every morning and happily arguing with my grandmother to stop feeding me (and secretly filling up the fridge with sweets irresistible to me when I’m not home)…For me, in India, my grandparents house really does feel like home more than anything else. Even the way that my Pati (grandmother) cooks tastes like my mom’s meals (obviously), and, for some reason, nowhere else—not uncle and aunt’s houses—in India really feels like this: my Tata and Pati’s home. Even when I imagine coming to India, I always picture arriving, suitcases in hand, running up staircase that leads upstairs to their second-level home….and the two of them are totally cute too. They give meaning to the saying, “bicker like an old married couple,” with their random arguing about things that seem super trivial to me (like how much food they should pack for an outing or how much it will rain in the afternoon). But even through their harmless spats you can still see how much they love each other. My grandfather still makes coffee everyday for my grandmother after their afternoon nap, folds all my grandmother’s saris, and puts two plantains on a plate after dinner; diligently waiting to only eat it with my grandmother. And my grandmother, in turn, always walks my grandfather to the doctor’s offices, later getting ht prescriptions herself, and daily, patiently relays entire soap-opera plots and cricket scores to my hard-of-hearing grandfather. They, like my own parents, are the type of people that make you think, “Huh. I kind of really want this someday…”
I haven’t felt like crying in India. Not when I saw the children gathering water for their families from a small hand pump near the slum, or when I saw the small dog with half a tail that ran and hid every time a person walked by…but my god, I was fighting back tears on the way home the other day. Like most evenings, it began to rain. Lightly at first, suddenly picking up into a befitting monsoon storm. I was absent mindedly staring out of the window, listening to some Hindi 9:30 p.m. special programming, when my musings were interrupted by a stick-thin, little boy. Judging from the kids in Tilaknagar, this boy was probably ten or twelve, and was holding a basket of jasmine flower strands up to the window saying, “Akka, akka,” (older sister)over and over again as he rapped his knuckles against the window. He was getting steadily drenched in the rain, his hair dripping down to his shabby looking clothes, wiping away water from his soaked face with the back of his hand. Ah! My heart was going to break! The driver, Suresh, began shoo-ing him away, as he usually did to all the salesmen who knocked on the glass in traffic jams and red-lights, and on impulse, I yelled, “wait! I want to buy it!” I’m pretty sure I would have bought his entire basket if I could, but instead I handed the little boy a twenty rupee note, after rummaging through my wallet as fast as I could, reaching out my hands to accept the flowers. Of course, like most of these snapshots of life, the traffic signal changed to green, magnified in the rainy light, and the boy ducked out of the cars’ way, leaving me holding a few strands of flowers in my cupped palms, a divine smell filling the car as we sped away...
So I’ve come up with a nice little routine for myself, here in Malleswaram, Bangalore. I wake up at 7:30, promptly (four and a half hours later than my grandparents. Makes me feel like a lazy-ass), toast some too-sweet bread, and make myself a cup of utterly-strong coffee on the stove, then head up to the terrace of my grandparent’s house to eat my lovely little breakfast. Then, plugging in my iPod, I head off to the Sanky Tank—this small reservoir tank, about 20 minutes away, for a longish walk. I used to want to go to the Tank only in the evenings, when there would be more young people (to me, young people make much more interesting subjects of people-watching than old people), but I’m beginning to become fond of the mornings. There are always these little old grandmothers and grandfathers in tennis shoes taking one slow step after another; then there are the middle aged health-walkers with either their cell phones playing Hindu chants, or their lips moving seamlessly as they walk and pray simultaneously; or on occasion, a few men doing exercises at the ends of the sidewalk, belting out the hanuman chalisa (a prayer to a God of strength) under their breath. There are the younger people jogging, their faces nicely flushed in the morning sun, or, once in a while, the couple that decides to meet up before work, inaudibly holding hands and sitting behind the gazebo…as for me, I just take a walk around the tank, then sit on a bench to watch pigeons and ducks in the sky, or the rippled breeze on the water, before heading home again. It’s quickly become one of my favorite places in this bustling city, with its quiet calm…anyways, the days go slowly, with me either deciding to take a spontaneous excursion (mostly to shopping places, because that’s what I know—and where I feel reasonably safe), and, of course, going to Tilaknagar most evenings to be with the children. I’m alone most of the time when I’m out (I hate to exert my grandparents), and I’m beginning to not mind it. I usually enjoy the company a friend or someone, but I guess part of me wants to prepare myself for Pennsylvania too. I’m assuming I’ll be alone a lot (in the first few months at least) and, this time, I want to discover the city by myself, so, no matter what happens to me, I won’t associate everything with (just in case) a broken heart…depending on what time I get home, I eat dinner, and, largely to avoid the high-volume, melodramatic serials my grandmother watches at night, spend the evenings with my iPod, walking on the terrace, watching bats fly out from the swaying coconut trees on the street, admittedly half-dancing to my music, or just relishing the cool Bangalore breeze…perfect, right? :) I think so!
For now…ciao!
First, and mainly because I’m a bit sad I missed seeing firecrackers from my window this year, Happy (belated) Independence Day, my fellow countrymen! I hope you all cheered our country in your own way on the 4th!
To add to my list of firsts: I finally saw an English movie in India! Kung Fu Panda II. Quite brilliant, if you haven’t seen it yet! Comes highly recommended from me, and it definitely made me laugh…(though I’m sure I would have laughed aloud even more if either Krishna with his obtrusive, not-always-the-right-time-to-laugh chortle, or Nhan, who laughs at practically anything :)…) best part is, the audience quite literally whooped and whistled through the climax. Let me tell you—it makes it even more climactic to have so much energy in the theater! Though, another thing I think I’ve learnt about people: they are slightly shocked when you (a girl? An Indian girl?) are alone, and not with, either a boyfriend, defiantly holding hands in public, or with a gaggle of giddy girls. I guess I have always had the latter with me—and come to think of it, this is the first time I went to a theater by myself (movie-viewing, to me, is more of a social sort of act)—but honestly! I didn’t feel like it needed to be so…publicized! (I feel like Americans would think about your solo-outing in their heads, while Indians, with their inherent need to know, flat out ask you) First the man at the ticket counter gave me two tickets (I suppose he thought he misunderstood me the first time) and after I handed one back he incredulously asked me, “only one?” The person handing out the 3D-glasses raised an eyebrow, asking, again, “But you are alone?” followed by the group of people sitting next to me leaning over at the advertisements before the movie to ask if I had only bought one ticket (as if I had been stood-up on a date or something). I half wanted to tell them something, like: I’m new to the city? I’m from America? Yes, I’m alone—you have a problem with it? But, like I typically do, I just smiled and said, “yeah,” and settled in to watch a good film.
And now a little acknowledgement to the people who have made this trip possible for me—my wonderful grandparents! I’ve been staying at their house the entire trip, getting petted by my grandfather every morning and happily arguing with my grandmother to stop feeding me (and secretly filling up the fridge with sweets irresistible to me when I’m not home)…For me, in India, my grandparents house really does feel like home more than anything else. Even the way that my Pati (grandmother) cooks tastes like my mom’s meals (obviously), and, for some reason, nowhere else—not uncle and aunt’s houses—in India really feels like this: my Tata and Pati’s home. Even when I imagine coming to India, I always picture arriving, suitcases in hand, running up staircase that leads upstairs to their second-level home….and the two of them are totally cute too. They give meaning to the saying, “bicker like an old married couple,” with their random arguing about things that seem super trivial to me (like how much food they should pack for an outing or how much it will rain in the afternoon). But even through their harmless spats you can still see how much they love each other. My grandfather still makes coffee everyday for my grandmother after their afternoon nap, folds all my grandmother’s saris, and puts two plantains on a plate after dinner; diligently waiting to only eat it with my grandmother. And my grandmother, in turn, always walks my grandfather to the doctor’s offices, later getting ht prescriptions herself, and daily, patiently relays entire soap-opera plots and cricket scores to my hard-of-hearing grandfather. They, like my own parents, are the type of people that make you think, “Huh. I kind of really want this someday…”
I haven’t felt like crying in India. Not when I saw the children gathering water for their families from a small hand pump near the slum, or when I saw the small dog with half a tail that ran and hid every time a person walked by…but my god, I was fighting back tears on the way home the other day. Like most evenings, it began to rain. Lightly at first, suddenly picking up into a befitting monsoon storm. I was absent mindedly staring out of the window, listening to some Hindi 9:30 p.m. special programming, when my musings were interrupted by a stick-thin, little boy. Judging from the kids in Tilaknagar, this boy was probably ten or twelve, and was holding a basket of jasmine flower strands up to the window saying, “Akka, akka,” (older sister)over and over again as he rapped his knuckles against the window. He was getting steadily drenched in the rain, his hair dripping down to his shabby looking clothes, wiping away water from his soaked face with the back of his hand. Ah! My heart was going to break! The driver, Suresh, began shoo-ing him away, as he usually did to all the salesmen who knocked on the glass in traffic jams and red-lights, and on impulse, I yelled, “wait! I want to buy it!” I’m pretty sure I would have bought his entire basket if I could, but instead I handed the little boy a twenty rupee note, after rummaging through my wallet as fast as I could, reaching out my hands to accept the flowers. Of course, like most of these snapshots of life, the traffic signal changed to green, magnified in the rainy light, and the boy ducked out of the cars’ way, leaving me holding a few strands of flowers in my cupped palms, a divine smell filling the car as we sped away...
So I’ve come up with a nice little routine for myself, here in Malleswaram, Bangalore. I wake up at 7:30, promptly (four and a half hours later than my grandparents. Makes me feel like a lazy-ass), toast some too-sweet bread, and make myself a cup of utterly-strong coffee on the stove, then head up to the terrace of my grandparent’s house to eat my lovely little breakfast. Then, plugging in my iPod, I head off to the Sanky Tank—this small reservoir tank, about 20 minutes away, for a longish walk. I used to want to go to the Tank only in the evenings, when there would be more young people (to me, young people make much more interesting subjects of people-watching than old people), but I’m beginning to become fond of the mornings. There are always these little old grandmothers and grandfathers in tennis shoes taking one slow step after another; then there are the middle aged health-walkers with either their cell phones playing Hindu chants, or their lips moving seamlessly as they walk and pray simultaneously; or on occasion, a few men doing exercises at the ends of the sidewalk, belting out the hanuman chalisa (a prayer to a God of strength) under their breath. There are the younger people jogging, their faces nicely flushed in the morning sun, or, once in a while, the couple that decides to meet up before work, inaudibly holding hands and sitting behind the gazebo…as for me, I just take a walk around the tank, then sit on a bench to watch pigeons and ducks in the sky, or the rippled breeze on the water, before heading home again. It’s quickly become one of my favorite places in this bustling city, with its quiet calm…anyways, the days go slowly, with me either deciding to take a spontaneous excursion (mostly to shopping places, because that’s what I know—and where I feel reasonably safe), and, of course, going to Tilaknagar most evenings to be with the children. I’m alone most of the time when I’m out (I hate to exert my grandparents), and I’m beginning to not mind it. I usually enjoy the company a friend or someone, but I guess part of me wants to prepare myself for Pennsylvania too. I’m assuming I’ll be alone a lot (in the first few months at least) and, this time, I want to discover the city by myself, so, no matter what happens to me, I won’t associate everything with (just in case) a broken heart…depending on what time I get home, I eat dinner, and, largely to avoid the high-volume, melodramatic serials my grandmother watches at night, spend the evenings with my iPod, walking on the terrace, watching bats fly out from the swaying coconut trees on the street, admittedly half-dancing to my music, or just relishing the cool Bangalore breeze…perfect, right? :) I think so!
For now…ciao!
A Brief Note...
July 6, 2011
I was talking to Ahalya one day, one of the oldest SECA students at 18 years old. Walking down the rangoli spotted sidewalk with me, she asked me how old I was- and was stunned to learn I was 22 (apparently I don’t look my age in either country). More surprising to me, she asked why I wasn’t married yet. “I’m…just…not.” I lamely replied, going on to explain that I was doing my Master’s now, and moving away, and my education is very important to me. She nodded along at the right parts, and after I finished, I asked her the equivalent question—when she wanted to get married. Most of the girls in this slum are married off around 18, since it makes it easier for the parents with one less mouth to feed, and ensures at least a reasonable future for them. And of course, with social pressures, within a year or two the girls end up having a baby. Ahalya was different, “ooh, I don’t want to marry now, ma’am,” she said adamantly, citing her new university B-Comm courses as enough for her. Later I found out more about Ahalya from Roshni. Apparently, Raghu and Roshni had to practically lecture and fight with Ahalya’s parents to allow her to do the B-Comm course. As the oldest of a family of five daughters, Ahalya had the responsibility of finding a job quickly, or at least getting married. Her parents relented though, and she’s permitted a year or two to finish her program before she’s married. And, apparently, she’s already had plenty of requests, with eligible boys from neighboring slums visiting her and “viewing” her. Shama’s sister, another girl and former SECA student, was married promptly after her 18th birthday, and now has a two year old daughter (I think she’s a year younger than me). I’ve seen her only once—she wears a burqua that shows only her eyes and is always trying to talk to people with a small girl distractingly curled in her lap….It’s people like Ahalya that I’m really worried about. They are good students, and they could go far. I just don’t want to see them turn into housewives and housemaids with six children—the duplicates of their mothers—when they have a chance to pursue a real education, and go places. Roshni said that she wants to sit the girls down, since they are all “getting of age” and have a real discussion with them about what marriage is, and what it means to them…I just hope that I won’t come back to visit the SECA kids in two years and find out that all the older girls that I’ve become friends with have become dead ended because of their societies…
Oh man…leaving these kids on the 19th is going to be SO HARD. Today, when I told the children that I had to leave back to America in a little more than a week, they began trying to convince me to stay just a little longer, tugging at my elbows, and shouting to be heard over one another. “What is this, ma’am! Stay till at least August, ma’am!” or “My birthday is on July 30th! You have to be here for my birthday, ma’am!” Oh dear. These children welcomed me into their lives so openly in such a short amount of time that I can’t help but grow attached to them…and for a person that sucks at “goodbyes” and looks for any possible way of avoiding that one little word, I have a feeling that this is going to be tough…
I was talking to Ahalya one day, one of the oldest SECA students at 18 years old. Walking down the rangoli spotted sidewalk with me, she asked me how old I was- and was stunned to learn I was 22 (apparently I don’t look my age in either country). More surprising to me, she asked why I wasn’t married yet. “I’m…just…not.” I lamely replied, going on to explain that I was doing my Master’s now, and moving away, and my education is very important to me. She nodded along at the right parts, and after I finished, I asked her the equivalent question—when she wanted to get married. Most of the girls in this slum are married off around 18, since it makes it easier for the parents with one less mouth to feed, and ensures at least a reasonable future for them. And of course, with social pressures, within a year or two the girls end up having a baby. Ahalya was different, “ooh, I don’t want to marry now, ma’am,” she said adamantly, citing her new university B-Comm courses as enough for her. Later I found out more about Ahalya from Roshni. Apparently, Raghu and Roshni had to practically lecture and fight with Ahalya’s parents to allow her to do the B-Comm course. As the oldest of a family of five daughters, Ahalya had the responsibility of finding a job quickly, or at least getting married. Her parents relented though, and she’s permitted a year or two to finish her program before she’s married. And, apparently, she’s already had plenty of requests, with eligible boys from neighboring slums visiting her and “viewing” her. Shama’s sister, another girl and former SECA student, was married promptly after her 18th birthday, and now has a two year old daughter (I think she’s a year younger than me). I’ve seen her only once—she wears a burqua that shows only her eyes and is always trying to talk to people with a small girl distractingly curled in her lap….It’s people like Ahalya that I’m really worried about. They are good students, and they could go far. I just don’t want to see them turn into housewives and housemaids with six children—the duplicates of their mothers—when they have a chance to pursue a real education, and go places. Roshni said that she wants to sit the girls down, since they are all “getting of age” and have a real discussion with them about what marriage is, and what it means to them…I just hope that I won’t come back to visit the SECA kids in two years and find out that all the older girls that I’ve become friends with have become dead ended because of their societies…
Oh man…leaving these kids on the 19th is going to be SO HARD. Today, when I told the children that I had to leave back to America in a little more than a week, they began trying to convince me to stay just a little longer, tugging at my elbows, and shouting to be heard over one another. “What is this, ma’am! Stay till at least August, ma’am!” or “My birthday is on July 30th! You have to be here for my birthday, ma’am!” Oh dear. These children welcomed me into their lives so openly in such a short amount of time that I can’t help but grow attached to them…and for a person that sucks at “goodbyes” and looks for any possible way of avoiding that one little word, I have a feeling that this is going to be tough…
"You can tell the condition of a nation,
by looking at the status of its women.”
--Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India
by looking at the status of its women.”
--Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India
We Can Believe in Change
July 8, 2011
I went to class yesterday for a little more filming for my documentary and to just spend a little more time with the children. I was sitting with Praveen and Subash, watching them play an interesting version of Snakes and Ladders, hand drawn on a piece of cloth, with seashells as the “dice” (I still have no idea how they came up with the numbers they “rolled”), when one of the girls, Shama came to sit next to me. After a few minutes of talking to her, and asking her about the exams she’d just spent the last week taken, she suddenly began to cry. If it weren’t for her height (much taller than me) that betrays that Shama’s a sixteen-year-old, I’d have probably guessed she was a much younger girl, with her two, long braids always tied up with ribbons at the top, and the way she cries like a child, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands…I was confused as to why she was crying, and tried to ask her what was wrong while consoling her, but, in her agitation, she began babbling to me in Tamil—and as much as I strained to understand what she was talking about, and asked her questions in Kannada, she continued on with a story that I didn’t understand. What could I do? I just ended up with my arm around her shoulder, rummaging my bag for a tissue until, thankfully, Roshni and Raghu came in. Roshni saw her crying at once, and asked her what was wrong, and they had a brief conversation outside. I found out later what Shama was trying to tell me—she just heard that her cousin passed-away. More like, murdered. Because of his wife. Evidently, the story is that her cousin was married to a girl (that had already lost her first husband) in a small village on the outskirts of Bangalore, with a heavy Muslim population, and a very old-fashioned reasoning of justice by village elders. They were married a few years ago, and one day, the girl went to a different village, where some guy (who wasn’t her husband apparently) put a flower in her hair. The cousin, upon his wife coming back to the village and hearing about the incident, hit (beat?) his wife. In her anger she called her brothers to murder her husband—which they apparently did in a brutal, gory manner, cutting off his hand and cutting his body and everything…scary, right? (No wonder I couldn’t understand what Shama was saying—I don’t know words like “murder” in Tamil!) As Roshni says, there’s no way you can tell which side is telling the truth—but the most you can do is just comfort a very distraught, emotional girl…
Yesterday was also a meeting of a different group, also a part of SECA, called, “Nilavu.” The group consists of most of the older children, boys and girls, and aims to improve infrastructure problems within the community. Basically, the children inspect things in their neighborhoods that need work—like the trash collection, or, in yesterday’s case, the water. There have been some water issues of the late in the Swagth slum, with contaminated water tanks, and a lack of water at certain times of the day. The children have been collecting data that they can show to their parents and the leaders of the slum to try to make some changes. Apparently, it costs each family around 80 rupees per month to maintain the tanks, but most families have been avoiding the payments to use money for their own expenses. The issue was brought to the table (or more like, the mats spread on the floor) to discuss what needed to be done…The children have decided to, for now, to pool their own allowance money to help out their parents, and monitor each other’s families, to ensure that the money is given to the slum lord so that the water will remain clean for their drinking and cooking use. Interesting, right? I love that the children are involved in this project as well. It’s for their living conditions too, and it’s good to see them take a stand and take over projects that are less likely to be completed by their over-worked parents…and besides that, this slum is immensely lucky—they have a water supply within their community. Most slums, according to Raghu, pay around 30-40 rupees per month, in addition to the nearly 1000+ rupees that it costs (per family) to call in one of the water supply trucks. To put that in perspective—most families in other slums are paying about 50% of their salaries to just get a few buckets worth of water that they have to lug back to their homes. Makes you rethink that 15 minute shower (it’s 2.5 gallons of water used per minute in America, people!), doesn’t it? If I were a journalist in India, this is one story I’d not miss covering!
In more happy news—there are just some things that don’t change around the world: birthdays! Yesterday was also the newly eleven-year-old, Ramya’s birthday, and we got a little taste of the celebration…The children generally dress nicely, contrary to what you’d think. Even if they have mismatched clothes (and sometimes a boy will wear a bright pink shirt with Minne Mouse on it), it’s always clean and rip-free (don’t you love how torn jeans are the fashion in America?). And for their birthdays? It’s they take even more notice of what they are wearing. I’ve never seen a child look so bright! Ramya had worn the brightest salwar I’ve seen, with little sequins sewed on that it shone like crazy even in the dull classroom light, with possibly every article of jewelry she owned, and flowers neatly pinned in her hair. Very adorable!...and, like any children’s class, she’d brought a box of little candies to pass out to all the other children, who would accept it with a formal shake of her hand and a, “happy birthday, Ramya.” (It’s the only time I’ve seen them shake hands instead of just hug). Of course, the children all sang “happy birthday” to her too (a weirder form of the song we’re familiar with, and with the extra, “may God bless you” part as well)…quite a happy occasion, I’m sure!
You know another thing I like about the children? They have no qualms whatsoever about physical interaction with you. They easily just grab my hand and hold onto it, without a second thought, linking their fingers through mine. I suppose the American in me sees holding hands as a more intimate thing, and I was rather surprised the first time they did that to me—their teacher. And of course, they always want to play with my hair, or try on the rings I’m wearing (they like my “peace” ring the most, and actually ask me where it is if I don’t wear it)…it’s really cute. Makes you feel immensely comfortable with them. I suppose any sort of physical interaction does that to you. And I HAVE to wear earrings when I’m with them (my older girls are quite strict about that!), and they especially like me to wear salwars (not American clothes) with a mandatory bindi. I actually find myself dressing up a bit before I got to class, and taking particular time to make sure I look ok! And with all their compliments later, it’s much more rewarding than even dressing up for a date!
Anyways, this week is my last week of classes, so I think I’ll try to jam in as much time as I can with the kids before I head home. They’re still guilt tripping me to stay back in Bangalore…but Pennsylvania calls too! Till later…
I went to class yesterday for a little more filming for my documentary and to just spend a little more time with the children. I was sitting with Praveen and Subash, watching them play an interesting version of Snakes and Ladders, hand drawn on a piece of cloth, with seashells as the “dice” (I still have no idea how they came up with the numbers they “rolled”), when one of the girls, Shama came to sit next to me. After a few minutes of talking to her, and asking her about the exams she’d just spent the last week taken, she suddenly began to cry. If it weren’t for her height (much taller than me) that betrays that Shama’s a sixteen-year-old, I’d have probably guessed she was a much younger girl, with her two, long braids always tied up with ribbons at the top, and the way she cries like a child, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands…I was confused as to why she was crying, and tried to ask her what was wrong while consoling her, but, in her agitation, she began babbling to me in Tamil—and as much as I strained to understand what she was talking about, and asked her questions in Kannada, she continued on with a story that I didn’t understand. What could I do? I just ended up with my arm around her shoulder, rummaging my bag for a tissue until, thankfully, Roshni and Raghu came in. Roshni saw her crying at once, and asked her what was wrong, and they had a brief conversation outside. I found out later what Shama was trying to tell me—she just heard that her cousin passed-away. More like, murdered. Because of his wife. Evidently, the story is that her cousin was married to a girl (that had already lost her first husband) in a small village on the outskirts of Bangalore, with a heavy Muslim population, and a very old-fashioned reasoning of justice by village elders. They were married a few years ago, and one day, the girl went to a different village, where some guy (who wasn’t her husband apparently) put a flower in her hair. The cousin, upon his wife coming back to the village and hearing about the incident, hit (beat?) his wife. In her anger she called her brothers to murder her husband—which they apparently did in a brutal, gory manner, cutting off his hand and cutting his body and everything…scary, right? (No wonder I couldn’t understand what Shama was saying—I don’t know words like “murder” in Tamil!) As Roshni says, there’s no way you can tell which side is telling the truth—but the most you can do is just comfort a very distraught, emotional girl…
Yesterday was also a meeting of a different group, also a part of SECA, called, “Nilavu.” The group consists of most of the older children, boys and girls, and aims to improve infrastructure problems within the community. Basically, the children inspect things in their neighborhoods that need work—like the trash collection, or, in yesterday’s case, the water. There have been some water issues of the late in the Swagth slum, with contaminated water tanks, and a lack of water at certain times of the day. The children have been collecting data that they can show to their parents and the leaders of the slum to try to make some changes. Apparently, it costs each family around 80 rupees per month to maintain the tanks, but most families have been avoiding the payments to use money for their own expenses. The issue was brought to the table (or more like, the mats spread on the floor) to discuss what needed to be done…The children have decided to, for now, to pool their own allowance money to help out their parents, and monitor each other’s families, to ensure that the money is given to the slum lord so that the water will remain clean for their drinking and cooking use. Interesting, right? I love that the children are involved in this project as well. It’s for their living conditions too, and it’s good to see them take a stand and take over projects that are less likely to be completed by their over-worked parents…and besides that, this slum is immensely lucky—they have a water supply within their community. Most slums, according to Raghu, pay around 30-40 rupees per month, in addition to the nearly 1000+ rupees that it costs (per family) to call in one of the water supply trucks. To put that in perspective—most families in other slums are paying about 50% of their salaries to just get a few buckets worth of water that they have to lug back to their homes. Makes you rethink that 15 minute shower (it’s 2.5 gallons of water used per minute in America, people!), doesn’t it? If I were a journalist in India, this is one story I’d not miss covering!
In more happy news—there are just some things that don’t change around the world: birthdays! Yesterday was also the newly eleven-year-old, Ramya’s birthday, and we got a little taste of the celebration…The children generally dress nicely, contrary to what you’d think. Even if they have mismatched clothes (and sometimes a boy will wear a bright pink shirt with Minne Mouse on it), it’s always clean and rip-free (don’t you love how torn jeans are the fashion in America?). And for their birthdays? It’s they take even more notice of what they are wearing. I’ve never seen a child look so bright! Ramya had worn the brightest salwar I’ve seen, with little sequins sewed on that it shone like crazy even in the dull classroom light, with possibly every article of jewelry she owned, and flowers neatly pinned in her hair. Very adorable!...and, like any children’s class, she’d brought a box of little candies to pass out to all the other children, who would accept it with a formal shake of her hand and a, “happy birthday, Ramya.” (It’s the only time I’ve seen them shake hands instead of just hug). Of course, the children all sang “happy birthday” to her too (a weirder form of the song we’re familiar with, and with the extra, “may God bless you” part as well)…quite a happy occasion, I’m sure!
You know another thing I like about the children? They have no qualms whatsoever about physical interaction with you. They easily just grab my hand and hold onto it, without a second thought, linking their fingers through mine. I suppose the American in me sees holding hands as a more intimate thing, and I was rather surprised the first time they did that to me—their teacher. And of course, they always want to play with my hair, or try on the rings I’m wearing (they like my “peace” ring the most, and actually ask me where it is if I don’t wear it)…it’s really cute. Makes you feel immensely comfortable with them. I suppose any sort of physical interaction does that to you. And I HAVE to wear earrings when I’m with them (my older girls are quite strict about that!), and they especially like me to wear salwars (not American clothes) with a mandatory bindi. I actually find myself dressing up a bit before I got to class, and taking particular time to make sure I look ok! And with all their compliments later, it’s much more rewarding than even dressing up for a date!
Anyways, this week is my last week of classes, so I think I’ll try to jam in as much time as I can with the kids before I head home. They’re still guilt tripping me to stay back in Bangalore…but Pennsylvania calls too! Till later…
Random Musings Part V
July 11, 2011
I don’t know what’s up with Indian women, but, in my opinion, their idea of Western attire is quite hideous! Why is everything so pink and frilly? And why can’t I get a shirt without some sickening anime-looking character and fake-bad-ass English writing on it? I was all excited to see shirts on sale for 199 rupees the other day (around $4), and after rummaging the rack, found some black and dark green shirts with mildly amusing, pithy little phrases printed on the front. Thinking I’d try them on, I went to the dressing room—and was stopped by the attendant who told me I’d chosen clothes from the men’s department, and pointed to a ugly shelf of pastel shirts labeled, “women”. Oops. Apparently the style of American women suits me more. We’re much more into the goth-wannabe, dark colors that I prefer!
And on that note of clothing: There’s another odd thing I’ve noticed. People in India have started wearing rather promiscuous clothing. Not in the sense that it’s too low cut, or something, but, rather, the phrases printed on the shirt are a bit…well…licentious (I could easily describe some of the shirts, but if you’ve ever seen a college campus you know exactly what I’m talking about). Since it’s usually the street salesmen hawking vegetables, or bargaining off their 100 rupee watches, I have to wonder if they even know what the phrases mean. Better to just “tsk tsk” the idea in your head and move on, I guess…
As much as I enjoy India, this trip has made one thing quite certain for me: I don’t think I could ever live in this country. I guess I always thought I was adaptable enough to make it in India, but I think there are just so many little things—little comforts—that I’m used to back home that I miss over here. I like that I rarely get sick in the US (unlike here where I have a perpetual tendency to minor, pesky illnesses)…that I feel much more independent back home, driving my own car, buying my own groceries, and figuring out my own bills…I like that guys don’t shout things to you in the States when you are walking alone (that pisses me off…BIG time)…and even the fact that we live in a solitary bubble back home, with the nearest family members living on the opposite side of the country (not that I don’t care for my family, but after living in that remote “bubble” so long, it’s hard to bond or even connect with actual family members, who other than for blood, I have little in common with)…I’m beginning to realize my ideal job in the future is an NGO that caters specifically to development and lets me visit South Asia—without forcing me to live there. Then again, what’s to say I couldn’t make myself get used to this? I wonder how long it takes for something to stop being “foreign” to you and cross over to “familiar”.
Through Roshni, I found another reason why Bharatanatyam classes are so exciting for the girls I’m working with: in ancient times, the art form was limited to the upper classes. Bramhins were much more likely to learn dance and pass it on to other Bramhins. While that tradition thankfully died out ages ago, with not only lower castes learning the dance but even opening up to Muslims and Christians who wanted to learn as well, the stigma still existed in scattered groups, and it was still reserved in people’s minds as the dance form of the high class. By teaching the kids, most of who hail from a “lower class”, this dance form, they get to finally get beyond one of those class barriers, and enjoy an incredible, spiritual dance form. I just find it wonderful that the power of dance can move beyond castes, religions, and of course, economic barriers…
You know the Sanky Tank that I mentioned earlier in these blog posts? The one that I walk at every morning? On Sunday morning I went over to the Tank in the morning as always, to find a surprising number of people—mainly 20 and 30 year olds—all standing around waving flyers and banners encouraging people to “Save the Trees” and “Say No”…in other words, your typical hippie sort of protest! Curious, I joined the throng of people, inwardly cursing the fact that I forgot my camera at home, reading the posters and listening to the conversations. One man handed me a pamphlet, with English on the front and the curvy Kannada script on the back, explaining. Apparently, the government wants to widen the Sanky Road, allowing for more cars to pass through the busy area of town and reduce traffic. They didn’t note the costs of the project though, with nearly 30+ older trees being cut down. The protesters were fighting for those trees, and to save the city from more pollution and unwonted havoc that would ensure from the construction of the road as well. The Boulderite in me would of course join anything environmental, and I began to search for the sign-in sheet I heard several people talking about, to voice my support of their protest. Being jostled here and there by the crowd, I found myself by the street, next to a girl who would run up to cars as they drove by to stick a flyer through their windows. She looked so enthusiastic and frantic I couldn’t help but watch her for a while. She of course noticed, and holding out some flyers for me, asked me if I wanted to join her. I gave her my apologies instead, telling her I had to go home soon. Hearing my accent, I suppose, the girl hesitantly posed, “So…are you from Malleswaram?” “No, I live in the US,” I explained, telling her that I was just visiting my grandparents in India. “Ooh, foreign-returned” she said knowledgably. (Does foreign-returned-for-a-couple-months count?). I still hadn’t signed the petition yet, and asked her where it was, and she pointed to a short balding man with a clipboard and a pen a few feet away. Unsure if I was allowed to sign since I’m not an Indian-Indian, I asked her. “Oh, no, no! Just sign it anyways” she said breezily. Apparently when there’s a cause it doesn’t matter where you’re from, as long as you care enough!
On that note…I think I’ll hit the sack, folks. Till later!
I don’t know what’s up with Indian women, but, in my opinion, their idea of Western attire is quite hideous! Why is everything so pink and frilly? And why can’t I get a shirt without some sickening anime-looking character and fake-bad-ass English writing on it? I was all excited to see shirts on sale for 199 rupees the other day (around $4), and after rummaging the rack, found some black and dark green shirts with mildly amusing, pithy little phrases printed on the front. Thinking I’d try them on, I went to the dressing room—and was stopped by the attendant who told me I’d chosen clothes from the men’s department, and pointed to a ugly shelf of pastel shirts labeled, “women”. Oops. Apparently the style of American women suits me more. We’re much more into the goth-wannabe, dark colors that I prefer!
And on that note of clothing: There’s another odd thing I’ve noticed. People in India have started wearing rather promiscuous clothing. Not in the sense that it’s too low cut, or something, but, rather, the phrases printed on the shirt are a bit…well…licentious (I could easily describe some of the shirts, but if you’ve ever seen a college campus you know exactly what I’m talking about). Since it’s usually the street salesmen hawking vegetables, or bargaining off their 100 rupee watches, I have to wonder if they even know what the phrases mean. Better to just “tsk tsk” the idea in your head and move on, I guess…
As much as I enjoy India, this trip has made one thing quite certain for me: I don’t think I could ever live in this country. I guess I always thought I was adaptable enough to make it in India, but I think there are just so many little things—little comforts—that I’m used to back home that I miss over here. I like that I rarely get sick in the US (unlike here where I have a perpetual tendency to minor, pesky illnesses)…that I feel much more independent back home, driving my own car, buying my own groceries, and figuring out my own bills…I like that guys don’t shout things to you in the States when you are walking alone (that pisses me off…BIG time)…and even the fact that we live in a solitary bubble back home, with the nearest family members living on the opposite side of the country (not that I don’t care for my family, but after living in that remote “bubble” so long, it’s hard to bond or even connect with actual family members, who other than for blood, I have little in common with)…I’m beginning to realize my ideal job in the future is an NGO that caters specifically to development and lets me visit South Asia—without forcing me to live there. Then again, what’s to say I couldn’t make myself get used to this? I wonder how long it takes for something to stop being “foreign” to you and cross over to “familiar”.
Through Roshni, I found another reason why Bharatanatyam classes are so exciting for the girls I’m working with: in ancient times, the art form was limited to the upper classes. Bramhins were much more likely to learn dance and pass it on to other Bramhins. While that tradition thankfully died out ages ago, with not only lower castes learning the dance but even opening up to Muslims and Christians who wanted to learn as well, the stigma still existed in scattered groups, and it was still reserved in people’s minds as the dance form of the high class. By teaching the kids, most of who hail from a “lower class”, this dance form, they get to finally get beyond one of those class barriers, and enjoy an incredible, spiritual dance form. I just find it wonderful that the power of dance can move beyond castes, religions, and of course, economic barriers…
You know the Sanky Tank that I mentioned earlier in these blog posts? The one that I walk at every morning? On Sunday morning I went over to the Tank in the morning as always, to find a surprising number of people—mainly 20 and 30 year olds—all standing around waving flyers and banners encouraging people to “Save the Trees” and “Say No”…in other words, your typical hippie sort of protest! Curious, I joined the throng of people, inwardly cursing the fact that I forgot my camera at home, reading the posters and listening to the conversations. One man handed me a pamphlet, with English on the front and the curvy Kannada script on the back, explaining. Apparently, the government wants to widen the Sanky Road, allowing for more cars to pass through the busy area of town and reduce traffic. They didn’t note the costs of the project though, with nearly 30+ older trees being cut down. The protesters were fighting for those trees, and to save the city from more pollution and unwonted havoc that would ensure from the construction of the road as well. The Boulderite in me would of course join anything environmental, and I began to search for the sign-in sheet I heard several people talking about, to voice my support of their protest. Being jostled here and there by the crowd, I found myself by the street, next to a girl who would run up to cars as they drove by to stick a flyer through their windows. She looked so enthusiastic and frantic I couldn’t help but watch her for a while. She of course noticed, and holding out some flyers for me, asked me if I wanted to join her. I gave her my apologies instead, telling her I had to go home soon. Hearing my accent, I suppose, the girl hesitantly posed, “So…are you from Malleswaram?” “No, I live in the US,” I explained, telling her that I was just visiting my grandparents in India. “Ooh, foreign-returned” she said knowledgably. (Does foreign-returned-for-a-couple-months count?). I still hadn’t signed the petition yet, and asked her where it was, and she pointed to a short balding man with a clipboard and a pen a few feet away. Unsure if I was allowed to sign since I’m not an Indian-Indian, I asked her. “Oh, no, no! Just sign it anyways” she said breezily. Apparently when there’s a cause it doesn’t matter where you’re from, as long as you care enough!
On that note…I think I’ll hit the sack, folks. Till later!
“The soul is healed by being with children”
--Fyodor Dostoyevsky
--Fyodor Dostoyevsky
More "Healing of the Soul"...
July 13, 2011
I’ve begun to slowly glean a little more into the children’s lives as I go to the slum, these days. They all seem tremendously comfortable with telling me anything, and I mostly hear news, “through the grapevine.” Since the kids are all, for the most part, related to one another, and know the each other’s family histories, they tell keep telling me little facts to piece together to understand their lives. It’s odd to have these little tid-bits thrown at you, though—it’s rarely ever a pleasant story, though it makes their wide smiles even more commendable. For example, I just found out that Ajay (who looks like an eight-year-old and is actually fifteen) lost his father two year ago. Ajay’s family couldn’t afford the treatments for his father’s late stage of cancer any longer, and he passed away- leaving little Ajay as the oldest boy in the household, with more pressures to find a decent job to support his mother and three younger brothers in the near future…Or that Praveen, an only child (an extreme rarity in the slum), works with his father in the construction business after classes, and during all his school holidays. Last time I was there, he began to help some of the workers in our petite classroom, barefoot, and lugging these huge cement blocks on his shoulders like it was nothing…
And yet, these children are so generous with whatever little they have. Ahalya, one of the older girls, has already drafted me to come to her home in the slum on Sunday, promising to make me sweets before I leave. I told her not to go out of her way, but she’s adamant, and I have a feeling she’s really going to spoil me!...On Tuesday, as I stood around waiting for my children to gather, Shama, one of the older girls I‘m working with, came and grabbed my hand. Chatting with me, she suddenly pressed a little keychain into my palm. It has these small, shiny, green chips with tiny bells bunched in a string, with a large red heart hanging loosely from the end. If I’d seen it by myself in a store, I’d probably never give it a second glance. But the sole fact that Shama gave it to me simply means the world to me! I’ll treasure this now--a reminder of her and her classmates!
You know, I’ve honestly got to get at least one of these Indian games right! I’ve proven I can’t play cricket; I don’t even understand the rules, let alone the game, of “koko”; and I suck at “zoom”—their version of freeze tag. Now, to add to this list of inability, they’ve discovered I’m no good at carom either! (Carom, for those who don’t know, is a hand version of pool. Rather than use cues, you flick a puck across a wooden board)…I came to class early on Tuesday, and some of the older boys, hunched over their game, sat me down next to them to join their team. I’m sure they regretted it rather quickly. Sure, I can hit the pieces—doesn’t mean I’ll get a single one in. Hmm…I should start making a list of games to learn so that I’ll be prepared next time I see them!
There’s something I’ve taken for granted here in India: vegetarianism. In conversation, the children were asking me about what I liked to eat, and I was suddenly surprised to hear that they eat meat. I suppose that’s nothing tremendously interesting—and since they are “lower castes” (I don’t believe in that bullshit, but I suppose it’s still a distinction in India), they have grown up eating meat. I think I find it more surprising that they eat it regardless of the cost. If there’s anything I learnt from the crazy people in Boulder who hand out flyers with pictures of tortured chicken carcasses on it—vegetarianism is reasonably cheaper. Cutting down the expense of meat in an American diet would make a difference in one’s budget. I wonder if the same theory applies to Indians, or if it’s an expense that they are simply willing to make, since it’s part of their regular consumption. Either way, I suppose I told them could care less—which they were surprised to hear. I think they’ve been preached to about being vegetarians, or looked down upon for eating meat their whole lives, and were thoroughly interested to hear that the majority of my friends eat meat. The cultural divides continues…
So, if it wasn’t clear from my pictures, I adore bangle stands, and jewelry shops in India. Not the grand stuff with gold and silver—the cheap metal earrings you find in the bazaar is more my style! I still can’t resist buying some pretty Indian earrings for my pansy-ears with their ultra sensitivity, and always end up reserving my couple hour’s worth of “earring wearing time” to the hours that I’m in the classroom. It’s worth it to wear for the girls to see! They still compare me to this Tamilian actress, Hamsika Bodhwani, and are thrilled when I wear earrings like hers. Last time I wore large, Bollywood-worthy earrings, they even told me to go home and tell my grandmother to take “drishti” for me—some little ritual where you, holding salt in your palm, rotate your hand around a person’s face to remove the “evil eye”. Man. These girls are good for my self-esteem. The way they notice me makes me feel like I’m the most popular girl in high school, or something!
…Till later, my friends!
I’ve begun to slowly glean a little more into the children’s lives as I go to the slum, these days. They all seem tremendously comfortable with telling me anything, and I mostly hear news, “through the grapevine.” Since the kids are all, for the most part, related to one another, and know the each other’s family histories, they tell keep telling me little facts to piece together to understand their lives. It’s odd to have these little tid-bits thrown at you, though—it’s rarely ever a pleasant story, though it makes their wide smiles even more commendable. For example, I just found out that Ajay (who looks like an eight-year-old and is actually fifteen) lost his father two year ago. Ajay’s family couldn’t afford the treatments for his father’s late stage of cancer any longer, and he passed away- leaving little Ajay as the oldest boy in the household, with more pressures to find a decent job to support his mother and three younger brothers in the near future…Or that Praveen, an only child (an extreme rarity in the slum), works with his father in the construction business after classes, and during all his school holidays. Last time I was there, he began to help some of the workers in our petite classroom, barefoot, and lugging these huge cement blocks on his shoulders like it was nothing…
And yet, these children are so generous with whatever little they have. Ahalya, one of the older girls, has already drafted me to come to her home in the slum on Sunday, promising to make me sweets before I leave. I told her not to go out of her way, but she’s adamant, and I have a feeling she’s really going to spoil me!...On Tuesday, as I stood around waiting for my children to gather, Shama, one of the older girls I‘m working with, came and grabbed my hand. Chatting with me, she suddenly pressed a little keychain into my palm. It has these small, shiny, green chips with tiny bells bunched in a string, with a large red heart hanging loosely from the end. If I’d seen it by myself in a store, I’d probably never give it a second glance. But the sole fact that Shama gave it to me simply means the world to me! I’ll treasure this now--a reminder of her and her classmates!
You know, I’ve honestly got to get at least one of these Indian games right! I’ve proven I can’t play cricket; I don’t even understand the rules, let alone the game, of “koko”; and I suck at “zoom”—their version of freeze tag. Now, to add to this list of inability, they’ve discovered I’m no good at carom either! (Carom, for those who don’t know, is a hand version of pool. Rather than use cues, you flick a puck across a wooden board)…I came to class early on Tuesday, and some of the older boys, hunched over their game, sat me down next to them to join their team. I’m sure they regretted it rather quickly. Sure, I can hit the pieces—doesn’t mean I’ll get a single one in. Hmm…I should start making a list of games to learn so that I’ll be prepared next time I see them!
There’s something I’ve taken for granted here in India: vegetarianism. In conversation, the children were asking me about what I liked to eat, and I was suddenly surprised to hear that they eat meat. I suppose that’s nothing tremendously interesting—and since they are “lower castes” (I don’t believe in that bullshit, but I suppose it’s still a distinction in India), they have grown up eating meat. I think I find it more surprising that they eat it regardless of the cost. If there’s anything I learnt from the crazy people in Boulder who hand out flyers with pictures of tortured chicken carcasses on it—vegetarianism is reasonably cheaper. Cutting down the expense of meat in an American diet would make a difference in one’s budget. I wonder if the same theory applies to Indians, or if it’s an expense that they are simply willing to make, since it’s part of their regular consumption. Either way, I suppose I told them could care less—which they were surprised to hear. I think they’ve been preached to about being vegetarians, or looked down upon for eating meat their whole lives, and were thoroughly interested to hear that the majority of my friends eat meat. The cultural divides continues…
So, if it wasn’t clear from my pictures, I adore bangle stands, and jewelry shops in India. Not the grand stuff with gold and silver—the cheap metal earrings you find in the bazaar is more my style! I still can’t resist buying some pretty Indian earrings for my pansy-ears with their ultra sensitivity, and always end up reserving my couple hour’s worth of “earring wearing time” to the hours that I’m in the classroom. It’s worth it to wear for the girls to see! They still compare me to this Tamilian actress, Hamsika Bodhwani, and are thrilled when I wear earrings like hers. Last time I wore large, Bollywood-worthy earrings, they even told me to go home and tell my grandmother to take “drishti” for me—some little ritual where you, holding salt in your palm, rotate your hand around a person’s face to remove the “evil eye”. Man. These girls are good for my self-esteem. The way they notice me makes me feel like I’m the most popular girl in high school, or something!
…Till later, my friends!
I Write With Bags Under My Eyes...
July 14, 2011
Ok. What is it about India? I’m usually one of the most healthy people around back home! I drink my orange juice and get enough sleep—and, discounting exam-time stress, I just don’t have any problems! And, I’m, like, dying from ailments and mosquitoes here in India! Not kidding! I woke up at 2:00 a.m. this morning, feeling a sizable lump on my forehead in the darkness. Disoriented and perplexed of how it got there, I groggily clicked on the light switch and looked at my reflection in the mirror. You know those mutant movies? Where they notice this weird little thing like a scar or a scale or something, and then it envelops their whole body? Ok, less dramatic than that—but that’s seriously how I felt looking at the mirror. I suppose I must have had an allergic reaction to whatever bit me, and rather than a tiny mosquito bite bump, I had gigantic hills of bumps covering my entire face, each one red, puffy and inflamed. Moreover, I realized I couldn’t open my right eye anymore because of how swollen my eye lid had become. It’s kind of a freaky feeling. I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed my face (like that would help), which was now burningly itchy, and started to apply whatever I could find in my room. Lotion, Vaseline, Clearasil…by now I was thoroughly awake, and I ended up spending the next hour and a half in the hall, with a bag of frozen almonds perched on my swelling face, totally afraid of looking in a mirror again. My grandparents promptly wake up at 3:30 a.m. though, and, after giving me more anti-itching creams to try, decided to take me to the doctor’s office—which only opened at 8:00 a.m. What else is there to do but wait? I ended up watching Animal Channel documentaries on pythons and alligators (Pythons are kind of cool, people!), drinking coffee, talking to my brother, and, finally, IMing any and all of my friends that were back home on facebook chat (this is one time that the time difference works in my favor!)…by the time the blessed hour of 8:00 came around, the swelling had subsided considerably, and I could at least open my eyes a fair amount. The doctor itself could do nothing for me, other than to tell me to put a pink, obnoxious smelling lotion on and just wait. Currently, I’m doing much better than 2:00 a.m.—my bumps are still there (covered with a fair amount of make-up), and I’m still crazy itchy…but I suppose, other than for thinking I look like a hideous mess, I’m quite alright (and I have to go to class today! I don’t want to look like this!). That’s it. This cements some ideas in my head. Obviously, as much as I love her, India doesn’t seem to love me back. I’m had my fair share of bad luck and health issues, and, even though I want to spend my life working in South Asia for development, I’m beginning to realize I’d like to stay alive too (If eight weeks has given me this many problems, I can only assume a lifetime would kill me!). I’m beginning to think a teaching job in a university, or an NGO that would allow me to work from within the United States (with occasional trips to India and the rest of South Asia) would be best for me. Mere dil (my heart) might be a little Hindustani (Indian), but evidently my body is all-American.
I remember this thing that Nhan told me once: that I’m simply wonderful at talking to complete strangers. It really is true…when I know that I’ll never see the person I’m talking to again, I’m much more free and not at all self-conscious. Who cares what I say? The other day, I was walking on Commercial Street (the “it” street in Bangalore for shopping excursions), browsing the earring and bangle stands. I wandered into one of the side-alley shops, and found a particular pair of earrings I liked, and began talking to the enthusiastic shop keeper. Figuring out what style I liked, he lead me to his shop upstairs, with hundreds of more gorgeous pairs of little earrings (honestly, India makes me girly too. Since when do I like jewelry?). Noticing my accent, he asked me where I was from, leading to a comfortable little conversation with Iyaz (like the hip hop artist!). He’s a 10th standard graduate, from a large family, who needed to work to help pay the bills. His brother owned the store, which they’ve had for 14 years, and he’s been working in it ever since. And (not from the conversation, but from the experience) he’s fabulous at deducing, within minutes, the exact type of jewelry a girl likes! (None of that shiny junk for me…I like dark colors and dark metals). He asked me about my time in Bangalore so far, and what I was doing. When I mentioned I was working in an NGO, he smiled and said, “Aah, yes, I guessed.” Surprised, I asked him how. “Your bag,” he said gesturing to my hippie-style, red and pink, jute bag. “Only people who work in NGO’s and the such carry around things like that.” I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment. I remember all my Hindi classmates telling me I looked like an Indian journalist…I don’t mind being mistaken for either occupation!...It was such a pleasant sort of conversation I didn’t even bargain for the price (Which I usually do by saying, “Discount koddi” (“Give me a discount”), since I don’t even know how much I’m supposed to bargain for), and left with a friendly farewell.
Ok. What is it about India? I’m usually one of the most healthy people around back home! I drink my orange juice and get enough sleep—and, discounting exam-time stress, I just don’t have any problems! And, I’m, like, dying from ailments and mosquitoes here in India! Not kidding! I woke up at 2:00 a.m. this morning, feeling a sizable lump on my forehead in the darkness. Disoriented and perplexed of how it got there, I groggily clicked on the light switch and looked at my reflection in the mirror. You know those mutant movies? Where they notice this weird little thing like a scar or a scale or something, and then it envelops their whole body? Ok, less dramatic than that—but that’s seriously how I felt looking at the mirror. I suppose I must have had an allergic reaction to whatever bit me, and rather than a tiny mosquito bite bump, I had gigantic hills of bumps covering my entire face, each one red, puffy and inflamed. Moreover, I realized I couldn’t open my right eye anymore because of how swollen my eye lid had become. It’s kind of a freaky feeling. I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed my face (like that would help), which was now burningly itchy, and started to apply whatever I could find in my room. Lotion, Vaseline, Clearasil…by now I was thoroughly awake, and I ended up spending the next hour and a half in the hall, with a bag of frozen almonds perched on my swelling face, totally afraid of looking in a mirror again. My grandparents promptly wake up at 3:30 a.m. though, and, after giving me more anti-itching creams to try, decided to take me to the doctor’s office—which only opened at 8:00 a.m. What else is there to do but wait? I ended up watching Animal Channel documentaries on pythons and alligators (Pythons are kind of cool, people!), drinking coffee, talking to my brother, and, finally, IMing any and all of my friends that were back home on facebook chat (this is one time that the time difference works in my favor!)…by the time the blessed hour of 8:00 came around, the swelling had subsided considerably, and I could at least open my eyes a fair amount. The doctor itself could do nothing for me, other than to tell me to put a pink, obnoxious smelling lotion on and just wait. Currently, I’m doing much better than 2:00 a.m.—my bumps are still there (covered with a fair amount of make-up), and I’m still crazy itchy…but I suppose, other than for thinking I look like a hideous mess, I’m quite alright (and I have to go to class today! I don’t want to look like this!). That’s it. This cements some ideas in my head. Obviously, as much as I love her, India doesn’t seem to love me back. I’m had my fair share of bad luck and health issues, and, even though I want to spend my life working in South Asia for development, I’m beginning to realize I’d like to stay alive too (If eight weeks has given me this many problems, I can only assume a lifetime would kill me!). I’m beginning to think a teaching job in a university, or an NGO that would allow me to work from within the United States (with occasional trips to India and the rest of South Asia) would be best for me. Mere dil (my heart) might be a little Hindustani (Indian), but evidently my body is all-American.
I remember this thing that Nhan told me once: that I’m simply wonderful at talking to complete strangers. It really is true…when I know that I’ll never see the person I’m talking to again, I’m much more free and not at all self-conscious. Who cares what I say? The other day, I was walking on Commercial Street (the “it” street in Bangalore for shopping excursions), browsing the earring and bangle stands. I wandered into one of the side-alley shops, and found a particular pair of earrings I liked, and began talking to the enthusiastic shop keeper. Figuring out what style I liked, he lead me to his shop upstairs, with hundreds of more gorgeous pairs of little earrings (honestly, India makes me girly too. Since when do I like jewelry?). Noticing my accent, he asked me where I was from, leading to a comfortable little conversation with Iyaz (like the hip hop artist!). He’s a 10th standard graduate, from a large family, who needed to work to help pay the bills. His brother owned the store, which they’ve had for 14 years, and he’s been working in it ever since. And (not from the conversation, but from the experience) he’s fabulous at deducing, within minutes, the exact type of jewelry a girl likes! (None of that shiny junk for me…I like dark colors and dark metals). He asked me about my time in Bangalore so far, and what I was doing. When I mentioned I was working in an NGO, he smiled and said, “Aah, yes, I guessed.” Surprised, I asked him how. “Your bag,” he said gesturing to my hippie-style, red and pink, jute bag. “Only people who work in NGO’s and the such carry around things like that.” I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment. I remember all my Hindi classmates telling me I looked like an Indian journalist…I don’t mind being mistaken for either occupation!...It was such a pleasant sort of conversation I didn’t even bargain for the price (Which I usually do by saying, “Discount koddi” (“Give me a discount”), since I don’t even know how much I’m supposed to bargain for), and left with a friendly farewell.
Ooh...Aah...Take the World and Paint It Red...
July 15, 2011
I, my friends, am very content. I went to see “Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara”(You Won’t Get Life A Second Time) in theaters today, the opening day, and—wow! I loved it! It’s the story of three friends (Hritik Roshan, Abhay Deol, and Farhan Akhtar) reconnecting on a bachelor party come road trip across the Spanish countryside, as they face their more literal, physical fears of scuba-diving, sky-diving, and the famous Pamalona Running of the Bulls festival, along with their own, personal inner battles. A “bromance,” if you will, with a clever sort of spin in dialogues and scenes… Unlike “Delhi Belly”, with all its curse words and colloquial dialogue, I had no problems understanding the movie (with my second-grader level Hindi) this time around, and I was perfectly happy, sipping my Fanta at the end row of the full theater…the fact that I was watching an Indian movie on its opening day, in India was just the cherry on top! And the movie had this simple, gorgeous poetry throughout, written by Javed Akhtar (which I was surprised to find I understood—unlike the old poetry that we had to read in Hindi class last year), that I’m still searching for online. If I were some sort of movie critic, I’m sure I would have been more severe with my analysis of the movie—there were parts where, watching the three heroes romping about the seaside landscape, could seem more like a tourism commercial for the stunning Spain than a necessary part of the plot—but for a girl who loves to watch Bollywood films (regardless of how fake their storylines are) this was simply perfect! When I said that I wanted to watch a Hindi movie in India, this is exactly what I had in mind, you see! A movie with songs that, having head them well in advance, I can mouth along in the dark theater; some rowdy audience members in the back that cheer when the movie begins (and when the main actress enters on-screen, of course); Brown actors that I find much more handsome than any American actor; a lengthy intermission with the new Sha Rukh Khan movie’s trailer; a completely happy ending where you leave the theater undoubtedly knowing that each of the protagonists found love and happiness…Yup. Simply perfect!
In other news…I guess I’m actually done teaching the children in Swagath, seeing as I’m leaving India in three days (I do get to see them on Sunday, though, to give them a final, “bye” at the monthly Games Day in the park). My last class was on Thursday—ending my summer teaching stint with a Bharatanatyam lesson followed by a memorable, simple class in articles with the attentive older girls. It suddenly occurred to me, as I wrote out fill-in-the-blank examples on the chalkboard, that this really was it. The end of this entire, wonderful experience…I’ll save my sentimental comments till after Sunday, but I do want to mention how proud I am of the girls. I don’t which direction fate will pull these children in the future, but I know that, if life was fair and luck is on their side, these children will go far in life. They study hard, and have such an appreciation and love for education, it would be unfathomable for them to be unsuccessful in a wealthier situation…I left them all with little notes I wrote on colorful, mehendi-designed cards I found in a bookstore, along with printed pictures that we’d taken a few days before, of me, with each of the children individually…hopefully they liked it!
And with that, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s quite late on this side of the world! Take care, all! Till later!
I, my friends, am very content. I went to see “Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara”(You Won’t Get Life A Second Time) in theaters today, the opening day, and—wow! I loved it! It’s the story of three friends (Hritik Roshan, Abhay Deol, and Farhan Akhtar) reconnecting on a bachelor party come road trip across the Spanish countryside, as they face their more literal, physical fears of scuba-diving, sky-diving, and the famous Pamalona Running of the Bulls festival, along with their own, personal inner battles. A “bromance,” if you will, with a clever sort of spin in dialogues and scenes… Unlike “Delhi Belly”, with all its curse words and colloquial dialogue, I had no problems understanding the movie (with my second-grader level Hindi) this time around, and I was perfectly happy, sipping my Fanta at the end row of the full theater…the fact that I was watching an Indian movie on its opening day, in India was just the cherry on top! And the movie had this simple, gorgeous poetry throughout, written by Javed Akhtar (which I was surprised to find I understood—unlike the old poetry that we had to read in Hindi class last year), that I’m still searching for online. If I were some sort of movie critic, I’m sure I would have been more severe with my analysis of the movie—there were parts where, watching the three heroes romping about the seaside landscape, could seem more like a tourism commercial for the stunning Spain than a necessary part of the plot—but for a girl who loves to watch Bollywood films (regardless of how fake their storylines are) this was simply perfect! When I said that I wanted to watch a Hindi movie in India, this is exactly what I had in mind, you see! A movie with songs that, having head them well in advance, I can mouth along in the dark theater; some rowdy audience members in the back that cheer when the movie begins (and when the main actress enters on-screen, of course); Brown actors that I find much more handsome than any American actor; a lengthy intermission with the new Sha Rukh Khan movie’s trailer; a completely happy ending where you leave the theater undoubtedly knowing that each of the protagonists found love and happiness…Yup. Simply perfect!
In other news…I guess I’m actually done teaching the children in Swagath, seeing as I’m leaving India in three days (I do get to see them on Sunday, though, to give them a final, “bye” at the monthly Games Day in the park). My last class was on Thursday—ending my summer teaching stint with a Bharatanatyam lesson followed by a memorable, simple class in articles with the attentive older girls. It suddenly occurred to me, as I wrote out fill-in-the-blank examples on the chalkboard, that this really was it. The end of this entire, wonderful experience…I’ll save my sentimental comments till after Sunday, but I do want to mention how proud I am of the girls. I don’t which direction fate will pull these children in the future, but I know that, if life was fair and luck is on their side, these children will go far in life. They study hard, and have such an appreciation and love for education, it would be unfathomable for them to be unsuccessful in a wealthier situation…I left them all with little notes I wrote on colorful, mehendi-designed cards I found in a bookstore, along with printed pictures that we’d taken a few days before, of me, with each of the children individually…hopefully they liked it!
And with that, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s quite late on this side of the world! Take care, all! Till later!
Random Musings Part VI
July 16, 2011
You know the moment when you suddenly realize that perhaps you actually look like you fit into the place you’re staying? When people start asking you for directions! (I remember that being in my freshman year in Boulder—I was thrilled someone thought I knew what I was doing—then pulled out a campus map I’d kept in my bag to tell him where to go)…I was walking to the Sanky Tank this morning, iPod plugged in, about to cross a busy street, when some girl dressed in a bright-yellow salwar stopped me to ask where some Bangalore Education Institute (or something) was. Of course I had to just shrug with an apology, tell her I wasn’t from here, and go on, but it’s kind of nice to realize that you maybe, possibly look like you know what you’re doing!
I was at the mall yesterday, standing in the blog of a line, waiting for some filtered-water-made pani puris, when another family came to stand next to me. Not a big deal—except the early-teenage daughter had those silly feathers pinned in her hair that was all the craze back home a few months ago. She was dressed in a salwar, though, complete with a tiny dot of a bindi, which made me curious. Did that feather-style catch on in India too, or something? Or was she an ABCD? I inched over closer to them to listen in on their conversation, and heard my own accent mirrored in the girl and her younger brother—both of whom were discussing something that only ABCDs seem to find fascinating: auto-ricksaws. Of course I’m not the only ABCD over here right now (it’s summer vacation for everyone in the US!), but it is weird to actually notice that they are here. Somehow, seeing people who are reasonably like me—confused between their countries and visiting their families—in Malleswaram mall is almost as amusing as seeing the occasional white person on the desi-filled street.
Something on the list of things I need to ask my brother, Krishna: if malnutrition is something that children can be genetically disposed to. Although a lot of the children in Swagath seem fairly normal from first glance, I can tell that they are usually too thin for their body structures...I just didn’t realize how bad it was until I spoke to Raghu. He gave me the example of Sanjay—a seventh grader who is around twelve or thirteen years old and about a foot shorter than me. “He’s 22 kg or so,” Raghu told me over lunch, as I began trying to mentally calculate how much that equates to. “50 pounds,” Roshini cut in, noticing my silence. From a quick BMI search with estimated figures, that means he has a Body Mass Index of 14.1--severely underweight. Thing is, the parents are feeding their children reasonably. It’s just that they either don’t eat properly, or that the nutrients aren’t working as they ideally should…And on top of these malnutrition concerns, they often are faced with other health issues. For instance, Shama’s had a lump removed from her throat, as well as an operation on her ankles; Priya has had blood issues, like anemia; Satish has eye issues…born and sustained from the same malnutrition concerns. Health is wealth is it not?
You know the moment when you suddenly realize that perhaps you actually look like you fit into the place you’re staying? When people start asking you for directions! (I remember that being in my freshman year in Boulder—I was thrilled someone thought I knew what I was doing—then pulled out a campus map I’d kept in my bag to tell him where to go)…I was walking to the Sanky Tank this morning, iPod plugged in, about to cross a busy street, when some girl dressed in a bright-yellow salwar stopped me to ask where some Bangalore Education Institute (or something) was. Of course I had to just shrug with an apology, tell her I wasn’t from here, and go on, but it’s kind of nice to realize that you maybe, possibly look like you know what you’re doing!
I was at the mall yesterday, standing in the blog of a line, waiting for some filtered-water-made pani puris, when another family came to stand next to me. Not a big deal—except the early-teenage daughter had those silly feathers pinned in her hair that was all the craze back home a few months ago. She was dressed in a salwar, though, complete with a tiny dot of a bindi, which made me curious. Did that feather-style catch on in India too, or something? Or was she an ABCD? I inched over closer to them to listen in on their conversation, and heard my own accent mirrored in the girl and her younger brother—both of whom were discussing something that only ABCDs seem to find fascinating: auto-ricksaws. Of course I’m not the only ABCD over here right now (it’s summer vacation for everyone in the US!), but it is weird to actually notice that they are here. Somehow, seeing people who are reasonably like me—confused between their countries and visiting their families—in Malleswaram mall is almost as amusing as seeing the occasional white person on the desi-filled street.
Something on the list of things I need to ask my brother, Krishna: if malnutrition is something that children can be genetically disposed to. Although a lot of the children in Swagath seem fairly normal from first glance, I can tell that they are usually too thin for their body structures...I just didn’t realize how bad it was until I spoke to Raghu. He gave me the example of Sanjay—a seventh grader who is around twelve or thirteen years old and about a foot shorter than me. “He’s 22 kg or so,” Raghu told me over lunch, as I began trying to mentally calculate how much that equates to. “50 pounds,” Roshini cut in, noticing my silence. From a quick BMI search with estimated figures, that means he has a Body Mass Index of 14.1--severely underweight. Thing is, the parents are feeding their children reasonably. It’s just that they either don’t eat properly, or that the nutrients aren’t working as they ideally should…And on top of these malnutrition concerns, they often are faced with other health issues. For instance, Shama’s had a lump removed from her throat, as well as an operation on her ankles; Priya has had blood issues, like anemia; Satish has eye issues…born and sustained from the same malnutrition concerns. Health is wealth is it not?
Taare Zameen Par
July 19, 2011
Ah! My friends! Why is it so hard to say, “goodbye” to people? If I had a choice, I’d honestly just flash a peace sign and say, “Gouri out” to everyone I care about—simply because my heart, I think, can’t stand the simple reality that it might be months, years, half a lifetime even, until I see someone again…and you know what one of the hardest most heart-wrenching goodbyes has been for me? The Swagath children. I don’t know if I’ve felt so much genuine love and admiration for me in one room! But I digress slightly…let me start at the beginning of my last evening in India…
I guess it starts with a farewell lunch with the NGO coordinators, Raghu and Roshni. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I’m honestly so proud to have gotten to know them these last eight weeks, and I admire their work with the children so much. In the past, whenever people have asked me, “why international affairs?” I’ve often replied, “To change a statistic!”—and I really mean that! I don’t care if it’s a health statistic, or education, or malnutrition…I don’t even know how big of a region it would cover even…but I know I want to change the life of someone for the better—which is something that I see in Raghu and Roshni. I don’t know when I can come back to India again, but I know beyond doubt that I want to work at Swagath again!
Anyways, after a fun lunch discussing the children, the NGO, and India in general, we headed over to the classroom for the last “games day” with the children. Raghu and Roshni told me that the children wanted to spend the last day with me teaching me more games, and I prepared myself to play cricket and football (soccer)—relieved when it began to drizzle slightly to save me from what was bound to be a hot Indian sun. “Oh, don’t worry,” Roshni said. “We’ll meet the children in the classroom first, and if it starts to rain, we can always just play some games indoors.” Conceding, I walked with them to the Swagath classroom, greeted by just two of the children, Ajay and Martha. After spending a few minutes outside, listening to Martha complain how the other children were lazy and rarely came on time, Raghu sighed and suggested, “Why don’t we just wait inside the classroom for everyone” glancing at his watch for a few second. With a, “yes, sir,” Ajay agreed, dug the key out of his pocket and pulled the padlock off the door….and WOW! What a surprise! I was greeted by a burst of shouts and huge group of beautiful children all excitedly smiling and waving to me, and the old chalkboard decorated with brightly colored stars and a banner reading, “Happy Journey Hansika [Gouri]! Perfect :)!” Ah! It was the best gift the children could have given me! A little “bon voyage” sort of party! The younger children all ran up to wrap their arms around my waist, while the older ones held my hands, and put their arms around my shoulders…they all began shouting their plans to me at once—how the older girls had come up with the plan; how they had all left their shoes behind the classroom so that I wouldn’t notice; how Raghu and Roshini helped them organize the event…and they had all dressed up neatly for the party, with kajol lining the girls’ eyes, and the boys in collared shirts, and I was bombarded with these “slam books” (yearbooks) that I had to sign and write messages in (I felt like a movie star, I signed so many books!). And that wasn’t even the end of their lovely farewell for me…the children, knowing that I wouldn’t attend their annual show (where they have performances for their families), decided to put on their own mini-show for me. So sweet!! With Martha as the esteemed M.C. of events, and after seating me on a sort of honorary chair in the back of the classroom, the show began with four of the younger girls singing “Old McDonald Had a Farm,” decked with bindis and heavy accents, followed by a skit: “Gouri-Mam’s Classes.” One of my favorite girls, Divya, played me, as they acted out my classes…Quite amusing to watch! (Apparently I said, “Boys!! QUIET!” much too many times, and they were spot on with my dance classes: “good job…but more aramandi, people! Hands straight! Mudras, girls!”) It’s totally funny to see the children’s take of you from their own eyes! This was followed by a dance by my older girls. Can I just say, I’m SO proud of them? Finding no classical music that they could fit the steps I taught them to, they actually tailored their steps to some Spanish rap/pop music that someone dug up…and for this being organized in one day, I was pleasantly shocked to see them coordinate everything so beautifully! Following this stunning piece, I had two, live, Tamil-movie dance shows from some of the boys, who, wearing sunglasses, doing a combination of folk dance and the moonwalk, and popping their collars, looked simply adorable! And if I wasn’t touched enough by this sweet display, put on for my sole benefit, the final performance of the evening was a poem, read by Shama and Divya together- first in Kannada, then in Hindi, and finally in English--about friendship...they requested me, in the end, to say a few words to them too. But, I mean, after such a touching performance, how am I supposed to say anything without crying? I stood up in the front of the room, the eyes of some forty children in a cramped classroom looking up at me, and began talking about what an incredible time I had with them, how much I’d miss them, and encouraging them to keep studying hard…halfway through, though, I felt a huge lump in my throat growing bigger, and I had to just finish with a lame, “that’s all I’ll get through without crying!” and moved to the side, trying to stop the tears that were already starting to roll down. Instead, I was beseeched by tiny hands, wiping away my cheeks, all saying, “Mam! Don’t cry, Mam!” …
The party wrapped up with the cutting of a little heart-shaped cake (I still have no idea who bought it!), and a book that was presented to me: letters from each of the children complete with colorful, hand drawn pictures, and notes telling me, in slightly off-grammar, how much the children will miss me, how much they love me, and commanding me to come back to India soon…That’s something I’ll undoubtedly keep my entire life! Words written with so much love, regardless of the grammar or diction, traverse any distance!... All the children, in huge group, walked me back to my car, where our driver sat waiting for me. With some heartfelt hugs, a few kisses from the girls on my cheeks, and many, “goodbyes”, sticking their hands in through the car window, and running alongside the car as it started to pull away, I left the slum, with many incredible memories. With a lump in my throat yet again, I switched on the radio loudly (so that the driver, Suresh, wouldn’t hear my sniffles), and heard the most appropriate song: “Taare Zameen Par”—the Stars on Earth. :) I don’t think I could have said it better.
Ah! My friends! Why is it so hard to say, “goodbye” to people? If I had a choice, I’d honestly just flash a peace sign and say, “Gouri out” to everyone I care about—simply because my heart, I think, can’t stand the simple reality that it might be months, years, half a lifetime even, until I see someone again…and you know what one of the hardest most heart-wrenching goodbyes has been for me? The Swagath children. I don’t know if I’ve felt so much genuine love and admiration for me in one room! But I digress slightly…let me start at the beginning of my last evening in India…
I guess it starts with a farewell lunch with the NGO coordinators, Raghu and Roshni. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I’m honestly so proud to have gotten to know them these last eight weeks, and I admire their work with the children so much. In the past, whenever people have asked me, “why international affairs?” I’ve often replied, “To change a statistic!”—and I really mean that! I don’t care if it’s a health statistic, or education, or malnutrition…I don’t even know how big of a region it would cover even…but I know I want to change the life of someone for the better—which is something that I see in Raghu and Roshni. I don’t know when I can come back to India again, but I know beyond doubt that I want to work at Swagath again!
Anyways, after a fun lunch discussing the children, the NGO, and India in general, we headed over to the classroom for the last “games day” with the children. Raghu and Roshni told me that the children wanted to spend the last day with me teaching me more games, and I prepared myself to play cricket and football (soccer)—relieved when it began to drizzle slightly to save me from what was bound to be a hot Indian sun. “Oh, don’t worry,” Roshni said. “We’ll meet the children in the classroom first, and if it starts to rain, we can always just play some games indoors.” Conceding, I walked with them to the Swagath classroom, greeted by just two of the children, Ajay and Martha. After spending a few minutes outside, listening to Martha complain how the other children were lazy and rarely came on time, Raghu sighed and suggested, “Why don’t we just wait inside the classroom for everyone” glancing at his watch for a few second. With a, “yes, sir,” Ajay agreed, dug the key out of his pocket and pulled the padlock off the door….and WOW! What a surprise! I was greeted by a burst of shouts and huge group of beautiful children all excitedly smiling and waving to me, and the old chalkboard decorated with brightly colored stars and a banner reading, “Happy Journey Hansika [Gouri]! Perfect :)!” Ah! It was the best gift the children could have given me! A little “bon voyage” sort of party! The younger children all ran up to wrap their arms around my waist, while the older ones held my hands, and put their arms around my shoulders…they all began shouting their plans to me at once—how the older girls had come up with the plan; how they had all left their shoes behind the classroom so that I wouldn’t notice; how Raghu and Roshini helped them organize the event…and they had all dressed up neatly for the party, with kajol lining the girls’ eyes, and the boys in collared shirts, and I was bombarded with these “slam books” (yearbooks) that I had to sign and write messages in (I felt like a movie star, I signed so many books!). And that wasn’t even the end of their lovely farewell for me…the children, knowing that I wouldn’t attend their annual show (where they have performances for their families), decided to put on their own mini-show for me. So sweet!! With Martha as the esteemed M.C. of events, and after seating me on a sort of honorary chair in the back of the classroom, the show began with four of the younger girls singing “Old McDonald Had a Farm,” decked with bindis and heavy accents, followed by a skit: “Gouri-Mam’s Classes.” One of my favorite girls, Divya, played me, as they acted out my classes…Quite amusing to watch! (Apparently I said, “Boys!! QUIET!” much too many times, and they were spot on with my dance classes: “good job…but more aramandi, people! Hands straight! Mudras, girls!”) It’s totally funny to see the children’s take of you from their own eyes! This was followed by a dance by my older girls. Can I just say, I’m SO proud of them? Finding no classical music that they could fit the steps I taught them to, they actually tailored their steps to some Spanish rap/pop music that someone dug up…and for this being organized in one day, I was pleasantly shocked to see them coordinate everything so beautifully! Following this stunning piece, I had two, live, Tamil-movie dance shows from some of the boys, who, wearing sunglasses, doing a combination of folk dance and the moonwalk, and popping their collars, looked simply adorable! And if I wasn’t touched enough by this sweet display, put on for my sole benefit, the final performance of the evening was a poem, read by Shama and Divya together- first in Kannada, then in Hindi, and finally in English--about friendship...they requested me, in the end, to say a few words to them too. But, I mean, after such a touching performance, how am I supposed to say anything without crying? I stood up in the front of the room, the eyes of some forty children in a cramped classroom looking up at me, and began talking about what an incredible time I had with them, how much I’d miss them, and encouraging them to keep studying hard…halfway through, though, I felt a huge lump in my throat growing bigger, and I had to just finish with a lame, “that’s all I’ll get through without crying!” and moved to the side, trying to stop the tears that were already starting to roll down. Instead, I was beseeched by tiny hands, wiping away my cheeks, all saying, “Mam! Don’t cry, Mam!” …
The party wrapped up with the cutting of a little heart-shaped cake (I still have no idea who bought it!), and a book that was presented to me: letters from each of the children complete with colorful, hand drawn pictures, and notes telling me, in slightly off-grammar, how much the children will miss me, how much they love me, and commanding me to come back to India soon…That’s something I’ll undoubtedly keep my entire life! Words written with so much love, regardless of the grammar or diction, traverse any distance!... All the children, in huge group, walked me back to my car, where our driver sat waiting for me. With some heartfelt hugs, a few kisses from the girls on my cheeks, and many, “goodbyes”, sticking their hands in through the car window, and running alongside the car as it started to pull away, I left the slum, with many incredible memories. With a lump in my throat yet again, I switched on the radio loudly (so that the driver, Suresh, wouldn’t hear my sniffles), and heard the most appropriate song: “Taare Zameen Par”—the Stars on Earth. :) I don’t think I could have said it better.
There's No Place Like Home
July 25, 2011
Back in the good ol' U-S of A!
It's been about a week, and other than the souvenir of fading mehendi on my left hand, a slight cough, and a closet full of new goodies, I'm back to my regularly scheduled life in the Colorado suburbs. I've already responded to some twenty emails from Ajay, Krishna, and Gautham, with regular updates about Swagath, how the children miss me, and of course, telling me to eat properly...and I know that the memories of this incredible summer will last a lifetime. I'm ending this summer with even more gratitude--more thankful than ever for this opportunity, for the children,and for my own life--and as I start a new life in Pennsylvania in a little more than a month, I know that this is a feeling I'll carry with me...
Of course, there's one more thanks to be said...For those of you, who have followed this blog--I can't thank you enough. It means so much to me that you cared to read all (according to Microsoft Word, 35 pages worth) of my random writing. As many an author have said in the past-- without an audience, there is no story. And for me, knowing that you all care about what was going on in my life these past few weeks, made me feel that my words were worthwhile, at the least!
So, with all my humble gratitude, and profound admiration for the simple humanity that I have to be reminded still exists in this world...I'll close these India posts!
Till Later!
Gouri