Western Invasion

November 23, Tuesday
6 am

    I woke up with six mosquito bites on my face.  Eniku iddi ishtamailla.
    Children's Day last week was a great success.  The program lasted around 4 hours; and while the crowd was slightly less than cooperative--chattering, standing, sitting, coming and going-- nothing stunted our beaming proud smiles as the kids performed.  As the program ended, we congratulated the children on a job well done and scampered down the dirt road in our lovely red sari (Colleen), and princess Jasmine-like salwaar (Summer) to begin packing for a much needed vacation to Bangalore.  We arrive to the flat drenched and drained only to find that the power is out…again.  The only remedy for the sweltering heat, sheer exhaustion, and fan-less flat was to strip down to our skivvies and collapse like gumbies to the cool tile floors.  Our much needed floor naps ended and sparked a spastic-excited Sumleen packin' and shakin' to club music until we had to leave around 7:30 pm.  We hopped onto our overnight bus, giggling with excitement, and headed up the winding road to Bangalore.
    The reason the trip to Bangalore sparked in the first place was due to Sir's request that we observe at some developed Montessori schools.  RIMS is hosting a Montessori Teacher Training Program, and the educator is a woman who runs a M school in Bangalore.  Munira helped set us up with accommodation and observation times at her school.  She also surprised us by providing us drivers to take us around Bangalore.  I was very impressed at the YWCA at which we stayed, as it had comfy beds, hot water, and a bad-ass mamma who ran the joint.  This white-haired, furrow-browed, sari-clad woman could star in the Bollywood rendition of Diary of a Mad Black Woman--she takes no prisoners when it comes to "her girls."  She declared to us that no man has ever set foot in the building, and she has no fear in taking necessary measures to deal with any intruders.  After holding out her thumb to show that she has never told a lie in her life (I think straight thumb = truth teller?) this Auntie gave us the low down on how she runs the place.  "I keep gun in my sari," she exclaimed, and rolled on with a story of a maid seeing it under her pillow, officials receiving complaint calls and holding a meeting to fix this issue.  When she was asked to remove the gun from her sari and place it on the table, the officials quickly realized that the pistol was, in fact, a plastic toy gun.  Colleen and I just smiled and head wobbled as old auntie shook her finger at us and swore by this toy gun bluff.  We scuttled up to our room in hopes that she wasn't packing anything serious in that sari of hers.
    Bangalore is a swirly blend of New York City shopping, Calcutta crowds and craze, mountain fresh air, and hipster streets of Chicago.  Business suits and briefcases rule this computer geek metropolis as it is the IT hub of India.   You may very well have spoken to someone in Bangalore when calling a customer service number in the past.  Streets are lined with shopping mall windows decorated with skinny-jeaned mannequins, fast food McDonalds, Taco Bells, and KFCs bragging western grub in gaudy, red and yellow signs. Tank-topped super model types float across the bustling streets, and screen-tee and tight jean clad characters smoke cigs on the corners.  While I normally dislike western invasions like this, there was something unique about the hodge podge of cultures bubbling in Bangalore. There was certainly no shortage of vendors, saris, rickshaws, and spicy street food--the vibe was both invigorating and relaxing.
    The cultural diversity of Bangalore was evident--no one stares at the fair-skinned as tourists and locals come in all colors in this metropolitan city.   Even the Montessori school, Little Feat, had only about 15% of born and raised Bangalorians.  Little Feat was remarkable and quite the model Montessori school.  You pass the gleaming jungle gym, remove your chappals, and enter into two stories of ten beautiful, clean, colorful environments.  Children atop floor mats trace sandpaper letters, build geometric towers, and finagle intricate puzzles into place.  These kids are reading at age 3 and can add, subtract, and multiply by the time they graduate to first standard.  We observed on Monday and Tuesday to learn more about the Montessori presentation and learning.  I was elated to participate in circle singing time (thats my favorite at RIMS) and teach them a few of my stand-by songs.  Thank you Mrs. Joy, my third grade teacher, for teaching that silly version of Singing in the Rain, as it is now being spread across India--the kids love it!  The more exposure I have to both the Montessori method and its results, the more interested I become.  Who knows, maybe the non-profit I open for Latin American street kids could involve some Montessori! 
     Wednesday was a holiday for Muslims, Eid.  The holiday is celebrated by fasting for a few days and then the third day one sacrifices a goat for every member of the family, and giving the meat to a family in need.  Times have changed, and while many families still slaughter the animals to give, others elect to just give an equivalent in a monetary donation.  Just like any holiday, it is a festive time where everyone dresses up, spends time with family, and eats way too much food.  Noor and her mother (our flat roomies) visited Bangalore this past week as well to celebrate the holiday with all their family and invited us to join them to meet the whole gang.  Colleen and I did not go for the 'official' holiday meal, but spent the evening with the giant family.  Noor is the youngest of eleven children, and while I swear that I met close to thirty new faces while being stuffed with delicious biriyani, chicken, gulab jamun, and other interesting concoctions, she claims that we only met TWO of the siblings' families.  At her sister's house, we were peppered with questions by inquisitive uncles, aunts, and cousins.  The questions came in order as always: "how many brothers?" "how many sisters?" "what? you both are the only one?" "are all Americans that tall?"  Colleen and I are a interesting representation of America as we both come from 3 person families and tower over India at just under six feet.  Then the inevitable cluster of "how old are you?" (Summer 23, Colleen 24)…"married?" …"no"… "why?"… I always say, "why not?"… then the uncle shows no effort in holding back a grimace at the sheer impossibility for a woman to marry at the decrepit age of 23.  Sorry buddy, I got places to go and people to see.  Noor helped explain that in America, its perfectly normal to get married at any age, even after…..oh my god… 30!  These discussions always seem to end in a laugh at the physical and cultural differences and a jovial joke at Colleen or I running into a door frame, or the fact that we probably should look for love somewhere besides India.  Everyone was so kind and welcoming I felt like I was celebrating a holiday with family.  Two of the younger girls presented Colleen and I with salwaar fabric and jasmine flowers at the end of the evening--a gesture that still chokes me up.  We have never met, or ever talked to Noor's sister, and yet we are greeted with warm hands and kind smiles.  It was touching, and in all honesty, made me miss my family and friends more than anything.
    After observing at the school, eating western food (I had my first giant salad in months!), strolling thru the botanical gardens, and celebrating a holiday, we were about ready to head back home.  However, thanks to the randomness of India, we received a call from Aaliya that we didn't have to be home until next MONDAY!  So we hopscotched and scidaddled on down to the lovely mountain town of Mysore!  stay tuned…