October 31, Sunday
10 pm
Colleen scurries through the doorway, arms full of our water bottles and worksheets (hopefully enough to keep us occupied) in a hurried scuttle into our quarantine bedroom for probably the rest of the night.
"How many are there?" inquires Summer, huddled behind her computer….
"10 to 15. Im not sure!"
….::: baby crying and malayalam mumbles in background:::…….
At 9:30 pm on a Sunday, our new 'mama roomy' rolls up with the whole gang, probably from the wedding for which she left at at about 10 this morning. Colleen and I normally would have stayed and interacted with our lovely new house guests; however, our energy for sitting and smiling awkwardly (while Malayalam is tossed back and forth around us like a dodge ball game), was runnin on slim pickins considering we had already received 3 other unannounced house guests (one being the principal of RIMS)….no big deal. And we do love company, but by this time I had also already changed into my 'scandalous' basketball shorts, and had no intention of turning back.
This is a TdoubleI moment. This is also a 'babox' moment. ….and I want everyone to know that my typing application just tried to auto-correct my word 'babox' to baboon. While I find this hilarious and am considering informing Colleen that we should say baboon instead, I would like you to know that if I say "baboon," I probably mean "babox" (ah! did it again!)
The noise subsided so Colleen went out to investigate the house occupancy….she comes back in with the I'm-gonna-quote-someone-right-now-face and says, "One woman stay tonight. my auntie. She know Enlglish. I will bring pepsi tomorrow." Splendid!
--------I may or may not need a blood transfusion considering the amount of "debris" on my leg from the mosquito I just assassinated. GUACATELA!!!
Ok, but the irony about baboons here is that I did, in fact, encounter baboon-like creatures on Friday on a field trip to Snake Park with 4th-6th standard. I did not agree to attend this educational excursion until it was confirmed that the 'snakes' were contained. I mean jeez, Snake Park makes it sound like some theme reptile getaway filled with hot rock slides and fizzy venom drinks. i was assured that they were contained and not sipping fizzy venom drinks by the poolside. The name would indicate the presence of only slithering reptiles, yet there were some screeching, awkward-bottomed, baboon-like friends there. In addition to the 20 something species of snakes, there were peacocks and peahens, porcupines, "forest cat", "bobby cat," owls, doves, other birds, and crocodiles. One area mimicked a gladiator arena, where visitors could crowd around and watch a cluster of various snake species massacre one another. Just looking inside the uncovered, occupied coliseum gave me a big VVVDEEEWWWWWAAAAASSHHZZXVVV shiver down my spine. Ugh, I am not into snakes. But I did enjoy looking at the king cobra (which can get up to 15 meters kids!) The rest was an extremely depressing environment; while Im walking beneath a canopy of palms, breathing the fresh green air, I look into a row of 8 x 8 ft bare cement cages, all of which had a corner where a lonely animal or two huddled to sleep, or peered out eagerly at all the curious faces from outside. I felt really bad for them. Who knew that a porcupine could tug at my heart strings, but as a family of three (yes there was a lil baby!) paced back and forth along the bars as each onlooker passed by, I felt an impending urge to use some hidden Magneto power to bend all the cage bars and scream, "be free wild beasts!!" The baboonish monkeys were in a much larger cage, propped on the cage bars, shivering, whimpering and screeching as we watched. No me gusta.
Well I have significantly gotten off track as I originally intended to explain babox. Looks like you'll just have to stay tuned because my cold medicine is putting me into a foggy stupor, and the letters are starting to belly dance before my very eyes.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Political and Digestive Bombs (yeah, I took it there)
October 28, Thursday
7:15 am
I've spent the past 32 hours in a throbbing supine position, shivering with fever beneath a bed sheet while dozing in and out of consciousness. This hibernation period was sprinkled with bursts of wrenching aches, and peppered with random bouts of digestive extremes of which I'll spare the details. I'd awaken from dozing dreams long enough to pull my face from a pool of drool on my pillow, and gingerly roll over to a fetal position beneath the breeze of the fan. I chuckle at my previous assumption from a previous blog: that the cold-like sickness that plagued me last week would disappear and I would magically become immune to India… there I go breaking rule number 1. My wandering thoughts are jolted from me as I thrash upright in reaction to what sounds like several bombs. I look outside my window to see the round-a-bout flooded with people, flags, un-recognizable traffic flow, motorcycles, honking buses, and very unsuccessful khaki-clad policemen attempting to disperse the crowd. Its a dag-gon' jubilee! Everyone is cheering, music is blaring, and caravans of men on motorcycles sport a waving kelly green flag with the Muslim symbol (crescent moon and star) in the upper left corner. I glance around and notice that all shops are closed. Ok, the results of the election must have been announced.
While I'm in my bedroom flicking spiders off my bare shoulder, flinching in bone-deep aches, and watching these political shenanigans outside my window, Colleen is at school getting the low-down from Aaliya. Aaliya explained that "Sometimes if a political party doesn't win, they will set off bombs. I hope that doesn't happen today,"…and then later approached Colleen to say "the UNF party was successful. Sometimes they set off bombs if they win." With all puzzle pieces placed together, one could deduce that the bomb-like sounds outside my window 1. were, in fact, actual bombs, and 2. apparently celebratory "good" bombs. Mmmk time for the mental note of the day: Elections in Kannur = Bombs…..comforting.
This morning, I have emerged from my quarantined space to make some kapi, in hopes that it will melt away the atrocious bags beneath my eyes, along with the co-morbid exhaustion. It hits my stomach with a piercing jab, as the two tiny pieces of bready pizza didn't stay in my stomach for long. While I still feel achy, I'm definitely a lot better than yesterday, and am preparing to go into school to at least start making puppets for the Montessori program. I'd like to give a shout out to Colleen for getting me some Sprite yesterday---it made me feel at home because whenever I had a tummy illness as a kid, Barb Ryan would let me have soda :-). I'd also like to say thanks to Aaliya for calling to see if I was ok, and offering to bring anything I needed. It was so sweet (as we've talked a lot about the many cultural differences between India and America) when she said "Do you want me to bring you some bread? Here when people get sick, we give them bread to eat… I don't know what you people do." Hehe, I simply reply, "thats the same 'round the world, sista!"
7:15 am
I've spent the past 32 hours in a throbbing supine position, shivering with fever beneath a bed sheet while dozing in and out of consciousness. This hibernation period was sprinkled with bursts of wrenching aches, and peppered with random bouts of digestive extremes of which I'll spare the details. I'd awaken from dozing dreams long enough to pull my face from a pool of drool on my pillow, and gingerly roll over to a fetal position beneath the breeze of the fan. I chuckle at my previous assumption from a previous blog: that the cold-like sickness that plagued me last week would disappear and I would magically become immune to India… there I go breaking rule number 1. My wandering thoughts are jolted from me as I thrash upright in reaction to what sounds like several bombs. I look outside my window to see the round-a-bout flooded with people, flags, un-recognizable traffic flow, motorcycles, honking buses, and very unsuccessful khaki-clad policemen attempting to disperse the crowd. Its a dag-gon' jubilee! Everyone is cheering, music is blaring, and caravans of men on motorcycles sport a waving kelly green flag with the Muslim symbol (crescent moon and star) in the upper left corner. I glance around and notice that all shops are closed. Ok, the results of the election must have been announced.
While I'm in my bedroom flicking spiders off my bare shoulder, flinching in bone-deep aches, and watching these political shenanigans outside my window, Colleen is at school getting the low-down from Aaliya. Aaliya explained that "Sometimes if a political party doesn't win, they will set off bombs. I hope that doesn't happen today,"…and then later approached Colleen to say "the UNF party was successful. Sometimes they set off bombs if they win." With all puzzle pieces placed together, one could deduce that the bomb-like sounds outside my window 1. were, in fact, actual bombs, and 2. apparently celebratory "good" bombs. Mmmk time for the mental note of the day: Elections in Kannur = Bombs…..comforting.
This morning, I have emerged from my quarantined space to make some kapi, in hopes that it will melt away the atrocious bags beneath my eyes, along with the co-morbid exhaustion. It hits my stomach with a piercing jab, as the two tiny pieces of bready pizza didn't stay in my stomach for long. While I still feel achy, I'm definitely a lot better than yesterday, and am preparing to go into school to at least start making puppets for the Montessori program. I'd like to give a shout out to Colleen for getting me some Sprite yesterday---it made me feel at home because whenever I had a tummy illness as a kid, Barb Ryan would let me have soda :-). I'd also like to say thanks to Aaliya for calling to see if I was ok, and offering to bring anything I needed. It was so sweet (as we've talked a lot about the many cultural differences between India and America) when she said "Do you want me to bring you some bread? Here when people get sick, we give them bread to eat… I don't know what you people do." Hehe, I simply reply, "thats the same 'round the world, sista!"
Monday, October 25, 2010
T double I
Monday, October 25
10:30 am
Apologies for the large gap between blogs. Colleen and I have been fully immersed into the chaotic lives of teachers abroad. The past week we have felt the most emotionally and physically drained, overwhelmed, ill, sensitive, and… well, bitchy. A culmination of chaos and disorder at school, infinite interpersonal interaction, montessori children ripping buttons off our shirts, constant language barriers, men standing a body length away from us at the beach to stare, spiciest food of my life, and new living situation thrust Colleen and I into a swirling, hostile vortex, leaving us disoriented, unbalanced, and helplessly grasping for familiarity. I believe this past week was our TRUE initiation into India, and here we are walking out into the next week with our chests puffed and heads held high, ready to take on anything. I would consider myself a "ride the wave" or "rolling with the punches" type person; however, never underestimate what new emotions an unfamiliar culture can conjure. We'll just say my 'wing it' trait has increased by ten fold even within this past week. Colleen's and my friendship/roommate-ship/ colleagueship/ and every other 'ship' has been shifted, smacked, and rolled around in the back of some metaphoric cement truck. We have come out this fine Monday as Sumleen, I'd say---a single unit of American chicks trying to make a difference and survive in another hemisphere. Sumleen has invented a new word in our ever-growing, multilingual dictionary:
TII; also written T double I--- an acronym standing for This Is India, derived from the movie Blood Diamond where one says TIA, or This Is Africa. Word is used in any sensory contact with a situation that would occur only in India. Such situations would most likely to bewilder, upset, or terrify one from the West. Word may be used in any context ranging from confusion, fury, or hilarity.
While on the subject of words, Sumleen has vowed (regardless of whether we are speaking English, Spanish, Malayalam, Hindi, etc) to use the Malayalam word "bakshanam" whenever referring to "food", as it translates to English as "meal" or "food" and it is probably the funnest word to say. Try it! Bakshanam, bakshanam, bakshanam, BAK-SHA-NAM!
Now back to these dazzling past seven days…..
After almost a month working at RIMS, Sumleen was supposed to finally receive a time table (you get looked at like a deer in headlights if you say 'schedule') for our classes at school. The past weeks we have simply been assigned random classes and sent to them with 2 minute notice, forced to rack our brains and rummage thru notebooks for lessons and games for any age under 13. This I don't mind because I like to wing it with my lessons anyways; as I think the energy of the kids and classroom will determine what lesson will suit that day. However, I have also been assigned the task of teaching art and volleyball (YAY!), but still have not been informed what age level and the frequency of my classes. Again, this is not a huge deal but it can be a bit stressful when someone runs up to you and says "can you go teach art to 5th and 6th standard right now?" "Sure!"… I am forced to develop a lesson plan and collect my materials in the 30 second walk to the classroom around back. "Ok class, today we are going to illustrate our haikus and they will be put on display on November 14th for all the parents and students"….hey, I only had computer paper and 30 minutes. Or the "can you do English with 2nd standard for the next hour?" ..:::head wobble:::… I speed walk to the classroom (god knows these kids are spastic little buggers) and whip out a dialogue and/or game from my lesson stash. Colleen has been assigned drama with the kids, and she has worked painfully hard in trying to come up with feasible and acceptable (don't forget, conservative Muslim school) songs and plays for the students to perform on November 14. Poor Colleen has been trapped inside a pinball machine, being shot about from teacher to teacher, to ideas encouraged and shot down, plans made and erased, "boys and girls must be separate" "the older girls can't be in the play now" "oh! we would rather you teach them a song rather than a play"…all input threatening to hospitalize poor Colleen with an imminent panic attack. Head-honcho-drama-leen has braved thru this week and was finally able to settle on three performances: a play for the older boys, a song for the younger kids, and song for the older girls. I played the assistant role, helping decide appropriate plays/songs, advising/encouraging, and helping with auditions and rehearsals. We work well together :-) When she starts to panic, I assert a spiraling Colleen ma'am back to feasible reality. When I'm burning up in frustration, Colleen will look at me knowingly and turn me around to see a pudgy-cheeked montessori nugget*--- a remedy that always melts my steaming hot face to a warm smile inside. Kids have that effect on me.
Sumleen had pretty much assumed at this point that we would probably not get a Montessori training teacher to stay at our flat. We were told when we first arrived that we would receive permanent company, none of which ever arrived. We were getting quite comfy with our own spacious rooms, walking around in our underwear, watching LOST in the common room while eating obscene amounts of chocolate (don't judge, we need comfort food), and experimenting with indian ingredients (yielding both failure and success). On Friday, we were informed that one of the montessori teachers, Noor (a hilarious and bubbly 20-year-old doing a two year internship at RIMS to become Montessori certified) and her mother would come to live with us this weekend. Hey, its India, who doesn't love company? Sumleen was more than happy to welcome them to our flat on Saturday (we were told Sunday but they rolled up Saturday instead…T double I) but couldn't resist giggling at the whole situation and the inevitable awkwardness to come.
Cultural Experiment
Exhibit A: Summer and Colleen
Variables-- liberal, fairly naked, American, un-defined religion, speak English, Spanish, bits of Malayalam
Exhibit B: Noor and Mama
Variables-- conservative, burka-wearing, Indian, Muslim, speak limited English (Noor only), speak Malayalam, Kannada, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic, Tamil
Constants: roof, female, arms, legs, speaking in native language in hopes other will magically understand, smiling
Observations:
1. I have never felt so naked in a t-shirt and capris.
2. The Indian conspiracy to fatten up the Americans continues. Hovering loaded spoon situation lives on. Mama makes good food, but I'm not a panda bear….don't they eat their body weight in bamboo?
3. Mama and Sumleen can communicate efficiently enough with hand motions, dictionaries, and smiles. Any 'conversation' is always left with a healthy laugh and understanding of not understanding.
4. Americans' Malayalam improves, Indians' English improves.
4. Noor and Sumleen had a great conversation on Islam and "Sumleenism."** Exhibits display signs of success in cultural exchange.
If you are not grasping the hilarity of my life right now, then …. well…. just grasp it people.
*nugget--a word derived from Charlyn Dahilig referring to a small child and/or human, typically adorable in appearance
**A small note on Sumleenism. I may try and explain this more later but by some crazy world twist, Colleen and I have been put together on this earth and we have found that we believe pretty much the exact same thing. Explaining to people here that we are not Christian, but very familiar with it, alone is complicated enough. Everyone at RIMS has assumed that as Americans, we must be Christian. (Don't forget Rule #1) Anyways, its been difficult to explain a nutshell of our beliefs in the wadded up combo of truth in all religions, presence of good/bad energies, throw in some Eat, Pray, Love philosophy, and law of attraction. However, I think we have gotten the idea across to Asiya, Aaliya, and Noor.
P.S. I forgot to mention that there is no school today because there is another strike. T double I.
10:30 am
Apologies for the large gap between blogs. Colleen and I have been fully immersed into the chaotic lives of teachers abroad. The past week we have felt the most emotionally and physically drained, overwhelmed, ill, sensitive, and… well, bitchy. A culmination of chaos and disorder at school, infinite interpersonal interaction, montessori children ripping buttons off our shirts, constant language barriers, men standing a body length away from us at the beach to stare, spiciest food of my life, and new living situation thrust Colleen and I into a swirling, hostile vortex, leaving us disoriented, unbalanced, and helplessly grasping for familiarity. I believe this past week was our TRUE initiation into India, and here we are walking out into the next week with our chests puffed and heads held high, ready to take on anything. I would consider myself a "ride the wave" or "rolling with the punches" type person; however, never underestimate what new emotions an unfamiliar culture can conjure. We'll just say my 'wing it' trait has increased by ten fold even within this past week. Colleen's and my friendship/roommate-ship/ colleagueship/ and every other 'ship' has been shifted, smacked, and rolled around in the back of some metaphoric cement truck. We have come out this fine Monday as Sumleen, I'd say---a single unit of American chicks trying to make a difference and survive in another hemisphere. Sumleen has invented a new word in our ever-growing, multilingual dictionary:
TII; also written T double I--- an acronym standing for This Is India, derived from the movie Blood Diamond where one says TIA, or This Is Africa. Word is used in any sensory contact with a situation that would occur only in India. Such situations would most likely to bewilder, upset, or terrify one from the West. Word may be used in any context ranging from confusion, fury, or hilarity.
While on the subject of words, Sumleen has vowed (regardless of whether we are speaking English, Spanish, Malayalam, Hindi, etc) to use the Malayalam word "bakshanam" whenever referring to "food", as it translates to English as "meal" or "food" and it is probably the funnest word to say. Try it! Bakshanam, bakshanam, bakshanam, BAK-SHA-NAM!
Now back to these dazzling past seven days…..
After almost a month working at RIMS, Sumleen was supposed to finally receive a time table (you get looked at like a deer in headlights if you say 'schedule') for our classes at school. The past weeks we have simply been assigned random classes and sent to them with 2 minute notice, forced to rack our brains and rummage thru notebooks for lessons and games for any age under 13. This I don't mind because I like to wing it with my lessons anyways; as I think the energy of the kids and classroom will determine what lesson will suit that day. However, I have also been assigned the task of teaching art and volleyball (YAY!), but still have not been informed what age level and the frequency of my classes. Again, this is not a huge deal but it can be a bit stressful when someone runs up to you and says "can you go teach art to 5th and 6th standard right now?" "Sure!"… I am forced to develop a lesson plan and collect my materials in the 30 second walk to the classroom around back. "Ok class, today we are going to illustrate our haikus and they will be put on display on November 14th for all the parents and students"….hey, I only had computer paper and 30 minutes. Or the "can you do English with 2nd standard for the next hour?" ..:::head wobble:::… I speed walk to the classroom (god knows these kids are spastic little buggers) and whip out a dialogue and/or game from my lesson stash. Colleen has been assigned drama with the kids, and she has worked painfully hard in trying to come up with feasible and acceptable (don't forget, conservative Muslim school) songs and plays for the students to perform on November 14. Poor Colleen has been trapped inside a pinball machine, being shot about from teacher to teacher, to ideas encouraged and shot down, plans made and erased, "boys and girls must be separate" "the older girls can't be in the play now" "oh! we would rather you teach them a song rather than a play"…all input threatening to hospitalize poor Colleen with an imminent panic attack. Head-honcho-drama-leen has braved thru this week and was finally able to settle on three performances: a play for the older boys, a song for the younger kids, and song for the older girls. I played the assistant role, helping decide appropriate plays/songs, advising/encouraging, and helping with auditions and rehearsals. We work well together :-) When she starts to panic, I assert a spiraling Colleen ma'am back to feasible reality. When I'm burning up in frustration, Colleen will look at me knowingly and turn me around to see a pudgy-cheeked montessori nugget*--- a remedy that always melts my steaming hot face to a warm smile inside. Kids have that effect on me.
Sumleen had pretty much assumed at this point that we would probably not get a Montessori training teacher to stay at our flat. We were told when we first arrived that we would receive permanent company, none of which ever arrived. We were getting quite comfy with our own spacious rooms, walking around in our underwear, watching LOST in the common room while eating obscene amounts of chocolate (don't judge, we need comfort food), and experimenting with indian ingredients (yielding both failure and success). On Friday, we were informed that one of the montessori teachers, Noor (a hilarious and bubbly 20-year-old doing a two year internship at RIMS to become Montessori certified) and her mother would come to live with us this weekend. Hey, its India, who doesn't love company? Sumleen was more than happy to welcome them to our flat on Saturday (we were told Sunday but they rolled up Saturday instead…T double I) but couldn't resist giggling at the whole situation and the inevitable awkwardness to come.
Cultural Experiment
Exhibit A: Summer and Colleen
Variables-- liberal, fairly naked, American, un-defined religion, speak English, Spanish, bits of Malayalam
Exhibit B: Noor and Mama
Variables-- conservative, burka-wearing, Indian, Muslim, speak limited English (Noor only), speak Malayalam, Kannada, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic, Tamil
Constants: roof, female, arms, legs, speaking in native language in hopes other will magically understand, smiling
Observations:
1. I have never felt so naked in a t-shirt and capris.
2. The Indian conspiracy to fatten up the Americans continues. Hovering loaded spoon situation lives on. Mama makes good food, but I'm not a panda bear….don't they eat their body weight in bamboo?
3. Mama and Sumleen can communicate efficiently enough with hand motions, dictionaries, and smiles. Any 'conversation' is always left with a healthy laugh and understanding of not understanding.
4. Americans' Malayalam improves, Indians' English improves.
4. Noor and Sumleen had a great conversation on Islam and "Sumleenism."** Exhibits display signs of success in cultural exchange.
If you are not grasping the hilarity of my life right now, then …. well…. just grasp it people.
*nugget--a word derived from Charlyn Dahilig referring to a small child and/or human, typically adorable in appearance
**A small note on Sumleenism. I may try and explain this more later but by some crazy world twist, Colleen and I have been put together on this earth and we have found that we believe pretty much the exact same thing. Explaining to people here that we are not Christian, but very familiar with it, alone is complicated enough. Everyone at RIMS has assumed that as Americans, we must be Christian. (Don't forget Rule #1) Anyways, its been difficult to explain a nutshell of our beliefs in the wadded up combo of truth in all religions, presence of good/bad energies, throw in some Eat, Pray, Love philosophy, and law of attraction. However, I think we have gotten the idea across to Asiya, Aaliya, and Noor.
P.S. I forgot to mention that there is no school today because there is another strike. T double I.
Flashback: Last days and last thoughts in Calcutta
Wednesday October 20
I finished another book, "The three mistakes of my life" by Chetan Bhagat. It was a quick and entertaining read about 3 guys who started up a cricket shop. The author is apparently the largest selling English writing author in India. I was looking for another book yesterday and opened up 80 things you need to know about India and out fell a sheet of paper with a journal entry on it! I had actually been looking for this entry when I first arrived to Kannur. I wrote it on one of my last days in Kolkata and had intended to post it in my blog as a transitional entry. I have written several of my blogs first on paper, as sometimes I think it enhances the authenticity of documenting a travel experience. Anyways, I probably shouldn't do that as much since I clearly cant keep track of the paper; but here it is, a journal entry written from inside my room in Kolkata in the last days of September……
I doze off in the dimly lit salmon-tinted room. My eyelids flutter as thunder rolls across the sky, and raindrops patter faster on the streets outside. The midday heat steams away in an evening sigh. A cool breeze pours thru the windows into the swirl of the overhead fan, brushing wisps of damp hair across my forehead. My book, The Namesake, rises and falls on my chest, begging to be picked up again…but my heavy eyelids resist. I will simply just be right now, listening to the soothing splashes in the street, and tiny drum rolls of the Calcutta rainfall. Good thing I hung up my laundry inside today. The clouds roll in to hurry the dusk, leaving only the yellow of the street lamps and glowing barred windows to light up the dirt road winding between homes.
Such a great way to end an exhausting week. While exhausting, this week has been so rewarding, nerve-racking, and spontaneous. It started on Monday with me picking my nails and fidgeting around before giving my first lesson to sixty little bright eyed girls dressed in immaculate blue skirts and pressed white shirts. It ended teaching a different bunch of girls, same smiles and styles, but with a more confident, less fidgety version of myself. I feel inspired, ready to embark upon the next chapter of my life here in India. Its weird looking back on where I was a year ago and where I am today. I was an emotional hot mess--feeling trapped in the possibility that I just might get stuck in the American bubble, about to graduate, desperate for a ticket to anywhere but America, feeling alone. Here I am in India, across the world, about to teach English to little kids. This is what I've wanted, and this is what I will do. I feel so free now, like I can do anything. I guess my point is that I finally feel alive again, like I've woken up and leaped out of the ditch in which I trudged in for the better part of this year. I started walking down the road again---riding the wave---head held high. Let's see where it takes me.
I finished another book, "The three mistakes of my life" by Chetan Bhagat. It was a quick and entertaining read about 3 guys who started up a cricket shop. The author is apparently the largest selling English writing author in India. I was looking for another book yesterday and opened up 80 things you need to know about India and out fell a sheet of paper with a journal entry on it! I had actually been looking for this entry when I first arrived to Kannur. I wrote it on one of my last days in Kolkata and had intended to post it in my blog as a transitional entry. I have written several of my blogs first on paper, as sometimes I think it enhances the authenticity of documenting a travel experience. Anyways, I probably shouldn't do that as much since I clearly cant keep track of the paper; but here it is, a journal entry written from inside my room in Kolkata in the last days of September……
I doze off in the dimly lit salmon-tinted room. My eyelids flutter as thunder rolls across the sky, and raindrops patter faster on the streets outside. The midday heat steams away in an evening sigh. A cool breeze pours thru the windows into the swirl of the overhead fan, brushing wisps of damp hair across my forehead. My book, The Namesake, rises and falls on my chest, begging to be picked up again…but my heavy eyelids resist. I will simply just be right now, listening to the soothing splashes in the street, and tiny drum rolls of the Calcutta rainfall. Good thing I hung up my laundry inside today. The clouds roll in to hurry the dusk, leaving only the yellow of the street lamps and glowing barred windows to light up the dirt road winding between homes.
Such a great way to end an exhausting week. While exhausting, this week has been so rewarding, nerve-racking, and spontaneous. It started on Monday with me picking my nails and fidgeting around before giving my first lesson to sixty little bright eyed girls dressed in immaculate blue skirts and pressed white shirts. It ended teaching a different bunch of girls, same smiles and styles, but with a more confident, less fidgety version of myself. I feel inspired, ready to embark upon the next chapter of my life here in India. Its weird looking back on where I was a year ago and where I am today. I was an emotional hot mess--feeling trapped in the possibility that I just might get stuck in the American bubble, about to graduate, desperate for a ticket to anywhere but America, feeling alone. Here I am in India, across the world, about to teach English to little kids. This is what I've wanted, and this is what I will do. I feel so free now, like I can do anything. I guess my point is that I finally feel alive again, like I've woken up and leaped out of the ditch in which I trudged in for the better part of this year. I started walking down the road again---riding the wave---head held high. Let's see where it takes me.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Rule #1
Tuesday October 19
6:30 am
Its weird because I have not yet had nothing to say about India, but at this moment I'm at a loss for words. It may be because it is 6:30 in the morning and I'm still waiting for my coffee to cool, or it may be residual medicine effects as I have a gross cold…who knows. Let the ramble begin.
We went to our first Indian wedding on Friday and Saturday. This was a Muslim wedding, the reception is held the night before the ceremony. This is called the "mahendi" which is when the bride and all the women get henna (they call it mahendi in arabic) and everyone dances and eats. Colleen and I got our mahendi on Thursday evening by one of our fellow teachers, Lallu. She did a fantastic job! Check out some of my Facebook pics! I've only seen henna in America as part of the Virginia Beach tourist traps, right next to the hair wraps and psychics….but wow I think Im gonna bring it back and start a trend! I am one of few of my friends who never wishes to get a tattoo---in my generation this seems like the minority. I've always joked that I can just write on myself with a sharpie, and when my fickle mind decides I don't like it five hours later, I can wash it off and draw something else. Well thank you India for introducing me to Mahendi!!! WOooooop! Ok so anyways, the reception. We went in and met Shaihina's (bride) mother, grandmother, sisters, sister cousins, etc…everyone was intrigued about these two amazon white chicks at Shaihina's wedding…who are they?!? We go outside to eat dinner which was the typical dish of biriyani ( rice with meat under it…Im not a big fan as I like colorful meals and not just rice and meat) and we also had a small plate full of some porridge-looking oatmeal with meat in it shenanigan (more carbs and meat)…. I have a slight lapse of judgment and forgot I was in India and looked around for the spoon to eat my interphasial liquid-solid food…bahahah woops… no way sista… you eat that with your fingers just like everything else! This may have been slightly less awkward had I not had the mother and grandmother standing over me watching and waiting with a loaded spoon to ensure the giant white kid gets fed…. you'd think that all Indians have some conspiracy to pull a Hansel and Gretel on all the foreigners because they are ALWAYS trying to give us food…. even if I say "no" or shake my head and block my plate with my arm…PLOP! goes the next serving. Colleen and I have worked out a system… I finish her caffeinated beverages (tea and coffee) and she eats my red meat… we have become masters at stealthily exchanging food items so as to not offend anyone.
On Saturday was the actual wedding. For Muslim weddings, it is common here for the groom's family to go to the mosque with the bride and groom. There they get married and return back to the bride's home where everyone is gathered to celebrate and eat. It is becoming more common now for the bride's family to go to the mosque as well. Colleen and I purchased saris for this occasion and were elated to finally wear the traditional Indian dress. Lallu, again, saved the day and came over in the morning to wrap our saris for us (this is not an easy task people…its one piece of fabric wrapped and pleated and pinned and shimmied around you to make an outfit….you wear a barbie 70's roller rink top too) Anyways, we took tons of pictures and felt super cool wearing our saris. Colleen went for sparkling red, I went with wood/ocean nymph. We both decided that we want to hang our saris in our homes for whenever we return as it is a decorative piece of fabric that could act as a tapestry. We told Aaliya this and she thinks we are weird. She said, "I mean, its not like I could go to America and buy a pair of jeans and then hang it up in my room as a curtain"….good point. We arrived to the wedding, glammed out in sparkling saris and done up hair, and entered into the house. Literally no more than twenty seconds go by and the camera crew comes out of the 'photo room', instructs Shaihina to stand between us and all of a sudden we have bright camera lights and a movie video camera and flashes and cameramen yelling stuff….it felt like I was on the stinkin red carpet! Good lord that was an experience you don't come by often. Everyone looked like royalty in their saris and salwaars. Shaihina was decked out in a purple and gold sari, drenched in gold bangles and chains, with jasmine flowers weaved and dangling all through her hair. I really love all the colors.
Welp, here we all are in colorful, beaded saris (the best dress up gear ever!) and its time to eat. Can you imagine going to a wedding, everyone dressed to the nines, and then sitting down for the dinner and eating rice and meat oatmeal with your hands? Hehe, I can! So real.
I must say that the wedding was not at all what I had expected. It seemed much more mellow with mingling and talking rather than the dancing and chaos you see in the movies. Its funny because Colleen and I have told people on numerous occasions to not assume our lives are like those of celebrities and characters in movies. After we said the wedding was not what we expected, Asiya said, "well, don't expect our lives to be like what you see in movies! haha!" Touche. Asiya has asked about our "huge houses" and what the glamorous life of an American is like. I find it amusing that all of the houses, including Asiya's, that I have visited here, are all larger than the home I grew up in. Kannur is a pretty wealthy area, and the homes are stinkin' huge and gorgeous. Colleen and I are loving that we can set the record straight that not all Americans live like Angelina Jolie, not everywhere is like New York City, and we do not attend balls for fun. Yes, I have been asked if I've been to a ball. I have not for the record. Instead, we explained 'prom' which turned out to be a ridiculous concept as boys and girls mingling like that before marriage would not be accepted here. Let me also state that Kannur is a more conservative city in India. I do not want any of you to take what I see in Kerala or Calcutta or anywhere and apply it to the whole country. I feel like humans have a tendency to generalize and stereotype because everything we learn needs to be placed inside a schema, a labeled file inside our brains. Well STOP IT PEEPS! This is getting the whole world into trouble! Im not gonna fly into a tangent now (see future blogs because it may happen later) but just think twice before you make assumptions about ANYTHING. Remember rule number 1. Never assume anything. I also want everyone to know that I explained to Asiya that not ALL Americans hate Muslims…. as this was her perception. Ok I'm getting very scattered here… time for some more coffee.
6:30 am
Its weird because I have not yet had nothing to say about India, but at this moment I'm at a loss for words. It may be because it is 6:30 in the morning and I'm still waiting for my coffee to cool, or it may be residual medicine effects as I have a gross cold…who knows. Let the ramble begin.
We went to our first Indian wedding on Friday and Saturday. This was a Muslim wedding, the reception is held the night before the ceremony. This is called the "mahendi" which is when the bride and all the women get henna (they call it mahendi in arabic) and everyone dances and eats. Colleen and I got our mahendi on Thursday evening by one of our fellow teachers, Lallu. She did a fantastic job! Check out some of my Facebook pics! I've only seen henna in America as part of the Virginia Beach tourist traps, right next to the hair wraps and psychics….but wow I think Im gonna bring it back and start a trend! I am one of few of my friends who never wishes to get a tattoo---in my generation this seems like the minority. I've always joked that I can just write on myself with a sharpie, and when my fickle mind decides I don't like it five hours later, I can wash it off and draw something else. Well thank you India for introducing me to Mahendi!!! WOooooop! Ok so anyways, the reception. We went in and met Shaihina's (bride) mother, grandmother, sisters, sister cousins, etc…everyone was intrigued about these two amazon white chicks at Shaihina's wedding…who are they?!? We go outside to eat dinner which was the typical dish of biriyani ( rice with meat under it…Im not a big fan as I like colorful meals and not just rice and meat) and we also had a small plate full of some porridge-looking oatmeal with meat in it shenanigan (more carbs and meat)…. I have a slight lapse of judgment and forgot I was in India and looked around for the spoon to eat my interphasial liquid-solid food…bahahah woops… no way sista… you eat that with your fingers just like everything else! This may have been slightly less awkward had I not had the mother and grandmother standing over me watching and waiting with a loaded spoon to ensure the giant white kid gets fed…. you'd think that all Indians have some conspiracy to pull a Hansel and Gretel on all the foreigners because they are ALWAYS trying to give us food…. even if I say "no" or shake my head and block my plate with my arm…PLOP! goes the next serving. Colleen and I have worked out a system… I finish her caffeinated beverages (tea and coffee) and she eats my red meat… we have become masters at stealthily exchanging food items so as to not offend anyone.
On Saturday was the actual wedding. For Muslim weddings, it is common here for the groom's family to go to the mosque with the bride and groom. There they get married and return back to the bride's home where everyone is gathered to celebrate and eat. It is becoming more common now for the bride's family to go to the mosque as well. Colleen and I purchased saris for this occasion and were elated to finally wear the traditional Indian dress. Lallu, again, saved the day and came over in the morning to wrap our saris for us (this is not an easy task people…its one piece of fabric wrapped and pleated and pinned and shimmied around you to make an outfit….you wear a barbie 70's roller rink top too) Anyways, we took tons of pictures and felt super cool wearing our saris. Colleen went for sparkling red, I went with wood/ocean nymph. We both decided that we want to hang our saris in our homes for whenever we return as it is a decorative piece of fabric that could act as a tapestry. We told Aaliya this and she thinks we are weird. She said, "I mean, its not like I could go to America and buy a pair of jeans and then hang it up in my room as a curtain"….good point. We arrived to the wedding, glammed out in sparkling saris and done up hair, and entered into the house. Literally no more than twenty seconds go by and the camera crew comes out of the 'photo room', instructs Shaihina to stand between us and all of a sudden we have bright camera lights and a movie video camera and flashes and cameramen yelling stuff….it felt like I was on the stinkin red carpet! Good lord that was an experience you don't come by often. Everyone looked like royalty in their saris and salwaars. Shaihina was decked out in a purple and gold sari, drenched in gold bangles and chains, with jasmine flowers weaved and dangling all through her hair. I really love all the colors.
Welp, here we all are in colorful, beaded saris (the best dress up gear ever!) and its time to eat. Can you imagine going to a wedding, everyone dressed to the nines, and then sitting down for the dinner and eating rice and meat oatmeal with your hands? Hehe, I can! So real.
I must say that the wedding was not at all what I had expected. It seemed much more mellow with mingling and talking rather than the dancing and chaos you see in the movies. Its funny because Colleen and I have told people on numerous occasions to not assume our lives are like those of celebrities and characters in movies. After we said the wedding was not what we expected, Asiya said, "well, don't expect our lives to be like what you see in movies! haha!" Touche. Asiya has asked about our "huge houses" and what the glamorous life of an American is like. I find it amusing that all of the houses, including Asiya's, that I have visited here, are all larger than the home I grew up in. Kannur is a pretty wealthy area, and the homes are stinkin' huge and gorgeous. Colleen and I are loving that we can set the record straight that not all Americans live like Angelina Jolie, not everywhere is like New York City, and we do not attend balls for fun. Yes, I have been asked if I've been to a ball. I have not for the record. Instead, we explained 'prom' which turned out to be a ridiculous concept as boys and girls mingling like that before marriage would not be accepted here. Let me also state that Kannur is a more conservative city in India. I do not want any of you to take what I see in Kerala or Calcutta or anywhere and apply it to the whole country. I feel like humans have a tendency to generalize and stereotype because everything we learn needs to be placed inside a schema, a labeled file inside our brains. Well STOP IT PEEPS! This is getting the whole world into trouble! Im not gonna fly into a tangent now (see future blogs because it may happen later) but just think twice before you make assumptions about ANYTHING. Remember rule number 1. Never assume anything. I also want everyone to know that I explained to Asiya that not ALL Americans hate Muslims…. as this was her perception. Ok I'm getting very scattered here… time for some more coffee.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Happy Birthday Barb Ryan!!!!
October 14, 2010
Happy Birthday Mom! I love you so much :-)
The fourteenth of October
is a very special day
For it is my mother's
very own birthday
I have watched and learned
She pours passion and soul
Into every ambition,
effort, and goal
An expert of detail
with an intricate mind
Theres no information
Barb Ryan can't find
She taught me patience,
perseverance through tough
This rock solid woman
just never gives up
She showed me outdoors
Our toes in the sand
I learned to explore
Mommy holding my hand
Now I am grown
But even though we're apart
I'm charged with years
of love from her heart
To the woman who
I respect most of all
The encourager, teacher
who picks me up when I fall
She is the one who gave
me confidence and strength
to explore the world
It is her I must thank
I miss you mom,
from your little girl
Here's a happy birthday
from around the world.
Happy Birthday Mom! I love you so much :-)
The fourteenth of October
is a very special day
For it is my mother's
very own birthday
I have watched and learned
She pours passion and soul
Into every ambition,
effort, and goal
An expert of detail
with an intricate mind
Theres no information
Barb Ryan can't find
She taught me patience,
perseverance through tough
This rock solid woman
just never gives up
She showed me outdoors
Our toes in the sand
I learned to explore
Mommy holding my hand
Now I am grown
But even though we're apart
I'm charged with years
of love from her heart
To the woman who
I respect most of all
The encourager, teacher
who picks me up when I fall
She is the one who gave
me confidence and strength
to explore the world
It is her I must thank
I miss you mom,
from your little girl
Here's a happy birthday
from around the world.
Minority Attraction
Tuesday, October 12
By some twist of fate, I have been placed next to a beach here in Kannur. I went there for the first time on Friday for a field trip with the Montessori kids, and then again on Sunday morning for a walk. Its like the beach in Nicaragua! You walk through the lush greenery, coconut trees and all, to the wide beach enclosed with cliffs. If you close your eyes, the humid air is thick on the skin, the sunlight bakes, the waves crash in sets atop the rocks. I wriggle my toes into the steaming sand, churning up the cooler, black layers. On Sunday I was hoping to do this while collecting seashells---cheesy I know but I'm a seashell kid. Anyways, Colleen and I arrived at the beach at 8 am on Sunday morning and it was completely packed…men only. Now you guys may be like jeez suck it up and just go for a run like you planned. The thing is, it is EXHAUSTING being the minority sometimes. This is difficult for me to explain, but bear with me. Here, meaning India, the women stare as much as the men, who stare as much as the children, who stare as much as everyone. I am under a microscope constantly…. they are watching, judging, watching, judging (haha thats actually a shout out for Katherine Courage)…but anyways… people here are very curious and therefore stare with no shame. We went to a restaurant the other day to get the traditional rice with sambar and curry off a banana leaf (major nom noms…mmmm). Its an extremely crowded restaurant as people are waiting at your table for you to get up. So Colleen and I are in there, being watched by at least 30 people at one time. Its already awkward to have people watch you eat, but the real awkwardness here is that everyone eats with their hands. To be honest I feel that I'm as good as any Indian eating utensil-less now, but when I have 30 people watching me its like "crap am I doing this right? am I not being Indian enough? is it just because Im six feet and white?" Its a mental process I go thru a lot and its draining. The staring on the street, or curiosity in the stores, "whats your country?" …."obama!!!!" "whats your name?" "where are you staying?", I don't mind anymore. Its when I go to hang up my laundry by the window and the people from the rooftop below start shouting. "Curtain investment" comes to mind. Anyways, this explains why Colleen and I were very excited to experience a peaceful beach morning and were less than thrilled to find it less than peaceful. There we go making assumptions. Rule #1 Never assume anything. I did go exploring in some tropical brush, and sat atop a large cliff to stare at the ocean and listen to the waves; so that was an escape enough for me….nevermind the 6 dudes staring and pointing…. I just pretended they weren't there.
I have never had a problem as a child finding a doll that looked like me, finding a band aid that matched my skin, or now, make-up that blends with my complexion. All these would be indicators of whether you were a minority. In social work at JMU, we endlessly explored cultural diversity, competence, and sensitivity. I remember a theory--the name escapes me--on minority identity formation. The individual is first oblivious to differences of color, they indirectly experience discrimination (or form of feeling different), then directly experience it, they recoil to the minority group (with anger towards the majority), and eventually mingle with everyone with the understanding of differences. I don't think anyone can truly understand this theory unless he experiences it. For the first time in my life I feel a struggle, frustration, an exhaustion of being a minority. I second guess my actions because I know I am being watched. Others' perceptions of me suddenly matter. Sometimes I don't want to walk on the beach solely because I know it will be so mentally draining simply to exist there. Its almost like I have the weight of representing America on my shoulders, and anything I do can and will be used for or against the perception of my country. What confuses me is the fact that Ive never felt so out of place in Nicaragua. I feel comfortable there…like I belong. I told Colleen that maybe that truly is a place where my heart is, or that I lived there in another life or something. Regardless, in India I have been given a severe shove out of my comfort zone (not good or bad)…and its given me a lot to process.
I am not sure if you guys notice any difference in my writing, as Colleen and I notice that our English is changing. Not good. Like I said in a previous post, there is frequent usage of "ing" verb form, lots of plurals on nouns that don't need it, and saying things like "is it?" or "like that" in random context. This is terrifying. As English teachers we must take a stand!!!! We must keep our American English and not succumb to the overuse of the gerund form. We try to catch ourselves but there may be no turning back. I was given the school newsletter the other day to correct and a common sentence structure would go like this, "Responsibility, respect, fairness, caring , trustworthiness, and citizenship are lifetime values which live taught through activities and there are the principles of good sportsmanship." This is the English spoken here, and why Colleen and I often have a hard time communicating and understanding what the heck is going on. Another thing we've noticed is the mix up between "w" and "v"…. we are starting a revolution with the youngsters during tutoring and having them chant "very well" correctly. Everyone pronounces it "wery ell." This revolution will work…start with the young ones and work your way up. :-) …."you vant wegetables?"
By some twist of fate, I have been placed next to a beach here in Kannur. I went there for the first time on Friday for a field trip with the Montessori kids, and then again on Sunday morning for a walk. Its like the beach in Nicaragua! You walk through the lush greenery, coconut trees and all, to the wide beach enclosed with cliffs. If you close your eyes, the humid air is thick on the skin, the sunlight bakes, the waves crash in sets atop the rocks. I wriggle my toes into the steaming sand, churning up the cooler, black layers. On Sunday I was hoping to do this while collecting seashells---cheesy I know but I'm a seashell kid. Anyways, Colleen and I arrived at the beach at 8 am on Sunday morning and it was completely packed…men only. Now you guys may be like jeez suck it up and just go for a run like you planned. The thing is, it is EXHAUSTING being the minority sometimes. This is difficult for me to explain, but bear with me. Here, meaning India, the women stare as much as the men, who stare as much as the children, who stare as much as everyone. I am under a microscope constantly…. they are watching, judging, watching, judging (haha thats actually a shout out for Katherine Courage)…but anyways… people here are very curious and therefore stare with no shame. We went to a restaurant the other day to get the traditional rice with sambar and curry off a banana leaf (major nom noms…mmmm). Its an extremely crowded restaurant as people are waiting at your table for you to get up. So Colleen and I are in there, being watched by at least 30 people at one time. Its already awkward to have people watch you eat, but the real awkwardness here is that everyone eats with their hands. To be honest I feel that I'm as good as any Indian eating utensil-less now, but when I have 30 people watching me its like "crap am I doing this right? am I not being Indian enough? is it just because Im six feet and white?" Its a mental process I go thru a lot and its draining. The staring on the street, or curiosity in the stores, "whats your country?" …."obama!!!!" "whats your name?" "where are you staying?", I don't mind anymore. Its when I go to hang up my laundry by the window and the people from the rooftop below start shouting. "Curtain investment" comes to mind. Anyways, this explains why Colleen and I were very excited to experience a peaceful beach morning and were less than thrilled to find it less than peaceful. There we go making assumptions. Rule #1 Never assume anything. I did go exploring in some tropical brush, and sat atop a large cliff to stare at the ocean and listen to the waves; so that was an escape enough for me….nevermind the 6 dudes staring and pointing…. I just pretended they weren't there.
I have never had a problem as a child finding a doll that looked like me, finding a band aid that matched my skin, or now, make-up that blends with my complexion. All these would be indicators of whether you were a minority. In social work at JMU, we endlessly explored cultural diversity, competence, and sensitivity. I remember a theory--the name escapes me--on minority identity formation. The individual is first oblivious to differences of color, they indirectly experience discrimination (or form of feeling different), then directly experience it, they recoil to the minority group (with anger towards the majority), and eventually mingle with everyone with the understanding of differences. I don't think anyone can truly understand this theory unless he experiences it. For the first time in my life I feel a struggle, frustration, an exhaustion of being a minority. I second guess my actions because I know I am being watched. Others' perceptions of me suddenly matter. Sometimes I don't want to walk on the beach solely because I know it will be so mentally draining simply to exist there. Its almost like I have the weight of representing America on my shoulders, and anything I do can and will be used for or against the perception of my country. What confuses me is the fact that Ive never felt so out of place in Nicaragua. I feel comfortable there…like I belong. I told Colleen that maybe that truly is a place where my heart is, or that I lived there in another life or something. Regardless, in India I have been given a severe shove out of my comfort zone (not good or bad)…and its given me a lot to process.
I am not sure if you guys notice any difference in my writing, as Colleen and I notice that our English is changing. Not good. Like I said in a previous post, there is frequent usage of "ing" verb form, lots of plurals on nouns that don't need it, and saying things like "is it?" or "like that" in random context. This is terrifying. As English teachers we must take a stand!!!! We must keep our American English and not succumb to the overuse of the gerund form. We try to catch ourselves but there may be no turning back. I was given the school newsletter the other day to correct and a common sentence structure would go like this, "Responsibility, respect, fairness, caring , trustworthiness, and citizenship are lifetime values which live taught through activities and there are the principles of good sportsmanship." This is the English spoken here, and why Colleen and I often have a hard time communicating and understanding what the heck is going on. Another thing we've noticed is the mix up between "w" and "v"…. we are starting a revolution with the youngsters during tutoring and having them chant "very well" correctly. Everyone pronounces it "wery ell." This revolution will work…start with the young ones and work your way up. :-) …."you vant wegetables?"
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