Chennai, India - HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Earlier today, I was informed by the Marriott staff that the water, even at the hotel, is not safe to drink - after I had just brushed my teeth using hotel water. I'm in a holding pattern for death by diarreaha now. I haven't felt courageous enough to venture outside of the security gates of the hotel to do any 'sightseeing', but it's been okay. I have an eighth floor hotel room and I have spent the day looking out of the window. It's been all the sight seeing that I needed. My view encompasses a way of life that is hard to describe. Off in the distance, I see what must be a high school. The students in the schoolyard are dressed improbably in white in what must be one of the most polluted, dirty cities in the world. Women hang their wash on the roofs of their, um, dwellings. A small stream that even from my bird's eye view, runs through the neighborhood.It is incredibly polluted and littered from bank to bank with refuse and garbage. Women pour their cooking refuse into it almost non-stop. Yet there is a rhythmn to the day. Men begin arriving home after another day at menial labor, the children play happily in the dirt and filth under the watchful eye of their mothers, a small boy has been expertly flying a kite from the roof of his, um, dwelling,virtually the entire day. Imagine a little  boy in America satisfied with a little homemade kite for an entire day. Women in brightly colored Saris stand atop the roofs and share the day's gossip together. As for the news you didn't hear in America, A cyclone hurled its way through Chennai and surrounding areas the morning before my arrival, leaving 33 people dead. And the rythmn of life goes on. India. What man hath wrought. In a country once so prized for its spices and teas, there remains  . . . . . . .the remains.  

HONG KONG

I'm sitting here in the Hong Kong Airport waiting for the last leg of my flight to India. I'm still about ten hours from my destination. The flight from San Francisco was over fifteen hours. Oddly enough, as I stepped into the Hong Kong terminal, the first thing I noticed were the strains of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus being played over the intercom system. That's about where any familiarity with anything ended. Hong Kong Airport is immaculately clean. There are few Americans and fewer children or babies. Fully armed security guards with loaded machine guns walk past about every five minutes. That's a little disconcerting. Everyone seems to be in some kind of uniform here and maybe it's just me, but there seems to be a lack of individuality.  Everything is SO quiet. Lots of people, but they all look like they're headed for a close relative's funeral. There's no odd behavior or colorful people to watch around here. Except me, maybe. I'm definitely beginning to stick out. I feel like I look like a greasy, unwashed hippie. I always knew I would come to this.

In the quiet of an evening

Just a little over two weeks and I will be in India. I sit here relishing every nook and cranny of my house. I love the quiet comfort of home, the hum of the refrigerator, the warmth of the furnace, and the calm spirit that prevails in the late or early hours of evening. I do my best thinking then. Alone and at peace, I wonder what the next few months will bring. How will I be changed? Will I make a difference in some child's life? Perhaps there will be another Mahatma Ghandi whose spirit will brush past mine. Or a little girl who may one day become whatever she desires to become. Will I be so privileged to live for a few short months among growing minds and spirits destined for greatness? Somehow, I am beginning to believe that it is not I that will give to India, but it is India's children who will restore my spirit, shore up my resolve, and daily strengthen me to be a good teacher. My faith, my hope, my plea, is that I will be prepared enough to know what to do and when to do it - and that everything I do will percolate with energetic love and compassion. This sounds like a prayer - and it is. Already, I feel my heart turning and molding and adjusting. If I close my eyes and turn out all the lights, I can see them - the children of India. And they call to me.

What in the HECK do I think I'm doing?

In 26 days, I will leave the comfort of home and hearth to spend four months in India. It wasn't a decision made in a day. I did some serious thinking about India's heat, poverty, disease, culture, over-population, long flight time and deadly animals, snakes, and insects. I thought and I thought and I thought. I weighed the benefits against the liabilities. I could think of only one benefit: making a difference in the lives of children who desperately need to learn English. So I made the decision. I decided to ignore the liabilities. Just ignore them. It was the only healthy thing I could think of to do because if I thought about it too much, my resolve would weaken. I'm wondering just what kind of stuff I'm made out of. I guess we'll see, won't we? But one thing I know for sure: I will finish the 'good fight'. I'm not coming home until I've taught some kids some English skills. I will have faith that I can do that. I hear India calling my name. I have a feeling that it is not so much what I will be giving to India, but what India will give to me. Namaste.