Government. Or the lack thereof.

I need to find a government official. I have a few questions. Of course, finding one that isn't corrupt is quite a trick. Conservative estimates are that 75 percent of India's government workers do nothing without a bribe first. So I'm going to have to count my rupees and see if I can afford the interview.

Here's a few things I would like to know . . . . . . . .

1. Where can I find the online address locator map for convicted Pedophiles in Tamil Nadu?

2. What is the Hotline telephone number and 'safe haven' for domestic abuse victims?

3. Can I have a tour of that factory that uses children to knot rugs 12-16 hours a day? Would you mind if I brought along some sticky, gooey, chocolate candy for the little kids? Why not?

4. Where may I purchase a driver's license and can it be easily exchanged for a death certificate?

5. Is there a safe place where I can cast my vote? Some other polling booth besides the one where nine people were killed yesterday?

6.  Would you mind explaining the bathroom protocol here in Tamil Nadu? Is it really all right to step outside an eating establishment and pee on the establishment's window? Really? Why not just think about not leaving a tip? Is that why all you men wear man diapers and drop them at the slightest encouragement? Honestly. I've seen more men peeing in ditches, on walls, at bus stops, and on each other, to last a lifetime.

7.  Tell me the truth. I'll pay a bigger bribe. What REALLY goes on in the restaurant kitchens? I have seen dogs go in and never come out. I'm not complaining. I don't eat meat. I just want to know what happens to the dogs.

8.  Would you mind telling me why my district is in the middle of a serious Cholera Outbreak and you never bothered to TELL the people in the district?

Well, I'll be having some more questions for you, Mr. officious official. Just as soon as I can scrape up more rupees to purchase some more of your integrity.

Lakshmi the Elephant - Calling all 4th graders for an escape plan!

Did you know that elephants are among the most intelligent creatures on earth? They are capable of a range of emotions including joy, playfulness, grief, and mourning. They can mimic sounds they hear, play with a sense of humor, use tools, and display compassion and self awareness. They can even recognize themselves in a mirror, something extremely rare in the animal kingdom.

Here's a great story about elephants: Bandula, an elephant in captivity, was so smart, she learned how to disengage the complex hook on her shackles AND she assisted her fellow inmates in escaping from theirs!

Unfortunately, this picture is of Lakshmi, a shackled and sad-looking elephant who cannot escape her captors. Lakshmi's 'duty' all day is to stand in the same place in her own waste while the little man at her feet pokes and prods her with a stick. People come to be blessed by Lakshmi. They do this by putting a coin in her trunk, she delivers the coin to the man with the stick, he signals to her with a poke of his stick to touch the head of the person who gave the coin, thus 'blessing' the person. If you try to give Lakshmi something to eat, like grass, you do not get a blessing. I know. I bought some grass and gave her grass instead of money.The man with the prodding stick likes money, not grass. He actually likes money, not Lakshmi. I actually like Lakshmi, not the man with the prodding stick.

Lakshmi was probably captured as a baby and she has been in captivity every since, conferring blessings upon hundreds of people every day. That is what her life consists of. She has the saddest, most mournful eyes. I wanted her to stampede down the alley and escape. But she can't. She's stuck. I felt sorry for Lakshmi and I only took her picture because I promised I would do that for Mrs. Ottley's fourth grade if I ever saw an elephant.

Wouldn't you like to see her stomp that little man with the stick, pancake flat? ME TOO!

So let's all think of  a way to help Lakshmi escape. Okay???

Temple to the "Unknown God"

When I saw this temple, I thought of Paul's epistle to the Romans (I think) where he was reprimanding them for having so many gods, they even built an extra idol in case they missed a god. There are Hindu temples and Hindu gods, large and small, virtually everywhere, most of them grotesque and bizarre. The gods are usually depicted disemboweling some fair maiden and wrapping her intestines around their arms. Sometimes the victim is just being stabbed by a hundred different arms of the 'god'. I tell you what. I've missed something in the gods department. Christ was much too loving and kind. We would all be better people if we would just build and worship idols on every corner who are threatening to kill us at the slightest provocation.

 I should probably also mention that Hinduism's grip is a tad neurotic where women are concerned. Or have I done that already? They are required to wrap themselves in YARDS of fabric for modesty's sake while the men run around wearing what amounts to a large diaper. Bear in mind that India is HOT. I refer to the weather, not the men.

 Anyway, in Indian life, the women are covered from head to foot at all times. They are not even allowed to swim in the same swimming pool with the men - which to my way of thinking, is a positive thing the women probably figured out themselves and convinced the men (dim) that Vishnu or Ragu or some other vindictive god made up the rule.  BUT . . . . and this was my original point before I went off on a tangent, all of the Hindu Gods are depicted as big busted, bare breasted, nearly naked women. This place is pornography heaven.

The downside of all the god depictions is that it's always women being disemboweled, beheaded, burned, and abused in general. Wow. Gandhi had it right when he said that his goal for India was to enfranchise the Dalits AND the women. This place makes me want to come home, look up Gloria Steinem, and give her a big fat 'thank you' for burning her bra way back in the 60's. Or pretending to. The wonder of it all is that India does have 27 percent of the world's population living within its borders. SOMEBODY is doing SOMETHING. The women probably wrap themselves in all that fabric hoping to postpone  . . . . . . . . .well, you get my drift. Somehow, it's not working. India is standing room only - except of course for the spots the gods occupy.

Sorry, Sandra. One more blog post you probably shouldn't share with your 4th graders. Or your kids.  I PROMISE the next post is going to be the elephant picture. You're going to get a fabulous opportunity to talk about animal abuse.

Meet "Mary Vanilla"

"Mary Vanilla" is not her actual name of course, but it's the closest we can come to pronouncing her actual name. Mary Vanilla is beautiful. Drop dead beautiful. She is also a "Dalit", the lowest of the low - even lower than an untouchable. Upper Caste Indians (I prefer to call them Jackasses), will not even stoop to speak to women like Mary Vanilla. Traditionally, Dalits like her have the responsibility of cleaning out sewer ditches and latrines.

Let me tell you why Mary Vanilla is a "Dalit". She has very dark skin. That is a physical, social marker in India. But there are other "problems" with this beautiful woman. When she was ten, her parents got involved in a serious argument and her mother committed suicide by setting herself on fire - apparently the preferred method among women for suicides over here. A few months later, Mary's father died, leaving Mary an orphan. This is a serious situation now because Mary cannot prove she exists. There is no one with a birth certificate or any papers of identification for her now. Mary's Grandmother took her in, but only to clean house. She was not allowed to attend school. EVER. She is illiterate. She cannot read or write in any language. Ironically, Mary Vanilla speaks FLAWLESS English. She learned to speak a very difficult language on her own. She's the only Indian on campus that any of us can understand 100 percent of the time. She has a wonderful mind.

When she was fifteen, Mary Vanilla was married off to another Untouchable with a drinking problem. He lived long enough to encumber Mary Vanilla with two little boys before HE committed suicide by stepping in front of a bus - the preferred method of suicide for men. Mary Vanilla is now 28 years old. She has no home except the school campus. No other Indian man will ever marry her because she is no longer a "virgin".

She works for the school. She begins her workday at 7AM with 21 little girls who need to be dressed and have their hair braided and shepherded to school on time every single morning. Then Mary Vanilla works at the school all day running errands and being treated like a dirty mop by the Indian upper caste jackasses at the school. Let me think about that one. Nope. I think dirty mops get treated better than Vanilla Mary.

Then she goes 'home', cares for 21 little girls from 4PM - 9PM, getting them ready for bed and settled down. Then, she gets to see her little boy, Michael, if she's lucky. Her older boy, Stephen,  has been expelled from school for 'anti-social' and 'erratic' behavior. He's in Chennai and he won't last long there before he, too, steps in front of a bus.

We have an expression in India that we use about a hundred times a day. T.I.I. This is India. For Mary Vanilla, this is H.E.L.L.

This is the kind of story that keeps me awake at nights, typing my frustrations away. Oh. And I haven't even begun to tell you the story of the 22-year old girl who works in the library that the village kicked out of town because they think she's a whore.

Peace out. God bless India. And Vanilla Mary. These other gods on every corner are totally worthless.

India Address

Betty W. Johnson

Rising Star Outreach

Kaddalmangalam Road

Thotannaval Village

Uthiramerur Taluk

Kancheepuram District

India 603 107

Don't you think it would be kind of fun just to write a letter and see if it actually arrived? Why don't you try it????? Yes, this is a shameless ploy for letters from home.

A word about the "Happy Natives"

I'm about to stand on a soapbox in my (never so humble) way.  . . . . . . . . I hear a lot of comments about how 'happy' the natives seem to be. These comments are always from temporary travellers to India who will return home to their lives of comfort and ease with their cameras full of pictures of the 'happy natives' and happy, happy stories to regale the neighbors.

 Um-m-m-m-m. I might have a different opinion. What else is new? I see Indian employees working on the school grounds who are surreptitiously always trying to find someone who would be willing to take their children back to America with them in the hopes that the child or children will have a chance at a better life. I see young mothers with eyes as old as time.

Is it a "happy life" to live without running water? Indoor toilets? Electricity? At least a dozen deadly, high communicable childhood diseases that would be easily preventable through immunizations? Is it a happy life to live in a house with a dirt floor, watching your children playing barefoot in the grass among some of the deadliest snakes in the world? Is it a happy life knowing that the best possible chance for your child would be to give her away to a perfect stranger? Did you know that over a million Indian babies die each year from diarrhea? Over 50,000, particularly in the rural areas, die of venomous snake bite? Does that sound like a "Happy Life" to you?

Sometimes, I am so ashamed. Tourists and those just 'passing through' choose the things they see; they are looking through a rose colored lens. They 'choose' to ignore the grinding poverty, the evil of a caste system that persists in spite of laws to prevent it, people living homeless in the streets, and lifeless looking women holding their little infants and begging with a cup.

So . . . . . . . . today, I am ashamed. I'm ashamed that I never knew. Ashamed that I will leave these wonderful people behind having done little or nothing to improve their circumstances. Saddened that little Usha in the 5th grade has stolen my heart with her glasses, orthotic shoes and anklets - and that I will never see her again nor know if she was one of the lucky ones who miraculously will escape from this evil place.

I am no tourist. That's my problem. I can't bear to snap photos of the misery I see. I feel as if I am imposing. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be profiting even by a single photo.

May God be watching over this people forever. I can't. But I would if I could. I love their grace, their graciousness, and their beauty. They, who have so little, would give me, who has so much, everything. Yesterday, I complimented a housemaid on her ankle bracelet and she took it off and tried to give it to me. I, who thought I had so much to teach, have become the humble pupil.

I am gratified, blessed, and forever indebted to the wonderful people of India. They know they have been shortchanged. They know that their children deserve a better chance at "happiness" than they ever had. So, would I call them "Happy Natives"?  No. How condescending and demeaning. But Wonderful? Absolutely, without a doubt, they are wonderful.

Bathroom Hygiene and the Three Stooges.

Aren't they just little dears? Don't you think they are so darling? Well, so do I, but there are certain things I know about these little stooges that you may not be aware of. (never end a sentence with a preposition). But I digress. For translation purposes, let's just call these handsome dudes, Larry, Curly, and Moe. Their actual names look something like this: Sujathashankar,Rajeshmegala, and Mahalakshmipriya. You might understand why I would prefer just calling them the three stooges.

What do these little darlings have in common with toilet paper? Drum roll, please. The correct answer would be NOTHING. Indians do not use toilet paper. In fact, they find that whole Western concept revolting. I, on the other hand, a confirmed Westerner, have a significant issue with Indian toilet hygiene. Indians eat with their right hands. Always. There is a good reason for that. They WIPE with their left hands.

Then they come to school, touch my face, my hair, my pens, my clothes, my hands . . . . . . .well, you get the picture. But the real challenge is eating at the same dining hall with 230 Indian children and adults who WIPE with their left hands. Never mind the flies, gnats, bugs, and gloppy food sitting out in the open air, but watching everyone wash their plates in cold water with no soap, with their left hands? . . . . . . . . .well, I'm just not hungry enough. Yet. But I'm getting closer and closer. So wipe on, you little stinkers. I love how you chase me down the hallways, want to carry my bag, and ask me for the umpteenth time why I call you the "Three Stooges". It's a Western thing, kind of like using toilet paper. Just don't ever invite me to dinner. Okay?

Mrs. Ottley, please use your disgression on whether or not you will be sharing this little post. :) Or maybe you could build a lesson unit around it and sing "Wash your hands After Going to the Bathroom". Cool, huh?

The Goat Children

I have resisted posting this haunting photograph for days. I try to concentrate on things that I can make light of, like snakes, headlice, traffic, etc., but for this photo, there are only four sad stories to tell. These children have been selected to herd goats. For various reasons, usually when their father dies and there is no one to support them, they earn their village 'keep' by herding the community goats all day. Every day. There is no future for these little kids. The goats are cleaner than they are and they would wear shoes - if they had any to wear. Bear in mind that these little kids are in the fields and in the grass along with a number of varieties of venomous snakes. Perhaps the girls will be married off at fifteen or sixteen to a much older distant relative, but their lives will be full of drudgery and darkness. They live just outside the gates of the School Compound and they watch through the gates as the schoolchildren laugh and play.

 Last week, we had a mother bring her little five-year old girl to the school. The mother had packed a suitcase for the little girl and in tears, sobbing actually, told the Principal she was giving her little girl to the school forever because she wanted a better life for her. That happens on a regular basis and the parents are turned away because of lack of room and space. If every child brought to the school that way was accepted, soon there would be dozens of 'orphan' children.

 India, in all of its 'wisdom' has closed the doors to international adoptions in favor of literally hundreds of thousands of orphans and urchins in the cities just wandering the streets or lost forever as untouchable untouchables in the wasteland of India's rural poor and wretched villages. Diane, this is probably the fate that awaited Grace if you had not stepped in and brought her 'home'.

 I'm not writing well tonight. I know I'm not good at telling the real story, but I hope someone will read between the lines and feel as I feel, see what I see, and cry with me for these little kids.

The Guest of Honor

"Bessie" is the Pageant Queen in today's parade celebrating the Day of Pongal. This day is basically celebrated as an 'end of harvest' and' beginning of Spring' day. People throw out all their old clothes and supposedly their old habits, buy a new outfit, make new promises, and give food offerings to a series of as nearly as I can determine, non-participatory gods. Bessie behaved herself quite regally throughout the rather long, arduous ceremony with lots of drumming by a percussion section that left most of us deaf for about an hour. If you ever have aspirations to become a cow, you should try to get to India. Cows run the show here. And don't they know it. I've never seen so many uppity cows. Oh, and by the way, 'beginning of Spring' means temperatures soaring into the 100's pretty soon.  

This One's For Rachel

A happy picture of nine of the fifty students I harrass and nag each day.

Watch it!

I just took this picture of a very much alive, very angry viper snake about ten feet outside of my door. Actually, this is my very first picture ever of any kind of snake. Yes, it's poisonous. Everything in India seems to be poisonous. Here's the Indian version of controlling the snake population: They find a large tractor, hook a mower on the back of it, and mow down ALL the grass that snakes like to hide in. In theory, that sounds like a pretty good idea. Right? WRONG. Snakes like grass. They like the protection of grass. They eat little animals in the grass. Without grass, they have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. They get angry. They get hungry.

After the groundskeeper killed this snake, he said to me laughing and bobble heading, "You not see this kind of thing on Discovery Channel in 'Merica?" Indians. There's a comedian in every crowd.

Just when I had stopped resenting my "Flashlight of Death". I brought a flashlight that I carry with me everywhere when I have to be outside at night or even go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But it's a defective, "Made in China" flashlight and it has this nasty habit of just shutting off whenever and wherever it feels like it. I would love a video of me hopping up and down slapping my flashlight against my head, the wall, the floor, the bricks, anything, to get it back on again before . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . just when I was getting a little careless, I'm back to heartstopping, heartpounding, jumping up and down with my "Made in China" flashlight.

Whoever is reading this blog to Mom, maybe you better skip this one. And Mike . . . . . . . . .HELP!!!

Head Lice Outbreak!

I'm sitting here speed reading the instructions on the back of my 'in case of a rare outbreak' Lice Shampoo kit. People. we are in the middle of a head lice outbreak. A tutor was sitting next to a child today and suddenly there were little bugs all over the table. She asked the child what the bugs were. Nonchalantly as can be, the child said, "Oh, those are just lice jumping off my head onto the table." PANIC MODE. FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! It will be nearly impossible for me to avoid becoming infected. I'm with the children all day and often at night. They sit on my lap, run their fingers through my hair and look deeply into my eyes from oh, about a fourth of an inch away. I drew the line when they started putting their fingers up my nose. So, I've never had head lice and my kids never had lice. That's why I'm speed reading the instructions. I need to catch up. Coming to you live from Thottanaval Village in Tamil Nadu, India. LICE. Lots of them. I'll find some envelopes and send you some. Leave your address. Get your orders in soon. There will be two options available: (1) random head lice jumping everywhere, or (2) carefully cultivated head lice with a comb. AWESOME.

Heel lotion or hair removal? I don't think so.

This morning, one of the 'housemaids' came to me with a tube in her hand and wanted to know what it was. Her English is very limited and I don't speak Tamil. I looked at the tube and then at her and I knew I had a problem. First, she gestured toward her heel and wondered if the tube was a cream to soften feet and heels. I said, "Um, no, that's not it." Then she wanted to know if it was for removing body hair. "Uh, no." What she had was a tube of anti-Hemorrhoidal cream that someone had thrown out. How was I going to explain this? Finally, through a combination of hand gestures and frowning, (lots of frowning),  I told her it was for people who had a difficult time going to the bathroom. When the definition finally dawned on her, she turned in embarrassed disgust and chucked it clear across the patio. Then we both sat and laughed. No need to translate laughing. Maybe I should retrieve the tube and try it on my heels. Couldn't hurt to try. Or would it?

India's "Brain Drain"

Here's something you probably don't want to share with your High-Tech friends (Intel). India estimates that the loss of their Indian engineers to the United States costs the Indian economy billions of dollars a year. Indian engineers in America are called NRIs in India (Non-Resident Indians). They rarely return to India with the knowledge and skills acquired working in America. Indians actually have little respect for them and make pointed remarks about their desertion of their 'home country' except for the occasional rare holiday visits. The Indian Government has taken note of the mass migration of their finest engineers and high-tech people. There have been several articles in the newspaper about the loss of morale and creativity among those who remain in India trying to contribute to a higher living standard. There is an emerging middle class, but honestly, I don't see much evidence. Of course, there are foreign companies in India and I think Intel is based in Bangalore. Does anyone know why companies like Intel recruit so many Indian engineers to America? I've heard that it's because there aren't enough trained engineers in America, but I have a hard time believing that is true. PLEASE, if you're reading my blog and you work for Intel or your husband works for Intel, PLEASE do not share this blog with your Indian counterparts. I'm sure they would be quite defensive. India views NRIs in a very negative light and resents the huge financial loss to their economy. What do you think? I'm just reporting what I read in the English Indian Newspapers.

Your 200 Word Essay Assignment

This is a timed test. In 200 words or less, describe the benefits of an Indian toilet over an American Toilet. You will be graded highly if you mention proper posture, appropriate stance, perfect balance, and the cheerful countenance always present when using an Indian toilet. Extra points will be given if you actually demonstrate the technique required. Your paper will be marked down significantly if you use swear words, damn India to hell, or "slip up". Of course, if you fall in, you will be given a zero and fail this portion of your Indian Civil Service Exam.

I'm TOTALLY buying a motorcycle.

Mike, sell the car. I've bought a motorcycle. It was a tough choice, but I decided on the "Swerve-A-Cow" model. It comes with a lifetime guarantee. Most buyers don't live more than a month or two, so we don't know if the motorcycle will actually last much longer than that. But think how much FUN we'll have! We can tie goats, dead chickens, firewood, etc., etc. just as high as we want to stack them. The only thing we're not allowed to tie on is ourselves and our five or six relatives or friends we'll be offering a ride. We're expendable. WHAT FUN! Sell the car. I'm living the Road Life!

Death By Dump Truck

Have I mentioned the traffic laws here in India? Oh. Well, there's probably a reason I haven't. It's because there aren't any. And just to add a little excitement into the mix, there are also no seatbelts installed in any of the vehicles. There are scooters, hundreds, thousands of them, everywhere, and I have not seen a single person wearing a motorcycle helmet. It's a little bit like living in the enlightened states of Utah, Florida, and Arizona, whose residents also apparently believe in Karma. India has the highest traffic fatality rate in the world. Well, isn't that just a surprise! Human projectiles shot through the front windshield, scooter drivers entombed forever in the asphalt, pedestrians destined as dump truck ornaments. This is a wild and crazy place and tonight we did it in the DARK. I, of course, sat in the middle where I had a clear shot at the front windshield. Driving in India goes something like this: Keep your average speed at somewhere around 65 miles per hour and don't slow down for anything or anybody except cows. Ride everyone's tail, even the poor motor scooters. Do courageous battle with two immense dump trucks and just see if you can fit yourself between them for the thrill of it. Ignore all white lines. Run over the traffic direction cop. He was kind of worthless anyway. Drive so close to the pedestrians, you could see their underwear size - if Indians wore underwear. Do all of this while you're turned around chatting happily with the terrified passengers in the backseat. In the dark. With cows wandering nonchalantly on the highway. Tonight, I lived. Tomorrow? Check back with me later. Karma, you know.

I'll Lead Thee and Thee Lead Me . . . . . . . . .

Some have been wondering why I haven't been posting more pictures. It's because I have been so overwhelmed with doing lesson plans and teaching AND wasting time on this blog late at night that I haven't had much opportunity. The sweetest moments I have experienced happen so fast and unexpectedly, I would never have time to whip out my camera - and to be honest, once in awhile something so special happens, a "photo opportunity" would ruin it.

For example, today, I was walking down the hallway when suddenly I felt a little hand take mine. I looked down and a pair of the biggest brown eyes looked up at me with such trust. A little 5 or 6-year old girl walked hand in hand with me all the way to the office with her hand in mine and a delighted smile on her face. She patiently waited while I delivered some materials to the office and then she took my hand again, and we walked back down the hallway until she came to her classroom and skipped away. No, my friends. That's my special memory filed away. No pictures. It would have ruined that special moment. A clueless American woman and a little five-year old bringing back  memories of my own children's little hands in mine. Two such disparate souls walking together for a moment. "I lift thee and thee lift me, and together we'll ascend to Heaven."

India's "Untouchable" Children

Some of India's "Untouchable" children.

The Indian "Bobble Head"

The Indian people have a fascinating thing they do with their heads. It looks very much like what a 'bobble head' doll on your car's dashboard would do, but it's harder to learn how to do it than you might think. I've been working on it for DAYS. This is my life now. Learning to Bobble Head like a true Indian. The technique is an up and down, simultaneous sideways movement of the head and every Indian, young or old, does it pretty much about a thousand times a day. What meaning does it convey? It can mean "Yes", "No", "Maybe", "I understand every word you're saying, but I'm going to pretend I don't", "There's a poisonous snake you're about to step on", "I'm thinking of killing you, but I would first like to give you notice." In other words, the Bobble Head means just about anything. I practice it daily because I will be able to add my own meanings. Soon, my students will become acutely aware that MY bobble head means, "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP". Oh. Didn't mean to be rude, but that's the beauty of the Bobble Head. You can say the meanest, rudest, nicest, loving things without saying anything out loud at all. It's your choice. So. Everybody. All together now. LET'S BOBBLE HEAD!

My "Stuck in the Middle of Nowhere in India Rapid Weight Loss Plan" Outline

My “Stuck in the Middle of Nowhere in India Rapid Weight Loss Plan” Rough Outline:
1. Throw ALL of your food away and buy a 25-pound bag of red rice.
2. Turn off your hot water to your kitchen and wash all of your dishes in cold water with a two-year old Brillo pad. Grease all horizontal surfaces with spilled food and milk. Use your imagination here. Let your spirit soar.
3. Eat on your roof while swatting foreign insects with one hand and scratching bug bites with the other. This also fulfills a vital exercise requirement in the Weight Loss Plan.
4. Have someone else cook your rice for you, preferably in large, unwashed cooking pots with a liberal sprinkling of flies, gnats, ants, and other unidentifiable ‘landing’ objects.
5. Watch your dinner partner suddenly become ill and throw up in the sink you are supposed to be washing dishes in.
6. Watch your other dinner partner eat his rice and some unidentifiable extremely spicy sauce filled with the chicken bones of the chicken you just saw yesterday strutting past your door. Watch him eat this with his hands.
7. Get your drinking water from the tap outside. This will be another great way to get some exercise.
I’m still working on this basic outline. It will most certainly expand to include other helpful hints. Let me know what you think. All proceeds from the sale of this book will go toward buying a can of bug and ant spray.

My New Friends, Harold and Kumar

I have been adopted yet again. This time, it's two stray kittens. One is a beautiful gray mottled color and the other is just a run of the mill black kitten. They follow me everywhere and sleep on the mat outside my door. They attack my feet and jump out at me from every conceivable corner. I am becoming immune to fear of any kind. A kind of fatalism has settled in. It's the Indian way. I think I've gone native.

I have a little student named Joseph Stalin. He's a terrific little dancer, but they all are. I just love his name. There is also a John F. Kennedy, but he's not one of my students. I think Michael Jackson must have come to India to pick up some cool dancing moves before he filmed "Thriller". A great day at school today. But what I wouldn't give for (1)scotch tape, (2) butcher paper, (3) paper towels, and (4)paper dinner napkins. The children and the teachers eat their meals with their hands. And I'm not talking about sandwiches and chips. The meals always consist of some type of rice, and two or three unidentifiable sauces. It's best to eat in dim lighting. Did you know there's such a thing as red rice? It's the mainstay of my diet now.

There's something about India that is absolutely magical. The people have lived here for thousands of years. They know how to do things I couldn't begin to fathom. I had forgotten something I needed for school, so I ran back to the hostel to pick it up. The most amazing thing happened then. The Indian women are very graceful. There was an Indian worker at the hospice and she picked up a bowl of rice powder and with just the tiniest motion of her head indicated that I should follow her. So I did. We walked outside together and she proceeded to draw on the sidewalk the most incredible art design I have ever seen with that rice powder. And she did it just for me. I stood watching her create this masterpiece that will soon disappear and I felt very honored. It was just the two of us, one the teacher and one the learner. It was so quiet. I stood watching a beautiful Indian woman drawing with rice powder on the sidewalk stones one of the most intricate designs I have ever seen. Amazing.

By the way, I think there's a bird living in my room with me. I hear it chirping, but I can't find it. Harold and Kumar will have to stay outside for a while until the bird is safely gone. This Saturday, they are being neutered and getting all of their shots. Then, I guess they are going to be mine. I won't have to wonder about snakes or rats under the bed. I'm getting attached to my little friends. Every day here is a wonder.

The Bindi

A Bindi is a jewel worn on your forehead between your eyes. The children placed a Bindi on my forehead this morning and they have been rearranging it all day. They are trying to make it look perfect. They are the most amazing little people. When I walk past, if they are sitting, they immediately stand up. They are happy, noisy, sassy, attentive, fun-loving . . . .in short, all the things that a healthy child should be. Their lives are literally being transformed by this opportunity provided to them to gain an education. Correction: if they do well in school and learn to speak, read, and write English well, they will have a life. They have one other choice and it is unthinkable. Their parents sacrifice everything to help them. that includes seeing their children only once a month. The children all live on the campus grounds, which by the way, is a compound that is locked and guarded 24/7. I have had some teary moments, but for the most part, I have on my sunglasses and nobody sees. I have never felt the weight so heavily as I do now to be a thorough and exacting teacher, yet kind and encouraging. I have to be careful if I sit down because if I do, I suddenly find myself with two or three squirming, happy little Indian children struggling to balance themselves on my lap. I am daily humbled and constantly in search of divine inspiration and guidance. The children will dress me in another Bindi tomorrow. They love rearranging it and they also love my earrings and necklace. I am becoming an Indian. Sha-la-la-la-la-la.