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Friday, July 27, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Ten lessons only India could have taught me.
I have spent nearly four months in India this year. I'm a better person for it. I can't say the lessons learned have been easy and that India was a paradise. They weren't and it isn't. I'm so glad I went and here are just a few of the reasons why.
1. I have an appreciation for clean, pure drinking water. When Christ uses "living" water as figurative imagery in the Bible, I get it. I really get it. Safe drinking water was essential for survival in the hot, humid Indian climate and I learned to always carry water with me wherever I went. I'm grateful for the deeper understanding that experience gave me regarding the importance of never being far from another essential source: the words and teachings of the Savior.
2. I'm grateful for the scientists and doctors who have devoted their life's work to preventing and immunizing children against common childhood diseases such as measles and whooping cough.
3. I'm glad that I have been blessed with competent, accessible medical and dental care.
4. I appreciate the education that I and my family have received. We worked hard for that knowledge, but the tools for self-improvement were readily available if we put forth the effort.
5. I'm glad that I live in a world where women are respected and allowed to fulfill their dreams and ambitions.
6. I am forever proud to be a citizen of the United States of America, a Country that has not yet forgotten its poor and humble. It is a privilege and an honor to pay taxes in such a country.
7. I am so blessed to be able to read and to have ready library access to virtually any book that may catch my fancy.
8. I appreciate all the modern conveniences of a kitchen - running water, pots, pans, plates, silverware, glasses . . . . . .all of it.
9. I'm glad for traffic rules and regulations in the U.S. Even though I'm presently dodging a photo radar ticket, I'm still grateful for traffic safety.
10. I love our clean air, our clean streets, and especially the garbage pick-up service.
There you have it. I could name more, but ten will have to do. Thank you, India, for humbling me. Thank you for bringing me out of my self-satisfied, smug, secure cocoon. Thank you for teaching me that I'm made of tougher stuff than I imagined. And thank you for helping me to become a human being.
May I never forget you, India. I can't. You have all my money now.
1. I have an appreciation for clean, pure drinking water. When Christ uses "living" water as figurative imagery in the Bible, I get it. I really get it. Safe drinking water was essential for survival in the hot, humid Indian climate and I learned to always carry water with me wherever I went. I'm grateful for the deeper understanding that experience gave me regarding the importance of never being far from another essential source: the words and teachings of the Savior.
2. I'm grateful for the scientists and doctors who have devoted their life's work to preventing and immunizing children against common childhood diseases such as measles and whooping cough.
3. I'm glad that I have been blessed with competent, accessible medical and dental care.
4. I appreciate the education that I and my family have received. We worked hard for that knowledge, but the tools for self-improvement were readily available if we put forth the effort.
5. I'm glad that I live in a world where women are respected and allowed to fulfill their dreams and ambitions.
6. I am forever proud to be a citizen of the United States of America, a Country that has not yet forgotten its poor and humble. It is a privilege and an honor to pay taxes in such a country.
7. I am so blessed to be able to read and to have ready library access to virtually any book that may catch my fancy.
8. I appreciate all the modern conveniences of a kitchen - running water, pots, pans, plates, silverware, glasses . . . . . .all of it.
9. I'm glad for traffic rules and regulations in the U.S. Even though I'm presently dodging a photo radar ticket, I'm still grateful for traffic safety.
10. I love our clean air, our clean streets, and especially the garbage pick-up service.
There you have it. I could name more, but ten will have to do. Thank you, India, for humbling me. Thank you for bringing me out of my self-satisfied, smug, secure cocoon. Thank you for teaching me that I'm made of tougher stuff than I imagined. And thank you for helping me to become a human being.
May I never forget you, India. I can't. You have all my money now.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Three wonderful things about India
Michael, Vennila, and Stephen - what you do with your new lives is entirely up to you now. We aren't your babysitters, sponsors, or landlords. We're just your friends.
Now get busy.
Love,
Mike and Betty
Friday, July 6, 2012
WHEAR Your Seatbelts
Honestly. I'm thinking of applying for a work visa and coming over here for six months to clean house. The plan is to work for the Indian Government, what tattered remnant of that inept institution remains. I will apply for a position as an English translator. My sole responsibility will be to correct traffic and business signs. Our very favorite sign so far is "Tolet". We thought it meant "toilet" for DAYS. Then we realized there is no such thing as a public toilet. We were stumped. AHA. A light bulb went on (in Mike's head, I must confess). If a space is inserted between To and let, what do you get?
YES, my friends! There is a flat TO LET. Translation: Apartment for rent.
One thing the Indians have a great deal of confidence in is their ability to speak, read, and write English. I must sadly inform you that their confidence is ill advised. Adjectives, verb tense, adverbs, indeedy, even subjects, can appear anywhere at any time in oral conversation. "I be most pleesed to inform you Madam that your failure to understand a single word an "English Speaking Indian" is saying to you is undoubtedly YOUR fault because you are a not smartest person".
Forget trying to read anything an Indian writes. Here's the best part about the entire charade. Indians are blissfully unaware of their language limitations. They become highly offended when our eyes glaze over and we tentatively ask for a translation of the OBVIOUS written transaction. We have dozens of business transaction notices that are written in such a way that we may or may not have spent 60 rupees or 60,000 rupees at Shankar Ram's House of Physic Pleasures. Who knows? What fun it's going to be when we return home and get our Visa card bill. What we were charged for versus what we actually bought will most certainly be endlessly entertaining. We probably went to many exotic and exciting places we can't remember having ever visited.
So. Remember! WHEAR your seatbelts. and HELLMETS Save LIFES. We certainly can't fault India for its creativity. Could someone please send us an English Dictionary? We are forgotten our own selfs how to spoke the English Tong.
YES, my friends! There is a flat TO LET. Translation: Apartment for rent.
One thing the Indians have a great deal of confidence in is their ability to speak, read, and write English. I must sadly inform you that their confidence is ill advised. Adjectives, verb tense, adverbs, indeedy, even subjects, can appear anywhere at any time in oral conversation. "I be most pleesed to inform you Madam that your failure to understand a single word an "English Speaking Indian" is saying to you is undoubtedly YOUR fault because you are a not smartest person".
Forget trying to read anything an Indian writes. Here's the best part about the entire charade. Indians are blissfully unaware of their language limitations. They become highly offended when our eyes glaze over and we tentatively ask for a translation of the OBVIOUS written transaction. We have dozens of business transaction notices that are written in such a way that we may or may not have spent 60 rupees or 60,000 rupees at Shankar Ram's House of Physic Pleasures. Who knows? What fun it's going to be when we return home and get our Visa card bill. What we were charged for versus what we actually bought will most certainly be endlessly entertaining. We probably went to many exotic and exciting places we can't remember having ever visited.
So. Remember! WHEAR your seatbelts. and HELLMETS Save LIFES. We certainly can't fault India for its creativity. Could someone please send us an English Dictionary? We are forgotten our own selfs how to spoke the English Tong.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
The "Corpse Truck"
I can never take the good pictures. A couple of days ago, we breezed by what looked like a bread delivery truck parked on the sidewalk. On its side were written the words, "Corpse Truck. Death is not the end of life." They were picking up human remains from the street.
Just when I think I can't be stunned or surprised by India, she delivers another punch to the stomach.
Just when I think I can't be stunned or surprised by India, she delivers another punch to the stomach.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Maternity Ward
So many things to talk about. So little time. An internet 'service' that is possessed of evil, reincarnated spirits. But here I am for a few moments, anyway. And even though I write this for the benefit of everyone, I am especially thinking of Brad and Diane Lien, Hal and Kay Carman, and Kris and Adrian Carbine. Here is the way your beautiful children most likely got their start in life:
Last week, Vennila and I took a break from all the work we have been doing and we went to the hospital to see our friend who had just delivered a little baby boy.
I'll do my best to describe the scene for you, but I may not have adequate words or the emotional reserves. We'll see how it goes.
A public hospital in a third world country. H-m-m-m-m. How to tell you? When we arrived at the hospital, there were women everywhere in various stages of their pregnancies sitting or lying in the dirt outside of the entrance to the 'hospital'. The hospital itself resembled a parking garage - a very dirty parking garage. We walked up a long, filthy, enclosed bare cement ramp until we reached the maternity ward. This is what I saw:
We entered a large room with four rows of approximately 15 beds in each row. Upon each bed lay a new mother and her newborn baby. I did not see a single baby that was not underweight and malnourished. Our friend's baby weighed less than five pounds at birth. I'm not a doctor, but I didn't have to be to see that at least half of the babies there should have been in some kind of intensive care unit. No baby had a diaper on. No mother had even a blanket or a pillow. What little clothing the babies wore had been provided by their mothers. Forget the fathers. Nearly 50 of them were no-shows.
Our friend's 'husband' had already abused her and kicked her out to sleep in the streets many times during her pregnancy. She had the misfortune to be born with a leg deformity that causes a significant, noticeable limp. Undesirable women are married to 'men' (I use this term loosely) who are likely going to be abusive, alcoholic, worthless, jobless, jerks. Our friend's husband did not even bother to come to the hospital to see his son. When she leaves the hospital with her underweight child, she will have to throw herself upon the mercy of family members who may or may not feel inclined to care for or feed two more people. Her husband has kicked her out into the streets for good.
Brad and Diane, Hal and Kay, Kris and Adrian, this is very likely how your own beautiful children got their own starts in life. I hope enough time hasn't gone by that you don't kiss and hold them at every opportunity. Tell them that you love them every time you speak their names. For every child you rescued, there are thousands of children who have entered life with no safety net of any kind. India has the highest infant mortality rate in the world. India is a country with no soul.
Every day, we see such sadness, it overwhelms us. We are living out of the safety of an organized 'tour' group or service organization. We see things tourists are protected from seeing.
Our own beautiful Vennila's two beautiful boys each weighed less than five pounds at birth. She was fifteen when Stephen was born and seventeen when Michael came along. Her sons were born in a maternity ward like the one I just tried to describe. Her 'husband' did not come to see her.
This is so long. It is so sad. When I'm not poking fun of India and Indians, I'm crying. Mike has cried. We have been humbled every day. There is PLENTY of situations that have been hilarious. I would have rather told you about those. Somehow, it just didn't seem appropriate until I described how so many of God's precious children begin their lives. May God bless the children of India forever. Give them the souls that their government lacks.
The internet will be gone a few minutes. I did not and could not give this experience the respect and anguish that I felt. I'm so sorry. When Vennila and I left our friend, she was sobbing uncontrollably. All that I could do was tell her that with her baby boy, she had a reason to live, a soul to love, a future to work toward, and a son who would grow up one day to love her. Was I wrong to say so? Please, God. Don't let it be so.
Bye for now.
Last week, Vennila and I took a break from all the work we have been doing and we went to the hospital to see our friend who had just delivered a little baby boy.
I'll do my best to describe the scene for you, but I may not have adequate words or the emotional reserves. We'll see how it goes.
A public hospital in a third world country. H-m-m-m-m. How to tell you? When we arrived at the hospital, there were women everywhere in various stages of their pregnancies sitting or lying in the dirt outside of the entrance to the 'hospital'. The hospital itself resembled a parking garage - a very dirty parking garage. We walked up a long, filthy, enclosed bare cement ramp until we reached the maternity ward. This is what I saw:
We entered a large room with four rows of approximately 15 beds in each row. Upon each bed lay a new mother and her newborn baby. I did not see a single baby that was not underweight and malnourished. Our friend's baby weighed less than five pounds at birth. I'm not a doctor, but I didn't have to be to see that at least half of the babies there should have been in some kind of intensive care unit. No baby had a diaper on. No mother had even a blanket or a pillow. What little clothing the babies wore had been provided by their mothers. Forget the fathers. Nearly 50 of them were no-shows.
Our friend's 'husband' had already abused her and kicked her out to sleep in the streets many times during her pregnancy. She had the misfortune to be born with a leg deformity that causes a significant, noticeable limp. Undesirable women are married to 'men' (I use this term loosely) who are likely going to be abusive, alcoholic, worthless, jobless, jerks. Our friend's husband did not even bother to come to the hospital to see his son. When she leaves the hospital with her underweight child, she will have to throw herself upon the mercy of family members who may or may not feel inclined to care for or feed two more people. Her husband has kicked her out into the streets for good.
Brad and Diane, Hal and Kay, Kris and Adrian, this is very likely how your own beautiful children got their own starts in life. I hope enough time hasn't gone by that you don't kiss and hold them at every opportunity. Tell them that you love them every time you speak their names. For every child you rescued, there are thousands of children who have entered life with no safety net of any kind. India has the highest infant mortality rate in the world. India is a country with no soul.
Every day, we see such sadness, it overwhelms us. We are living out of the safety of an organized 'tour' group or service organization. We see things tourists are protected from seeing.
Our own beautiful Vennila's two beautiful boys each weighed less than five pounds at birth. She was fifteen when Stephen was born and seventeen when Michael came along. Her sons were born in a maternity ward like the one I just tried to describe. Her 'husband' did not come to see her.
This is so long. It is so sad. When I'm not poking fun of India and Indians, I'm crying. Mike has cried. We have been humbled every day. There is PLENTY of situations that have been hilarious. I would have rather told you about those. Somehow, it just didn't seem appropriate until I described how so many of God's precious children begin their lives. May God bless the children of India forever. Give them the souls that their government lacks.
The internet will be gone a few minutes. I did not and could not give this experience the respect and anguish that I felt. I'm so sorry. When Vennila and I left our friend, she was sobbing uncontrollably. All that I could do was tell her that with her baby boy, she had a reason to live, a soul to love, a future to work toward, and a son who would grow up one day to love her. Was I wrong to say so? Please, God. Don't let it be so.
Bye for now.
Monday, June 25, 2012
A Word About Servants, etc.
Well, after a few interesting unintended highlights, we finally arrived in India. Again. We did a nice little detour through Frankfurt, Germany and got to spend the night for FREE with all kinds of FREE food vouchers, thanks to United Airlines. (More on that later) In less than 24 hours we managed to eat everything in sight. Why didn't I think to stuff my pockets with food? I knew we were going to be in India for three weeks. I knew there's nothing worth eating in India. I just wasn't thinking. Or more to the point, Mike's along for the ride with me this time. I can't steal stuff when he's around.
So here we are in India. Again. The first time a person visits India, it's an "Innocents Abroad" kind of deal. If a person goes to India a second time, it's sheer stupidity. Mike fits the first description. Sort of. It's not that I didn't warn him. I most definitely fit the second definition. I'm a crazy, whacked-out, stupid person. I freely admit it.
I've been stifling impulses to laugh since the moment we walked out of the Chennai Airport and into the chaos of India. Watching Mike's face and his reaction to what he's seeing is priceless. And sweet. I want to help. I really do. But I wind up laughing.
Here's where the servant deal comes in. India's poor are housemaids, drivers, cooks, gardeners, and who knows what else, but there's LOTS of them. No matter where you stay, you're going to turn around in a very small space and there will be about five sweet faces watching your every move. You can't pick up an errant potato chip from off of the floor yourself. I haven't decided if the Indian people have figured out that we white people are helpless, infantile, paralyzed, morons, or if they really like being helpful. But let me tell you a little secret. You will never do anything private or personal again without minute examination and endless chatter and giggling.
Mike has been startled out of his wits at least a half a dozen times today. It's like watching a really scary stalker movie except this one is really happening.
Nobody can say nothing quite as long as I can. Right? For anyone who wants to know what's ACTUALLY going on, we're doing just fine. With the help of a menagerie of drivers, cooks, housecleaners, smilers, wavers, and gigglers. And we're not exactly staying at the Ritz Carlton. We are truly living with the Indians this time around. Mike is even wearing a Lungi - not exactly a diaper, but only because he refuses to take off his shorts. Wow. I never knew I had such an entertaining husband.
Well, love and kisses to all of you civilized people drinking potable water, eating edible food, and enjoying the cool weather - the weather is cooler everywhere than here in India. Enjoy your pleasant trips to the Grocery Store and the absence of witnessing public personal hygiene.
The servants are all smiling, waving, and giggling at you. Okay, everybody. All together now. SMILE!
So here we are in India. Again. The first time a person visits India, it's an "Innocents Abroad" kind of deal. If a person goes to India a second time, it's sheer stupidity. Mike fits the first description. Sort of. It's not that I didn't warn him. I most definitely fit the second definition. I'm a crazy, whacked-out, stupid person. I freely admit it.
I've been stifling impulses to laugh since the moment we walked out of the Chennai Airport and into the chaos of India. Watching Mike's face and his reaction to what he's seeing is priceless. And sweet. I want to help. I really do. But I wind up laughing.
Here's where the servant deal comes in. India's poor are housemaids, drivers, cooks, gardeners, and who knows what else, but there's LOTS of them. No matter where you stay, you're going to turn around in a very small space and there will be about five sweet faces watching your every move. You can't pick up an errant potato chip from off of the floor yourself. I haven't decided if the Indian people have figured out that we white people are helpless, infantile, paralyzed, morons, or if they really like being helpful. But let me tell you a little secret. You will never do anything private or personal again without minute examination and endless chatter and giggling.
Mike has been startled out of his wits at least a half a dozen times today. It's like watching a really scary stalker movie except this one is really happening.
Nobody can say nothing quite as long as I can. Right? For anyone who wants to know what's ACTUALLY going on, we're doing just fine. With the help of a menagerie of drivers, cooks, housecleaners, smilers, wavers, and gigglers. And we're not exactly staying at the Ritz Carlton. We are truly living with the Indians this time around. Mike is even wearing a Lungi - not exactly a diaper, but only because he refuses to take off his shorts. Wow. I never knew I had such an entertaining husband.
Well, love and kisses to all of you civilized people drinking potable water, eating edible food, and enjoying the cool weather - the weather is cooler everywhere than here in India. Enjoy your pleasant trips to the Grocery Store and the absence of witnessing public personal hygiene.
The servants are all smiling, waving, and giggling at you. Okay, everybody. All together now. SMILE!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Dear Vennila
Dear Vennila,
Tomorrow, we leave Portland to fly halfway around the world to India. Again. This time, I'm bringing Mike. We're coming just for YOU.
Remember when I left India last March? I told you I would be back for you.
A promise is a promise.
Our daughter, Sally, has asked me to convey a message to you when we get there and here it is:
Dear Vennila, Steven, and Michael,
Welcome to our family. We love you already even though we haven't met you yet. Be well. We are hoping for all good things to come your way.
Love,
Sally
Vennila, I know you can't read this message yet, but someday you will. You WILL. You CAN.
We will see you soon! Remember: God has your name engraved on the palms of his hands.
With love,
Mike and Betty
Tomorrow, we leave Portland to fly halfway around the world to India. Again. This time, I'm bringing Mike. We're coming just for YOU.
Remember when I left India last March? I told you I would be back for you.
A promise is a promise.
Our daughter, Sally, has asked me to convey a message to you when we get there and here it is:
Dear Vennila, Steven, and Michael,
Welcome to our family. We love you already even though we haven't met you yet. Be well. We are hoping for all good things to come your way.
Love,
Sally
Vennila, I know you can't read this message yet, but someday you will. You WILL. You CAN.
We will see you soon! Remember: God has your name engraved on the palms of his hands.
With love,
Mike and Betty
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Missing these two already, SO MUCH.
Dr. Sam Ward, my erstwhile deranged snake hunting companion.
And Vennila.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Let's Call It A Day
I'll be leaving for HOME in less than 24 hours. My Mother needs me worse than India and I need to go.
It's been a wild ride. I thank every one of you who have supported me with kind words and warm wishes. Thank you to everyone who kept up with my rantings. Thank you to those of you who loyally posted and voiced your love and support for me. I could not have done India without you.
I will miss this people. I will miss them so much.
Vennila, I'll be back for you. A promise is a promise.
Deepenraj
Joseph
Tammilakya
Pryanka
Theresa
Papitha
'Special' Sangeetha
Pasitha
Ambiga
Mahalakshmi
Shankar
Sujatha
Beulah
Gracie
Soniya
Krishmamorthy
Manadoya
Karpagavalli
Devi
Prithika
Keerthika
Nagalaksmi
Usha
Gracie (again)
Mani
Sumithra
Devi Prya
Sarenraj
Ashok
Rameesh
Vignesh
Divya
Buji
Shalini
Monisha
Monika
Vonodhini
Ashwin
Gopi
Pryanka (again)
Angelique
Vadavu
Kala
Nathan
Sankar
Rajah Kumari
Vinodhini (again)
Megala
Logashwari
Karchik
Sathya
My. Heart. Is. Breaking. Because of you, I will always be a part of India. Thank you for the hugs, the kisses, the spontaneous love, the smiles, . . . . . and for not giving me head lice.
I love you all, forever. May God be with you. May the wind be forever at your backs. May you bless your country with your skills and abilities. "Be the change in the world that you wish it to become." -
Mahatma Gandhi.
With so much love,
Mr. Johnson
It's been a wild ride. I thank every one of you who have supported me with kind words and warm wishes. Thank you to everyone who kept up with my rantings. Thank you to those of you who loyally posted and voiced your love and support for me. I could not have done India without you.
I will miss this people. I will miss them so much.
Vennila, I'll be back for you. A promise is a promise.
Deepenraj
Joseph
Tammilakya
Pryanka
Theresa
Papitha
'Special' Sangeetha
Pasitha
Ambiga
Mahalakshmi
Shankar
Sujatha
Beulah
Gracie
Soniya
Krishmamorthy
Manadoya
Karpagavalli
Devi
Prithika
Keerthika
Nagalaksmi
Usha
Gracie (again)
Mani
Sumithra
Devi Prya
Sarenraj
Ashok
Rameesh
Vignesh
Divya
Buji
Shalini
Monisha
Monika
Vonodhini
Ashwin
Gopi
Pryanka (again)
Angelique
Vadavu
Kala
Nathan
Sankar
Rajah Kumari
Vinodhini (again)
Megala
Logashwari
Karchik
Sathya
My. Heart. Is. Breaking. Because of you, I will always be a part of India. Thank you for the hugs, the kisses, the spontaneous love, the smiles, . . . . . and for not giving me head lice.
I love you all, forever. May God be with you. May the wind be forever at your backs. May you bless your country with your skills and abilities. "Be the change in the world that you wish it to become." -
Mahatma Gandhi.
With so much love,
Mr. Johnson
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Lonely Planet's Travel Guide to India
Forget the Taj Mahal. Forget bathing three times in the Ganges River. You aren't going there. Your travel in India will be confined to the little villages and dirt roads of rural India.
1. Please stop by your local bookstore and pick up the 1,500 page illustrated book entitled "Dangerous Snakes of India". Memorize this book. After your lengthy stay in India has completely emptied your brain of logic and good sense, you will be out in the dead of night with one other equally deranged person. You will be looking in the bushes with a tiny flashlight for snakes. You're going to want to know what it is that just slithered over your foot. There are lots of possibilities. If you're packing the actual book, it may come in handy as a weapon. Drop it. Run for your life for about a mile. Stop. Laugh. Go back for the book. And whatever is under it that you just killed.
2. You are going to get deathly ill in India. Count on it. You only think you're invincible. You're not. You WILL end up in a ball on a bathroom floor. At this point, whatever swear words you may be thinking, are perfectly acceptable. Just try not to say "Holy Cow, I'm sick." H-I-N-D-U-S. Sh-h-h-h.
3. As a corollary to #2, you will feel an increased desire to repent of all your past deeds including swearing. You will want to repent for any future mis-deeds you even thought of committing in an effort to strike a bargain with God which goes something like this: "I, (your full name here), swear upon my 1,500 page "Dangerous Snakes of India", that if I miraculously survive (insert hourly death defying experience here), that I will never (insert latest sin and weakness here). Think stuff up if your bad habits aren't bad enough. You've got to get God's attention.
4. Men are going to stare. Stare back. Walk into ditches, doorposts, vehicles, and off of steep cliffs and stairs. Hold that stare. This will require practice. So many men are staring, you will have to be selective. Choose the one without a mustache. Refine your staring technique. Learn to gracefully exit that sewage drainage ditch you just fell into while holding the stare. Work it. Looking isn't free.
5. Never try to 'guess' what it is that you may be eating. It's red rice. Pretending that you don't know it's red rice will only lead you down the path of delusion, illusion, and delirium. Guessing is the first step. You KNOW it's red 'gravel' rice. What's that you said? "Where's the Indian cuisine?" You, my friend, have taken the first step into delusion. Bon Apetite.
6. You will wear 'modest' clothes that make Charlie Chaplin look like a fashion statement. Your pants look like two flour sacks with a waist. Your top will not even be in the same orbit as your pants. India is in love with color. Any color, in any combination, in any style. You're not seeing things. You really are wearing a red and purple striped top with orange pants. Super! Super!
7. Never ask anyone for directions to anywhere. There is a fine possibility that you could find yourself in the middle of an Indian 'cemetery'. If bad directions lead you to a dirt road careening off into nowhere, suppress your natural tendencies to explore. If there are flowers strewn along the road, GO BACK. You are entering a burn area. And I don't mean wood.
8. Never get a ride one-way into 'town'. You're going to be hiking five miles back home. There will be buses full of men. Rickshaws full of men. Bicycles with men pedaling. Motorcycles with men. NONE of these drivers are interested in the safety of pedestrians. Please see step #4.
From your Lonely Planet travel guide, this is a work in progress. Stay tuned.
1. Please stop by your local bookstore and pick up the 1,500 page illustrated book entitled "Dangerous Snakes of India". Memorize this book. After your lengthy stay in India has completely emptied your brain of logic and good sense, you will be out in the dead of night with one other equally deranged person. You will be looking in the bushes with a tiny flashlight for snakes. You're going to want to know what it is that just slithered over your foot. There are lots of possibilities. If you're packing the actual book, it may come in handy as a weapon. Drop it. Run for your life for about a mile. Stop. Laugh. Go back for the book. And whatever is under it that you just killed.
2. You are going to get deathly ill in India. Count on it. You only think you're invincible. You're not. You WILL end up in a ball on a bathroom floor. At this point, whatever swear words you may be thinking, are perfectly acceptable. Just try not to say "Holy Cow, I'm sick." H-I-N-D-U-S. Sh-h-h-h.
3. As a corollary to #2, you will feel an increased desire to repent of all your past deeds including swearing. You will want to repent for any future mis-deeds you even thought of committing in an effort to strike a bargain with God which goes something like this: "I, (your full name here), swear upon my 1,500 page "Dangerous Snakes of India", that if I miraculously survive (insert hourly death defying experience here), that I will never (insert latest sin and weakness here). Think stuff up if your bad habits aren't bad enough. You've got to get God's attention.
4. Men are going to stare. Stare back. Walk into ditches, doorposts, vehicles, and off of steep cliffs and stairs. Hold that stare. This will require practice. So many men are staring, you will have to be selective. Choose the one without a mustache. Refine your staring technique. Learn to gracefully exit that sewage drainage ditch you just fell into while holding the stare. Work it. Looking isn't free.
5. Never try to 'guess' what it is that you may be eating. It's red rice. Pretending that you don't know it's red rice will only lead you down the path of delusion, illusion, and delirium. Guessing is the first step. You KNOW it's red 'gravel' rice. What's that you said? "Where's the Indian cuisine?" You, my friend, have taken the first step into delusion. Bon Apetite.
6. You will wear 'modest' clothes that make Charlie Chaplin look like a fashion statement. Your pants look like two flour sacks with a waist. Your top will not even be in the same orbit as your pants. India is in love with color. Any color, in any combination, in any style. You're not seeing things. You really are wearing a red and purple striped top with orange pants. Super! Super!
7. Never ask anyone for directions to anywhere. There is a fine possibility that you could find yourself in the middle of an Indian 'cemetery'. If bad directions lead you to a dirt road careening off into nowhere, suppress your natural tendencies to explore. If there are flowers strewn along the road, GO BACK. You are entering a burn area. And I don't mean wood.
8. Never get a ride one-way into 'town'. You're going to be hiking five miles back home. There will be buses full of men. Rickshaws full of men. Bicycles with men pedaling. Motorcycles with men. NONE of these drivers are interested in the safety of pedestrians. Please see step #4.
From your Lonely Planet travel guide, this is a work in progress. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
HO HUM
On the bright side . . . . . . . . . . the concept of "Mr." and "Mrs." has been nearly impossible to make students understand. I try on a near daily basis. I surrender. So -o-o-o-o-o. I have been Mr. Johnson for three months now. Mrs. Johnson, how is Tax Season going for you?
Saturday, March 17, 2012
God and My New Ecco Sandals
It is a two-hour drive one way to Church through the most incredible traffic imaginable. Motorcycles, Rickshaws, buses, cement trucks, bicycles, and every driver with a strong death wish. I begin my Sundays with a prayer for safety and end them with a prayer of thanks.
Today, I have a little something more for which I must express my thanks and I want to thank Him publicly.
I was told before I came to India that I should wear only closed-toe shoes. When I got here, I realized that advice was not going to work out very well. Everyone wears sandals. It's too hot to do anything else. Thankfully, I had brought a pair of rubber flip flops for the shower. I have been walking around for over two months in rubber flip flops and frankly, the tread was wearing a little thin. The situation was exacerbating some foot problems I already had and I felt desperate for some kind of solution. I couldn't exactly run out on a shopping spree and buy me a pair of good sandals.
So God went shopping for me.
There is a closet here full of the cast-offs of my predecessors. Every time I look in there, I'm reminded of the personal belongings of pioneers strewn along the Oregon Trail as they 'lightened' their loads. I had been through those cast-offs a number of times looking for some kind of shoe that might replace my shower flip flops. I never found anything.
Last week, in a desperate move, though I had already searched the shoe selection quite thoroughly, I decided to look one more time. There, in plain view, rested a beautiful pair of Ecco sandals, just my size. I hesitate to admit this, but I stood and cried. Those shoes hadn't been there a week ago. We hadn't had a volunteer group come through since the last time I looked, so the sandals hadn't been left recently. Apparently, I had just missed seeing them all this time . . . . . . . . . . . .Or not.
I dusted them off, cleaned them with a damp cloth, and put those babies on. I have died and gone to heaven. Wait. Maybe. Heaven couldn't possibly be this hot. Uh-oh.
God has good taste. My sandals cost over $100 on Amazon.
Today is Sunday. The Sabbath.
Thank you, God. Thank you. I love you. Credit given where credit is due. Even though I'm in India, you still know where I am, you are still aware of my needs, and you love me back.
Amen.
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Beauty of an Indian Sunrise
The early mornings are my favorite time of day here. It's eerily quiet. I suddenly realize why. There is absolutely no noise pollution. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. Zilch. I have not seen a single-engine airplane since I left Portland. I haven't seen any type of aircraft, large or small, flying around since the Indian Air Force buzzed the school building about eight weeks ago. That was my exciting, eventful aviation experience in India. Someone wanted to know what country could possibly be flying fighter jets so low in India. I said, "W-e-l-l, this IS India. Let's think about that." Then I uttered a silent, fervent prayer that those fighters weren't Pakistani.
There are early morning bird calls and lots of raucous arguing in the trees, but even the birds take cover with the arrival of the heat and humidity. There is very little traffic on the dirt farm road outside the gate. Occasionally, there is a motorcycle or a farm cart pulled by cows. Once in a great while, a little truck of sorts goes putt-putting by. With those few exceptions, it's utter silence. I never knew how nostalgic I would get for the hustle and bustle of the Sunset Highway.
Sudden, awkward change of subject . . . . . . .
The school is not air-conditioned. The kiddies would freeze in air conditioning. There are fans in the classrooms, but they're pretty useless. When they are turned on, they have one speed: Hurricane Katrina in a bad mood. There are four of these bad boys in every classroom. I wait to comb my hair until I get to school. The fans do it for me with half the trouble. Oh, and did I mention that when the fans are on, there is PLENTY of noise pollution? As in we use sign language so we can communicate? It's such a perfect environment for Second Language Learners. I can't hear them. They can't hear me. Klassroom Karma Dharma. There is one word that I'm pretty certain my students know very well: WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? Repeated, oh, about a thousand times a day.
Oh, and here's just one fine example among many of my well-honed teaching abilities. Yesterday, I gave a 7th Standard kid a wedgie. He was long overdue. Today, he informed me that I had permanently damaged his 'man parts'. I used that precious teaching moment as an opportunity to introduce and illustrate the amazing science of a sports cup. His eyes were as big as saucers.
If only they would stop asking me when I am going to leave. I could bear this much better. I'm deaf, hippie-looking, sunbleached, and drinking more water than your average fish. That's why there are so many hippies in India. Underneath that unwashed, unkempt, bleary eyed exterior, is a buttoned down, tailored, widdo pweppie heart.
But that sunrise. . . . . . . . in the quiet, beautiful, stillness of another Indian morning, I am. Still. Here. Thank you, God.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
"This Swamp's Gotta Be Drained" HOOYAH
That's a direct quote from the new Program Director of this school! Well, partly. The HOOYAH is my own addition. It represents my relief and joy that major changes are afoot - changes that will improve tremendously the education offered to these kids. It had to happen.
I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be asked to the Prom this month. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, that's true. The addendum to that sage advice is that the squeaky wheel is annoying, loud, unpopular, and demanding. I'm fine with that. I will leave here having made a difference. Speaking of Prom, what I wouldn't give for a big piece of Costco carrot cake right now. It's amazing the things a person begins to dream about. I wouldn't touch Costco carrot cake at home. Now, I could eat the whole cake right down to its cardboard box.
Yesterday, I reached into a small bag and pulled out my cellphone. "What is THAT?"
I temporarily forgot, that yes, I do have access to another world. I have a whole bank of phone numbers for people I used to call. That funny little keyboard is what I used to text people on. Weird. That life of ease and access is so foreign to me now. Who ARE those people in my cellphone address book? Did I used to know them?
I think my contact with the outside world is about to get much worse. The power cord to my computer is gradually cooking itself to death before my very eyes. Not even a step down transformer is going to save it. I'm trying to coax another 23 days out of it, but I'll be lucky, very lucky if we make it. I'm going to be so heartbroken. Don't be surprised if I hold a funeral service for my power cord and a graveside dedication. No, I won't be able to replace it until I get home. Yes, that leaves me out of touch, out of luck, and out to lunch for another three weeks. Alas and Alack. T.I. I. - This Is India.
I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be asked to the Prom this month. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, that's true. The addendum to that sage advice is that the squeaky wheel is annoying, loud, unpopular, and demanding. I'm fine with that. I will leave here having made a difference. Speaking of Prom, what I wouldn't give for a big piece of Costco carrot cake right now. It's amazing the things a person begins to dream about. I wouldn't touch Costco carrot cake at home. Now, I could eat the whole cake right down to its cardboard box.
Yesterday, I reached into a small bag and pulled out my cellphone. "What is THAT?"
I temporarily forgot, that yes, I do have access to another world. I have a whole bank of phone numbers for people I used to call. That funny little keyboard is what I used to text people on. Weird. That life of ease and access is so foreign to me now. Who ARE those people in my cellphone address book? Did I used to know them?
I think my contact with the outside world is about to get much worse. The power cord to my computer is gradually cooking itself to death before my very eyes. Not even a step down transformer is going to save it. I'm trying to coax another 23 days out of it, but I'll be lucky, very lucky if we make it. I'm going to be so heartbroken. Don't be surprised if I hold a funeral service for my power cord and a graveside dedication. No, I won't be able to replace it until I get home. Yes, that leaves me out of touch, out of luck, and out to lunch for another three weeks. Alas and Alack. T.I. I. - This Is India.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Civilization leaves me bit by bit and I begin to think simply . . . . . .
. . . . . . .I function more freely. - Paul Gauguin.
When I arrived in India on December 31st, I had three suitcases, a carry-on and a large bag. When I return home, I'll have less than half of one suitcase, a carry-on, and a bag. I should probably give some more of it away and come home with just a carry-on.
I have learned to live more simply. I know that I can do without. I have learned how unimportant most things are. I should list all of the things that I brought that I thought were necessities. I came to India as a spoiled, naive American. I will leave India much less concerned with what I own than with who I am. I am indebted to the Indian people for lessons in resourcefulness, selflessness, patience, friendship, and creativity. They are amazing. I am ever so humble and humbled to be in their presence.
Yesterday was a special day. I couldn't do much because of a nasty critter bite on my foot, so I hid out with the maids, my favorite thing to do. Together, we tried to catch up on a mountain of laundry from the other 'guests'. We washed, hung out, and folded all day until the little tiny washing machine broke down. I'm not sure why it is so much fun because we probably understand about ten percent of what the other person is saying. I'm discovering that the important communications need no translation. Doing laundry is a universal task. Hanging out the clothes is a peaceful, fun activity to do with friends. Folding clothes with two Indian maids is hilarious. I found out that EVERYONE has a special way to fold sheets and NOBODY is backing down.
Here is a photo of four of my Indian friends. They are all dressed up for a festive occasion. Indians love festive occasions. They cook up any excuse to have one. This grand fete was nothing more than a school science fair, complete with visiting dignitaries and the sprinkling of rose water everywhere. Don't you love how they wore complementary saris! To get the full effect of a sari, it's necessary to watch how Indian women walk when they are wearing one. Their gracefulness is amazing. Michael Jackson stole his 'moon walk' from an Indian woman wearing a sari.
When I arrived in India on December 31st, I had three suitcases, a carry-on and a large bag. When I return home, I'll have less than half of one suitcase, a carry-on, and a bag. I should probably give some more of it away and come home with just a carry-on.
I have learned to live more simply. I know that I can do without. I have learned how unimportant most things are. I should list all of the things that I brought that I thought were necessities. I came to India as a spoiled, naive American. I will leave India much less concerned with what I own than with who I am. I am indebted to the Indian people for lessons in resourcefulness, selflessness, patience, friendship, and creativity. They are amazing. I am ever so humble and humbled to be in their presence.
Yesterday was a special day. I couldn't do much because of a nasty critter bite on my foot, so I hid out with the maids, my favorite thing to do. Together, we tried to catch up on a mountain of laundry from the other 'guests'. We washed, hung out, and folded all day until the little tiny washing machine broke down. I'm not sure why it is so much fun because we probably understand about ten percent of what the other person is saying. I'm discovering that the important communications need no translation. Doing laundry is a universal task. Hanging out the clothes is a peaceful, fun activity to do with friends. Folding clothes with two Indian maids is hilarious. I found out that EVERYONE has a special way to fold sheets and NOBODY is backing down.
Here is a photo of four of my Indian friends. They are all dressed up for a festive occasion. Indians love festive occasions. They cook up any excuse to have one. This grand fete was nothing more than a school science fair, complete with visiting dignitaries and the sprinkling of rose water everywhere. Don't you love how they wore complementary saris! To get the full effect of a sari, it's necessary to watch how Indian women walk when they are wearing one. Their gracefulness is amazing. Michael Jackson stole his 'moon walk' from an Indian woman wearing a sari.
Friday, March 9, 2012
The survival clock is ticking down.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
I fought a good fight . . . . . . . BRAVEHEART, Indian Style
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
What!???
Quite frequently, parents bring their little ones to the school for registration, hoping the child will be accepted. The public schools in India, particularly in the rural areas, are a joke. It's not unusual to see an entire school of several hundred students and nary a teacher in sight. They have all gone fishing or whatever it is they do here when they call in 'sick'. So parents try anything to find a better education option for their children. Because this school is a private school run by Americans, poor, desperate Indians assume their children will get a better education here.
I have noticed parents and their children coming in the morning around 8AM and they are still waiting as late as 12:30 PM. Sometimes their children are as young as five years old. This morning, I noticed a worried looking father with his beautiful little 5-year old boy waiting. It was 9AM. The following conversation with our erstwhile principal then occurred:
Me: "Celina, did you notice the father with his little boy waiting to register?"
Celina: "Yes. I make new registrants wait for a long time on purpose."
Me: "Celina, that's cruel. That's really cruel. Why would you do that?"
Celina: "Okay, okay. I'll take care of them after the bell."
I have never met anyone so cynical and cruel. We are also ankle deep in raw sewage because the same person insists on throwing toilet paper down the toilet, something the Indian septic system was not designed to accommodate. Remember? Indians do not use toilet paper. Just when I think it can't get worse - it does.
On the bright side! I feel giddy. I feel giddy. I feel giddy and witty and gay! It's the lyrics to an old show tune just in case you're wondering. I got bettah!
I have noticed parents and their children coming in the morning around 8AM and they are still waiting as late as 12:30 PM. Sometimes their children are as young as five years old. This morning, I noticed a worried looking father with his beautiful little 5-year old boy waiting. It was 9AM. The following conversation with our erstwhile principal then occurred:
Me: "Celina, did you notice the father with his little boy waiting to register?"
Celina: "Yes. I make new registrants wait for a long time on purpose."
Me: "Celina, that's cruel. That's really cruel. Why would you do that?"
Celina: "Okay, okay. I'll take care of them after the bell."
I have never met anyone so cynical and cruel. We are also ankle deep in raw sewage because the same person insists on throwing toilet paper down the toilet, something the Indian septic system was not designed to accommodate. Remember? Indians do not use toilet paper. Just when I think it can't get worse - it does.
On the bright side! I feel giddy. I feel giddy. I feel giddy and witty and gay! It's the lyrics to an old show tune just in case you're wondering. I got bettah!
Monday, March 5, 2012
I was wrong about Sally
Dear Sally, (my daughter), the record still stands. I have never met a Sally I didn't like.
This Sally that I know here in India was a little harder to get to know because I felt that we were at opposite ends of a philosophical belief system. I saw things in a much different way than Sally did. Or so I thought. I was wrong. I know when I should admit it.
Sally has a big job on her hands. She will be trying to manage a school for 200 children, most of whom are from the Leprosy Colonies of India. She has listened, even when the news was hard for her to hear, personally. She has read everything I have written. She is going to get some things done. She will be a hands-on manager of this school. She is exactly the change that the school has been needing.
So . . . . . . . Sally, my own daughter, Sally. We love you so much. The record stands. I have never met a Sally I didn't like. Even though the other Sally will never read this blog, my heartfelt prayers go with her as she undertakes such an important task - providing the best education she can possibly give to these children. I love them. They have become a part of who I am. I will always think of them and be pulling for their every success. I feel confident that 'Sally' feels the same way. I can go home in peace.
The children are already asking when I will be going home and wanting me to write to them. I'm headed for heartbreak hotel. I care very little about what most people think of me, but I DO care very much about what the Indian people think of me. They matter to me and I want to always treat them with the respect and admiration they deserve.
I'm so glad that I stepped forward. I'm so glad that someone listened. I'm so glad that I have made so many wonderful Indian friends.
This Sally that I know here in India was a little harder to get to know because I felt that we were at opposite ends of a philosophical belief system. I saw things in a much different way than Sally did. Or so I thought. I was wrong. I know when I should admit it.
Sally has a big job on her hands. She will be trying to manage a school for 200 children, most of whom are from the Leprosy Colonies of India. She has listened, even when the news was hard for her to hear, personally. She has read everything I have written. She is going to get some things done. She will be a hands-on manager of this school. She is exactly the change that the school has been needing.
So . . . . . . . Sally, my own daughter, Sally. We love you so much. The record stands. I have never met a Sally I didn't like. Even though the other Sally will never read this blog, my heartfelt prayers go with her as she undertakes such an important task - providing the best education she can possibly give to these children. I love them. They have become a part of who I am. I will always think of them and be pulling for their every success. I feel confident that 'Sally' feels the same way. I can go home in peace.
The children are already asking when I will be going home and wanting me to write to them. I'm headed for heartbreak hotel. I care very little about what most people think of me, but I DO care very much about what the Indian people think of me. They matter to me and I want to always treat them with the respect and admiration they deserve.
I'm so glad that I stepped forward. I'm so glad that someone listened. I'm so glad that I have made so many wonderful Indian friends.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
My luck has run out.
After 64 days of dodging the bullet, I am so sick.
Yes, this is a shameless ploy for pity. Please sign my death register below.
Yes, this is a shameless ploy for pity. Please sign my death register below.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
American Moses
Wow, what a difference a day makes! Before I tell you what I did, I have a funny story.
One of the Indian teachers has invited me to his wedding in Kerala, the next door State to Tamil Nadu. His parents are busy selecting a wife for him. The way this works is that the girl is chosen, my colleague returns home, checks her out, gives his approval, and then they are married. The girl must be in agreement, also. This is not a bad arrangement. He's a handsome, very nice person. She is going to be pleasantly surprised. I would love to go to his wedding. It's quite an honor to be invited.
Anyway, he came up to me today and said that he had heard that an OLD, retired teacher was coming to teach here, someone who would probably be wrinkled and look as old as Moses. When I got here, he was surprised. He didn't mention whether or not it was a pleasant surprise, but I'm going to take that comment and run with it.
But here's the GOOD news. I'm still being cranky, crotchety, direct, blunt, and generally a pain in the behind. You are NOT going to believe what I said to the Boss of the Board this morning. I hardly believe it myself, but that's the advantage to having an out-of-control mouth. It surprises me as much as it does everyone else.
I told him that all NGOs' in India should be working toward quitting India. The long term goal for every foreign country and NGO setting up shop in India should be to turn over responsibility to the Indian people themselves and let them take charge and govern their own country. India will never realize its potential until its people take charge. Was I heard? It doesn't matter. I stood up and told the truth. What's done with that truth is out of my hands.
I am in good company. Gandhi would have agreed with me a hundred times over. That little man in the dhoti with the old tin plate and spoon occupies a special place in heaven for what he tried to do to help his countrymen. Did you know that in Calcutta, while Gandhi was alive, the millions of poor people subsisted on fewer calories per day than a POW in a Nazi concentration camp? It is a little better now, but one gets the feeling that the entire population is at any give time, teetering on the edge of the blackest abyss. The slightest change in weather, economy, government, war, etc., could send millions hurtling into a black hole. It will keep me awake at night for a long time.
Anyway, I'm still here. I haven't been kicked out of India. Yet.
I wish they would quit cornering me. Do they LIKE being disparaged? Do they LIKE being told they aren't so hot? Are they masochists or something? I seem to never disappoint them. I can't seem to shut up. It's like poking a rabid dog with a stick. If you don't like the bite, don't poke.
Anyway, I'm feeling better today. I love picking on powerful people and making them uncomfortable. It makes my day. I'm BACK. Moses or not, wrinkled or not, OLD or not, I'm BACK.
One of the Indian teachers has invited me to his wedding in Kerala, the next door State to Tamil Nadu. His parents are busy selecting a wife for him. The way this works is that the girl is chosen, my colleague returns home, checks her out, gives his approval, and then they are married. The girl must be in agreement, also. This is not a bad arrangement. He's a handsome, very nice person. She is going to be pleasantly surprised. I would love to go to his wedding. It's quite an honor to be invited.
Anyway, he came up to me today and said that he had heard that an OLD, retired teacher was coming to teach here, someone who would probably be wrinkled and look as old as Moses. When I got here, he was surprised. He didn't mention whether or not it was a pleasant surprise, but I'm going to take that comment and run with it.
But here's the GOOD news. I'm still being cranky, crotchety, direct, blunt, and generally a pain in the behind. You are NOT going to believe what I said to the Boss of the Board this morning. I hardly believe it myself, but that's the advantage to having an out-of-control mouth. It surprises me as much as it does everyone else.
I told him that all NGOs' in India should be working toward quitting India. The long term goal for every foreign country and NGO setting up shop in India should be to turn over responsibility to the Indian people themselves and let them take charge and govern their own country. India will never realize its potential until its people take charge. Was I heard? It doesn't matter. I stood up and told the truth. What's done with that truth is out of my hands.
I am in good company. Gandhi would have agreed with me a hundred times over. That little man in the dhoti with the old tin plate and spoon occupies a special place in heaven for what he tried to do to help his countrymen. Did you know that in Calcutta, while Gandhi was alive, the millions of poor people subsisted on fewer calories per day than a POW in a Nazi concentration camp? It is a little better now, but one gets the feeling that the entire population is at any give time, teetering on the edge of the blackest abyss. The slightest change in weather, economy, government, war, etc., could send millions hurtling into a black hole. It will keep me awake at night for a long time.
Anyway, I'm still here. I haven't been kicked out of India. Yet.
I wish they would quit cornering me. Do they LIKE being disparaged? Do they LIKE being told they aren't so hot? Are they masochists or something? I seem to never disappoint them. I can't seem to shut up. It's like poking a rabid dog with a stick. If you don't like the bite, don't poke.
Anyway, I'm feeling better today. I love picking on powerful people and making them uncomfortable. It makes my day. I'm BACK. Moses or not, wrinkled or not, OLD or not, I'm BACK.
Three Reasons Why I Stay
Usha, Keerthika, and Devi Prya
Thank goodness, it wasn't too late when I realized that what these children need the most is not an English teacher, but the warmth and love of a mother. That, I know how to do. Their love is unconditional. And so is mine. Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Different Drums and the American Raj
Occasionally, we can hear drums in the village. I'm not sure what the meaning of it might be. I'm sure it has something to do with religious worship of some kind. Once in awhile, there are loudspeakers with very loud voices. I know it's an irrational thought, but I hope the villagers aren't stirring things up for a good murder spree. On second thought, I would gladly push the Principal out in front and say, "Here, take her."
It's the first time in my life that I have been marching to a different drummer and actually heard real drums. It's comforting. Kind of. But lonely.
I'm discouraged tonight. Is that okay? All that I have done while I've been here will come to nothing. I know that my time away from home and family has been wasted on an organization that, like India, is drunk on visions of its own grandeur. The Board has fired the Program Director, a man who loves this place and who is my friend. That leaves the Principal in charge. This is not good. She is filled with resentment toward me because I temporarily held her feet to the fire. But it was only temporary.
I'm sad tonight. No comedy. No sarcastic humor. I feel alone and friendless. I have failed.
36 days to go. I will never forget the wonderful Indian people. We have been in cahoots against the "American Raj" almost since the day I got here. India was governed for nearly 200 years by the British Raj. These past few days as I have watched an elite group of Americans assume that they know what's best for India and India's people, I couldn't help but reflect that things haven't changed much for India. Now, the "Raj" is American NGOs' like the one I have been teaching for. Indians are still at the beck and call of another country. They still work long, hard hours for next to nothing for 'handlers' from a distant, foreign land. My philosophy is so opposed to the one that governs this enterprise that I hardly know where to begin. So I won't.
I'm not making much sense tonight. Tonight for the first time, My family and I considered my coming home early. They have been so supportive, but not of what has happened here during the past few days. My head is swirling and I'm tired. How will I ever summon the courage to say 'good-bye' to friends, knowing that I did little to improve their circumstances? Like them, I worked, and I was at the mercy of the American Raj. I feel ashamed. I let myself be used. I will leave no footprints when I go.
I hear a different drummer. And I'm glad. Sometimes it's worth the loneliness.
It's the first time in my life that I have been marching to a different drummer and actually heard real drums. It's comforting. Kind of. But lonely.
I'm discouraged tonight. Is that okay? All that I have done while I've been here will come to nothing. I know that my time away from home and family has been wasted on an organization that, like India, is drunk on visions of its own grandeur. The Board has fired the Program Director, a man who loves this place and who is my friend. That leaves the Principal in charge. This is not good. She is filled with resentment toward me because I temporarily held her feet to the fire. But it was only temporary.
I'm sad tonight. No comedy. No sarcastic humor. I feel alone and friendless. I have failed.
36 days to go. I will never forget the wonderful Indian people. We have been in cahoots against the "American Raj" almost since the day I got here. India was governed for nearly 200 years by the British Raj. These past few days as I have watched an elite group of Americans assume that they know what's best for India and India's people, I couldn't help but reflect that things haven't changed much for India. Now, the "Raj" is American NGOs' like the one I have been teaching for. Indians are still at the beck and call of another country. They still work long, hard hours for next to nothing for 'handlers' from a distant, foreign land. My philosophy is so opposed to the one that governs this enterprise that I hardly know where to begin. So I won't.
I'm not making much sense tonight. Tonight for the first time, My family and I considered my coming home early. They have been so supportive, but not of what has happened here during the past few days. My head is swirling and I'm tired. How will I ever summon the courage to say 'good-bye' to friends, knowing that I did little to improve their circumstances? Like them, I worked, and I was at the mercy of the American Raj. I feel ashamed. I let myself be used. I will leave no footprints when I go.
I hear a different drummer. And I'm glad. Sometimes it's worth the loneliness.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
A Flower in Her Hair
India. Sometimes this place can break your heart.
Yesterday, yet another busload of Board members arrived. To plan for their arrival, the Indian staff had everyone wear flowers in their hair.
When the Board members disembarked from their tour bus, the children threw rose petals in their path. My fifth standard children who should have been learning something in my class were deployed during class time to throw the rose petals. Later, they came up to me and told me how much they missed being in class with me.
I did not know why the staff was putting flowers in my hair and throwing petals on my head until it was too late. I noticed everyone wearing flowers except for one person. Vennila.
"Vennila, where are the flowers in your hair? Everyone has flowers except for you."
Vennila's reply? "I can never again wear flowers in my hair because I am a widow and I am supposed to be in mourning for my husband for the rest of my life."
I instantly removed the flower from my hair and brushed the rose petals away. I hated the whole idea, anyway. I felt like a monkey on a chain yesterday. I can only imagine how the Indian Staff must have felt. I know that what they exhibit and how they feel are two very different things. Me, too.
India. Sometimes this place can break your heart.
Yesterday, yet another busload of Board members arrived. To plan for their arrival, the Indian staff had everyone wear flowers in their hair.
When the Board members disembarked from their tour bus, the children threw rose petals in their path. My fifth standard children who should have been learning something in my class were deployed during class time to throw the rose petals. Later, they came up to me and told me how much they missed being in class with me.
I did not know why the staff was putting flowers in my hair and throwing petals on my head until it was too late. I noticed everyone wearing flowers except for one person. Vennila.
"Vennila, where are the flowers in your hair? Everyone has flowers except for you."
Vennila's reply? "I can never again wear flowers in my hair because I am a widow and I am supposed to be in mourning for my husband for the rest of my life."
I instantly removed the flower from my hair and brushed the rose petals away. I hated the whole idea, anyway. I felt like a monkey on a chain yesterday. I can only imagine how the Indian Staff must have felt. I know that what they exhibit and how they feel are two very different things. Me, too.
India. Sometimes this place can break your heart.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
How to take a Shower
Let's say you are brushing your teeth and you are suddenly smitten with the idea of a good squat in the 3-foot high shower. No problem. Keeping brushing. Fill the bucket with hot water. Dump on your head. Fill the bucket again. Dump. Repeat. But wait! Good heavens, can you? Why yes, you certainly may. If the urge should suddenly hit you while brushing and dumping water, you can also see to a certain pressing need without missing a single beat. It's heaven. Now, you're brushing, dumping, AND sitting on the potty. Such bliss.
But there's more. Since you're blind as a bat without your glasses and your chances are near 100 percent that you're going to come face to face with some crawly, creepy, slithering creature, the whole scenario speeds up to WARP speed. Brush, dump water, potty, put on your glasses, check for varmints, brush, dump water, potty, put on your glasses, check for varmints. Rinse. Repeat.
And more. Plan for power outages. Lots of power outages. Practice this routine in the dark. Try to remember where you planted your feet. That's VERY important because you are not going to want to move for a few minutes until the power comes thundering back on again. Just in time to come eye to eye with that huge Gecko on the wall, or millipede . . . . . .or spider . . . . . . or a giant frog in the sink. Or a snake slithering along the wall.
Coming to you live (at least for one more day) from India, that nation of eternal bliss and joy - the 3-in-1 bath system. Built for you upon your request. I'll throw in the wildlife for free.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The housekeeping staff
The one in the middle is such a slacker.
The house behind the housekeeping staff looks great, doesn't it? NOT where I live.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Does anyone know what the date is?
I seem to have mis-placed my calendar and the date thingie on my watch is broken. Seriously. I could use an update. I know tomorrow is Saturday . . . . . That's about it.
Do you remember the movie, "Castaways" with Tom Hanks? If you don't, here's a short synopsis: After a terrible airplane wreck, Tom's stranded alone on a desert island with just himself for company. After a lot of hard work, he manages to crack open a coconut and get a drink of water. Then he goes on to do his own dental work, make his own loin cloth, and engage in some serious fishing. Along the way, he becomes great friends with a soccer ball named 'Wilson'.
I don't think about that movie in the same way anymore. If I could find a soccer ball, I would paint a face on it and talk to it. I understand Tom's motivations now. I need my family and friends. I will appreciate all of you more, hug you more, tell you that I love you more often . . . . . . I miss your familiar and understanding faces, your cheerfulness, your love, and the warmth of your smiles. You are all my special 'Wilsons' and my life would be so empty without each of you. I have had an opportunity to spend time without you now. Though I can return home to all of you knowing that I worked hard, loved much, and left a little corner of India better off, I know now that I can't live without you. Any of you. I am alone without you.
So . . . . . . . . I never said it often enough, seldom let it get so sentimental, and heaven knows, was rarely deserving of such friends and family, here is my love to each of you. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.
So please. Could somebody please tell me what the date is?
Do you remember the movie, "Castaways" with Tom Hanks? If you don't, here's a short synopsis: After a terrible airplane wreck, Tom's stranded alone on a desert island with just himself for company. After a lot of hard work, he manages to crack open a coconut and get a drink of water. Then he goes on to do his own dental work, make his own loin cloth, and engage in some serious fishing. Along the way, he becomes great friends with a soccer ball named 'Wilson'.
I don't think about that movie in the same way anymore. If I could find a soccer ball, I would paint a face on it and talk to it. I understand Tom's motivations now. I need my family and friends. I will appreciate all of you more, hug you more, tell you that I love you more often . . . . . . I miss your familiar and understanding faces, your cheerfulness, your love, and the warmth of your smiles. You are all my special 'Wilsons' and my life would be so empty without each of you. I have had an opportunity to spend time without you now. Though I can return home to all of you knowing that I worked hard, loved much, and left a little corner of India better off, I know now that I can't live without you. Any of you. I am alone without you.
So . . . . . . . . I never said it often enough, seldom let it get so sentimental, and heaven knows, was rarely deserving of such friends and family, here is my love to each of you. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.
So please. Could somebody please tell me what the date is?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
I've been too kind.
I was feeling kind of bad about my last post. Now that I've watched food being brought in that I haven't seen for months, been kicked out of my room to accommodate the 'visitors', and been cornered three times today by Board members, I've been too kind.
Honestly, at the moment, I am so tired, I could fall asleep standing up. I taught the regular schedule today, tutored Vennila, and then I had to move out of where I have been staying into another house. Every kindness done for me today has been at the hands of the housemaids and staff. They have been kept hopping trying to meet the demands of the board, yet they found the time to help me move. I didn't ask. They just did it. They looked sorrowful and that's how I felt, too. How I will miss their quiet grace and graciousness. I still get to see them, but no new English and Tamil words for a while.
This morning, at the request of the Program Director, I wrote an email outlining some improvements and changes that should and ought to be made. All hell has broken loose. I've been cornered three times today for a little 'chat'. I've been asked to attend a meeting tonight. It's not going to be a picnic. The Principal has been less than honest. I have kept a log of her responses, rebuttals, and resistance to implementing a school curriculum and a student behavior code. She's all smoke and mirrors. I'm going to attend the 9th-10th study hall as I always do instead of the meeting. Right now, I'm exhausted and hungry. I've lost so much weight, my watch falls off of my wrist. I'm disgusted with the dog and pony show going on around me. I'm at breakpoint. If I attend that meeting tonight, I won't be nice and in order to leave these kids with something, I have to be tactful and nice.
On the bright side, there is a small, but glimmering hope that I will be able to help Vennila get her passport. We are going to have to ride an awful bus into Chennai, but Vennila has single-handedly killed a Krait snake. In my book, that makes her near god-like. She's worried about me on the bus because I'm white and it's such a novelty among the general Indian population to see someone white, particularly in this area, and particularly a woman. With me along, Vennila's chances of obtaining a passport will skyrocket because I'm white, brassy, and bossy. At heart, all Indian men are subservient. It's a carryover from the British Raj. I intend to use that knowledge to my advantage. I knew my pushy self would come in handy some day. Say a little prayer for Vennila. I'll pay the fees and the bribes. Just hand over her damn passport.
I'm so tired. I'm sorry.
Honestly, at the moment, I am so tired, I could fall asleep standing up. I taught the regular schedule today, tutored Vennila, and then I had to move out of where I have been staying into another house. Every kindness done for me today has been at the hands of the housemaids and staff. They have been kept hopping trying to meet the demands of the board, yet they found the time to help me move. I didn't ask. They just did it. They looked sorrowful and that's how I felt, too. How I will miss their quiet grace and graciousness. I still get to see them, but no new English and Tamil words for a while.
This morning, at the request of the Program Director, I wrote an email outlining some improvements and changes that should and ought to be made. All hell has broken loose. I've been cornered three times today for a little 'chat'. I've been asked to attend a meeting tonight. It's not going to be a picnic. The Principal has been less than honest. I have kept a log of her responses, rebuttals, and resistance to implementing a school curriculum and a student behavior code. She's all smoke and mirrors. I'm going to attend the 9th-10th study hall as I always do instead of the meeting. Right now, I'm exhausted and hungry. I've lost so much weight, my watch falls off of my wrist. I'm disgusted with the dog and pony show going on around me. I'm at breakpoint. If I attend that meeting tonight, I won't be nice and in order to leave these kids with something, I have to be tactful and nice.
On the bright side, there is a small, but glimmering hope that I will be able to help Vennila get her passport. We are going to have to ride an awful bus into Chennai, but Vennila has single-handedly killed a Krait snake. In my book, that makes her near god-like. She's worried about me on the bus because I'm white and it's such a novelty among the general Indian population to see someone white, particularly in this area, and particularly a woman. With me along, Vennila's chances of obtaining a passport will skyrocket because I'm white, brassy, and bossy. At heart, all Indian men are subservient. It's a carryover from the British Raj. I intend to use that knowledge to my advantage. I knew my pushy self would come in handy some day. Say a little prayer for Vennila. I'll pay the fees and the bribes. Just hand over her damn passport.
I'm so tired. I'm sorry.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
I've been very bad.
Okay, so I've been bad. No surprise there. Right?
We are in the middle of an awful head lice epidemic. Imagine dozens of little girls frantically scratching their heads, picking lice out of one another's hair, watching head lice jump on tables and desks, and you get a picture of how bad it is. Thankfully, I don't have head lice yet, but it's only a matter of time. The children get as close to me as they can. Today, I drew the line when they wanted to be near me and started picking head lice out of one another's hair while they were sitting on my lap. ENOUGH ALREADY.
Here's the part where I start to go bad. I noticed that there are about 50 head lice kits in the Harry Potter closet. I asked the Principal if I could give the housemothers the head lice kits for the children. She said, "No, those kits are for the volunteers." I asked her what the children were using to help control the problem. Her answer? "Nothing." WHAT!!!!!! Long story short. The head lice kits have gone missing. I know where they are. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Update on the bug bite problem. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, but I prayed about it. I asked specifically to be shown some kind of remedy for the worst bites. I needed help. I went to bed. In the morning, when I awoke, I looked toward the ceiling and there were two HUGE spider nests built of clay. They looked a lot like the wasp nests we see in Oregon. My bed is pushed against the wall where the nests were. Apparently, at night, they were crawling down and having quite a feast. Problem solved. I moved my bed away from the wall and destroyed the nests. Thank you, God. Credit given where credit is due.
Being in love with India is like being in a love affair gone terribly wrong. India is a demanding lover and absolutely irresponsible. You know India will get you in the end, and yet you still hang in there. You love the person, not the creep. Right? That's why I love India. I'm a schmuck.
We are in the middle of an awful head lice epidemic. Imagine dozens of little girls frantically scratching their heads, picking lice out of one another's hair, watching head lice jump on tables and desks, and you get a picture of how bad it is. Thankfully, I don't have head lice yet, but it's only a matter of time. The children get as close to me as they can. Today, I drew the line when they wanted to be near me and started picking head lice out of one another's hair while they were sitting on my lap. ENOUGH ALREADY.
Here's the part where I start to go bad. I noticed that there are about 50 head lice kits in the Harry Potter closet. I asked the Principal if I could give the housemothers the head lice kits for the children. She said, "No, those kits are for the volunteers." I asked her what the children were using to help control the problem. Her answer? "Nothing." WHAT!!!!!! Long story short. The head lice kits have gone missing. I know where they are. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Update on the bug bite problem. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, but I prayed about it. I asked specifically to be shown some kind of remedy for the worst bites. I needed help. I went to bed. In the morning, when I awoke, I looked toward the ceiling and there were two HUGE spider nests built of clay. They looked a lot like the wasp nests we see in Oregon. My bed is pushed against the wall where the nests were. Apparently, at night, they were crawling down and having quite a feast. Problem solved. I moved my bed away from the wall and destroyed the nests. Thank you, God. Credit given where credit is due.
Being in love with India is like being in a love affair gone terribly wrong. India is a demanding lover and absolutely irresponsible. You know India will get you in the end, and yet you still hang in there. You love the person, not the creep. Right? That's why I love India. I'm a schmuck.
Friday, February 17, 2012
"The earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed. - Mahatma Ghandi
Okay. India, (especially your corrupt government), here are a few statistics that tell the REAL story about you:
You're in denial. And here's why. You have a dark side. It's the poverty of your people. You account for over 36 percent of the entire world's poor. Nearly 40 percent of the world's malnourished children live with you. Over 77 percent of your population has been classified as 'poor and vulnerable'. Your chronic caste and religious tensions pale in significance to, and are often the result of, poverty.
India, you suffer from some short-sighted optimism, both at home and throughout the world. You are drunk on visions of grandeur. You will never become the world's "next superpower" until you do something about your millions of desperately poor. Instead of waiting for the wealth to 'trickle down', how about you try generating wealth from the bottom up?
You can start by cleaning out the rampant corruption and graft of your government. Then you can find a little national pride and stop relying on foreign countries and NGOs to care for and feed your poor. Get a little gumption, India. Step up to the plate and assume responsibility for cleaning up the stinking cesspool of your non-existent programs for the poor.
Okay. Enough editorializing. I just had to say it. India could be a beautiful country if it weren't a massive garbage dump in all but a few enclaves of wealth and power.
Done. Mom, I'm going to get arrested for sure for writing this post. Please send peanut butter.
You're in denial. And here's why. You have a dark side. It's the poverty of your people. You account for over 36 percent of the entire world's poor. Nearly 40 percent of the world's malnourished children live with you. Over 77 percent of your population has been classified as 'poor and vulnerable'. Your chronic caste and religious tensions pale in significance to, and are often the result of, poverty.
India, you suffer from some short-sighted optimism, both at home and throughout the world. You are drunk on visions of grandeur. You will never become the world's "next superpower" until you do something about your millions of desperately poor. Instead of waiting for the wealth to 'trickle down', how about you try generating wealth from the bottom up?
You can start by cleaning out the rampant corruption and graft of your government. Then you can find a little national pride and stop relying on foreign countries and NGOs to care for and feed your poor. Get a little gumption, India. Step up to the plate and assume responsibility for cleaning up the stinking cesspool of your non-existent programs for the poor.
Okay. Enough editorializing. I just had to say it. India could be a beautiful country if it weren't a massive garbage dump in all but a few enclaves of wealth and power.
Done. Mom, I'm going to get arrested for sure for writing this post. Please send peanut butter.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Please Steal Me
Back to my cranky, cynical self. What a relief.
This place sucks. I would give a top ten list of reasons why it does, but I'm up to about a hundred right now and it's hard to choose the ten worst.
Lately, I have been rating my bug bites on a sliding scale. Numero Uno is the absolute worst, swollen, red, ugly, mean, no good, low-down bug bite that ever bit a human being, and Numero Dies (whatever) is just a good insect effort to irritate and annoy me. The Numero Dies' usually end up dead because I have learned to outwit them. I turn off all the lights in my room except for my computer screen. Then I KILL the little buggers when they are attracted to the screen. I can type, kill bugs, and scratch, all at the same time.
I have about 100 bites that rate a Numero Uno. I think I may be allergic to those little Satans. Scratching does no good because the bite area swells to a lump the size of a golf ball within about a minute and scratching only irritates it even more. I feel like I'm in a horror movie about to give birth to a hairball with teeth. A hundred little hairballs with teeth running around. Nobody in India would give them a second glance.
Please don't tell me to put on bug spray. Have you ever tried to sleep with bug spray on? It must be comparable to being alive while the mortician is trying to embalm you. This is off the subject, but have you ever had that dream where people think you're dead and you're not really, and they try to embalm you and bury you and you keep trying to get someone's attention, but nobody seems to be listening? No? Well, okay. I've shared too much.
Okay, so I'm cranky. I hate, no DETEST, the food here at the 'dining hall' for reasons I have already mentioned in great detail, (please see The Three Stooges) Someone stole a whole package of my flour tortillas that I was counting on for survival. I know who she is and I know where she lives. Right next door. (Cue horror movie music here). I'm going to get her. Why she took my tortillas and left my horrible homemade spaghetti sauce, I just don't understand. I left a sign on the spaghetti sauce that says, "Please steal me". Nobody will.
Don't get me started on the shower accommodations here. Just don't.
And what in the heck is the MATTER with the power supply???? We have had, count 'em, NINE power outages in the last three hours. I'll bet whoever is in charge of the power grid around here just sits around and flips the power on and off again and gets the giggles thinking about how many people must be in the shower or on the potty in TOTAL blackness. Indians. What a sense of humor.
Later. I'm going to get my tortillas back. During the next power outage.
This place sucks. I would give a top ten list of reasons why it does, but I'm up to about a hundred right now and it's hard to choose the ten worst.
Lately, I have been rating my bug bites on a sliding scale. Numero Uno is the absolute worst, swollen, red, ugly, mean, no good, low-down bug bite that ever bit a human being, and Numero Dies (whatever) is just a good insect effort to irritate and annoy me. The Numero Dies' usually end up dead because I have learned to outwit them. I turn off all the lights in my room except for my computer screen. Then I KILL the little buggers when they are attracted to the screen. I can type, kill bugs, and scratch, all at the same time.
I have about 100 bites that rate a Numero Uno. I think I may be allergic to those little Satans. Scratching does no good because the bite area swells to a lump the size of a golf ball within about a minute and scratching only irritates it even more. I feel like I'm in a horror movie about to give birth to a hairball with teeth. A hundred little hairballs with teeth running around. Nobody in India would give them a second glance.
Please don't tell me to put on bug spray. Have you ever tried to sleep with bug spray on? It must be comparable to being alive while the mortician is trying to embalm you. This is off the subject, but have you ever had that dream where people think you're dead and you're not really, and they try to embalm you and bury you and you keep trying to get someone's attention, but nobody seems to be listening? No? Well, okay. I've shared too much.
Okay, so I'm cranky. I hate, no DETEST, the food here at the 'dining hall' for reasons I have already mentioned in great detail, (please see The Three Stooges) Someone stole a whole package of my flour tortillas that I was counting on for survival. I know who she is and I know where she lives. Right next door. (Cue horror movie music here). I'm going to get her. Why she took my tortillas and left my horrible homemade spaghetti sauce, I just don't understand. I left a sign on the spaghetti sauce that says, "Please steal me". Nobody will.
Don't get me started on the shower accommodations here. Just don't.
And what in the heck is the MATTER with the power supply???? We have had, count 'em, NINE power outages in the last three hours. I'll bet whoever is in charge of the power grid around here just sits around and flips the power on and off again and gets the giggles thinking about how many people must be in the shower or on the potty in TOTAL blackness. Indians. What a sense of humor.
Later. I'm going to get my tortillas back. During the next power outage.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Falling in Love
If I just hadn't gone up on the roof tonight . . . . . .
In the still of the cool and quiet evening, it is late and I cannot sleep. So I walk up the stairs to the roof and I stand gazing at the stars. There are millions of stars that seem so close, it feels as if I am standing in stardust. Orion, with his sword raised and belt blazing, ready to do battle. The North Star, directing sailing ships loaded with spices. Cassiopea. Jupiter. Venus still visible through the beautiful Palm Trees. This is the night when I, alone, seem to own the stars.
Alone. At one with a reverence and a comfort I cannot name; a longed for peacefulness of spirit and soul. I am humbled and awed before the majesty, splendour, and beauty of Heaven. I am forgiven. Peace at last. Imagine that.
In a heartbeat, I have fallen in love with India.
In the still of the cool and quiet evening, it is late and I cannot sleep. So I walk up the stairs to the roof and I stand gazing at the stars. There are millions of stars that seem so close, it feels as if I am standing in stardust. Orion, with his sword raised and belt blazing, ready to do battle. The North Star, directing sailing ships loaded with spices. Cassiopea. Jupiter. Venus still visible through the beautiful Palm Trees. This is the night when I, alone, seem to own the stars.
Alone. At one with a reverence and a comfort I cannot name; a longed for peacefulness of spirit and soul. I am humbled and awed before the majesty, splendour, and beauty of Heaven. I am forgiven. Peace at last. Imagine that.
In a heartbeat, I have fallen in love with India.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!
Valentine's Day is celebrated in India! Imagine that. It could explain why India has 1.2 billion people, but I'm not sure everyone's birthday is in October. I'll get back to you on that.
I'm still trying to figure out India's weird moral standards. If you pay any attention to the huge movie industry over here, nobody gets past the holding hands part of a relationship. Onscreen kissing is strictly forbidden. However . . . . . . . . for the men it's okay to grope women wherever and whenever getting caught won't be likely. For example, my first introduction to India was being groped on the airplane as I dis-embarked. As I said, figuring out how things work around here is like stepping into the La Brea Tar Pits. Hey, it's Valentine's Day! What better day to discuss being groped by an Indian?
Here's another thing about India that takes some getting used to. Because there are so many people, a person's individual space is non-existent. I LIKE space. Giving up my personal space has been an adjustment. For example, there is no such thing as a closed door for privacy. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable when the housemaids just opened the door and walked right into my room for a little tea and crumpets. It didn't matter if I was in various stages of undress. Nobody seemed to notice. I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or not. You decide. I have had the most interesting conversations in my underwear with ALL of the housemaids. At first, I grabbed a sheet, a towel, a curtain, blanket, anything. How fast we adapt. Now, I'm resigned to teaching English to the housemaids in whatever I may be lucky enough to have on. I don't notice it anymore. I don't think the housemaids ever did. Either that, or they're home drawing pictures for their large, extended families and everyone's having a gala time.
The housemaids are campaigning to dress me in a Sari. N-E-V-E-R. American women look dumb in Saris'. They look like mummies dressed up in Grandma's favorite head scarf. Just let me have my Ali-Babas' and let me be.
This is my official Happy Valentine's Day! blog entry. May you be groped by the one you love. Peace out.
I'm still trying to figure out India's weird moral standards. If you pay any attention to the huge movie industry over here, nobody gets past the holding hands part of a relationship. Onscreen kissing is strictly forbidden. However . . . . . . . . for the men it's okay to grope women wherever and whenever getting caught won't be likely. For example, my first introduction to India was being groped on the airplane as I dis-embarked. As I said, figuring out how things work around here is like stepping into the La Brea Tar Pits. Hey, it's Valentine's Day! What better day to discuss being groped by an Indian?
Here's another thing about India that takes some getting used to. Because there are so many people, a person's individual space is non-existent. I LIKE space. Giving up my personal space has been an adjustment. For example, there is no such thing as a closed door for privacy. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable when the housemaids just opened the door and walked right into my room for a little tea and crumpets. It didn't matter if I was in various stages of undress. Nobody seemed to notice. I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or not. You decide. I have had the most interesting conversations in my underwear with ALL of the housemaids. At first, I grabbed a sheet, a towel, a curtain, blanket, anything. How fast we adapt. Now, I'm resigned to teaching English to the housemaids in whatever I may be lucky enough to have on. I don't notice it anymore. I don't think the housemaids ever did. Either that, or they're home drawing pictures for their large, extended families and everyone's having a gala time.
The housemaids are campaigning to dress me in a Sari. N-E-V-E-R. American women look dumb in Saris'. They look like mummies dressed up in Grandma's favorite head scarf. Just let me have my Ali-Babas' and let me be.
This is my official Happy Valentine's Day! blog entry. May you be groped by the one you love. Peace out.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Strange Coconuts - Fourth graders, please help me classify.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Not to be redundant, but . . . . . . . . . .
ANOTHER DEADLY VENOMOUS SNAKE! (hyperventilating). This snake is called a Krait Snake. One of my fellow volunteers found it in HER BEDROOM. (breathing into a paper bag) The Krait is one of the top four deadly snakes of India - which is one of the top four deadly countries of the world. This little guy crawled in from who knows where. (big deep breaths) Look him up on Wikipedia. I've got to run. I'm busy hermetically sealing myself into my room with duct tape. HELP!! That big black blob is the "Shadow of Death".
Friday, February 10, 2012
The Masked Avengers
Construction of a "Yoga and Meditation" center is going on just outside my window. It's about the size of a comfortable yurt. It has a metal roof, which means that for ten months of the year it's going to be so hot in there, you will basically bake your brains while you're meditating. That probably WILL rearrange your negative thought patterns.
The workers are interesting. I'm pretty sure they spend most of their day talking about women. This is the rhythm of the work: rev up a circular saw, pound constantly and angrily on steel pipes all day, yell obscenities in Tamil, hawk and spit all day, laugh lasciviously, cough constantly, repeat. I'm not sure what they are doing with the circular saw. The building is cement and brick. But then I'm no authority on building yurts. I'm pretty sure their coughs are tubercular in nature and that's not very funny. Coughs like that have an unmistakable chronically sick, "never going away" sound. I hear it in some of the children, too.
It's starting to heat up here in India. It's a kind of heat that makes Houston in the dead of summer look like Vail, Colorado. The Indians here are finally beginning to take off their ear muffs. 70 degree temperatures in the early mornings are not for the faint of heart.
It's been an exciting couple of days here at the Ashram. First, the 'fire marshalls' came yesterday. They arrived in full military uniforms with nary a firesuit in sight. They marched crisply behind a Desoto Fire Truck that stopped just milliseconds before mowing down a row of suddenly quite attentive children. Then they stacked some palm fronds and started a fire. I thought we were going to have s'mores there for a second, but nope. The palm fronds were supposed to be a grass hut. It was indeedy quite the demonstration. The 'grass hut' was gone about as fast as a dried out Christmas tree and the whole thing was pretty impressive.Most of the children live in grass huts when they're not here at the Ashram, so the speedy demise of the palm frond hut was not a lesson wasted.
Then we had a 'track meet'. Try to imagine girls performing the high jump in long pants, covered by a long dress and with a long scarf tied around their necks. They cleared the bar every time until it got impossibly high and I doubt anyone, even in the states, could have cleared it. I couldn't help but think that the track coaches in America need to seriously recruit in India. These kids RUN like greased lightning and they are so fun to watch. They are inherently graceful and they run like gazelles. In long pants and skirts . . . . . . .and barefoot. No Phil Knight Nikes within a 100 miles of this place. Imagine what these kids could do for a track team in America.
One more thing. In India, the children call everyone Auntie, or Granny. I make my students call me Mrs. Johnson except for one child who isn't even in one of my classes. She has gravitated toward me since the first day I came. Poor thing. She has terrible judgement. Anyway . . . . . . word gets around. Everybody knows they have to call me by my name. As I have pointed out on more than one occasion, I couldn't possibly be their Granny. I'm the wrong color. Okay, where was I? Oh right. Anyway, this little fourth grader with the poor taste in people came up to me today and said, (in perfect English, I might add) "For everyone else, you are Mrs. Johnson, but for me, you are always my Granny." The kid has 'checked' me with her king.
BJ
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Good things about India . . . . . .
I'm writing this post because my dear mother is afraid the Indian authorities are going to think I'm important enough to read this blog. Then they're going to cook up some excuse for arresting me and I'm going to wind up in an Indian jail, a far better option than an Indian government hospital. So, in the spirit of objectivity, well, no . . . . . . I'm never objective, I thought and I thought. I thought some more. I pondered the question: "What good things are there that I can report about India? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .still thinking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Okay. I've got something.
(1) I get to go to school every day in my pajamas. They are actually called "Ali-Babas", but the effect is still the same. Actually, pajamas would be a step up.
(2) Nobody here knows what I actually look like. The humidity makes me look like a 'Ghandi-like' version of Shirley Temple. Why bother to comb my hair in this heat and humidity? Or take a shower for that matter. Everyone else smells worse than I do.
(3) I can swear and nobody will understand what I just said. For example, I get to say, "Sit down and shut up you little S---" and everyone thinks I just said, "Stand up and let's have a party." Groovy. I also get to say "groovy" and nobody here dates me back to the sixties.
(4) When I walk by, all of the Indian teachers stand up and bow. I am able to nurture my Napoleonic delusions of grandeur freely.
(5) I get to lie in bed at night and hear the craziest animal calls and shrieks and roars. I feel so protected by the flimsy screen on my window.
(6) The full moon in India is so bright, it's difficult to look at. I'm serious. In Oregon, the moon is definitely sandbagging. It's got way more wattage than it pretends it has.
(7) I can bobble head. I can bobble head that Brahmin jackass in the Administrative office and he doesn't even know what I'm saying. I love bobble heading. I have said some of the meanest things that way. Just today, I told someone I was thinking of killing them and I sincerely hoped they wouldn't take it personally.
(8) I get to look into a 100 pairs of beautiful brown eyes and realize that I can and I am making a difference, one child at a time. I have to pretend I'm Nanny McPhee sometimes, but I always get to break the spell sooner or later and earn a hug from some needy child.
(9) I am adjusting to a life absolutely devoid of comfort and realizing that I don't need comfort - but I do need to know that for a few brief months, I touched lives and lives touched mine forever.
(10) I met Vanilla Mary. And I am forever humbled. Vanilla Mary is illiterate, but speaks Hindi, Tamil, and English flawlessly. She earns about $100 per month. A few days ago, she came to me and asked if I would help her fill out a donation slip. She can't even write her name. She gave 12 percent of her meager earnings and 'thanked God' for her blessings. The wet spots on the donation slip were my tears. I, who have so much . . . . . . . . . .
So, there you have it. Ten things I like about India. And you all thought I couldn't be anything but a cranky cynic, didn't you?
alu Kalai Vanakkam. I'm learning Tamil. Wait just a SECOND . . . . . .didn't I come here to teach English??
(1) I get to go to school every day in my pajamas. They are actually called "Ali-Babas", but the effect is still the same. Actually, pajamas would be a step up.
(2) Nobody here knows what I actually look like. The humidity makes me look like a 'Ghandi-like' version of Shirley Temple. Why bother to comb my hair in this heat and humidity? Or take a shower for that matter. Everyone else smells worse than I do.
(3) I can swear and nobody will understand what I just said. For example, I get to say, "Sit down and shut up you little S---" and everyone thinks I just said, "Stand up and let's have a party." Groovy. I also get to say "groovy" and nobody here dates me back to the sixties.
(4) When I walk by, all of the Indian teachers stand up and bow. I am able to nurture my Napoleonic delusions of grandeur freely.
(5) I get to lie in bed at night and hear the craziest animal calls and shrieks and roars. I feel so protected by the flimsy screen on my window.
(6) The full moon in India is so bright, it's difficult to look at. I'm serious. In Oregon, the moon is definitely sandbagging. It's got way more wattage than it pretends it has.
(7) I can bobble head. I can bobble head that Brahmin jackass in the Administrative office and he doesn't even know what I'm saying. I love bobble heading. I have said some of the meanest things that way. Just today, I told someone I was thinking of killing them and I sincerely hoped they wouldn't take it personally.
(8) I get to look into a 100 pairs of beautiful brown eyes and realize that I can and I am making a difference, one child at a time. I have to pretend I'm Nanny McPhee sometimes, but I always get to break the spell sooner or later and earn a hug from some needy child.
(9) I am adjusting to a life absolutely devoid of comfort and realizing that I don't need comfort - but I do need to know that for a few brief months, I touched lives and lives touched mine forever.
Vanilla Mary
So, there you have it. Ten things I like about India. And you all thought I couldn't be anything but a cranky cynic, didn't you?
alu Kalai Vanakkam. I'm learning Tamil. Wait just a SECOND . . . . . .didn't I come here to teach English??
Monday, February 6, 2012
Calling Mrs. Ottley's Fourth Graders
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Chengalpattu's 'Hospital'
But the tire and nearly being killed isn't the real story.
The other photos are of the 'hospital'. I would have taken some pictures of the inside which, incredibly, is actually worse than the outside. I always hesitate out of respect for the dignity and privacy of the people caught in such nightmares as this hospital in "Chengalpattu" - the closest town to our rural area. What I 'saw' were scenes out of a horror movie; long, filthy rooms filled with the sick, some in beds, some not, surrounded by relatives trying to care for them as best they can. No medical services such as IVs or monitors of any kind were visible. Just very sick people everywhere.
Our driver's young wife is scheduled for a C-section tonight at 10PM. She'll be lucky if she lives and does not die of infection. But here's some beauty in this story. Already, she's surrounded by half a dozen people who obviously love her and are concerned. I felt like an interloper, yet the family was, as usual, unfailingly gracious. Just being around them makes me want to be a better person. I want to tell them that when I go. But how? How do I tell them that I will remember their courage and resilience forever? I won't be able to do it without crying and then they would try to give me their houses to make me feel better. That just won't do.
So-o-o-o-o-o-o. I'm trying with considerable difficulty not to turn this into a soapbox on healthcare reform. So I'll shut up and just let the pictures tell you a sad story from a sad country about the sad options available to the sad, unfortunate poor. This experience is still fresh on my mind. I want to hit somebody. One of these stupid, dumb cows would do just fine. That would make me feel so much better. Just go out into the field and deck a poor, unfortunate, unsuspecting cow.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
I'm Going to LIVE!!
I was rummaging around in a Harry Potter closet for some food to eat and you'll never guess what I found. A FLASHLIGHT! Yes, a flashlight. That works! No more heart-stopping sudden pitch black darkness when "Old Faithful", my former infamous flashlight shorted out at the most inopportune moments. I will say that I have developed some rather intricate dance moves in the dead of night trying to cajole "Old Faithful" into just a few more seconds of life giving light.
When I get home, I am going to become a professional Rumba dancer. I think I've got the moves. Rapid hops to the front, back, and simultaneously to the sides. A few light on the feet twists and turns and some graceful HUGE leaps into the air. I make Michael Jackson look . . . . . . . .well . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dead. (That wasn't nice)
There is always a silver lining in every cloud. Why, yes, I do live among the most dangerous snakes in the world. Yes, I do have a healthy desire not to step on one. Yes, 'Old Faithful' was a blessing after all. I am now going to be on PBS dancing the Rumba for the big prize money. Who was it that said Ginger Rogers could do everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels? I am now a member of that elite dancing group. And I learned how thanks to 'Old Faithful'.
Some of you thought I would never be caught dead in India. It's true. I don't want to be caught dead in India. Yesterday, I made the mistake of asking someone what somebody was burning alongside the road. BIG MISTAKE. Here in lovely, rural India, when someone dies, there are no mortuaries . . . and no cemeteries, something I failed to note.
Thank you, God, for my new flashlight. And the paper clips.
Your friend,
Betty W. Johnson
ODL 567982 - Just in case I need to be identified before the bonfire.
When I get home, I am going to become a professional Rumba dancer. I think I've got the moves. Rapid hops to the front, back, and simultaneously to the sides. A few light on the feet twists and turns and some graceful HUGE leaps into the air. I make Michael Jackson look . . . . . . . .well . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .dead. (That wasn't nice)
There is always a silver lining in every cloud. Why, yes, I do live among the most dangerous snakes in the world. Yes, I do have a healthy desire not to step on one. Yes, 'Old Faithful' was a blessing after all. I am now going to be on PBS dancing the Rumba for the big prize money. Who was it that said Ginger Rogers could do everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels? I am now a member of that elite dancing group. And I learned how thanks to 'Old Faithful'.
Some of you thought I would never be caught dead in India. It's true. I don't want to be caught dead in India. Yesterday, I made the mistake of asking someone what somebody was burning alongside the road. BIG MISTAKE. Here in lovely, rural India, when someone dies, there are no mortuaries . . . and no cemeteries, something I failed to note.
Thank you, God, for my new flashlight. And the paper clips.
Your friend,
Betty W. Johnson
ODL 567982 - Just in case I need to be identified before the bonfire.
Monday, January 30, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Lakshmi the Elephant - Calling all 4th graders for an escape plan!
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"
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.
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