Joyful Noise

"Time to Say Goodbye"

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 14:50:34 +0530

…as Jason so aptly said (read: sang) in our car last weekend.

I don’t have time for a o post, but the past 24 hours have already been emotionally exhausting. It is indescribably hard to say goodbye to our friends here with no idea of when we will be back.

We leave for the airport in an hour, and I will be back in Tallahassee 36 hours after that. Very, very excited to see my family and friends, but not sure how I’m going to process the fact that I’m leaving India.

Stay tuned for a reflective post in the coming week or so.

See you on the flip side (OF THE WORLD…).

Last Weekend

Tue, 09 Aug 2011 16:14:27 +0530

Our last weekend in Kolkata is coming to an end, and it was definitely the most fun weekend I’ve had in the city. For starters, it was a very long weekend, since Monday was a holiday and today, Tuesday, we visited Manovikas’ other campus in Alipore. I think another reason we enjoyed ourselves so much is that, after eight weeks here, we all feel the freedom to make our own plans.

Saturday dawned bright and early. We had to be out of our guest house by 7:45 to visit V.K. Ballygunge, the school where Baishakhi’s mom works. We were divided into two groups and given a wonderful welcome at one of the two assemblies. I went to the class 1 to 5 assembly, where kids from ages 5 to 11 were at attention in straight rows. We were given bracelets and flowers, and then each of us got an escort. My escort Varnita, a girl in class 11, took me from classroom to classroom and I answered the class 5 and class 6 students’ questions. They ran the gamut from silly - “What is your favorite part of Spiderman?” - to serious - “In America, what do they do with The Untouchables?” (The Untouchables is a dated term used in India to refer to those born into a caste that is seen as impure.) I was also asked quite a few questions about what America is doing for the environment, which I answered to the best of my knowledge. Visiting the school was a great opportunity for all of us to see how school works here, and hopefully informative for the kids. In addition to the inundation of questions, one of the classrooms literally showered me with gifts - I am the proud new owner of a red friendship bracelet, quite a few cards, upwards of 30 pieces of toffee, and somewhere around 15 new pens.

After we left the school, we headed to Cafe Coffee Day (whose slogan I happen to love: “A Lot Can Happen Over Coffee!”) to meet with a couple interested in starting a Duke TiP-like after-school program for high-achieving students here in Kolkata. After the fiasco that was ordering coffee for 15 people, the couple bounced ideas off of us for about an hour and I hope we were able to help them.

We quickly came to Transit House to regroup, and then left for New Market. After two trips to this shopping mecca, I swore I would not go again. But alas, there I was. Saturday I bought gifts for mom, sisters, big, little, and the block, as well as (another…) pair of harem pants for myself. I also found a birthday/housewarming gift for one of my best friends, who will be moving into her new apartment the day after I arrive home.

The rest of Saturday was gloriously lazy. We were all exhausted, so I grabbed a chicken roll, came back to TH, and sat around for the remainder of the day. After dinner we listened to music, then Hannah and I stayed up entirely too late working on a crossword puzzle (we are so tchotchke).

Sunday was another early morning. Julie and I left around 7:15 under rainy skies so we could go watch the little Future Hope girls’ field hockey match. Unfortunately, the game was rained out, but we did get some quality time with the very sleepy girls. We came back home and I went back to sleep for a bit, then the Manovikas gang watched The Town, then worked on our grant proposal. The rest of Sunday was sleepy - I literally slept from 7 PM Sunday to 9 AM Monday morning.

On Monday I went with Hannah C. and Jamie to the Horticultural Society. Despite the constant rainfall, it was a glorious morning spent in the large park/garden-like area that seems, like the Park Street Cemetery, removed from the hectic, loud, and polluted city. Together we explored and admired the tropical haven, and then, covered in mosquito bites, headed to the adjacent National Library. Although you can’t go inside the building itself, we walked around the perimeter of the grounds, which were very pretty and, as many things are here, relics of the Raj.

I am ashamed to say that we went from here to, yes, New Market. HC, Jamie, and I each bought a “Being Human” shirt, these funny shirts we’ve seen all over the city, then we grabbed a snack at Barista before once again delving into the stinky, overflowing, shopper’s paradise. I bought another pair of pants (Mom, I can feel your judgment from 9,000 miles away) and a scarf, and then finished up my shopping for friends and family at our favorite handicraft shop. With the purchase of my sari last week and this weekend’s loot, I have checked every box on my Indian shopping list.

After our final New Market adventure, we headed home to Transit House for a bit before going to Future Hope. The FH kids have wanted us to eat dinner with them for a while now, so last night the MK girls ate with the little boys. By now I know a few of them from various visits, and I had a blast hanging out with them. Bijoi gave me the best complement ever in telling me as I polished off my THIRD helping of very spicy fish that I “eat like an Indian girl, Aunty!” We told the boys stories and sang songs with them as they lay in bed, and I spent a very pensive taxi ride home contemplating the reality of the coming week.

Today, Tuesday, we went with Dr. Chatterjee to visit the other, smaller MK campus, then got our final manual printed! Tomorrow I will get to hold in my hands the result of eight weeks of hard work, a manual on intervention strategies for children with reading-writing disorder. Tomorrow is also the third-to-last time I will get to see my kids.

I just read over this post, and realized that this weekend sounds, in writing, pretty boring. This is forcing me to rework the “why” behind what a nice weekend it was. I think it had something to do with the fact that we were not bound to a strict agenda, and much to do with the fact that I really enjoy my nine counterparts here in Kolkata. Someone - I can’t remember which one of us, Evan maybe? - made the comment that we each fill a separate and distinct niche, which largely prevents toes getting stepped on and nerves getting worn. I’m not going to pretend that there are not days when I would rather be alone in my dungeon (the group’s fond name for Dom’s and my room) than spend another second with the people I eat three meals a day with. Overwhelmingly, though, I am so glad to have been able to share this experience with such awesome, intelligent, fun, opinionated, and adventurous people. Thanks Baby B!

So right now, it is about 4 PM on Tuesday. Tonight I will pack my first suitcase, full of the gifts and trinkets and remembrances I have bought for my family, my friends, and myself. 72 hours from now I will be loading both of my suitcases into a car and saying goodbye to my friends at Transit House. I will have already hugged and kissed each of my kids goodbye. This blog post is just a summary of our last bit of free time here. My final thoughts on my two months here will come later this week, but I can already say with conviction that leaving this country, this city, will be difficult and painful and I’m probably going to cry my way back to Florida.

Dad, Mom, Camille, Lydia - I can. not. wait. to. see. you. guys. I can’t wait to eat the hottest, meltiest cheese quesadilla and then head home to show you all pictures of India and watch Camille’s Hairspray DVD. I can’t wait for the comfort of my bed (with a topsheet! and a pillow that is actually not made from stone!) and the hot water pressure of my shower. I am so excited to see my grandparents and my friends and to hear about everyone’s summers and to try and explain my experience here. I am definitely ready to be home in Tallahassee, Florida, U.S.A. but I am not ready to leave my new home in Kolkata, West Bengal, India.

Outsiders: Americans and Stray Animals

Tue, 26 Jul 2011 22:38:27 +0530

Just when I delude myself into routine (while ignoring the fact that I go home in two and a half weeks - WHAT), India throws me a curveball like today.

I woke up at 8:30, as usual, had my toast and butter and rallied the troops, as usual. The five of us (Brad stayed home with a fever) caught a cab and I tuned out the cacophony outside. It was shaping up to be a very normal day. When I noticed the shouting, it must have been going on for some time, because it pulled me out of the depths of Dominique LaPierre’s The City of Joy - a beautifully written tale of life in a slum in Kolkata. I turned to look at the source of the noise, and saw two Indian men - probably in their mid-20s - yelling at us from inside their shiny gold sedan. The only word I could pick up was “banana,” and Hannah Colton turned to us, saying that she thought they were yelling at her because of a banana peel she had dropped out the window of the cab about 15 minutes earlier.

Now, let me clarify some things. For starters, Hannah Colton (HC) is our resident nature freak. A vegetarian minoring in Environmental Science, this girl has a deep-rooted respect for nature. She owns a shirt that says, “Nature Rocks!” A P-WILD leader, she leads a backpacking trip that emphasizes the Leave No Trace mentality, meaning that anything used that is not natural must be “packed” and carried for the remainder of the trip. HC is about as anti-littering as they come, and secondly, one of the most kind and genuine people I’ve met. She has a kind soul that lends itself to a deep respect for people and the earth. Despite the fact that much of Kolkata is quite literally blanketed in refuse, because of who she is and what she stands for, HC would not dream of throwing trash onto the city streets.

So here we are, getting verbally berated by two clearly affluent men in a brand new car with a GPS. This goes on every time we find ourselves next to them for a few minutes. We stop at what might have been a stop light - also could have been a traffic jam - and lo and behold, the driver GETS OUT OF HIS CAR and walks behind it to our taxi. He first yells at the driver, making a “banana-eating” motion with his hand and then mimicking tossing it out the window. Then he begins to yell at us, emitting a stream of Bengali punctuated by “F***ing American b****es!” We are baffled. How could a banana peel have offended this man so much? We don’t have long to ponder, as the passenger gets out next and approaches our taxi. HC rolls up her window, but he yells through the front window. “From which country!? Huh?? Which country!?” None of us answer. He, too, mimics the eating of the banana and the disposal of its peel. I lean forward, as does Ann, and we emphatically offer our only defense. “It’s biodegradable!” “BIODEGRADABLE!?” he spews, throwing his hands up. “So in your town, you can throw banana?” Ann replies truthfully, if indignantly, “YES!” Wrong answer. More harsh Bengali, gesturing, head shaking. “F***ing American a**holes.” He stalks back to his sparkling vehicle and slams the door.

I am still, at 10 P.M., working this incident over in my head. Yes, littering is wrong. Were we littering? No, banana peels are biodegradable. But methinks that the littering was not the heart of the issue. I understand having hometown pride, I am proud of both Tallahassee and Durham. So these men are obviously very proud and protective of Kolkata. I can understand that. What I can’t understand is their apparent existence in an alternate world. We have found it true time and again that, as Baishakhi said, there exist multiple realities in Kolkata. See, if these men get mad about a banana peel, they must be furious when they see people throwing empty bottles, wrappers, napkins onto the ground. But no, I think it is more likely that they are defensive about the city they love while choosing to accept a reality that doesn’t necessitate them coming face to face with its shortcomings. Here this men are, safe inside their fancy car, seemingly oblivious to the squalor around them. Yet, when they see impostors defacing their beloved home, they become frustrated. Yes, it is a double standard. It is ok for their countrymen to add to the collective clutter that exists, but to see an outsider disrespecting this precarious balance is unacceptable.

And I actually understand. I don’t think the name calling, the scolding, the screaming was warranted. It feel guilty and ashamed, but rightfully so. Despite the fact that we are almost six weeks into our eight week engagement, we are still the outsiders. The city has been so welcoming overall - today was the first time I felt ostracized and criticized. But the issue is so much bigger than the banana peel. It is the impression of Americans, of other white people, coming to India “to save it from itself” as an Indian friend of mine jokingly put it. There is resentment toward people who intrude with the idea that they are going to make the country a “better place.” Because who defines better? At home we do things one way, people here do things another. There is no right and wrong - there is maybe easier and more difficult, but it can go either way. This morning’s incident was a definite and difficult reminder that we are not going to make huge changes in any way in eight weeks. We are transient, we will be forgotten by those we have made good impressions on and those we have made bad impressions on.

To contrast the banana incident, while walking to the famed Indian Coffee House in older, poorer North Calcutta, I was approached by a dark bearded middle-aged man in decorative traditional clothing. “From which country you are?” he asked, to which I replied “U.S.” He beamed, and shook my hand. “Thank you, thank you,” he said earnestly, beaming. I was no less confused than I was by what happened this morning. Neither the men in the nice car nor the kind man on the sidewalk know why I am here, what my goals are for these two months. They don’t know that I am deeply in love with my nine sweet children at Manovikas, that I am in a constant state of awe of the city. That, while I dream of home food more often than not, the thought of leaving here makes me cringe. I did not set out to save the world, I did not come here to act “holier than thou” and preach the ways of America. I do not deserve belittling, but neither do I deserve praise. I am just a 20-year-old trying to do something that will mean something to those I’m doing it for, trying to learn something new, trying to feel something different. And in those respects, I am succeeding.

That is much longer than I intended, but I knew blogging would help me sort all of this out. Believe it or not, the day continues in a strange manner.

Class began as normal, although I was feeling a little shaken by the cab confrontation. About 20 minutes in we went to the large multi-purpose room for physical activity. My kids are running/being carried around and we’re all having great fun, when I see something dart across the room. I turn and look, and a white kitten splotched with brown and gold is running around, being chased toward the door by some of the men who work at Manovikas. The kitten shelters himself under a table, and one of the men swings his leg back as if to kick the cat. I bolt over to stop this, startling the cat out into the hallway. It stops behind a shoe rack, and I sit down, tapping my fingers on the floor. Slowly, it makes its way into my lap. Skin and bones, I can hold it in one hand. I pull it toward myself and bring it into my classroom to see about getting it food and water - Sagarika is a renowned animal lover. She sends me to the back room where I sit with the frantically meowing kitten as Nyan (another volunteer) and I try to figure something out. She calls her mom, who says no Nyan cannot bring this cat home. So she calls her driver and asks him to bring milk. We now have two hours to kill until the driver arrives. I take the cat to Jason’s classroom, where his teacher tries to feed it a biscuit and water. The kitten won’t eat, and will only drink water off of my fingertip. We shut the door and I put it down to let it run around, but it snuggles into my lap. Dawww.

I go back to my classroom and sit with the kitten in my lap until class is over. The moms look on in various states of amusement, adoration, and disapproval. Binayak’s mom is wide-eyed and skeptical. Digonto’s mom brings Digonto over to pet it. Sagarika finds us milk and names the kitten, a girl, Ramisha. After class I take her to Jamie’s classroom, as her teacher’s husband works with animals. We find milk and get Ramisha to drink some, and decide that ultimately the best thing to do is to take her back outside in the hopes that she’ll find her mom. So I take the kitten to the grassy lawn beside Manovikas and watch as all the moms sitting outside laugh and reach to pet the small animal.

The day continues uneventfully, and I am generally useless in the back room as Sagarika has a particularly stubborn one-on-one and my head starts to pound. I make my way into the classroom under the two ceiling fans and sink into the beanbag chair, my head against the wall, willing the headache to pass, when all of a sudden Ramisha darts by my feet. The moms obviously do not want a stray kitten around their children, and I run and pick up the cat. By this time, Nyan’s driver has arrived with the milk, so Jointi and I pour the milk and watch as Ramisha hungrily laps it out of the plastic bowl. Now that classes are ending, all of the teachers come in to see - like the moms, some are amused and some are disgusted, while some, namely Brad’s teacher Joiti, are terrified. Every time I set Ramisha down, she crawls back into my lap. Jointi laughs, and points at me and the cat. “Friend,” she says. Then Dr. Chatterjee, our supervisor, comes in and sees us. A strict and serious woman, she commands the cat out, as expected. So, I sadly take the little kitty out, this time putting her outside the gates of Manovikas.

Today continued to be strange, but not in such an extreme way, as the Future Hope kids - Dom, Julie, Gracie, and Evan - are spending two nights in a village on holiday with Dom’s and Gracie’s boys. Dinner was just the six of us, and it feels strange to have our family split up. It’s an unpleasant taste of what’s to come - we have 17 days left in India.

More Pictures from Manovikas!

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 21:39:00 +0530

Samarpan and his mom

Ibrahim and his mom

Dance class at Manovikas

One of Hannah Colton’s sweet lil bebs

Hannah Colton and Arjun

Ann and her little Miti

Brad and Mitual cheesin’

Hannah Colton and Arjun

Me and Dipen - right before he bit me

Pictures from Manovikas!

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 21:25:23 +0530

Samarpan

Ibrahim and his sweet mom

Diganta and his mom, who can’t be more than 25

Sagnik

Dipen

Sagnik and his mom “crayoning”

Dipen and one of the house ma’s

Riya and her house ma

Mitula and her house ma

Diganta and his mom

Even More Pictures from Month One (Exploring Kolkata, Future Hope Rugby Game)

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 20:05:42 +0530

Park Street Cemetery

Exploring our neighborhood on the afternoon of the Rath festival

City street in our neighborhood

Colorful neighborhood street

Neighborhood mini-rath

Home Sweet Guest House

The Future Hope Girls + The Hannahs with three of the FH kids at a Future Hope rugby game

Me with the youngest of the FH girls

Hannah Colton with two of the FH kids at the rugby game

More Pictures from Month One (The Rest of New Delhi, Murshidabad Day Trip)

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 18:57:45 +0530

Julie, Dom, and me cheesin’ at the Taj

Agra Fort

Inside Agra Fort

Ba’hai Lotus Temple in New Delhi

Old Mosque in Murshidabad

Marble Palace in Murshidabad - the Nawab ruler lived here until the 1970s. We got to meet him!

Wild monkeys in a cemetery in Murshidabad

Sunset over another mosque in Murshidabad

Third mosque of the day

Twilight in Murshidabad

A Different Kind of Hard Day

Tue, 19 Jul 2011 14:26:30 +0530

I had a really hard day at work last Monday. My days are usually so enjoyable, but this one was an exception. At the beginning of our fourth week in the city, I was beginning to feel the strains of the pollution, the language barrier, the intense longing for something not unlike a bacon cheeseburger in my stomach.

I arrived at work considerably more sleepy than usual. During activity time, I had a hard time getting the kids to pay attention. The moms, in their attempts to communicate with me, usually pat or jab me to get my attention, and that day seemed like classroom-wide “try to talk to Hannah Aunty” day (read: jabs left and right, followed by unintelligible Bengali and wide-eyed queries for understanding). One of the moms thrust her writhing, wailing child upon me so I could take him to dance class - I guess she’d had enough. So I sat through dance with the squirming, flailing child in and out of my lap until his mom rescued me. Upon our return to the classroom for Tiffin time (snack), another boy promptly projectile vomited across the classroom.

Days like last Monday are exhausting and frustrating. Why am I here? scrolls across the marquee in my head. My struggles have started to revisit me every few days: Am I really helping? Do the children even know who I am? Will they remember me once I’m gone? I love their sweet dispositions, their joyful faces, and from them I am learning so much. But I didn’t want to do DukeEngage for myself. I wanted to do it for them.

- - -

Last Friday, Sagarika (the teacher at Manovikas whom I shadow - we have gotten quite close) seemed very distracted. Class was carried out as usual, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. When I asked her after class, she told me that her father had been admitted to the ICU with chest pain the previous evening, and she would get a call at noon with the diagnosis. She anxiously turned her cell phone around and over in her hands, and jumped when she got the call a little after 12:00. She came back in, smiling weakly, and told us that it was not a heart problem, thank goodness, but an infection in his lungs, like pneumonia.

Sagarika left the room and I made her father a card saying “Get Well Soon” on the front and “Uncle, Get Well Soon” in Bengali inside. Hannah Colton, Ann, Brad and Jason signed it, as well as a couple of other teachers and one of the vocational students. We presented it to Sagarika, who smiled as tears welled up in her eyes. I hugged her, and she thanked us.

- - -

Yesterday Sagarika told me that her whole family saw the card and had deemed it very thoughtful. I told her I was glad, and asked about her father. She said the he was doing better. I asked if she was relieved, and she nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

- - -

Today I arrived a little before 9:30, as I usually do. While waiting for Sagarika, Joiti, one of the other teachers, brought me the news. “Sagarika’s father has expired,” she said softly. I am swallowed by concern and deep sadness. An only child, Sagarika is close with her whole family. I can’t even imagine what she is going through, and my heart is breaking for her.

The classroom was in disarray today. Another teacher, Momiti, combined her special Early Intervention class with ours, and the disruption was not lost on my kids. Diganta shied into his mom’s lap when Momiti extended her arm for a handshake. Sagnik looked at Momiti skeptically through his little red glasses. Activity time was high stress, with Sagnik throwing objects around and Binayak distracted by the newcomers. Tiffin time resulted in Diganta trying to grab noodles from Binayak, and Mitula trying to eat someone else’s spilt chips off the floor.

And it was today, amidst the madness, that I was reassured that I am doing something good here. Routine is everything to these kids. While none of them were able to express it verbally, they were just as distraught by Sagarika’s absence as I was. But instead of having to come into a classroom and see only a strange (and presumably intimidating) teacher, I was able to be there. Sagnik came right up to me to play our hand game, like he does every day. Diganta approached me to shake my hand, smiling. Binayak did his little dance when I said hello, grinning Mitula and smirking Dipen each offered me some of their Tiffin (albeit at the urging of their house ma’s). Riya reached up and put her hands on my head, which has become her greeting to me. I am trying to think back to my first day at work, and I am certain that none of these children greeted me of their own accord. By my fourth week at Manovikas, I have become familiar to them. They surely can’t comprehend why I am there, can’t fathom what Sagarika is going through, but they do know me, and at some level I know they know that I care about them.

- - -

Please send your thoughts and prayers to Sagarika’s family.

My Thoughts on Being a Gori

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 23:51:00 +0530

We often will see people taking our pictures from some distance away. While it was something I found mildly annoying at first, Ann taught me a tactic that turns it into a laugh for all parties involved. When I notice someone with their camera phone aimed in my direction, I simply whip out my camera and take a picture of them, too. They laugh, I laugh, and they either put their camera away or we take pictures of each other.

However, something that will never stop being weird is people asking you to take a picture with their children.

It is a phenomenon that is strange and even oddly flattering at first. And at first, it’s fun to smile and hug very, very cute Indian kids while their parents take your picture. But after the silliness wears off, you start to feel somewhat like a costumed character at a theme park. Not just parents of children will ask you, but awkward men, shy young women, and old matrons will ask too. And the issue isn’t that it’s annoying, although it may get tiresome. The issue is the psychology beneath their desire for a picture of you, which Baishakhi had to explain to us.

For some people, especially the younger ones, we are a spectacle. I get that, although I feel like (/hope that?) etiquette in America would keep people from thrusting their child at someone who looked different and dressed strangely. For the older people, though, the idea of white superiority still resonates. We see it on television in the commercials for “skin lightening” soap, lotion, cloths, cream. We see it in the fair-skinned Bollywood stars. I see it at work when, at least once a week, one of the teachers or moms comments on how nice my complexion is, how I look good in any color because I am so fair - when the reality is that I spend time and money trying to make my skin darker (#irony).

So a child coming up to me and asking me to take a picture of us on my camera is completely understandable. I look funny and they don’t know any better. A parent asking to take a picture of me and their child with their camera is slightly weirder… Are you going to frame this? (You don’t even know me!) Young women asking for a picture with me on their cameras is the most rare, and fun because I can relate to them and because they are so shy, but still weird… Again, what are your plans for this picture? Young men asking for a picture with me on their cameras is, without a doubt, the most awkward. I can’t really relate to you, especially when you’re obviously 30-something, and I don’t even want to know what you’re going to do with this picture. (Zaara said something that stuck with me about men making up stories and showing the picture to their friends…great.) But older women and men asking for a picture is sad. The older generations are the ones that ask for a picture then thank us profusely. And I know that for them, I am neither a spectacle, a new friend, or an object of desire. I am a white person.

The slang term for a white girl is “gori.” Being a gori in India is no longer the uncomfortable experience that it was at first - there was quite the learning curve. As soon as we stepped off the plane we were stared at from all sides. Places like the airport, however, are where we get the least stares. Any major place in the city has seen its share of gori, with the other notable places being the two malls we have visited. The city streets, however, are a different experience entirely. We are stared at by wide-eyed children, skeptical adults, hungry beggars, and everything in between. The staring tends to occur in a greater scale at landmarks, presumably because some of the Indian people there are visiting from more rural areas, and was the most apparent in Agra, where we were approached at least 30 times and asked for pictures (and someone asked Dom for her autograph?). We get stared at when we’re in cabs or on the metro, and we get stared at in restaurants. By week five, I notice it less, and it no longer phases me.

The most frustrating of the phenomena is the immediate attention and reverence we sometimes receive at restaurants and stores. When dining at Flury’s with Hannah Colton last week, we were given two waiters, and both the chef and the manager came out to ask about the quality of our meal and our visit. Of course it was nice to get such great service, but it was marred by the knowledge that we got it because we are white. None of the tables of Indian customers were given such service. When shopping at the mall two weekends ago, the six of us went into a department store. At every turn, an attendant was asking me whether I needed a different size, a different color, would I like it off the hanger, would I like it on the hanger, would I like in a box with a fox… You get the idea. Again, annoying because the good service is not due to the friendliness of the staff but to our white skin. While I’m not ungrateful, this treatment makes it impossible to forget the fact that I’m a foreigner. I don’t want special treatment, and I wish the type of thinking that holds us higher didn’t exist.

Naturally, being foreign and usually traveling in a large group, we are also a target for beggars and scams. Taxi and autorick drivers double their prices, street vendors raise them exponentially. Pickpockets don’t seem to be an issue here, which is nice, but there are more homeless people than I’ve ever seen. It is not out of the ordinary to see a mom and two children settled down for the night on a sheet spread out on the sidewalk. Not all of the homeless beg, though, but we are often approached by half-naked children grinning and yelling “Aunty! Aunty!” with their hands cupped in front of them. And we have to say “naa,” because the reality is that giving money to a child will help neither me nor him. It is a hard truth, but giving money to one child only means that the nearby children will learn of your generosity and expect the same. In writing, that sounds like a weak argument, but in practice, it’s the only way to navigate crowds and get anywhere. Saying no does not ever get easier but usually the children just run off smiling and laughing.

Sometimes children approach us not to ask for money but just to shake our hands and say hello. It is something that is cute and mind-boggling and funny all at once. I visited Future Hope today, and when the cab dropped us off at home, we were greeted by about twenty kids from the neighborhood. Each of them had stuck their right hand into a giant pile of sand by our house (the roads are being repaved) and offered it to us with a “Hello Aunty!” We shook all their hands, laughing at their prank, and they all laughed and smiled and shouted. A month in, and we’re no longer the outsiders. We are neighbors.

Pictures from Month One (First Glimpses of Kolkata, Trip to New Delhi)

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 22:40:00 +0530

I have been a slacker about uploading pictures, mainly because our internet is glitchy and extremely slow when it’s actually working (which is about 50% of the time). I took a ton of pictures during the first two weeks since we were sightseeing in Kolkata and traveling around the rest of the country, but I’ve slowed down since then. Anyways, here are some photos from the first month.

Calcutta Lake, about three blocks from our guest house

Bow Barracks, now and Indo-European neighborhood, wereat one time army barracks for the British. The communal bathhouse is the building in the middle; the black wall is used for scorekeeping during street games.

City street in Kolkata, seen on our walking tour

Another Kolkata streetview

First view of the Taj Mahal, during our day tripto Agra from New Delhi

To be continued…

A Love Affair - Reflections on One Month in India

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 14:47:00 +0530

Today marks one month that I have been in Kolkata. I have definitely said it before, but I have to reiterate: I am smitten with this city. There seems to be no better word for how quickly and deeply I’ve become attached to the little intricacies and non sequiturs that are definitive of and unique to Kolkata.

That’s not to say that being here is without difficulties. My biggest (and really, my only) gripe is the food. Anyone who knows me knows that I love food, but I often joke about having the tastes of a five-year-old. The month I’ve spent here so far has proved this completely true. The only meals I have truly enjoyed have been the “Western” meals I’ve had: the buffet at the Consulate party, the pancakes at brunch the morning after, and the omelet with crispy bacon I got at Flury’s last weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I really do enjoy trying all the new foods. Having a meal at Baishakhi’s house was really cool, as was the tea we had at the Agarwals’. I have discovered new foods that are 100% tolerable, but even the more mild foods set my mouth uncomfortably ablaze. Suffice it to say I will not be craving channa or a chicken roll upon returning to the states. Unfortunately, this lack of any real pleasure on the food front has only led to complete reliance on carbs: butter on toast for breakfast, rice and daal for lunch, naan with peanut butter and nutella for dinner. And if I need a snack? Salty carb-y treats from Spencer’s (the grocery store). With this in mind, the bit of weight I’ve gained does not seem so mysterious, but it’s no less annoying.

Anyways, I never wanted my DukeEngage experience to be restricted to the two months I spent in India, and it is already becoming apparent that, upon returning home, it will impact me every day. In some ways it will make me more appreciative of the many things I have taken for granted. Something I have become adamant about is that I never again want to turn on a tap, drink the water or brush my teeth, and feel ungrateful. Cold water is a rarity here. And because of our weak American stomachs, ice is not an option. So every time I’m thirsty (read: all the time), I have to drink from a water bottle that I have to buy. It’s amazing how many things that we take for granted are luxuries. Being in India makes my life at home, the things I do and think about on a daily basis, seem ridiculous. Fashion blogging? Watching “Say Yes to the Dress”? These things seem trivial and frivolous in the face of the things I see and do here every day.

A month in, blogging has become hard (note the two week hiatus…my bad). India is no longer a country of daily excitement and ground-breaking revelations, but neither has it become mundane. It’s true, I am across the world from any place I’ve ever called home, but I have reached the point in my journey where this is home, too. I can successfully navigate the city using public transportation, I can buy groceries, I know my way around our neighborhood. It is this general ease of life that is the culprit. As it carries me from day to day, this routine and comfort has taken from me the surprise and shock I felt while getting accustomed to India’s quirky realities and hard-to-swallow truths, but it has replaced these feelings with something more visceral. My relationship with this country, with this incredible city, has moved past superficial and now resonates at gut-level. I am no longer a tourist. India has gotten under my skin.

Ten Duke students spend two months in India. Four work at one...

Mon, 04 Jul 2011 21:58:34 +0530

Ten Duke students spend two months in India. Four work at one NGO, six work at another. Which one is most likely to get lice?

Trick question. NINE of us have lice.

Happy Fourth of Ju-LICE!

Monday Morning Oranges (As in, the Opposite of Monday Morning Blues)

Mon, 04 Jul 2011 15:42:00 +0530

I LOVE MONDAYS. This is a recent development, and probably won’t outlast my time in India. But while I’m here, Monday mornings mean I finally get to see my kids after two whole days of missing them. Yes, after only one week, I am completely smitten with the nine children - seven boys, two girls - in my Early Intervention class. The only complaint that I have about the class is that it’s too short! An hour and a half doesn’t feel like enough time for me, but I’m sure it’s plenty long enough for the mothers who take each morning to sit in class with their kids.

Another great thing about Mondays is how rejuvenated everyone seems. We all talk and ask about each others’ weekends. Talk is a loose term, which usually means I a) listen to the teachers and moms speak in Bengali and understand nothing, b) listen to the teachers and moms speak in Bengali and can pick out words like “yes”/”no”/”do” and pretend to understand, or c) answer questions about my weekend, including, but not limited to, where I went, if I was near (insert place in Kolkata that I have never heard of), if I ate fish, if I ate chicken, if I ate prawns, if I ate pasta, if I ate pizza, if I ate ice cream, what I had for breakfast, what I had for dinner… Clearly food is common ground for everyone. Lucky for me, when the conversations go completely over my head (which is often), Sagarika-di clues me in.

Mondays are also art days - we usually do a cut-and-paste activity. My kids enjoy this because they get to stick their little fingers in a little plate of glue, which is supposed to make it onto the back of colored shapes to be stuck onto their pages but usually just gets glue all over their desks. With the help of their moms, Sagarika-di, and me today we created a carriage out of squares, circles, and triangles.

Another reason to love Mondays? Dance class! While my kids aren’t really dancers, it is fun to see the kids in Hannah Colton’s, Jamie’s, and Ann’s classes dancing, and I enjoy sitting with my kids and “dancing” with them too.

—-

We had our first Bengali lesson on Friday, and since there wasn’t much to do after class today, we spent the second half of the morning practicing our sounds and writing with the help of some of the teachers at Manovikas. I am adding to my vocabulary - which has reached approximately 10 words - and can now write my name! Bengali is tricky - you don’t necessarily write the letters in a word in the order that you say them (for example, the “e” in “henna” is written before the “h”), and vowels are written in shorthand when they are not by themselves. Anyways, here’s my name (Ithink!):

—-

This weekend was our first full weekend in the city and we certainly made the most of it. Friday night all of us, including Baishakhi and Zaara, attended the U.S. Consulate’s July 4th party. It was so much fun, and definitely one of those (pretty rare) times when I forget I’m in India. There was a ballroom with live music and a bar, and then another huge room with food stations: Indian (which I did not visit), Chinese (dim sum!), Italian (gnocchi!), and Latin American (GUESS WHO GOT A QUESADILLA!). There was also a huge dessert bar, and all twelve of us ate ourselves silly. We came home and played a rousing round of taboo before calling it a night.

Saturday we got up at 10:00 (ouch) and headed to Mythh for brunch. Toast, assorted pastries, Coke, bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup were the perfect cures for my grogginess, and once full we headed to New Market. New Market is the world’s oldest “shopping mall,” dating back to the 19th century. As such, it is very crowded, very hot, and very smelly. I bought a Ganesh ring (Hindu god of intelligence) at a silver shop, but the rest of New Market will have to be conquered another day as we were all feeling a bit shleepy. We spent the rest of Saturday hanging out at Transit House playing games as a big happy family.

Sunday morning I washed about 2/3 of my laundry by hand. While we have the option of paying for our laundry to be washed, dried, and ironed for us, it is an extra expense that I am trying to avoid, sooo I filled buckets with water and detergent, rinsed out my darks and lights, and put them each into a bucket to soak. Everything went smoothy until it came time to rinse out my clothes and hang them up, at which point it became very apparent that our bathroom was not designed to be a clothesline. Every surface in our bathroom and our little foyer area was consequently covered in dripping clothes and the floor quickly turned into a mini-lake. Oops.

Sunday afternoon the Manovikas gang and Zaara lunched at the mall. Our 5:00 PM Transformers was sold out, so we bought tickets for 7:50 and somehow managed to kill like six hours. Transformers was awesome of course, and we got home just in time for me to catch the end of The Prestige with the Future Hope gang and get to bed.

Good Fun: Park Street, Manovikas, Food Dreams

Thu, 30 Jun 2011 16:44:00 +0530

My love affair with the city officially began on Sunday when the Manovikas gang went to Park Street to enjoy our day off. Because we spent the first week traveling and then started work the morning after returning, Sunday was our first real chance to get a taste of Kolkata/Calcutta (the two are used relatively interchangeably). We braved the surprisingly clean and safe underground metro and made it to Park Street in one piece. We ate lunch and then walked until we found the Park Street Cemetery. Although we have heard nothing but its praises from anyone who brings it up, there was no way I could have imagined what lay behind the tall brick and plaster wall.

The cemetery is cool and quiet in the middle of the sprawling madness that is Calcutta. Rows and rows of oversized monuments to British men, women and children reach upward toward the canopy of thick, leafy trees that blankets the site. Only in the close proximity of the graves to one another is it evident that one is still in chaotic, modern-day India - otherwise, the misty air and stone columns allude to colonization and the past.

- - -

I love working at Manovikas more every day. The teacher I am working with, Sagarika, is letting me do more and more in the classroom. Today we began with our customary greetings and nursery rhymes. Samurpan shook my hand and said hello to me this morning, which is a first — usually he has trouble greeting and answering questions because he takes a while to process what is being asked of him. Another boy, Binayak, got into the middle of our circle, hiked up his shorts, and started dancing (bobbing up and down and side to side). He is so funny, the moms and I were cracking up. I dropped the kids off at the multisensory classroom and while they were there, I got to help Momito, another teacher, with special one-on-one classes. These are for children whose disabilities are deemed “severe.” The two kids I worked with showed hardly any signs of attention or perception, but we colored and did block and peg activities while the moms taught me Bengali words. “Anarush” is pineapple, “khola” is banana, “gol” is circle, “bhalo achi” means I am good, “am” is mango, “chatta” is umbrella… I am learning a lot but so ready for Bengali classes to start tomorrow so I can at least attempt to keep up with what the teachers talk about during breaks.

After those one-on-ones, my class came back and was joined by another class for music time. A man and one of the older students came in and played the drums while the man sang. Most of my kids’ mothers or “ma”s (what the children from the orphanage call their guardians) moved them to the beat, but Binayak danced around, shaking a tambourine. So cute!

- - -

Disclaimer: I am always well fed. I am never hungry, which makes me feel extremely lucky, especially when faced with the skin-and-bones children we see on the main streets.

However, I have had the following image in my head all day. Tallahassee friends, please go eat a chicken quesadilla at Morelia’s and think of me?

Little Moments

Wed, 29 Jun 2011 15:00:29 +0530

This happened yesterday but was worth its own post, rather than being lumped inside of my job description.

After almost all of my kids had left, I sat down in front of Ibrahim, a little boy who I think has Down’s Syndrome. Often smiling, usually attentive, Ibrahim was sitting behind his little desk impassively. In my attempts to drag a smile out of him, I put my hands over my eyes to play peek-a-boo. I did this twice, but no smile. Just a blank stare. I put my hands over his eyes, and did peek-a-boo twice. Still no smile, still a blank stare. So I gave up and just started talking to him (even though I am 90% sure he understood nothing of what I was saying).

I had been babbling for a couple minutes to the same unamused stare, when he reached out and grabbed my wrists. He put my hands over my eyes. He wanted to play peek-a-boo.

First Days at Manovikas Kendra

Tue, 28 Jun 2011 16:59:29 +0530

Translated literally, it means “Center for Expansion of the Mind.” MRIH, its acronym, stands for Manovikas Kendra Rehabilitation and Research Institute for the Handicapped. This is the NGO for which I will be working during the next two months. My first four days of work have shown me what an amazing and dynamic place Manovikas is, and I already feel incredibly lucky to have been given the chance to work here.

Manovikas is a multi-dimensional center for those with disabilities. It has five branches:

a school for kids with special needs, which also offers one-on-one classes
an outpatient center, which provides diagnostic services
a rehabilitation clinic for all ages, one branch of which is a hydrotherapy room
a vocational school, for kids deemed “trainable” rather than “teachable.” These students produce crafts of various types - from fabric to food - and are given a stipend at the end of each month
a biomedical research center.

Our group leaves for work at 9:00 and usually arrives just before 9:30 - although Manovikas isn’t far, traffic in this city is insane. On our first day, our director Dr. Chatterjee randomly placed each of us in a classroom, with the idea that, if we like it there, we can spend the next two months helping out in that specific class. All of the classrooms are, of course, special needs oriented, but some are broken down by area and/or age group.

I was placed in the Early Intervention classroom, which is for kids up to 6 years old who have not mastered the skills necessary to be in a typical classroom setting. Each child comes with their mother or, in the cases of my three children who live in an orphanage, a female guardian. Because of its basic nature, the class sees a range of disabilities. While some of my kids have (very limited) speech capabilities, others have literally no attention span. Some can clap and offer their hand for shaking, others still need help with grasping and sitting. While all of them are probably in the 3-5 range, developmentally they are behind in varying degrees.

We begin class by greeting each other with handshakes - hand-eye coordination is a large part of what we focus on - and singing rhymes. Each day is then devoted to a different skill. One day we focused on coloring and cut/pasting, another day we threw and caught balls, today we did puzzles. We also have a special activity each day: Mondays are dance, Tuesdays are physical activity, Wednesdays are academics, Thursdays are music…and I’m not sure about Fridays. Dance yesterday was really fun, despite its rocky start (a kid from one of the other classes vommed on the dance floor). Because my kids can’t follow along with all the motions on their own, my role yesterday was to stand behind one of my kids, Samurpan, supporting him. I held his arms and together we did the motions. Physical activity today was a lot of stretching and running around/walking around with support, which all the kids seemed to enjoy. Each class ends with “Tiffin time.” The phrase is apparently a relic from the British occupation, and is like lunch time but with food brought from home as opposed to purchased in a cafeteria. Many of my kids are still learning to feed themselves - again with the hand-eye coordination.

After we say bye, I have a break and then I help out with one-on-one sessions. My role in these is less concrete - sometimes I simply observe as the teacher works on attention-centered activities and hand-eye coordination skills, other times I am allowed to do activities with the kid. The one-on-one sessions are still Early Intervention. While some of the kids seem like they would fit in in my classroom, others seem to have more severe problems.

As a group, the six of us DukeEngagers eat lunch at 1:00, then head back to Transit House at 1:30. For the rest of the afternoon, we work on the research projects given to us by Dr. Chatterjee. We are in charge of completing two manuals for teachers and parents. One will focus on teaching communication skills to kids with autism and other disabilities that involve communicative problems, the other on teaching reading-writing skills to kids with dyslexia. We also are to write a grant proposal for another school like Manovikas, minus the rehabilitation clinic and biomedical research center.

My four days at Manovikas have made it apparent that the next two months will definitely be challenging. Besides the research, my goals are more abstract, in that I am seeking to help out in the classrooms however I can. I know that teaching kids involves building relationships, but right now, my biggest internal question is this - how am I going to build relationships with kids who don’t even seem to know what’s going on? For now, I am focusing not on what I can teach them in these next eight weeks but on what they have already taught me. I have never met a group of kids so genuinely and purely joyful. Mitula, one of my three from the orphanage, came right up to me on the first day to say hello and plopped herself into my lap. I have yet to see Dogonti, the smallest of my boys, without a smile on his face. Despite his apparent difficulties with speech, I have seen a smiling Samurpan call Shopnil, the boy he always sits beside, “bhai,” meaning “brother.” In the face of obstacles that are, for many of these children, insurmountable, they laugh. They sing (sort of). In their own little ways, they dance. They smile.

Week One: A Summary

Fri, 24 Jun 2011 22:26:00 +0530

Hallo readers!

My apologies for disappearing off the map. Our first week in Kolkata has been one of much exploration and little sleep. I am attempting to keep a comprehensive log of my time with a combination of a personal journal and thorough photo-journaling, so I will just try to anecdotally give y’all a spicy little taste of India (hehe). And as always, follow all ten of us here.

We arrived in Kolkata amidst dark skies and pouring rain. Monsooning is, in this sense, literal, as the monsoon arrived the day before we did. The monsoon is the rainy summer season that is due to a change in atmospheric circulation. Technical definition aside, each day has brought us a varying degree of torrential downpour and sometimes the accompanying sideways wind. So our arrival was a wet one, and we were driven through a flash flood en route to our guest house.

We arrived at Transit House and settled into our rooms, taking the afternoon to rest and get situated, then headed to Park Street for Julie’s birthday dinner at Petercat. I am trying to be bold about the spicy food but have found it to be more of a gradual process. After dinner we ran through the rain to Flury’s for dessert, then walked around the luxurious Park Hotel. That night, Dom and I made an effort to unpack and organize. Our room (“the green room”) feels really home-y :). My bed is on the right, Dom’s is on the left.

We used the first part of Saturday morning to get an idea of our neighborhood, then went to St. Edward’s church, which is the oldest church in Kolkata. The mauseoleum of Job Charnock, the British founder of Calcutta, is there. Incidentally, while at the mausoleum, I slipped and fell. The picture says it all.

We then went to lunch at this delicious chicken roll place in New Market. Chicken rolls here are not small like they are at Chinese restaurants. Rather, they are a sort of chicken-, veggie-, and spice-filled “snack wrap,” as Dom has pretty accurately described them. Nom. We also went to the travel agency to exchange money, then to the mall to buy groceries.

Sunday morning we toured the city with Calcutta Walks, which I wrote about on our group blog here. The most striking aspect of the tour was the proximity of the different houses of worship to one another. An Armenian church was near a Zoroastrian church which was near a Buddhist temple by a synagogue…you get the idea. Below is the gang on top of one of the city’s three synagogues.

We spent the afternoon touring the Marble Palace, which is something I will eventually have to dedicate an entire post to. For now, peruse the lacking Wikipedia page if you must. After taking a quick rest, we went to the Victoria Memorial - a simultaneous symbol of Kolkata’s pride and shame - and then St. Paul’s church. Both were beautiful, but the best part of the evening was visiting the Missionaries of Charity Mother House, where Mother Teresa lived until her death. It was one of the more moving and perspective-offering experiences of my life, one that I will certainly keep within me during my time serving here.

Monday morning took us to Tata Medical Center, the city’s newest hospital, whose intellectual development is being funded in part by Duke. Focusing on cancer and cancer research, the idea is to subsidize cancer care to make it available to all. After our visit to the hospital, we left for New Delhi. We arrived pretty late, and got a few hours of sleep before getting on the bus for Agra. We spent the day in Agra touring the Taj Mahal, which speaks for itself, and Agra Fort, where Shajahan was imprisoned after the Taj’s completion.

We got back to our hotel late again, and then spent Wednesday morning doing a crash tour of New Delhi. We walked through alleyways to visit a shrine that is hundreds of years old, and also saw a mosque and the Bahai Lotus Temple. The day was HOT, and we were all glad to end it with retail therapy at Dilli Haat, New Delhi’s famed market.

So that concludes Friday - Wednesday. Thursday was my first day at work. I’ll cover that in my next post!

See ya, America

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 07:24:27 +0530

After a LONG trip - and I’m only halfway there - I am about to board my flight to Dubai. It’s all hitting me for real now. I am leaving the U.S. in an hour for two months, going the furthest from home I’ve ever been, doing so many things I’ve never done. So many jitters — the excited kind!

my dinky plane to ft. laud… yes, i was mildly terrified

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 06:20:43 +0530

my dinky plane to ft. laud… yes, i was mildly terrified

And We're Off! (Almost)

Tue, 14 Jun 2011 09:01:00 +0530

Since I leave tomorrow (WHAT), I figured it’s finally time for me to start this blog. This will be my personal blog, as a supplement to our group blog (website here), and I will try to update this more frequently.

For those of y’all who don’t know, I was accepted in December to travel to India this summer through a program called DukeEngage. The program was started at Duke few years ago thanks to grant money from Bill and Melinda Gates, and provides students with eight-week, intensive service partnerships both in the U.S. and internationally.

I decided to apply for the Kolkata program because both of the community partners focus on working with children. Most people know I have always had a passion for working with kids; I have volunteered/worked with them every summer since I was 14. One of our community partners is an orphanage and school for street children called Future Hope (website here). I will be working with the other community partner, Manovikas Kendra, which is a school and research facility for people with disabilities (website here). As of right now, I have little to no idea as to what I will be doing on a day to day basis at Manovikas, but I am ready and willing to help out in whatever capacity I am able.

Starting tomorrow afternoon, I have a full 48 hours of traveling ahead of me before I get to India. I can’t say that I’m excited about all those flights and layovers, but I did buy a Kindle and I now have a working iPod so hopefully those will keep me entertained.

leave Tallahassee 5:30 PM Tuesday
arrive in Ft. Lauderdale 7:10 PM Tuesday
spend the night in Ft. Lauderdale
leave Ft. Lauderdale 6:00 AM Wednesday
arrive in NYC 8:45 AM Wednesday
leave NYC 11:00 PM Wednesday
arrive in Dubai 7:45 PM Thursday
leave Dubai 2:00 AM Friday
(finally) arrive in Kolkata 8:15 AM Friday

In case you were wondering about the time difference, Kolkata is 10.5 hours ahead of home (EST), so 8:15 AM Kolkata-time on Friday will be (and feel like) 9:45 PM Thursday night in Tallahassee. Crazy!