The Dog Days Are Over

New sarees!

After a fantastic month in the U.S., visiting friends and family, I am back in India.  Hopefully my visa issues are over and I won’t be deported any time soon.  When I left India, it was 115 degrees every day.  It was so hot that you would still sweat in the shower.  The mosquitoes grew in size daily.  However, while I was gone, winter in India arrived.  Those hot sultry days are gone.  And the “cold” season in India brings with it a lot of changes and a few surprises.

My evening run...sunset

Moments after I arrived in Bombay, I realized things had changed when I saw several men walking around outside the airport, selling earmuffs and ski masks. These salesmen were scattered everywhere when I exited the airport and walked out into sunny, 80 degree Bombay.  Indians were covered from head to toe in winter-wear.  I suppose they are extremely acclimatized to hot temperatures so this is very cold for them.

After 2 flights, 3 trains, a car, a bus and a rickshaw, I arrived back in my village.  Seconds after I dropped my bags in my house, countless neighbours came over to greet me.  “Emilyben, how was your Mommy and Daddy? What did you eat? We missed you! There’s a leopard loose in the village and it has eaten 5 people already!” They proceeded to formally warn me to no longer run my usual route after 6:00 pm because apparently that’s where the leopard has been prowling.  Every night, when I leave for my run, everyone shouts to me in Hindi to be careful and not get eaten.

Snow in a Can!

Merry Christmas Madhi!

Life at school is the same, only everyone’s wardrobes have changed.  Students sit in class in winter coats and gloves and teachers where decorative sweaters (perfect attire for Ugly Christmas sweater parties) over their sarees.  I am still asked for my autograph at least once a day, even though I have been for 7 months.  I am still asked what I ate for dinner the previous night and what I will eat on the given evening.  And everyone has commented on my pale skin (I lost my Indian tan).  Indians idolize pale skin and even apply skin bleaches, so I am quite the celebrity these days.

But my most favourite surprise upon returning to India was to find that it is badminton season here! As many of you know I am an avid player and supporter and once had dreams of going to the Olympics.  Each night, everyone comes out to play-men, women and children.  There are matches occurring up and down the streets between 8pm and 11 pm (apparently the leopard doesn’t hunt badminton players).  And the competitive matches are right in front of my house, so my porch acts as the bleachers for the advanced boys’ teams.  I play every night and only end when the birdie gets stuck on the roof.  Perhaps the 2012 Games are possible?

3 Santas.

Holiday spirit! 

Christmas in the village was interesting.  Since my village is 75 percent Hindu, 24.9 percent Muslim, people really don’t celebrate.  However, thanks to India’s comprehensive holiday schedule, Christmas is recognized as a public holiday, so I did not have school.  On the 24^th, I celebrated at school with my Spoken English class.  We had lots of tasty snacks, a cake which read, “MARRY CRIMAY” thanks to the fine writers at the bakery, and one student even brought “Snow in a Can.” It was really fun to see my students appreciate our American holiday.

Our cake

On Christmas day, Eric, Priya and I took a rickshaw to the next town and feasted on Indian nachos and pizza at our favourite multi-cuisine restaurant.  When we returned, we indulged in some Christmas movies on our laptops while sipping on some contraband mini bottles my family sent me in a care package.  I ended the holiday watching my niece and nephew open Christmas presents, via Skype.  All in all, it was a lovely, albeit mild Christmas holiday.

As the month and year come to a close, I am anxiously awaiting to see what 2011 has in store.  I will be starting my new year in Goa, the southern coast on the Arabian Sea.  I am flying down and spending a couple weeks relaxing on the beach, hiking some foothills and hopefully getting in a quick elephant ride before making my way back up to Gujarat for the International Kite Festival on January 14^th.  As with all of my travels in India so far, I am sure I’ll have some crazy stories to share. Happy New Year!

9 Crazy Nights

My most favourite festival in India, thus far has just ended. Navratri, the festival of nine nights was colourful, entertaining and so much fun. As many of you know, I am not the most coordinated dancer, except for my fabulous rendition of Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire. I am especially challenged when it comes to clapping and dancing, which is what Navratri is all about. My first night was rough. Feel free to watch the video below this post (titled Navratri: Night 1). But with a lot of hard work, sweat and serious determination, I got it down after several nights. Each song lasts 30-45 minutes.  It took me quite a few days to make it through an entire song.  Each night, there are between 5 and 10 songs, depending on the group.  Some of my friends would dance until 4 am each morning! In this post is the video from my last night of Navratri. You may think I look gigantic compared to the other dancers. This is not an illusion. I am a giant. At 5 feet, 9 inches, I tower over the majority of women and men in my village and in most of India, actually. My goal of blending in with the crowd was crushed on my first day here.

Navratri celebrates the Goddess Durga. Each October, for 10 days and 9 nights, everyone celebrates this festival, in various ways throughout India. In Gujarat, where I live, we begin each night with a prayer. Most Gujaratis fast all day and only eat after sunset during the nine days. After prayer, we eat prasad, a sugary sweet including too much sugar, coconut and popcorn. This served as my version of RedBull before the dancing began. Then, it's time to dance. The women start by gathering in a big circle around the alter for the goddess. Garba, the style of dancing in which Indians dance in a circle, clapping at intervals, starts slow (Thank God!) and slowly gets faster and faster. The men join in a little later and really speed things up. In bigger cities, professionals dance so fast you can barely focus your eyes!

Navratri: Night 9.  To see the video, click twice. It will take you to a new page. 

As you can see, I am not garba-perfect yet. But I am learning. I attended every night and had so much fun. My friends were forgiving of my mistakes and stepping on their toes and they really appreciated my efforts to participate in their cultural celebrations. Since Navratri ended, I have been secretly having dance parties in my house to keep up with my new moves. I'm willing to teach you if you're interested!

Navratri: Night 1

Night 1: Navratri.  I am learning. Slowly

Ayi Ayi Eye

Early last week, I woke up for school.  I fumbled for my phone to silence my alarm.  I stretched my arms and legs and lied in my bed for a few minutes, thinking about the upcoming day.  When I finally decided to open my eyes and begin a fresh day, I realized something was seriously wrong.  My eyes were swollen shut.  When I finally got them open, I could barely see.  Everything was blurry. My eyes burned and ached.  I was worried.

I put Visine drops in but it did little to clear up my eyes.  Priya decided to call our village doctor, and she quickly ran to our neighbour’s house to get a phone number.  In a few minutes, our neighbours, who also happen to be our village parents, came over to inspect my problem.  They reassured me, in broken English that it was a simple eye infection and it was currently spreading throughout the village.  They suggested I walk across the street and pick up some eye drops at the pharmacy, which I immediately obliged to do. 

Within a few days, the blurriness was relieved by the eye drops, but each morning I woke to find my eyes swollen and achy.  I continued my regimen of a warm cloth, a cool cloth and finally a few drops in each eye, several times a day.  Teachers and students told me it was a little infection and would disappear in a day or two.  They were wrong. It lasted much longer.

For whatever reason, being sick while you are abroad seems much worse.  I like to think that I am not a hypochondriac, but it’s so much scarier being far away from home and the doctors you know.  In Malawi, I had three cases of malaria and each time I was extremely afraid.  And living in India is no different.  I am in a poor village with dilapidated hospitals, not to mention the language barrier hindering me.  It’s frightening to have a sickness or injury in a place where you have no idea what medical treatment entails.  What’s more, when I walk around, I see countless Indians with deformities, including numerous glass eyes, so you can imagine my fear when my eye infection lasted for two weeks.

Finally, my friends and neighbours took my infection seriously because it was not clearing up.  A couple people told me to take a bus to Bardoli, a town thirty minutes away.  Others sternly told me that I should never go to Bardoli because the doctors there would tell me they needed to remove my eye or perform a serious surgery, in order to make money off me.  You can probably guess that I had a nightmare I had that night. 

At last, our good friend Vilmalbhai called his friend, Dr. Moneer and discovered that he would be coming to our village hospital for a half an hour the following day.  Not only was he a certified eye specialist (although I am still unsure what that actually means) but also he spoke English.  I immediately booked an appointment.

The next morning, I walked a half mile to the village hospital, with my swollen eyes and pharmacy drops.  When I arrived, I sat on a long dusty bench with twenty other Indians of various ages and illnesses.  We waited patiently for the doctors to arrive, smiling nervously at each other.  Of course I was stared at the entire time, but I didn’t care.  I was there to avoid losing my eye, at all costs.

The village hospital...
sorry, no pictures of my eye infection.
It was pretty grotesque.

Finally, forty-five minutes late, Dr. Moneer arrived.  At first I thought he was another patient as he strutted in wearing blue jeans, flame-coloured tennis shoes and baseball hat.  However, after a few seconds, I was escorted to his examination room. 

When I walked in, much to my surprise, there was a very fancy, hi-tech eye machine taking up most of the room.  I sat down, placed my chin on the small bar, and he adjusted the various knobs to focus on my eyes.  My fear of a glass eye fitting was slowly fading.  He asked me to read several letters in Hindi, which I was unable to do, not because of my eyes, but because of my inadequate Hindi skills.  I then put me through a series of eye tests.  When it was complete, I removed my head from the machine and he turned on the light.  There, in my small examination room, were twenty-five Indians staring at me.  They had been standing behind the doctor examining my eyes, as well.  They were intrigued by the white girl’s eye problem.  All I could do was laugh.  If I had had an infection in any other organ in my body, there would have been a different outcome.   

After a few minutes of jotting notes and looking at charts, my doctor asked the spectators to leave.  He looked at me and slowly explained that I had a serious case of conjunctivitis.  He looked at the drops I brought, threw them in the garbage bin and prescribed me a stronger dosage of medication.  He told me that if I followed his instructions I would be just fine.  I walked out happily, paid my bill totalling $0.50 and went home to put in my new eye drops.  No glass eye for me, just yet.

Very Near, Not Very Far

Last night, I returned from my first adventure in India.  I travelled through four states in India for twelve days, exploring cities and ancient architectural wonders, meeting people from all over the world and of course relaxing over ice cold beer.

Party in Bombay

My trip began on Friday September 10^th.  I decided to commence my tour of Western India in Bombay (Mumbai) for the weekend because my friend Carrie was returning to St. Louis permanently and I wanted to wish her farewell.  After another action movie scene of running after the moving train (sadly, this is becoming normal for me), four hours later I arrived in sunny Bombay.  I hadn’t seen the sun in a couple months so I was ecstatic!  That night, Carrie’s friends threw her a huge farewell party.  Over fifty people showed up- many other Americans who live and work in Bombay as well as all of her Indian friends.  After an hour or so, the party was dying because someone was playing soft rock music.  We were talking about playing more party-friendly music, but no one knew how to work the sound system, so I went for it.  As some of you might know, I have some experience as a DJ, so one thing led to another and I became the official DJ of the night.  It turned into an awesome party and finally started dying down at 5:00 AM.  I had an awesome time DJing and everyone seemed to like my music selections.  Anytime someone had a request, they approached me and asked, “Miss DJ Emily, can you please play....”  I’d like to thank the crowd for making my DJ experience so enjoyable.  And my friend Viren knows several club owners in Bombay and thinks I should come back on my breaks and DJ at the big clubs.  Why not, I guess.

After a relaxing weekend hanging out in Bombay, late Sunday afternoon I hopped on a train to Ahmedabad, the capital of Gujarat, not far from the state of Rajasthan, my destination.  I arrived in Ahmedabad at midnight and the city was wide awake, celebrating another festival, Ganesh.  I definitely should have booked a hotel, but the procrastinator and poor planner that I am thought I could find something when I got there.  Thankfully, my rickshaw driver spoke English and drove me all over the city until I found an available room at Safar Inn.  (A note about rickshaw drivers in India- their favourite phrase is “Very Near, Not Very Far” when you ask for directions anywhere).  The manager, Francis, is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.  He is Indo-Portuguese and has been to over one hundred countries around the world.  He and his wife own a medical tourism business and travel frequently to promote their work.  He was so happy to talk to a foreigner and we actually spent most of the day talking about our experiences in Africa while he gave me a personal tour of the city on the back of his motorcycle.  

Spinning cotton at Ganhi's house

Francis took me to Gandhi’s house where I learned to spin cotton just as Gandhi did every day.  We also went to the best ice cream parlour for mango lassis, to a famous textile museum, and a night market where I shopped for beautiful and colourful Gujarati fabric.  We returned to the hotel so I could pack and prepare for my midnight train to Udaipur.  While I was packing, he called my room and asked whether I would like some whisky.  He really is the best hotel manager I have ever met!  That night, he drove me to the train station, where I found that my train was cancelled, so we returned to the hotel where Francis booked me an early morning bus.  He offered me a free room for the night and woke at 5:30 AM to drive me to the bus station.  I look forward to going back to Ahmedabad again and spending more time with Francis and his family.

Udaipur, the lake city of Rajasthan

The next day, I arrived in the lake city of Udaipur in Rajasthan.  Immediately, I knew I was in paradise.  This small, quiet European-like city surrounds a large lake.  The weather was excellent and in no time I fried in the sun that I hadn’t seen in so long.  I spent my time exploring the ancient lakeside palaces where famous Indian kings had once lived.  I even took a boat to the palace located in the centre of the lake. Udaipur is unique because every building has a rooftop restaurant and bar overlooking the city and the lake.  I spent each night leisurely enjoying Rajasthani thali (small samples of several kinds of food) and sipping ice cold Kingfisher beers with other travellers from all over the world.   One night I had dinner with an older British couple who is driving around the world.   Norman and Barbara spent 25 years working six days a week to save up for a trip around the world in their Land Rover. They had arrived from the Middle East and Iran was actually their favourite country they’d visited thus far.  A year earlier, Barbara was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease and they decided to speed up the trip so she could enjoy it before her disease progressed.  They were fascinating to talk to and had so many great experiences and words of wisdom to share.  Another day, I spent the whole afternoon walking around the city with Joe, a graduate of Mizzou.  I was sitting in the internet cafe that morning, when I spotted a guy a few computers away wearing a Tiger t-shirt.  I quickly asked if he went to Mizzou and it turns out he graduated a few years earlier and currently he lives in South Korea, teaching English.  We took an electric cable car to the top of a mountain that overlooks the whole city.  At the top, we talked about the Cardinals, St. Louis, and the Ozarks and float trips as well as our travels, while drinking ice cold beers.  It was a great afternoon.

Charming a snake

After a few days on the lake, I hopped on an overnight bus to Jaipur, the pink city and capital of Rajasthan.  Eric, one of the other teachers, met me here and together we walked around the city where all buildings are a light shade of pink.  We explored ancient forts and climbed to the tops of mountains all over the city.  At Amber Fort, we met a group of snake charmers (snake charming was outlawed several years ago) and learned how to play the wooden instrument that makes snakes rise up from their sleep.  The charmers then wrapped the black python around my neck which was an incredibly strange feeling.   At Sun Temple, nicknamed Monkey Temple, hundreds of 

Wearing a snake

Monkey training

monkeys roam the hills.  Here, we fed them peanuts which they took straight out of our palms.  We witnessed a macho monkey grab a dog and continue to punch it until it limped away.  We also spent a good half our throwing peanuts high into the air, making the monkeys jump for them so we could try to get a mid-air shot with our cameras.  Unfortunately, the city of Jaipur was slightly overcrowded and much polluted.  People all over the city try to take advantage of tourists and we had our fair share of run-ins with scam artists (In fact, there are too many stories of my situations in Jaipur to write here now.  Ask me if you’re interested).  Nonetheless, we enjoyed everything we saw and still managed to have a great time.

The TAJ MAHAL

At night, in Jaipur, we ate delicious tandoori chicken at rooftop restaurants.  One night we ate with a couple, Holly and Adam, from London.  After dinner, they taught us some famous British drinking games and we continued on to a few more pubs.  My tolerance is not what it once was and it was so nice to sleep in at an air-conditioned hotel!  After two days in Jaipur, we’d felt we seen it all, so we impulsively decided to hitch a five-hour ride to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.  What can I say? The Taj Mahal is just as magnificent as you imagine it to be.  This massive monument is positively stunning and I could just stare at it for hours. I would like to go back in the future because you are supposed to go at sunrise and unfortunately it was pouring when Eric and I visited.

The courtyard in nicest hotel in the world. 

We returned to Jaipur for one more day before the long journey back to our village.  On our last day in Jaipur, we hung out with a couple from the Vermont, Julia and Tom, who are also travelling around the world.  We found out that the best hotel in the world is in Jaipur, so we made reservations for high tea at the Royal Rambagh Palace, once home to a king but was converted to a hotel in 1950.  It was exquisite as we snacked on scones and tasty pastries while sipping the “champagne of tea”.   I then pretended that I was touring hotels to find one suitable for my parents and we asked to see a room.  The cheapest room runs  $2000 a night, in case you’re planning a visit!  

Late Monday night, we ended our journey as we boarded our night train back home.  All in all, I had a great time and enjoyed travelling by myself much more than I expected.  I met so many interesting people and saw a much different side of India than I experience in the village.  Fourteen noisy and uncomfortable hours later, we arrived home in the village.  While we were gone, the monsoon ended and now it’s scorching hot and sunny once again.  I knew I was back in the village when I walked into my house and went to my cupboard and found a rat inside.  While I was away, a rat managed to break into my cupboard and ate my year’s supply of DayQuil and NyQuil, of all things.  There is one very medicated rat somewhere in my house right now.   I think I’m ready for another vacation. 

'Tis the Season

While it is predominately Hindu practicing, India, the second most populous country in the world (1.1 billion people) is a melting pot of religions and castes, each with its own practices, beliefs, and extensive calendar of holidays. And, unlike any other country in the world, it has over 100 holidays and festivals each year. While celebrations are in progress country-wide, year round, several of the more significant holidays occur between September and January, making this time of year the festive season.  Thanks to many of my neighbours and friends, I have been granted a front-row seat in some of India’s more colourful, traditional holidays.

On Thursday, we celebrated Krishna Janmashtami, a Hindu festival commemorating the birth of Krishna, an avatar of the Hindu deity Vishnu.  The ritual is to fast the previous day  which is followed by a night-long vigil celebrating the birth of Krishna at midnight in the jail where his maternal Uncle Kansa was keeping them captive, and his immediate removal by his father, Vasudeva, to a foster-home for safe-keeping.  At midnight, the idol of the infant Krishna is bathed, adorned in new clothes and jewelry, placed in a cradle and worshiped. The fast is completed after Aarti, a special prayer. At day break, ladies draw patterns of little children's footprints outside the house with rice-flour paste, walking towards the house. This symbolizes the entry of the infant Krishna into his foster-home (their homes). 

So, at 10:30 pm, on Thursday evening, our good friend, Hirenbhai picked Eric, Zach and I up and drove us to his home so we could enjoy the festivities with his family.  It was a special event and I am so grateful for the opportunity to have witnessed it.  Hirenbhai’s house was colorfully decorated and a small shrine was set up for baby Krishna.  When the clock struck midnight, they began the prayer with incense and placed the (figurine) baby in his swing, presenting him with gifts and jewelry.  Then, we each had an opportunity to bless the baby and swing him back and forth.  I was lectured on how to swing the baby gently because apparently I was a little rough with the swing… oops!  At the conclusion of the celebration, we enjoyed several Indian sweets and spices.

On Friday, we enjoyed a much different celebration, with our Muslim friend, Taibaben and her family.  Our village is composed of only Hindus and Muslims and thankfully we have friends of both backgrounds.   And while this is a busy season for Hindus, Muslims also have one of their most important rituals, Ramadan, in September.  Ramadan is the holiest of months in the Islamic calendar. Fasting in the month of Ramadan is one of the Five Pillars of Islam. The month is spent by Muslims fasting during the daylight hours from dawn to sunset. Fasting during this month is often thought figuratively to burn away all sins. Muslims believe that the Qur'an was sent down to the lowest heaven during this month, thus being prepared for gradual revelation by the angel Gibril (Gabriel) to the Islamic prophet Muhammad.  Furthermore, Muhammad told his followers that the gates of Heaven would be open all  month and the gates of Hell (Jahannam) would be closed.  The first day of the next month, Shawwal, is spent in celebrations and is observed as the "Festival of Breaking Fast" or `Eid ul-Fit.

Taibaben invited Eric and I to break the fast with her family.  At 6:30 pm we arrived to the savory aroma of Indian food. The symbolic meal begins at exactly 7:03 pm every evening, when the sun sets.  We gathered around the table set on the floor.  There were numerous plates of Indian snacks, like my favourite, pakora (small onion rings) and many others I had never seen.  I decided to prepare a dish to share, so I made fresh vegetable pizza, which was a hit with the whole family, especially four year-old Afif.  We all ate with our hands, grabbing bits of each dish.  For those of you that know me well and can probably imagine, I spilled all over myself, attempting to eat sauces and pastas with my hands! But it was so fun to join in the celebration and share this unique meal with the family.  And the family extended a standing invitation to join them every night until September 12^th, the night of the grand festival, ending Ramadan.  Tomorrow I am going to join the family once again, and this time I am preparing quesadillas and salsa!

While these are only two of the countless holidays this time of year, I am eagerly looking forward to the rest of the season.  We have another five or so small festivals and two famous festivals approaching- Navatri, a festival that lasts 9 nights and Diwali, the 3-week festival of lights. And this Friday, I am heading out for a two- week backpacking journey through Rajasthan, India’s most colourful state.  And there are two or three religious celebrations overlapping with my trip, so I am looking forward to experiencing festivities in a different part of India! Stay tuned for my adventures.

The Mountain I Climb Every Day

My first three months here have been a whirlwind of adjustment.  I have started a new life in a foreign country.  I have put together a new Indian wardrobe, I have obtained and set up a house, I have pieced together a group of friends and family, and I began a new job.  It has been exciting, challenging and overwhelming but finally, I am in a place where my daily life is almost normal. And my eyes have opened to the realities of India.

Until now, I have focused on sharing the events of my adjustments because as with all stories, it is essential to create the setting and provide the basic background information.  But now, I think I should go into my real purpose here- my job.  As you may already know, I am working for the Nanubhai Education Foundation.  I am teaching English classes (8^th and 9^th grade), as well as a more intensive Spoken English classes to select students.  In addition, I am mentoring and training a recent college graduate, Ameetaben.  Throughout the year, I will coach her and she will begin taking over the classes I teach and in the process, I will observe and evaluate her performance.  Furthermore, I will implement several seminars and workshops for local English teachers.  Lastly, I am conducting research within the village that will hopefully assist the Foundation in future programs and projects.  My main goal is to give these village students a better English education so they can strive for better futures and overcome poverty.  Needless to say, my days are full and busy.  On most days, I face an uphill battle.

Madhi High School is a Gujarati-medium school.  What this means is that the students are taught all subjects in their native language, Gujarati, a variation of Hindi.  You are probably thinking all subjects, except English, right?  I only wish that were the case.  In fact, many of the other English teachers teach English in Gujarati.  The textbook is written in English, but the teachers will translate the story so the students can understand.  So in a give 45-minute English period, the students may not hear or speak  a single word in English.  When I realized this, I was appalled.  Why am I here? How on earth are my students going to understand me?  My Hindi skills are still in the beginner’s stages at best.  (There is currently a rumour circulating the village that I have a four year-old illegitimate son, Andrew, because I was trying to describe my family and accidently used the wrong word for nephew.)  I have not begun to broach the topic of Gujarati.  Thus, I was instantly overwhelmed and disheartened. 

Thankfully, I have Ameetaben.  While I still personally find it hard to believe, everyone here says it is beneficial that I am here because at least my students are forced to learn in English.  And when they don’t understand- only when necessary- Ameetaben translates for me.  We are in the process of smoothing out our classroom system.  We are attempting to use as little Gujarati as possible, which makes for a long 45-minute period often filled with eighty or so blank or puzzled faces staring up at me.  And that is a whole other hindrance in my job.  My classes are extremely over-sized.  I have between eighty and ninety students of completely different backgrounds and skill sets jammed into a tiny, fan-less dilapidated classroom.  

And the absolute icing on the cake, the cherry on top of it all, is the English textbook I am forced to use.  Each unit consists of a ridiculous story with at least fifteen grammar errors and ten or more spelling errors, overly advanced comprehension questions, and a few assignments.  There are few or no grammar lessons.  The stories are confusing and poorly written and the students never understand them.  I have to define and explain almost every other word, which Ameetaben then translates into Gujarati.  The Ministry of Education in Gujarat mandates that students learn this textbook.  They must know each story inside and out because on the examinations, they must regurgitate the facts and details from each unit.  Yes, they have to memorize the characters, the vocabulary words and the main plot of the story because all questions on the exams are taken directly from the units in the textbook.  Creativity and abstract thinking are foreign concepts that my students have never come in contact with.  My last two and half years in Malawi, at Chaminade Secondary School seem like a dream in which I was able to develop my own English curriculum and my students regularly used their inspiring creativity to write poetry, short stories and even novels.  I long for the days when I graded seventy short stories, each unique and entertaining in its own way.  Sigh.  I know my students have the ability to express themselves creatively.  They just aren’t given the outlet to do so.  Suddenly, I appreciate the countless teachers I had growing up who flooded me with opportunities to think for myself and convey my thoughts creatively.

Please don’t take my words as complaints.  It is only the truth of the matter.  And while it frustrates me to no end, I will do whatever I can do to break through this system.  I will teach them what they need to know but I will do so creatively.  I want them to learn the information instead of merely memorizing it.  It will be anything but easy but I’ll do what I can.  That’s why I am here.  And I am grateful for my Spoken English classes in which I can work with a smaller group of students, using my own resources and activities.  As with everything here, it is a challenge, but one I aiming to overcome.   

And don’t get me wrong.  My students are fantastic.  They work so unbelievably hard.  Before and after school every day, they take supplementary private classes with teachers in the village.  They forgo sports, clubs and a social life to get extra tutoring.  It is inspiring how hard they work.  And they make my countless frustrations and obstacles worth it.  They make me laugh all the time.  A few weeks ago, during Spoken English, they were writing their autobiographies, simple stories about themselves and their families and friends, probably at the level of a fourth or fifth grader in the U.S.  I brought in my iPod and speakers so they could listen to music while they worked at their desks.  They were requesting “Waka Waka” and “Wavin’ Flag” and a few other current favourite songs.  Suddenly, Nirmal, one of most hard working, soft-spoken boys, spoke up, “Emily Teacher, can you please play ‘Sexy Bitch’?”  As he finished his question, the class grew quiet and then erupted in laughter at his request.  I couldn’t be angry because that’s the name of the song! I could only laugh, too. 

A few weeks ago, I celebrated my birthday and my students surprised me with a small birthday party and countless gifts of Indian knickknacks and jewellery.  They were so excited to present me with their neatly wrapped tokens of appreciation.  Another week, I had a terrible cold and every day for a whole week, my student, Rahul, brought me Vick’s Cough Drops.  They are genuinely sweet and considerate kids and would do anything to please their foreign teacher.  So, while this year is going to take serious concentration and endless energy, it is all worth it.  These students deserve the best.  But I will say it would be a whole lot easier if Gujarat was not a dry state and I could end my weeks with a nice, relaxing happy hour! 

Our House, in the Middle of the Street

After seven weeks of living out of my suitcase in a two-room guest house with four other people, I finally moved into a house with my roommate, Priya.  We are living in the same village, Kadod, but now we are in the bazaar, in the middle of the main street.  Word in the village says we are in the coolest section of the bazaar.  We have super-friendly neighbours, everything we need is within a minute’s walk and our house is comfortable, and quirky.

On moving day, our neighbours came over to welcome us and since then, they walk in whenever they please.  Thankfully, I was prepared for no privacy in my first seven weeks.  And we are fortunate to have a neighbour who sells every kind of candy in the whole village.  There are probably one hundred different penny candies to choose from and I have yet to try them all.  Sometimes, when I stop by her shop to say hello, she lets me try one or five of the new candies, so needless to say she’s my favourite neighbour!  And the other night, when our new kitten ran away, our whole street formed a search party to find her.  This was more than generous since most people here regard cats as no more important than pigeons.  Also, the women around have been my saviours when it comes to wrapping my sari.  The official dress of Indian women is extremely complicated and every time I try to dress myself, it falls off me immediately, which would create quite the scene at school if it weren’t for my women neighbours.

Our neighbour's swing! The best swing in the whole village

The family living in the other half of the duplex is also very kind.  They have the best swing in the whole village and let us use it freely.  And the sights we see from the front porch! In a given twenty minutes, a herd of cows will pass by, a couple goats will attempt to walk up our stairs and into our house, two chukras will almost collide because our street isn’t wide enough for both to pass and no drive concedes to the other, and between thirty and fifty villagers will stop to say hello.

A couple days after we moved in, we were busy organizing and decorating, when a familiar melody began getting closer and louder to us.  My first thought was, “An ice cream truck! This really is the best house ever!”  I grabbed a few rupees and ran out to the porch, excited for a cold scoop of mango chocolate chip ice cream.  When the truck reached our house, it stopped.  There was a big cow painted on the brightly coloured truck.  The driver got out and sat on the edge of our porch.  I peered towards the back of the truck and realized it was open.  Inside, there was not a hint of ice cream.  Rather, it was a cow painted pink.  And instead of a tail, there was a dangling and lightly swinging fifth leg. My mouth hung open in awe of this 5-legged animal.  Priya came outside and explained that when a deformed animal is born, it’s a sign from the Hindu gods and the owner will showcase it and accept donations, which will bring the donor good luck.  So,, when I snapped out of my daze, I dropped my five rupees in the man’s basket and went back inside with a picture of extremely strange cow forever etched in my brain.

With our house, we received the best cook in the village.  Since we are quite busy with work, and because cooking is a lengthy process, we decided to hire someone to prepare a couple of our daily meals.  Thanks to our friend Vilmalbhai, we found Auntie, the best recommended chef in Kadod.  She can prepare almost anything you ask for, including....chicken!  She calls us her American children and basically force-feeds us at each meal because she’s so worried we aren’t eating enough.

Me in my first official Indian sari

After a week, our house began to show its true colours.  One night, the power went out as it often does.  It usually comes back within fifteen or twenty minutes, but this time it seemed to last much longer.  After an hour of sitting in the dark, sweating, we went out on the porch to catch a breeze.  We expected our neighbours to be outside, too, but instead no one was out, and every house was lit up.  It turned out that only we had lost power.  We talked to our next door neighbours and immediately all the husbands in our area rushed over to examine the situation and fix the problem.  Within a half hour, thanks to our gracious neighbours our electricity came back. Back inside, Priya went to shower and a few seconds later, she screamed.  I ran outside (our shower is in the back of our house) to see what happened and she explained that when she touched the wall in the shower, she was shocked.  While our neighbours fixed our electricity, they may have mixed wires and it resulted in an electrical current throughout our house.  Any part of our wall that contained metal was sensitive.   It took two days to solve the excess electricity running through our house.   And now our outlets and switches are a little mismatched.

Other than the power problem, speaking of, it just went out again, our house is great.  We always have visitors and friends stopping by to chat or play cards or listen to music.  When it rains, the house gets dark and cool and we can cozy up on the couch and read a book. I am looking forward to practicing my cooking and preparing some Indian feasts for our new friends and neighbours. 

Bombay Dreams

(Side note: the title of this blog was borrowed from a very popular Bollywood tale, a rag-to-riches success story in the form of a musical.)

On Friday morning, I embarked on my first semi-big trip in India, a train ride to Bombay (Mumbai) for the weekend.  I packed my backpack with my reserve American clothes, hopped on a severely overcrowded bus and said goodbye to the village for a few days.  Adios to Gujarat, the only dry state in India, commonly referred to as “the land of no fun.”

When I arrived in Surat, I headed straight to the train station.  I asked probably 26 people where my train was going to arrive, since all the signs were in Hindi, which I can speak moderately, but still can’t read.  After figuring out where to go, I explored the train station and bought some snacks for the trip.  I got Mastana Mango Lays and some Stripe Tease cake (yes, it’s really named Stripe Tease).

At 10:45, when the train pulled up to the platform, I quickly scanned the 25-car train to see where I was supposed to sit.  Since I booked my seat at the last minute, I had First Class A/C seating.  I asked which end of train I could find my cabin and a man pointed to the opposite end of the train.  I took off running because trains only dock for 5 minutes.  I felt like I was in Home Alone weaving through the crowds, hurdling over sleeping people and dogs to find my cabin.  When I got to the end, another person told me it was actually at the front of the train, so I turned around and ran all the way back to the front.  By this time, my train was starting to leave, so in full action movie fashion, I hopped on the moving train, sighed deeply and wiped my sweaty brow, relieved that I made it.

I quickly found an open seat, kicked off my shoes and guzzled some water.  I looked around and I must say, the train was much nicer than expected!  After an hour or so, the ticket master came and collected the tickets.  When he approached me, I handed him my ticket and passport confidently.  He studied my ticket for a few seconds and told me to follow him.  I quickly put on my shoes and scampered behind him, slightly afraid that I was going to be deported from the train or for all I knew, the country.  We walked through several cabins, which kept getting nicer and nicer.  He showed me to a room, a real room on the train!  He explained that I was actually in second class and that my seat was in first class in a semi-private room with a bed and a table.  I restrained myself from hugging the ticket master and I settled into my room with a view.

Four hours later, I arrived in the big city, the New York of India.  The city is roughly 60 kilometres wide and over 21 million live in the metropolitan area, so I was completely overwhelmed.  Thankfully, Carrie, a fellow St. Louisan living and working in Mumbai met me at the train station and showed me around the city.  Walking around, I felt like Mimi-Siku, from Jungle 2 Jungle, a pretty popular movie from when I was little. I was in awe by the skyscrapers, the incredible volume of traffic made up of every mode of transportation and the other westerners! After I devoured an egg sandwich, we went back to her apartment where I tasted my first beer in over six weeks.  That night, she had a birthday party for her friend and roughly 20 other Americans my age came over.  It was so surreal to be at a party, drinking beer and wine and socializing in English!

On Saturday, Carrie was busy, so I was left to explore the city by myself. I went to a coffee shop and drank 2-3 cappuccinos and walked around exploring the Gateway of India, Bollywood and the Grand Taj Hotel.  I took the local trains around the city.  Local trains are Mumbai’s version of a subway, except there are no doors and you hang out the open side, with a death grip on one of the handles.  I also took rickshaws, which are glorified chukras.  It’s an adventure riding in a rickshaw in the city.  The drivers merge in and out of traffic and there is no “out of bounds” on the playing field of Mumbai.  We drove on the sidewalk, weaved in and out of the herds of cows and somehow fit between the narrow gaps between the large semis.  I was only surprised we didn’t drive right under a semi.

Carrie’s friend, Viren, met up with me for a while and took me to lunch at Indigo Deli, one of the most magnificent restaurants I have ever been to.  I had a cheeseburger.  I delicious cut of beef with fresh vegetables and mayo.  I was surprised at how alive my taste buds were, savouring each bite of this food creation!  (Cheesy, I know, but that’s how ecstatic I was to be away from village food) I was so happy to have a full meal that a few people at nearby tables were looking at me because apparently I was giving off similar vibes as Meg Ryan’s infamous scene at the diner in When Harry Met Sally. Afterwards, we walked through the markets and stepped into a corner bar to avoid the rain for a while.  We shared a pitcher of Kingfisher beer and listened to an eclectic mix of Bruce Springstein, Gloria Esteban, Toto and Shania Twain while watching cricket on T.V.

That evening, we met up with Carrie and the other Americans and went to see Inception at the most amazing movie theatre I have ever been to.  The bathroom looked like a New York night club and inside the air-conditioned theatre, we had over-sized reclining chairs and excellent caramel popcorn.  Had I not been so stuffed from lunch, I would have definitely ordered another burger from the concession stand.

The whole weekend was great.  It was so refreshing to get away from the village for a few days and meet other Americans.  They all took pity on me, offering me the first beer.  “You need this more than I do,” or “You live in Gujarat? I’m sorry,” they’d say.  Being away did make me appreciate the experience I am having, though.  I get glimpse into a part of India that most people who travel through never get to see.  But I did realize that I need to get away every once in a while for a taste of the good life.  

On my way back to the village, I rode in the third class compartment.  My previous journey was a distant dream as I went to use the bathroom which consisted of a hole in the floor of the moving train.