Village-isms

I have officially been in India for a month.  I am settled, mostly, and into a routine with work and free time.  I am getting back into teaching, which I temporarily forgot how much I missed.  Life is good.  I feel healthier than ever because I am taking long runs every day, eating only fruits and veggies, except for the occasional trip to the ice cream shop, and I am completely unable to access meat and alcohol.  However, my sources of entertainment are limited so I am doing my best to entertain myself!

This week was an interesting one, to say the least.  Monday morning we woke up and began getting ready for school. I put on my salwar kameez, chugged my chai and sat on the porch waiting for Hareshbai, who drives me to school every day.  After a few minutes, I got a call that said school was cancelled because India was on strike.  That's right, the entire country, with a population of over 1 billion people was on strike.  The purpose of the strike was to protest the rising costs of fuel.  This was a highly organized strike with set rules, such as it would only last for 12 hours and simply everything would shut down.  Thus, I spent the day reading and listening to the monsoon rains.

At school, I teach 8th grade and 9th grade English.  Every day, I start my morning with a Spoken English class.  This is my class and I write the curriculum.  It's smaller than my other classes so I can get to know my students and really work on their English.  I love the students and they are so eager to be there and see what activities and games I have prepared for them.  In fact, they are so ardent about my presence here that after class I am swarmed with students asking for my autograph.  Yes, I have my own paparazzi.  They shove their notebooks in my face, begging for my signature.  This morning, I got a paper cut on my cheek.  I have tried to ask why and I cannot begin to understand their reasoning.  No matter what I say, it's the same thing every morning.  I have finally just accepted it and embraced it.  "I only do one autograph a day," I tell them.

In between classes, I spend my time chatting with the other female teachers.  As I mentioned earlier, the staff room is divided by gender so I am at the far end of the women's side.  We talk about our families, their husbands and their plans for finding me a husband.  Apparently, I have sweat off a few pounds and the women are worried I am not eating enough.  India has the highest vegetarian population in the world.  Hinduism, the main religion of India does not permit eating beef as cows are sacred.  My village is completely vegetarian and I haven't seen meat since that amazing burger I had at JFK Airport, moments before my plane took off. But what I am slowly learning is that people actually do eat meat, they just don't talk about it.

Yesterday, one of my favorite teachers, Hemalthaben whispers to me, "Emilyben, do you eat meat?" I explained to her that in America I do eat it but here I don't because I am living here and I feel I should observe the same cultural practices.  Then, she looked around the mostly empty staff room, cupped her hand around her mouth and said in a hush tone, "I know a guy. I can get you some chicken.  I'll arrange it and stop by my house next weekend. I'll make you a meal."

I could not help but laugh and appreciate her concern and offer.  I did make plans to go to her house next weekend for what I can only imagine to be an incredibly delicious dish.  I am looking forward to it.  I have also arranged some cooking lessons for this Sunday.  As for my Saturday plans, I am taking a bus back to Surat and making a trip to McDonald's India to give the McCurry a try!