The day of many biscuits... or: Let's go ride bikes!!!

One of the things that has truly fascinated me since coming here is the fact that with almost no visible forethought or preparation, wonderful things happen. One example was Saturday. I woke up with the thought that I was in the mood for an adventure. As it turned out, Sandra had already texted the guys (Gautam and Rahul) to see if they felt like a bike ride. It was the first warm day (Okay, I know it is stilll January, but when you live in a place without heating, warm is good). In the morning, Rahul and I went over to the sports center where there were a few kids hanging about looking for something to do. We taught them to play Ultimate Frisbee, and managed to get a mini game in before lunch.

After lunch, a group of five managed to scrounge up two extra bikes, and we took a ride to a nearby village. We swung by the part of the compound where Rahul and Gautam's families live, to pick up their bikes. As per custom, we were invited in, offered water and tea and biscuits, and introduced to Rahul's mother and sister's.

A bit about the indian countryside: apart from the fact that there are crops, it doesn't look a whole lot like the countryside of Bavaria or Scotland or anywhere I've seen before. The crops I have seen are mainly sugar cane and mustard seed (which has a bright yellow flower). They are tended to by men in dark, dusty clothes and women in bright sarees. From the train to Dhampur, you could see long sarees spread out on the ground to dry, and strange high cones of brown discs (more about those later). The sky is another odd difference. It's blue, but the blue is rather dusty- presumably from pollution.

Through this wonderland we biked, on dirt roads, then on the main road, which was fairly busy with traffic of brightly coloured trucks (with any number of people hanging off of them), donkey carts, rickshaws, the odd cow or pig (presumably also with some important errand to take care of, and interestingly, also using the left side of the road)... You could tell we were in the country, though, as the road was lined with the odd house or business, but not many- more trees, all painted in the red and white stripes that indicate some sort of government property. I guess so no one cuts them down. We turned onto another dirt road, drew a crowd when we stopped to take pictures in the mustard flowers, realighted, and finally ended up at our destination: at the edge of the village, the house of the school's hindi teacher's mother.

In front of the house was a shed and open air stable, where four or five cows and buffalo stood munching hay. The house itself was constructed around an airy courtyard, with exposed white and red bricks. Steps led up to a flat terrace roof, where kids ran around among lines of washing. In the corner of the courtyard was a sort of kiln with clay pots in it- one filled with buffalo milk being pasteurised, one cooking dal. As fuel, they use dried discs of manure and straw- which apparantly burns long and hot (and without a smell).


We were seated and served chai and biscuits and spicy snacks. Besides three or four women, there were a few sons, including a mentally retarded boy. I couldn't help think of what incredible luck he had to be born in a family which clearly loves him. He stood smiling and leaning on a stick, just over the moon to have visitors. They said that there is a school where he could go, but that they have no real way of getting him there. In a country like India, it's a sad reality that the infrastructure just doesn't exist to help disabled people the way we take at least more for granted in the West.

After that visit, we left our bikes at the house and walked over to where one of Rahul's nursery pupils lives. Her father has a sugar crop, and introduced us to the sweet and watery taste of sugar cane. There's definitely an art to eating it, which I'm not sure I've yet mastered. You sort of grab at it with your back teeth and tear the outer part away, to get to the pulp at the center. Among other cows, the family had two beautiful calves, who were extremely content to be petted and patted. As we walked through the farm looking at the cane and mustard fields, I had the thought: I am the luckiest person in the world.

Next we went to the grandmother's house, where we were given freshly pasteurised buffalo milk to drink. And of course snacks and biscuits. The grandmother- she must have been at least 75 years old- looked perfectly comfortable sitting on the hard floor straining the milk into a jug... Finally, we left and went to see a tree. A tree so old and so massive, it was wrapped in red and white ceremonial thread and considered holy. And really, why shouldn't something so beautiful and old be sacred and treated with respect? You had to take off your shoes to walk up to it.

When we got back to the house, we were invited to see the roof. It was sunset over the village, but you could still see the colours of buildings, and the wash being taken down for the night. This incredible generosity and vibrancy in the midst of a total lack of material wealth is probably the most humbling thing I have ever experienced. I have nothing to give back, except my gratitude.

of Storytellers, Shrines and Saraswati

Tuesday, 19.01.2010.

This morning at 9am (or 9:30, Indian time) was a meeting of the teachers. Over the next two hours, we discussed issues, such as what to do for Republic Day (January 26th), upcoming tris and workshops, the yearbook, and whether or not we should celebrate the festival for Saraswati, the Goddess of Knowledge and Art and Music.

After the meeting dissolved, several of us jumped into a van (in a manner of speaking... one doesn't really do these things right away in India... there is naturally a bit of hemming, hawing and futzing about first, until everyone feels the time has come) and went to town to find a statue of the Goddess for the shrine, which was to be built in one of the classrooms. Technically, this sort of thing really ought to be done outside, but the general consensus was that it's too cold. In the van, considerable arguing commenced about the how big or small the statue should be, and of course how much was an acceptable amount to spend on it. After striking out a few times (who knew that the day before a festival, a statue of the celebrated Goddess would be so hard to come by?) we finally stopped by the home/business of a man who stages with his company all-night theater, dance, music and storytelling productions. Behind an iron gate stood life-sized statues of Ganesh, Hanuman and many other Gods and Goddesses (Saraswati among them), brilliantly painted and draped with shimmering cloth and golden tinsel.

We banged on the gate for a while, and finally two men appeared- one, an older man with a long dark beard and big, dark, shining eyes (the leader of the performers) and a young man who said nothing in either Hindi or English, but washed our hands before we entered the house, and sort of stood on call, jumping up every once in a while to check something, then coming back to the circle. We sat in a circle, drank tea, ate biscuits, and talked about life (or rather, they talked and Gautam translated a bit, we talked, and he translated more...). After a while, they asked how much it would cost to borrow the Goddess for a couple of days, and the old man responded, "God has no price."- meaning that we could have her for nothing at all. In the end, we were presented with a kind of blessed trailmix- dried fruits, coconut and puffed rice. Did I feel blessed? Absolutely.

We loaded our Goddess into the back of the van, and drove back to the school, where a frame for the shrine was already underway- composed of bamboo, classroom tables and twine.

After lunch, Sandra, Sandy and I headed back over to see how they were getting on. The frame was almost completed, and the process of decoration had begun. Clothes were draped and hung, and the three of us undertook covering the central bit of the frame with bits of coloured paper. Someone brought in plants and coloured lights- including one spotlight for the honourable lady, herself. By the time we had finished (though work was still being done) it was looking quite festive, indeed. A wonderful way to celebrate the goddess of knowledge and art- I was so taken with how all of this sprang out of nowhere!

On our way back to the house, we were met with calls of "Good evening, ma'am!" from the schoolyard and rooftops.

written yesterday... posted today!

This blog entry may be posted a bit after it's written, as we are having internet problems these days. I won't bore you with the details, but the upshot is: I should be reachable by skype, but not any other way (unless I go to an internet cafe in town... more about that later).

Rajesh and Nisha, the heads of the school, had the volunteers over for dinner tonight, and we had a wonderful evening, with mountains of gorgeous food and sweets and Indian rum and Nisha's own blend of tea. And conversation, of course. I am overwhelmed by the kindness everyone here has shown me, and how interested they are in making us outsiders welcome. There are four volunteers here right now: Sandra (from Malta), Sandy (from France and Canada), Michael (from New Jersey) and myself. I'm definitely the greenest one of the group- never having travelled in the third world before, let alone India, but everyone is wonderfully helpful.

A bit about where I'm staying: Dhampur is a small town, about an hour by car from Moradabad, which is about three hours from Delhi. You'll know you are on your way there when you start passing giant trucks laden twenty feet high with sugarcane, on the way to the sugar mill, which is the lifeblood of this town, and of our school. You also pass kids munching on bits, which have fallen off the truck. And dogs, so many stray dogs, it's absolutely heartbreaking. The school and the houses and apartments of the teachers and plant workers are on the same compound as the mill. I have a room to myself on the first floor (above the ground floor) with a big desk, a little bed and a bright red closet. They are still installing my bathroom, so I'm mostly sharing with Sandra, who lives across the hall from me. We share a kitchen, but for the first week, the canteen brings me plenty of tasty food... though I am looking forward to cooking my own dinners. When I arrived, my room was already stocked with a loaf of bread, butter, jam and of course tea. They have a water filtration system here, which everyone says is completely fine... and so far, it has been.

The school is an absolute dream. On the grounds there is a wonderful amount of greenery- trees, and a garden of flowers and vegetables which the children tend during the "community work" part of their day. As you walk into the school, the doors and the walls of the entrance way have all been painted with scenes in the style of cave drawings- showing animals, farmers, houses, plants, etc. All along the corridors and in the classroom, childrens' artwork is displayed.

Unfortunately, because of the cold weather Uttar Pradesh is getting, schools have been closed. Compared to Europe and Scotland, the temperatures we've been getting aren't so harsh, but considering the fact that many children do not have adquate clothing for this kind of weather, it's just not feasable to have classes. That said, on Monday, the government allowed students from class six and up to attend- these are the oldest children at the school, and about 12 of them turned up, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. They all seemed very excited to be back, and to meet the new volunteers, who they refer to as "----Sir" or "---Ma'am." So: "Michael Sir," "Sandy Ma'am." If you pass, they say "Good evening, ma'am." They. are. enchanting. They took us around the school, showing us all of the classrooms, and their Big Book, of which they were all extremely proud- it's a sort of collection of things they had done over the year, art, poems, workshops, excursions... and if anyone is wondering, these kids *do* actually do more than draw and sing and dance- several of the students said that maths and sciences are their favourite subjects, and on the walls of their classrooms were various scientific drawings (skeletons, descriptions of the respiratory system, plants, etc) labeled in English and in Hindi.

After the tour, Sandy and I settled down with Gautam, the art and theater teacher, to talk about plans for putting on the Wizard of Oz. For their founders' day celebration, Gautam put together a play about the Tsunami, presented outside on a quite sizeable amphitheater-style stage, with full lighting, live drumming (by the students), costumes, etc. Seeing the facilities we already have, it seems like we could really do something special here. It was suggested in the general staff meeting that we do some sort of an Indian take on it- and I hardly think that could be avoided!



On the wall outside the main office, there is a poem written by one of the students. I'm posting a picture of it, but in case the writing isn't big enough, I'll transcribe it here:

I am... by Aastha Gahlot in 4th class (this would make her about 9 years old).

I am Beautiful and Soft-natured.
I wonder why sun rises in the morning.
I hear the sound of rivers.
I see my beautiful earth is running.
I want Bright Sun.
I am Beautiful and Soft-natured.

I pretend to catch stars.
I feel that my world is changing.
I touch the solar system.
I worry about the pollution.
I cry about my mother's anger.
I am Beautiful and Soft-natured.

I understand that do not pluck flowers.
I say I have got the best parents in the world.
I dream I meet alien.
I try I walk upside down.
I hope God will come and meet me today.
I am Beautiful and Soft-natured.

Wide-eyed

I am overwhelmed with gratitude and awe. Vindu, my hostess in Delhi said to me, "Welcome to India" and I thought: really? I'm here? Unbelievable.

Of course it is true. This is really unlike anything I have ever seen. I ate lunch today in a garden with so many different flora, the only one of which I can identify with absolute certainty is grass. Some plants are familiar: Chrysanthemums? Then there are the incredible trees, from which long green and brown fruits hang like noses. The service keeps bringing me Chapatis until I say I've had enough. Afterwards, they bring me a bowl of warm water with lemon to wash my hands in.

Away from the airy house, things are different, of course. Everywhere the air is dry and full of dust. Dust is everywhere, lining the streets, intermingling with grains of dirt and sand and concrete... kicked up by people on foot, in rickshaw taxis, on 3-wheeled bicycles hauling several meters of piping. And the men in absolute rags, squatting barefoot by the side of the road talking to each other. The contrast is palpable.

I saw a man piercing his friend's ear on a sidewalk, and I was enchanted by a graceful woman in a pink sari perched sidesaddle on the back of her husband's motorbike, not batting an eye as he whizzed in and out of the constantly honking traffic.

The girl sitting next to me on the plane was from Holland, but her family was Surinamese (Suriname was a Dutch colony in South America, where they brought Indians as "contract laborers in the 19th century. Think: colours of India flaunted with bombastic Latin-American spice). She was meeting her fiancee's family here in India to go shopping for the wedding. Yes, that's right, I met someone having an Indian wedding (albeit in Holland) before EVEN setting foot here.

Tomorrow, I'll catch a train to Moradabad, where I'll be met by the crew from the school where I'll be teaching. Then, the work begins!

Hopefully I will find an adapter for my computer plug soon, and can then post some pictures. Love to all.