How do you follow up a blog about a fire? It's just so exciting, I'm tempted to make something up to keep my readership.
Instead the truth: no fires, or sickness, just life as usual. (though I did make myself ill eating all the candy that SueLynn sent me - I wallow in an endless pool of rasinets and peanut butter m&ms - ummm happiness). And I finally got around to reading Mrs. Dalloway. Which I picked up just because the first line said, "And Mrs. Dalloway decided that she would buy the flowers herself." Which was great. The whole thing was great.
And next week is my birthday and I'm throwing myself a party with food and music and dancing. And I will go in the morning to the flower market to buy the flowers myself. And if you are in Calcutta you are invited. But only if you intend to have a lot of fun. And promise to wear marigolds.
Kali Puja and Diwali seem to be lingering outside in the form of music played on the loudspeakers. That never ends. Ever. All day. All night. Puja puja puja. Luckily my new mini-fan that sits on a table and not on the charred ceiling is good at blocking the sound. But then maybe I just don't notice because I'm passed out on chocolate.
So I'm well. Just weaker. And back at work. I painted on the mural today for eight hours, mostly because we finally are filling in with color and I got my hands on the can of yellow paint and refused to let it go. So now everything will be yellow. All yellow. Like a coldplay song. And my bedroom on 71st street. And the best half of the greenbay packers. now that brett favre is gone.
I only have ten days left in Calcutta. Then it's off to the mountains. Only everyone is telling us not to go to Darjeeling now. Apparently there is unrest there. But I'm so set on going. I find reasonable reasons to be unreasonable.
There's unrest all over India right now. The country seems to be ticking. There has been HUGE violence in Orissa. Against the Christian families. Apparently the Hindu families are putting orange flags up so that they are identified as Hindu and not Christian so their houses won't get burned down. And there have been bombs in Delhi. Two last month. And crazy stories from the trains.
I read an article in the paper last month about a kid who murdered his cousin and then convinced the town people that a djiin (genie- spirit) had killed him. And the town believed it. Until he gave himself away by bragging about it later.
But mostly the papers here, as elsewhere I've heard. Are all about the American elections. The world is watching. And waiting for Obama. (I got into a heated argument with a woman from New Zealand today who said she liked Obama because he "talked proper english not like those other black people in america.") I found that to be disgusting and ignorant. Sigh.
And apparently I'm the downer of all bloggers! Sorry.
All is well and good and go Obama and Happy Halloween and I'll be home in a month! Can you believe it!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Honestly. Just glad I woke up. And glad, maybe for the first time ever, that I'm a light sleeper.
The smoke smell in my room was really strong - I thought it was from the Diwali festivities outside. Diwali isn't huge in West Bengal. I think they celebrate it more in Delhi, maybe Mumbai as well? I'm not sure. Here, Durga Puja is everything. But I found that in India, given the chance, they will celebrate anything. Which, personally, I am in favor of. Especially Diwali. The festival of lights. And we lit candles in the courtyard, and outside the people lit fireworks in the street. And I think Rama found his lovely way home.
And so I thought that the smoke had crept into my room to wake me up at 3:30 this morning. But it wasn't Diwali smoke. My windows were all closed. Then I looked up. And realized that my ceiling fan had sparked into flames sometime in the night and the flames were growing bigger and climbing towards the ceiling.
I jumped out of bed. What do I do what do I do? (I'm very good in crisis. By the way. I think maybe I would survive a zombie attack. If it weren't for my poor health) I had a bucket of water in my room (the remains of good intentions of mopping the floor that hadn't been actualized) - but it's an electrical fire, you don't throw water on it. What do I do? I ran down the five flights of stairs and two hallways to where the men sleep by the front gate. They were fast asleep on their cot. I shook the one closest to me, "wake up. please wake up. help me. FIRE. please help!" The first man didn't move at all, but the second man, when he heard fire jumped up and raced after me up the stairs.
He grabbed the bucket and threw it on the fan.
Which seemed to work. And made me feel stupid. But what are you supposed to do with electrical fires? Not water, right? Anyways, it worked, but my room was full of the most horrible smoke ever. He cut my fan down, remade my bed for me and said, "well, goodnight, then." and off he went. But today when I saw him he touched his heart and wiped his forehead with a sigh of relief. Which made me feel solidarity with him. Our secret firefighting club.
And Felicity kicked the cat out and let me sleep on her extra bed because the smoke was too thick in my room to sleep. And I lay and tried so hard not to wiggle and wake her up, which was so difficult because I so love to wiggle.
This morning Carmel, who lives on the first floor, told me she had heard me shout fire last night, and worried, had followed us up the first couple flights of stairs, but then got tired and turned around and went back to bed. Which made me laugh (she is so sick now. Everyone is so sick. Everyday I hear about people fainting and hospital trips and vomit. oh the vomit. everyone is sick. oh india.)
And I think it's silly of the fire trying to kill me. Because I haven't been to Darjeeling yet. And come virus, fire, hell or high water, I'm going to Darjeeling. Dammit. To look at the goddamn Himalayas. Dammit.
The smoke smell in my room was really strong - I thought it was from the Diwali festivities outside. Diwali isn't huge in West Bengal. I think they celebrate it more in Delhi, maybe Mumbai as well? I'm not sure. Here, Durga Puja is everything. But I found that in India, given the chance, they will celebrate anything. Which, personally, I am in favor of. Especially Diwali. The festival of lights. And we lit candles in the courtyard, and outside the people lit fireworks in the street. And I think Rama found his lovely way home.
And so I thought that the smoke had crept into my room to wake me up at 3:30 this morning. But it wasn't Diwali smoke. My windows were all closed. Then I looked up. And realized that my ceiling fan had sparked into flames sometime in the night and the flames were growing bigger and climbing towards the ceiling.
I jumped out of bed. What do I do what do I do? (I'm very good in crisis. By the way. I think maybe I would survive a zombie attack. If it weren't for my poor health) I had a bucket of water in my room (the remains of good intentions of mopping the floor that hadn't been actualized) - but it's an electrical fire, you don't throw water on it. What do I do? I ran down the five flights of stairs and two hallways to where the men sleep by the front gate. They were fast asleep on their cot. I shook the one closest to me, "wake up. please wake up. help me. FIRE. please help!" The first man didn't move at all, but the second man, when he heard fire jumped up and raced after me up the stairs.
He grabbed the bucket and threw it on the fan.
Which seemed to work. And made me feel stupid. But what are you supposed to do with electrical fires? Not water, right? Anyways, it worked, but my room was full of the most horrible smoke ever. He cut my fan down, remade my bed for me and said, "well, goodnight, then." and off he went. But today when I saw him he touched his heart and wiped his forehead with a sigh of relief. Which made me feel solidarity with him. Our secret firefighting club.
And Felicity kicked the cat out and let me sleep on her extra bed because the smoke was too thick in my room to sleep. And I lay and tried so hard not to wiggle and wake her up, which was so difficult because I so love to wiggle.
This morning Carmel, who lives on the first floor, told me she had heard me shout fire last night, and worried, had followed us up the first couple flights of stairs, but then got tired and turned around and went back to bed. Which made me laugh (she is so sick now. Everyone is so sick. Everyday I hear about people fainting and hospital trips and vomit. oh the vomit. everyone is sick. oh india.)
And I think it's silly of the fire trying to kill me. Because I haven't been to Darjeeling yet. And come virus, fire, hell or high water, I'm going to Darjeeling. Dammit. To look at the goddamn Himalayas. Dammit.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Anita came and laid on my bed this morning. "By the way, I think I have lice again," she said.
Yesterday she came in with a bamboo flute she bought on the street and played me music to cheer me up. Which it did. So the lice are forgiven.
Yesterday was another low day for me. Felt so sick, with horrors of mono running through my head. But 12 hours of sleep does wonders. And I'm doing better today. Except for the mysterious itching....
Joking. No itching.
So the Sunderbans. I know I haven't written about them yet, but they now feel so removed it's difficult to get my mind back there. I'll try. But I warn you in advance, I'm already unsatisfied with anything I write.
It was a beautiful trip down. We caught a bus and rode through the countryside. Small villages and soccer games in every town. Sometimes being in Calcutta it's difficult to remember that India has life outside the city.
It seems that for many of the people south of Calcutta, fishing is a huge livelihood. We went past field upon field upon field submerged, with people wading through the waters with nets, bringing in the harvested fish.
And then we boarded a boat and headed into the jungle. Only it's not really a jungle. It feels more like a marsh. The mangroves are low lying trees with huge roots that stick out above ground. Because the water of the Sunderbans is salt water (from the Bay of Bengal) the mangroves are the only vegetation that have adapted (and thus have no competition for sunlight, keeping the tree growth relatively short and low to the ground). Their roots stick up to absorb more oxygen that is apparently difficult to absorb in the rising salt waters.
The people that live in the sunderbans are a sub-tribe (from what I can gather - I'll have to look it up) of Bengalis, and they are mainly rice farmers, honey collectors, and fishermen. They live in mud and straw houses in a landscape and a lifestyle that has changed very very little for hundreds, possibly thousands of years.
And every year they are hunted and killed by the world's only remaining man-eating tigers that live in the sunderbans.
And the people seem to accept it. Here, they say, the Tiger is stronger than man. But why do they only kill here? Up to 80 people a year? Where elsewhere in the world, Tigers haven't attacked, let alone killed a human for years and years? There are many theories, all interesting, but all just theories. No on knows why for sure.
Still, it's terrifying. Many of the women dress in widow clothes when then men go out fishing (tigers have been known to pull them right out of boats) or deep into the mangroves to collect the honey.
We were safe though. In a really big boat. And (I now feel lucky about this) we didn't see any tigers. We did see crocodiles, lizards, and birds though. Which all felt much safer.
And the tent was like a house, and there was a huge buffet at every meal and the food was so good and the flowers and fellow travelers beautiful and the landscape breathtaking and so so quiet.
And that's all I feel like writing. It's difficult to think about because now I'm in an internet cafe and it's the first day of Diwali and there is a dance party happening outside and the sunderbans feel like a wonderful world away. How quickly Calcutta takes over everything else.
Time is moving quickly. Stan went home today. We sent him home with a shirt that says "Calcutta is great, france sucks." And I only have about a month left. Only a month and a few days.
Just please, please don't let me be sick again! I have so little time left.
Yesterday she came in with a bamboo flute she bought on the street and played me music to cheer me up. Which it did. So the lice are forgiven.
Yesterday was another low day for me. Felt so sick, with horrors of mono running through my head. But 12 hours of sleep does wonders. And I'm doing better today. Except for the mysterious itching....
Joking. No itching.
So the Sunderbans. I know I haven't written about them yet, but they now feel so removed it's difficult to get my mind back there. I'll try. But I warn you in advance, I'm already unsatisfied with anything I write.
It was a beautiful trip down. We caught a bus and rode through the countryside. Small villages and soccer games in every town. Sometimes being in Calcutta it's difficult to remember that India has life outside the city.
It seems that for many of the people south of Calcutta, fishing is a huge livelihood. We went past field upon field upon field submerged, with people wading through the waters with nets, bringing in the harvested fish.
And then we boarded a boat and headed into the jungle. Only it's not really a jungle. It feels more like a marsh. The mangroves are low lying trees with huge roots that stick out above ground. Because the water of the Sunderbans is salt water (from the Bay of Bengal) the mangroves are the only vegetation that have adapted (and thus have no competition for sunlight, keeping the tree growth relatively short and low to the ground). Their roots stick up to absorb more oxygen that is apparently difficult to absorb in the rising salt waters.
The people that live in the sunderbans are a sub-tribe (from what I can gather - I'll have to look it up) of Bengalis, and they are mainly rice farmers, honey collectors, and fishermen. They live in mud and straw houses in a landscape and a lifestyle that has changed very very little for hundreds, possibly thousands of years.
And every year they are hunted and killed by the world's only remaining man-eating tigers that live in the sunderbans.
And the people seem to accept it. Here, they say, the Tiger is stronger than man. But why do they only kill here? Up to 80 people a year? Where elsewhere in the world, Tigers haven't attacked, let alone killed a human for years and years? There are many theories, all interesting, but all just theories. No on knows why for sure.
Still, it's terrifying. Many of the women dress in widow clothes when then men go out fishing (tigers have been known to pull them right out of boats) or deep into the mangroves to collect the honey.
We were safe though. In a really big boat. And (I now feel lucky about this) we didn't see any tigers. We did see crocodiles, lizards, and birds though. Which all felt much safer.
And the tent was like a house, and there was a huge buffet at every meal and the food was so good and the flowers and fellow travelers beautiful and the landscape breathtaking and so so quiet.
And that's all I feel like writing. It's difficult to think about because now I'm in an internet cafe and it's the first day of Diwali and there is a dance party happening outside and the sunderbans feel like a wonderful world away. How quickly Calcutta takes over everything else.
Time is moving quickly. Stan went home today. We sent him home with a shirt that says "Calcutta is great, france sucks." And I only have about a month left. Only a month and a few days.
Just please, please don't let me be sick again! I have so little time left.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Public Notice: The small but powerful matriarchal nation of Kate has just made a bid to declare SueLynn as a Saint of the People for her humanitarian work in providing peanut butter and rasinettes to the downtrodden and suffering....
I think the fever has broken. It's now at around 99.8, but that seems fine to me. I'll take it. Because after three straight days of laying in my bed in fever and pain, I'll take just about anything.
I think Mother India hates me.
I'm just happy to not be alone. Anita brought me trays of food and played backgammon, and Carmel came and laid on my bed and talked about love, life and literature (the world's greatest topics). Stan let me become a fixture in his room (it has a television, and since being sick I've learned a lot about the mystical snow leopard of Pakistan and the beautiful snakes of India!) and as he stepped around me I asked, "do you want me to go?" and he said, "No. I'm use to you." And Felicity checked on me most every hour with toast and tea, and vomit buckets, and even cleared aside my piles of books and papers so I could "vomit proper, without spraying every which way."
And then she took me to the hospital because the pain in my body was really so bad. It hurt to touch my own arm. And I cried, because hospitals scare me. And she asked why I was crying. And I said, "because I wanted to be strong enough." And India isn't always what you think, she smiled and said. No, I replied, also smiling. I imagined it would smell of spice and jasmine. Felicity said, "one time, on one of my first visits to India, I was heading down south and at that time there was no direct flight, so you had to fly out of Mumbai (bombay) and then catch a seven hour bus ride. Anyways, one of the times there were problems with the flight and it ended up being 12 hours late. It was such a horribly long day and I was so frustrated, but when we landed we stepped off the plane and the air smelled like Jasmine and incense - and I would have done the whole trip again, just for that moment."
The blood tests came back negative, which means no Malaria (and there was much rejoicing), and it's most likely that I have some sort of a virus, that will pass with time (I'm a virus collector, by the way. Not by choice, but it appears to have become a hobby with me).
So the good news is that I will be ok. Anyways, I think I cried most of it out of my system by now. And also. Also. Also. Esther showed up at my door yesterday declaring, "special delivery" and in her hand was a HUGE box from SueLynn full of peanut butter, and rasinettes, and peanut butter m&m's and art supplies so I can color, and holiday decorations and a birthday present and it was huge and it was the best present ever! And I started bouncing up and down, but that hurt, so I just hugged it all to my chest; unpacking it and then repacking it so I could unpack it all over again.
And now I'm getting well on peanut butter.
November is soon. At which point I will only have a month left. Can you believe it? So much still to do. I want to see the Himalayas.
But I'm tired now and need to head back to bed. But tomorrow I will try to make it here again to tell you about the Sunderbans, the only place in the world where tigers still actively hunt humans - killing up to 80 people a year. I have to tell you. tomorrow.
Thanks for all the well wishes. It means a lot. I miss home.
I think the fever has broken. It's now at around 99.8, but that seems fine to me. I'll take it. Because after three straight days of laying in my bed in fever and pain, I'll take just about anything.
I think Mother India hates me.
I'm just happy to not be alone. Anita brought me trays of food and played backgammon, and Carmel came and laid on my bed and talked about love, life and literature (the world's greatest topics). Stan let me become a fixture in his room (it has a television, and since being sick I've learned a lot about the mystical snow leopard of Pakistan and the beautiful snakes of India!) and as he stepped around me I asked, "do you want me to go?" and he said, "No. I'm use to you." And Felicity checked on me most every hour with toast and tea, and vomit buckets, and even cleared aside my piles of books and papers so I could "vomit proper, without spraying every which way."
And then she took me to the hospital because the pain in my body was really so bad. It hurt to touch my own arm. And I cried, because hospitals scare me. And she asked why I was crying. And I said, "because I wanted to be strong enough." And India isn't always what you think, she smiled and said. No, I replied, also smiling. I imagined it would smell of spice and jasmine. Felicity said, "one time, on one of my first visits to India, I was heading down south and at that time there was no direct flight, so you had to fly out of Mumbai (bombay) and then catch a seven hour bus ride. Anyways, one of the times there were problems with the flight and it ended up being 12 hours late. It was such a horribly long day and I was so frustrated, but when we landed we stepped off the plane and the air smelled like Jasmine and incense - and I would have done the whole trip again, just for that moment."
The blood tests came back negative, which means no Malaria (and there was much rejoicing), and it's most likely that I have some sort of a virus, that will pass with time (I'm a virus collector, by the way. Not by choice, but it appears to have become a hobby with me).
So the good news is that I will be ok. Anyways, I think I cried most of it out of my system by now. And also. Also. Also. Esther showed up at my door yesterday declaring, "special delivery" and in her hand was a HUGE box from SueLynn full of peanut butter, and rasinettes, and peanut butter m&m's and art supplies so I can color, and holiday decorations and a birthday present and it was huge and it was the best present ever! And I started bouncing up and down, but that hurt, so I just hugged it all to my chest; unpacking it and then repacking it so I could unpack it all over again.
And now I'm getting well on peanut butter.
November is soon. At which point I will only have a month left. Can you believe it? So much still to do. I want to see the Himalayas.
But I'm tired now and need to head back to bed. But tomorrow I will try to make it here again to tell you about the Sunderbans, the only place in the world where tigers still actively hunt humans - killing up to 80 people a year. I have to tell you. tomorrow.
Thanks for all the well wishes. It means a lot. I miss home.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I'm strange. And leaving for the jungles.
"I actually don't have any interest in seeing the temple" I said to anita, katerina, and felicity. Which was too bad because we were already there.
We got there at 1:00 yesterday after carefully not reading what was clearly written in the guidebook: "the temple is closed daily at 1:00 and opens again at 3:30." They all decided to wait the two and a half hours, and then I turned to them and said, "I actually don't have any interest in seeing the temple."
Which is too bad, because I am interested. Only not just then. Just then my only goal - as has been my goal for the past two days- is to not be around people. Which is a change. Because the first month I wanted people around constantly. To fight off the loneliness and make the unfamiliar feel manageable.
But I can't get the image of the woman with her scalp missing out of my head. And I'm not sleeping well. Or eating well (just eating a lot. salt then sugar. sugar then salt) and I told anita I was leaving, and they looked at me strangely and I got up and left. And as soon as I was gone I breathed a deep breath and caught a taxi to the metro and from the metro wandered the streets, feeling only comfortable around strangers. I don't know why
I don't know why.
I'm acting very strange. Or maybe more like myself. The introvert that I secretly am. When I was in college and SueLynn was in the room I often would pretend that I was an invisible vapor creeping along the walls. And when I was in that mood she would always let me be - which makes her, once again, the world's greatest roommate. I know it's strange. Sometimes I just want to be invisible. Except with Poki. I always wanted him to see me. And I tried so hard I misunderstood that he was seeing me. all the time. And that was also part of the problem. But a different problem than what I want to talk about.
So I have been creeping around the courtyard, staying close to the walls. Hoping no one sees me except complete strangers who won't expect anything from me and ask me how I'm doing, because I'm exhausted and I don't want to talk about it.
So I sat on a bench and drank tea with the West Bengali's and felt better. And the man told me that Darjeeling will be so cold, and some rooms will have no heat, so I will have to take rum with me to stay warm. And I think that's a really good idea.
And I took the morning to myself to listen to music and watch the moth on the wall and write random sentences on scraps of paper. Which makes me feel better. always. And now I will go paint pink elephants on the wall.
And tomorrow I will go to the jungles by taxi, bus, and boat. And Anita, Steffi and I drank all the rum and made up songs on the guitar, "Sunderbans, sunderbans, we're going to the sunderbans..." and we will see tigers and birds and crocodiles and mangrove forests quiet air with blue and green and then maybe I can get that picture of the woman's scalp out of my head. Where it doesn't belong.
Be back Wednesday
We got there at 1:00 yesterday after carefully not reading what was clearly written in the guidebook: "the temple is closed daily at 1:00 and opens again at 3:30." They all decided to wait the two and a half hours, and then I turned to them and said, "I actually don't have any interest in seeing the temple."
Which is too bad, because I am interested. Only not just then. Just then my only goal - as has been my goal for the past two days- is to not be around people. Which is a change. Because the first month I wanted people around constantly. To fight off the loneliness and make the unfamiliar feel manageable.
But I can't get the image of the woman with her scalp missing out of my head. And I'm not sleeping well. Or eating well (just eating a lot. salt then sugar. sugar then salt) and I told anita I was leaving, and they looked at me strangely and I got up and left. And as soon as I was gone I breathed a deep breath and caught a taxi to the metro and from the metro wandered the streets, feeling only comfortable around strangers. I don't know why
I don't know why.
I'm acting very strange. Or maybe more like myself. The introvert that I secretly am. When I was in college and SueLynn was in the room I often would pretend that I was an invisible vapor creeping along the walls. And when I was in that mood she would always let me be - which makes her, once again, the world's greatest roommate. I know it's strange. Sometimes I just want to be invisible. Except with Poki. I always wanted him to see me. And I tried so hard I misunderstood that he was seeing me. all the time. And that was also part of the problem. But a different problem than what I want to talk about.
So I have been creeping around the courtyard, staying close to the walls. Hoping no one sees me except complete strangers who won't expect anything from me and ask me how I'm doing, because I'm exhausted and I don't want to talk about it.
So I sat on a bench and drank tea with the West Bengali's and felt better. And the man told me that Darjeeling will be so cold, and some rooms will have no heat, so I will have to take rum with me to stay warm. And I think that's a really good idea.
And I took the morning to myself to listen to music and watch the moth on the wall and write random sentences on scraps of paper. Which makes me feel better. always. And now I will go paint pink elephants on the wall.
And tomorrow I will go to the jungles by taxi, bus, and boat. And Anita, Steffi and I drank all the rum and made up songs on the guitar, "Sunderbans, sunderbans, we're going to the sunderbans..." and we will see tigers and birds and crocodiles and mangrove forests quiet air with blue and green and then maybe I can get that picture of the woman's scalp out of my head. Where it doesn't belong.
Be back Wednesday
Friday, October 17, 2008
Anita walked back over to park street yesterday to see if the man with the stolen pants was o.k. She didn't see him, but she did see a man with no shirt, and she said to herself, "no just keep walking, just keep walking."
This morning at breakfast Father Abello came over to talk to me again. He is a Canadian Catholic father and has lived in Calcutta for something like 36 years. I hate it when he talks to me because it always turns out to be a big political discussion and I always disagree with him and he always makes me angry and then sends me emails regarding the ills of contraception (it makes me so upset that the sisters are so against contraception when India - and everywhere- are having a crisis of overpopulation. I feel really strongly about this. anyways) anyways. anyways. I was trying to avoid eye contact and he was scanning the room looking for Americans so he could come over and tell them not to vote for Obama. But he found me and came over, and I thought, "oh no, not today Father Abello, please, I am talking to the really cute boy with dimples today, and it is a nice morning so far and please don't come over." And I felt like a catholic school kid. Only I'm not catholic and the boy was really cute, and afterwards we joked that we should hide the ballot that just came in from America for one of the volunteers because Father Abello might steam it open and vote for McCain.
And I decided that cute boys would be a good cure for the heartache that isn't going away. Why does it still hurt. I don't want to hurt anymore. And I don't want McCain to win. either. There are more Americans here than last month. Last month I only met two, now there are so many and mostly from the Northwest, which is nice. And we decided to have an "Obama wins" party in a couple of weeks.
The mural is coming along so quickly. I thought that we would still be scraping, but the walls have already been plastered and primed and Verity is drawing on the outline of the mural. I am so impressed by how hard people are working. They are starting at 8:00 in the morning and working until 5, 6:00 every night. This morning we followed her pencil lines with black paint until the wall started to look like a giant coloring book. It's great.
Anita and I are going to the Sunderban tiger reserve on Monday. We will go for two nights (sleeping in a tent) and return on Wednesday. (I have decided not to tell Anita about my claustrophobia and my habit of sleeping with a knife when in a tent. the knife eases my mind. in case I need to cut my way out) The sunderbans are a giant nature reserve - supposed to be comprised of the world's largest river deltas and forest of mangrove trees. It's pretty much a jungle from what I can understand - I wrote about it I think already? I can't remember. Long day.
A woman died at Kalighat today. It is very hard for me. I'm trying not to cry. I don't want to cry. today. I was squatting next to a big basin of water washing the dishes from dinner and they brought her body past me covered in a shroud. They were deciding what to do with her jewelry. I think. I don't know. I just sat there with my hands in the water.
Another woman was brought in today. Her scalp was ripped open and you could see the bone of her skull and in some places you could see her brain. There were worms and maggots crawling around in the open flesh of her head and three nurses were gathered around her with tweezers pulling them out. Somehow she is alive. I don't know how.
I am going to go buy a beer and write. A very hard day for me.
I want to curl up into myself smaller and smaller until I disappear.
And then I want to reappear, because I'm scared of being forgotten, and I want someone to cuddle me and play with my hair and hold my forehead and I want to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and play soccer in the mud and have drinks with good friends and live forever by a river with a large fur-faced dog and good food and friends and family and someone to love and be loved. And I want french fries.
Don't misunderstand what I write though. I'm o.k.
This morning at breakfast Father Abello came over to talk to me again. He is a Canadian Catholic father and has lived in Calcutta for something like 36 years. I hate it when he talks to me because it always turns out to be a big political discussion and I always disagree with him and he always makes me angry and then sends me emails regarding the ills of contraception (it makes me so upset that the sisters are so against contraception when India - and everywhere- are having a crisis of overpopulation. I feel really strongly about this. anyways) anyways. anyways. I was trying to avoid eye contact and he was scanning the room looking for Americans so he could come over and tell them not to vote for Obama. But he found me and came over, and I thought, "oh no, not today Father Abello, please, I am talking to the really cute boy with dimples today, and it is a nice morning so far and please don't come over." And I felt like a catholic school kid. Only I'm not catholic and the boy was really cute, and afterwards we joked that we should hide the ballot that just came in from America for one of the volunteers because Father Abello might steam it open and vote for McCain.
And I decided that cute boys would be a good cure for the heartache that isn't going away. Why does it still hurt. I don't want to hurt anymore. And I don't want McCain to win. either. There are more Americans here than last month. Last month I only met two, now there are so many and mostly from the Northwest, which is nice. And we decided to have an "Obama wins" party in a couple of weeks.
The mural is coming along so quickly. I thought that we would still be scraping, but the walls have already been plastered and primed and Verity is drawing on the outline of the mural. I am so impressed by how hard people are working. They are starting at 8:00 in the morning and working until 5, 6:00 every night. This morning we followed her pencil lines with black paint until the wall started to look like a giant coloring book. It's great.
Anita and I are going to the Sunderban tiger reserve on Monday. We will go for two nights (sleeping in a tent) and return on Wednesday. (I have decided not to tell Anita about my claustrophobia and my habit of sleeping with a knife when in a tent. the knife eases my mind. in case I need to cut my way out) The sunderbans are a giant nature reserve - supposed to be comprised of the world's largest river deltas and forest of mangrove trees. It's pretty much a jungle from what I can understand - I wrote about it I think already? I can't remember. Long day.
A woman died at Kalighat today. It is very hard for me. I'm trying not to cry. I don't want to cry. today. I was squatting next to a big basin of water washing the dishes from dinner and they brought her body past me covered in a shroud. They were deciding what to do with her jewelry. I think. I don't know. I just sat there with my hands in the water.
Another woman was brought in today. Her scalp was ripped open and you could see the bone of her skull and in some places you could see her brain. There were worms and maggots crawling around in the open flesh of her head and three nurses were gathered around her with tweezers pulling them out. Somehow she is alive. I don't know how.
I am going to go buy a beer and write. A very hard day for me.
I want to curl up into myself smaller and smaller until I disappear.
And then I want to reappear, because I'm scared of being forgotten, and I want someone to cuddle me and play with my hair and hold my forehead and I want to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and play soccer in the mud and have drinks with good friends and live forever by a river with a large fur-faced dog and good food and friends and family and someone to love and be loved. And I want french fries.
Don't misunderstand what I write though. I'm o.k.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Today I live for pineapples.
And the air conditioner at Oxford Books.
It's still really hot. But I think the evenings are getting cooler. It's not easy to say that at night when we're all still sitting around sweating, but it's easy to think that, and so I will.
And I refuse to be swayed otherwise. I believe it's cooler. And so it is. But oh lordy, it's so hot.
I don't feel upset today. But I was so upset last night that I have to pay tribute to my frustration through a blog vent. So if you are in a good mood, I really think you shouldn't read further. Just wait until tomorrow when I write something that uplifts your spirit and conclusively ends poverty and oppression through words alone. Just wait.
Until then.
Sigh. O.K. so here's the vent: I really fucking can't handle the adolescent males. I really can't. Maybe on a different day I'd have a more anthropologically unbiased nonviolent point of view. But today I fucking can't handle them.
And it's mostly them. Occasionally younger boys and older men, but mostly just the adolescents. Who think physical harassment of foreigners is an acceptable pastime, and have learned enough words in English so that walking down the street I hear at least four, five times a day, "I want to fuck you. You are a sexy machine goddess I want to fuck." It's gross.
It's worse when they touch you.
One of my friends was walking down the street and kept accidentally brushing her hand into the man behind her. She was embarrassed and apologized, until she realized he was following her on purpose for the cheap thrill of having his penis touched.
Another friend was at a restaurant where a man - no joke- was staring at her, took out his penis and started masturbating, right there at the restaurant. She got up and slapped him. And he said, "I apologize that you had to see that." She went over and told the servers, and they went and talked to him and came back and told her, "He said that nothing happened and you are making it up." She went inside and found the owner of the restaurant (thank goodness it was a woman) told her, and the woman went and screamed at him and kicked him out.
My same friend was riding in a bus or a plane (I don't remember which) and fell asleep and when she woke up a man was sitting there with his hands on her breasts. She started crying and told an attendant who, get this, told her it was her fault for falling asleep.
Another friend was walking down the street (this is my favorite story) and a man came up and full on grabbed her breasts. She screamed and then men around her asked what happened. She told them what he had done and they chased him down and held him for her as she beat him with her umbrella. (this is my favorite story).
Last night I was making a Veggie Chow Mien run for the house mates (15 rupees for a big bowl! 47 rupees equals a dollar, by the way). And I was standing there waiting for the to-go order and a group of adolescent males came up and grabbed my ass and ran away. And the frustrating part is that there was a group of other males just sitting around watching it and laughing. It was really humiliating actually to just stand there waiting for my food being laughed at.
But the worse part about all of this is how jaded it makes me. It puts me completely on my guard and I find myself, after a day of hassle and harassment, responding really shortly and rudely to people who are perfectly wonderful and kind and just trying to help me. And I think sometimes I miss out on really good interactions because of that. That's the most frustrating part, because for every asshole, there's at least ten really great people. With amazing kindness and I don't want to stop seeing that.
Luckily I have great house mates to vent to and luckily Brenden was there to play Speed with me, and I'm really good at Speed and I always feel better after beating someone at cards. And then he taught me how to play 13 and I won a rupee off of him, which felt even better and all was forgotten.
Until I lay in bed and thought about how frustrating it can be to be a female. And it took a while to calm down enough to sleep (women are so emotional, I hear)
One of the women (girls) at Kalighat is new this week. She's five months pregnant and has come here to have her baby. The sister was telling me that the girl says she's only 10 years old. The sister believes it because the girl has such a young sounding voice, but I don't believe it, her body, her hands, and her face look older. Her voice is young though. She could easily be 15. And the thing is, as they were saying, it is good she is here, because young and pregnant on the street she would get raped every night.
I like her. She's very much the teenager. Even though we don't speak the same language, I spent like twenty minutes looking at nails and shoes with her. Then when I turned to another woman (a cute old woman with a bald head and bottle-cap glasses, who I think was pretending to fly yesterday) the girl repeatedly hit me on the back. "Ow!" I'd say, "what do you want?" She'd point to the food plates getting ready for dinner. "It's not time for dinner, I can't do anything about that," I'd say, and turn back. And she'd proceed to hit me like ten more times. Because she wanted dinner NOW. It was really funny. Very much the teenager.
And another woman reached out her hand to me yesterday when I walked by, and I sat down next to her, and she curled herself into my side and cried into me. And I just sat there and rocked her, and she'd look up and kiss my face. It was so sad and so sweet and I remember being sick and wanting to do the exact same thing. I don't know why I'm saying all this. Just needed to.
But the best story yesterday (not that any story has been good so far) is from Anita. She was walking down Park Street in her never-ending pursuit of British Airways to extend her ticket. She walked past a man who was laying with no pants - completely exposed - on the sidewalk. She thought I have to do something, what should I do, and she said, "I looked up, and right there were a pair of trousers hanging on the rail, and I thought, this is perfect! they must have come from heaven! Look I need trousers, and here they are!" Gleefully, she took the heaven-sent trousers and gave them to the naked man. She said he was so happy and she bought him an egg and rice roll and walked home thinking how great everything worked out. And it wasn't until she was on the bus later that day that she realized the possibility that the pants hadn't come from heaven but she just maybe had stolen someone else's pants (hung out to dry after laundry) and given them to the man.
To which Felicity said, "Of course you stole them, and now that first man is beating the shit out of the other one." Which was just too funny - not that it's funny at all - but that Anita has such a good heart and tried so hard, and it was just such an innocent, albeit really obvious, mistake, and Anita was so distraught over her attempt to do good. And we've all done something similar. And we're all just stumbling along trying to do the best we can.
And men can be gross, and women can be dying, and people can be pantless but you just have to keep going and you just have to keep trying sometimes, huh?
Anyways, that's all I've got.
And the air conditioner at Oxford Books.
It's still really hot. But I think the evenings are getting cooler. It's not easy to say that at night when we're all still sitting around sweating, but it's easy to think that, and so I will.
And I refuse to be swayed otherwise. I believe it's cooler. And so it is. But oh lordy, it's so hot.
I don't feel upset today. But I was so upset last night that I have to pay tribute to my frustration through a blog vent. So if you are in a good mood, I really think you shouldn't read further. Just wait until tomorrow when I write something that uplifts your spirit and conclusively ends poverty and oppression through words alone. Just wait.
Until then.
Sigh. O.K. so here's the vent: I really fucking can't handle the adolescent males. I really can't. Maybe on a different day I'd have a more anthropologically unbiased nonviolent point of view. But today I fucking can't handle them.
And it's mostly them. Occasionally younger boys and older men, but mostly just the adolescents. Who think physical harassment of foreigners is an acceptable pastime, and have learned enough words in English so that walking down the street I hear at least four, five times a day, "I want to fuck you. You are a sexy machine goddess I want to fuck." It's gross.
It's worse when they touch you.
One of my friends was walking down the street and kept accidentally brushing her hand into the man behind her. She was embarrassed and apologized, until she realized he was following her on purpose for the cheap thrill of having his penis touched.
Another friend was at a restaurant where a man - no joke- was staring at her, took out his penis and started masturbating, right there at the restaurant. She got up and slapped him. And he said, "I apologize that you had to see that." She went over and told the servers, and they went and talked to him and came back and told her, "He said that nothing happened and you are making it up." She went inside and found the owner of the restaurant (thank goodness it was a woman) told her, and the woman went and screamed at him and kicked him out.
My same friend was riding in a bus or a plane (I don't remember which) and fell asleep and when she woke up a man was sitting there with his hands on her breasts. She started crying and told an attendant who, get this, told her it was her fault for falling asleep.
Another friend was walking down the street (this is my favorite story) and a man came up and full on grabbed her breasts. She screamed and then men around her asked what happened. She told them what he had done and they chased him down and held him for her as she beat him with her umbrella. (this is my favorite story).
Last night I was making a Veggie Chow Mien run for the house mates (15 rupees for a big bowl! 47 rupees equals a dollar, by the way). And I was standing there waiting for the to-go order and a group of adolescent males came up and grabbed my ass and ran away. And the frustrating part is that there was a group of other males just sitting around watching it and laughing. It was really humiliating actually to just stand there waiting for my food being laughed at.
But the worse part about all of this is how jaded it makes me. It puts me completely on my guard and I find myself, after a day of hassle and harassment, responding really shortly and rudely to people who are perfectly wonderful and kind and just trying to help me. And I think sometimes I miss out on really good interactions because of that. That's the most frustrating part, because for every asshole, there's at least ten really great people. With amazing kindness and I don't want to stop seeing that.
Luckily I have great house mates to vent to and luckily Brenden was there to play Speed with me, and I'm really good at Speed and I always feel better after beating someone at cards. And then he taught me how to play 13 and I won a rupee off of him, which felt even better and all was forgotten.
Until I lay in bed and thought about how frustrating it can be to be a female. And it took a while to calm down enough to sleep (women are so emotional, I hear)
One of the women (girls) at Kalighat is new this week. She's five months pregnant and has come here to have her baby. The sister was telling me that the girl says she's only 10 years old. The sister believes it because the girl has such a young sounding voice, but I don't believe it, her body, her hands, and her face look older. Her voice is young though. She could easily be 15. And the thing is, as they were saying, it is good she is here, because young and pregnant on the street she would get raped every night.
I like her. She's very much the teenager. Even though we don't speak the same language, I spent like twenty minutes looking at nails and shoes with her. Then when I turned to another woman (a cute old woman with a bald head and bottle-cap glasses, who I think was pretending to fly yesterday) the girl repeatedly hit me on the back. "Ow!" I'd say, "what do you want?" She'd point to the food plates getting ready for dinner. "It's not time for dinner, I can't do anything about that," I'd say, and turn back. And she'd proceed to hit me like ten more times. Because she wanted dinner NOW. It was really funny. Very much the teenager.
And another woman reached out her hand to me yesterday when I walked by, and I sat down next to her, and she curled herself into my side and cried into me. And I just sat there and rocked her, and she'd look up and kiss my face. It was so sad and so sweet and I remember being sick and wanting to do the exact same thing. I don't know why I'm saying all this. Just needed to.
But the best story yesterday (not that any story has been good so far) is from Anita. She was walking down Park Street in her never-ending pursuit of British Airways to extend her ticket. She walked past a man who was laying with no pants - completely exposed - on the sidewalk. She thought I have to do something, what should I do, and she said, "I looked up, and right there were a pair of trousers hanging on the rail, and I thought, this is perfect! they must have come from heaven! Look I need trousers, and here they are!" Gleefully, she took the heaven-sent trousers and gave them to the naked man. She said he was so happy and she bought him an egg and rice roll and walked home thinking how great everything worked out. And it wasn't until she was on the bus later that day that she realized the possibility that the pants hadn't come from heaven but she just maybe had stolen someone else's pants (hung out to dry after laundry) and given them to the man.
To which Felicity said, "Of course you stole them, and now that first man is beating the shit out of the other one." Which was just too funny - not that it's funny at all - but that Anita has such a good heart and tried so hard, and it was just such an innocent, albeit really obvious, mistake, and Anita was so distraught over her attempt to do good. And we've all done something similar. And we're all just stumbling along trying to do the best we can.
And men can be gross, and women can be dying, and people can be pantless but you just have to keep going and you just have to keep trying sometimes, huh?
Anyways, that's all I've got.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
back by popular (solicited) demand.
Didn't get my tickets to the Sunderbans yesterday, because there was yet ANOTHER puja. Puja puja puja. Crazy. So all the offices were closed, but we'll try again today. So instead we walked down to the river and caught a ferry across (it was a lovely ferry ride and only cost 4 rupees! 4 rupees. That's like a nickel. Maybe ten cents, I'm not sure. But yeah!) then we sat in front of the train station and drank tea and sipped chai, caught another ferry back across. And a very nice day.
I'm tired and covered in paint. The mural is coming along so much faster than expected. It's really exciting. And has inspired me to start doing my push ups again. Cause I'm really tired.
But well. Well-ish. Very lonely for people at home today.
BUT: I got my very first letter today! I pranced around showing it to at least ten people. It was really exciting. To me. And from my sister. And so beautiful. And I've already read it three times and I'm about to go home and pin it on my wall before falling into a coma like sleep.
Didn't get my tickets to the Sunderbans yesterday, because there was yet ANOTHER puja. Puja puja puja. Crazy. So all the offices were closed, but we'll try again today. So instead we walked down to the river and caught a ferry across (it was a lovely ferry ride and only cost 4 rupees! 4 rupees. That's like a nickel. Maybe ten cents, I'm not sure. But yeah!) then we sat in front of the train station and drank tea and sipped chai, caught another ferry back across. And a very nice day.
I'm tired and covered in paint. The mural is coming along so much faster than expected. It's really exciting. And has inspired me to start doing my push ups again. Cause I'm really tired.
But well. Well-ish. Very lonely for people at home today.
BUT: I got my very first letter today! I pranced around showing it to at least ten people. It was really exciting. To me. And from my sister. And so beautiful. And I've already read it three times and I'm about to go home and pin it on my wall before falling into a coma like sleep.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Shit happens....on my shoulder.
The trouble with blogging everyday is that I don't want to. (And I'm only doing what I want these days. It's awesome.)
The trouble with not blogging is that when I do want to, there is too much to say! So much, in fact, that I'm having trouble getting my thoughts to work in a linear fashion. So excuse the onslaught of incohesiveness in advance.
Yesterday we made it to laughing yoga!
Anita, myself, and a girl from South Africa (she's here visiting her mom who owns a wine farm in South Africa who decided to come here once a year and volunteer after her husband died -aside: I love everyone's stories! - Also, they said if I wanted to come to South Africa they'd show me around!) - anyways, we got up at 5:30 and caught a taxi to a place I can't remember the name of. It was by a lake and as we walked around the orange sun rising cast a brilliant light on all the trees and illuminated the people doing morning walks, yoga, meditation, and salutations to the starting day. And through the mist we could hear, ever so softly, and then ever so much louder, "Ha-ha-ho-ho-ha ha ha ha ha."
By the time we walked around the lake there was only like ten minutes left of the group, but we joined in and a woman came over to us to explain the exercises. It was such a wonderful way to start the day, I'm thinking of going again.
The day before we went in a large group to the marble palace which is a beautiful mansion with the most unbelievable marble inlay on the floors. Home to Hindi princes for generations. Still owned by the family of seven brothers. And as correctly described in the guidebook, really eerie; like a scary movie/horror set. Oh the horror!
Then we walked up to find a famous Indian coffee house by the college campus. It was closed, but we let ourselves in anyways. And sat in the empty room, with a distinctly cuban writer's feel and thought about all the stories that had been conjured there. And I'm dying to write. I wish I had brought my laptop. I'm bursting at the seems with characters and situations that have to be stories immediately. All I want to do is write and write and write. Only not blogs. Because no one comments and that's depressing. (this is me making an obvious request:)
Then my ATM card died, and my watch died and a pigeon shit on my shoulder.
So here I am in the middle of India with no access to money. It's a bit unnerving (and inhibits my sense of freedom) but I'm surprisingly fine with it. Brendon was commenting yesterday that it was refreshing how I took my quandary in stride. Because what can you do? But secretly, I'm only calm for two reasons. The first is because I only tend to get anxious at night time. Especially if I'm with people I'm comfortable falling apart in front of. So I just waited until I was alone in my bed at night and realized in a moment's panic, "I'm completely stuck in India and can't leave if I want because I have no money." The second reason is - because honestly what can you do? Poki told me a while ago about an ancient Chinese (I think chinese.) practice of making all major decisions in seven breaths. And I've been trying that. So my ATM card doesn't work, what do I do? "one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four...wire my parents for money." done. How much money, "one breath, two, three, four...done." And then it really is done.
All who know my indecisiveness would be very impressed. This will come in handy later when I have to pick out a new toothbrush.
And the other secret reason (I guess there were three) why I'm not worried is because I'm not alone. I was telling people about my prediciment and Carmel (my new friend ever since I invited her out for a beer two days ago - she's Irish) said, "oh it's no worries. We'd all take care of you. If you need money, we'd get you money" and Joe from New York said he'll give me all the money he has left over on Thursday when he leaves. And Stan and Brendon and Anita - everyone asked.
I'm getting to love my life here. Last night Steffi asked, "why don't you extend your ticket. You should stay longer. What do you have to go home for?" And the last question is haunting me a little bit...
Last night we sat around in our courtyard. hungry. And someone asked, does anyone have any food? I said, I have one onion and garlic. Steffi had three tomatoes and a cucumber. Stan had two bags of pasta. Anita had a papaya. And we pooled our meager food together and gave it to Nico and somehow an amazing meal came out of it.
Time is moving so fast.
Anita and I (and maybe Katerina) are going to go to the Sunderbans this weekend. Hopefully. It's the world's largest system of river deltas, mangrove forrests, and Tigers! We will spend two nights on a river boat drifting through the jungles. Reportedly, the women that live there dress as widows everytime their husbands leave for work, as so many of them have been attacked by tigers, and then change back into their regular clothes when their husbands return. The men, many of them beekeepers I believe, wear masks on the back of their heads because it is believed that a tiger won't attack you if it thinks you are looking at him.
Today I started work at Shisu bhavan, another house for children. I will be going there in the mornings now to work on a mureal! One of the volunteers (an anthropologist, very excited to hear I studied anthropology!) has been coming here for ten years, and she is painting a beautiful beautiful bright mureal in the children's playground. Today she and I scrapped off an old one (pale and depressing) for three hours off the walls - and we're not close to done. Hopefully by tomorrow we can finish up, wash the walls, and then by the end of the week whitewash everything. She's already designed the mureal (it's really bright and beautiful and will completely enclose the playground!) and she'll outline it, then me and another volunteer will paint it in. She's also planning to put candystripes on the play equipment and paint a pond at the bottom of the slides so it will look like you're sliding into a pool of fish!) We're also hoping to bring in barkdust to put around the garden and make the playground a really beautiful oasis for the kids. I'm really, really exicted to work on it and just wish that my mom, sister, and jess were here to work on it because I think they would love it!
I'm still working at Kalighat at night. How will I ever find all the time I'm needing. It's starting to go so quickly. It's caught me completely off guard.
The trouble with not blogging is that when I do want to, there is too much to say! So much, in fact, that I'm having trouble getting my thoughts to work in a linear fashion. So excuse the onslaught of incohesiveness in advance.
Yesterday we made it to laughing yoga!
Anita, myself, and a girl from South Africa (she's here visiting her mom who owns a wine farm in South Africa who decided to come here once a year and volunteer after her husband died -aside: I love everyone's stories! - Also, they said if I wanted to come to South Africa they'd show me around!) - anyways, we got up at 5:30 and caught a taxi to a place I can't remember the name of. It was by a lake and as we walked around the orange sun rising cast a brilliant light on all the trees and illuminated the people doing morning walks, yoga, meditation, and salutations to the starting day. And through the mist we could hear, ever so softly, and then ever so much louder, "Ha-ha-ho-ho-ha ha ha ha ha."
By the time we walked around the lake there was only like ten minutes left of the group, but we joined in and a woman came over to us to explain the exercises. It was such a wonderful way to start the day, I'm thinking of going again.
The day before we went in a large group to the marble palace which is a beautiful mansion with the most unbelievable marble inlay on the floors. Home to Hindi princes for generations. Still owned by the family of seven brothers. And as correctly described in the guidebook, really eerie; like a scary movie/horror set. Oh the horror!
Then we walked up to find a famous Indian coffee house by the college campus. It was closed, but we let ourselves in anyways. And sat in the empty room, with a distinctly cuban writer's feel and thought about all the stories that had been conjured there. And I'm dying to write. I wish I had brought my laptop. I'm bursting at the seems with characters and situations that have to be stories immediately. All I want to do is write and write and write. Only not blogs. Because no one comments and that's depressing. (this is me making an obvious request:)
Then my ATM card died, and my watch died and a pigeon shit on my shoulder.
So here I am in the middle of India with no access to money. It's a bit unnerving (and inhibits my sense of freedom) but I'm surprisingly fine with it. Brendon was commenting yesterday that it was refreshing how I took my quandary in stride. Because what can you do? But secretly, I'm only calm for two reasons. The first is because I only tend to get anxious at night time. Especially if I'm with people I'm comfortable falling apart in front of. So I just waited until I was alone in my bed at night and realized in a moment's panic, "I'm completely stuck in India and can't leave if I want because I have no money." The second reason is - because honestly what can you do? Poki told me a while ago about an ancient Chinese (I think chinese.) practice of making all major decisions in seven breaths. And I've been trying that. So my ATM card doesn't work, what do I do? "one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four...wire my parents for money." done. How much money, "one breath, two, three, four...done." And then it really is done.
All who know my indecisiveness would be very impressed. This will come in handy later when I have to pick out a new toothbrush.
And the other secret reason (I guess there were three) why I'm not worried is because I'm not alone. I was telling people about my prediciment and Carmel (my new friend ever since I invited her out for a beer two days ago - she's Irish) said, "oh it's no worries. We'd all take care of you. If you need money, we'd get you money" and Joe from New York said he'll give me all the money he has left over on Thursday when he leaves. And Stan and Brendon and Anita - everyone asked.
I'm getting to love my life here. Last night Steffi asked, "why don't you extend your ticket. You should stay longer. What do you have to go home for?" And the last question is haunting me a little bit...
Last night we sat around in our courtyard. hungry. And someone asked, does anyone have any food? I said, I have one onion and garlic. Steffi had three tomatoes and a cucumber. Stan had two bags of pasta. Anita had a papaya. And we pooled our meager food together and gave it to Nico and somehow an amazing meal came out of it.
Time is moving so fast.
Anita and I (and maybe Katerina) are going to go to the Sunderbans this weekend. Hopefully. It's the world's largest system of river deltas, mangrove forrests, and Tigers! We will spend two nights on a river boat drifting through the jungles. Reportedly, the women that live there dress as widows everytime their husbands leave for work, as so many of them have been attacked by tigers, and then change back into their regular clothes when their husbands return. The men, many of them beekeepers I believe, wear masks on the back of their heads because it is believed that a tiger won't attack you if it thinks you are looking at him.
Today I started work at Shisu bhavan, another house for children. I will be going there in the mornings now to work on a mureal! One of the volunteers (an anthropologist, very excited to hear I studied anthropology!) has been coming here for ten years, and she is painting a beautiful beautiful bright mureal in the children's playground. Today she and I scrapped off an old one (pale and depressing) for three hours off the walls - and we're not close to done. Hopefully by tomorrow we can finish up, wash the walls, and then by the end of the week whitewash everything. She's already designed the mureal (it's really bright and beautiful and will completely enclose the playground!) and she'll outline it, then me and another volunteer will paint it in. She's also planning to put candystripes on the play equipment and paint a pond at the bottom of the slides so it will look like you're sliding into a pool of fish!) We're also hoping to bring in barkdust to put around the garden and make the playground a really beautiful oasis for the kids. I'm really, really exicted to work on it and just wish that my mom, sister, and jess were here to work on it because I think they would love it!
I'm still working at Kalighat at night. How will I ever find all the time I'm needing. It's starting to go so quickly. It's caught me completely off guard.
Friday, October 10, 2008
this is how we survive
Just having a really good time.
mostly.
I was talking with a girl I met yesterday and she lived in India three years ago, and now is back for the first time. She said (in effect), "The whole time I was gone I missed it horribly, and kept trying to figure out a way to get back. But I also realized, that while I was here I wasn't ever completely happy. I don't think you can be. There's the noise and the pollution, and you have to be on your guard so much. And you often really want a toilet. And there are so many things you can't eat and you get hassled so much that you want to scream. But then there are the women and the children you work with and you love them so much. And the other volunteers - everyone. But then you have to separate your head and your heart. Often you have to cut out your heart completely, otherwise it is just too assaulted and I don't think you can live, I think you would explode. So you walk around each day in your head. And you love it and you hate it."
And now she's back - working at Kalighat again - and one of the women patients remembered her from three years ago and started crying and held her and wouldn't let her go. It almost made me start to cry, but then I've cut my heart out so I can't.
And after work we all went out for beers - France, Spain, Ireland, Canada, and me (I love it!) only there was no alcohol at the bar that night (shitty bar if you ask me) so instead we just sat and talked and voiced all our frustrations, which are growing. Frustrations about the work and the organization and all it could be but refuses. And one volunteer who was last here 12 years ago (!) said that everything is identical to how it was then. No change. (I think "but this is how we've always done it" is the death of so many organizations) and the other girl said that three years ago she sat around with volunteers all having the exact same conversation.
I have so many thoughts. What shall I do with them?
But it was nice to talk. And as frustrated as everyone is, we all love Kalighat: Aroti walked yesterday. This was really exciting for me because she is the sickest woman I've seen - a breathing skeleton with the skin just hanging from the bones. And there are the women with maggots eating holes in the sides of their faces. Huge ulcers and abbesses hanging from the bodies. But Aroti walked.
I've been giving her a massage almost daily for two weeks. Bare hands. And her skin is falling off her back in sores. And not until yesterday did someone tell me that she has a horribly contagious skin disease and I shouldn't touch her without gloves. I asked what it was, and the volunteer looked at me in horror-struck seriousness and whispered, "Herpes." Perhaps it was a misunderstanding of the language barrier, and I'm certainly no doctor, but pretty sure that isn't herpes making the skin fall off her back. If it is. I know a lot of people in a lot of trouble! But the truth is, whatever she has, it seems worse not to touch her. I mean I know I should be careful, but I just keep thinking if I was her - I would want to be touched.
So you see why I've had to cut my heart out.
Last night in our courtyard, we were sitting around in happy silence - satisfied by yet another amazing meal from Nico (I don't know how he takes so little and makes it taste so good!). And for some reason we started laughing. And for some reason I looked over at Anita and she had a huge pool of drool dripping from her mouth. So we laughed even harder and I said, "wait, wait, here's my impression of Anita" and I took a sip of water and let it drip from my mouth. To which she promptly emptied an entire bottle of water over my head. And for the next hour stan, nico, steffi, esther, anita and I ran around screaming with buckets of water and dumping them on each other's heads. Until we were drenched, and dying with laughter, and shouted at by another volunteer exasperated by our water waste and lack of ecological consciousness.
It was the world's best water fight. Ever.
And that is how we survive.
mostly.
I was talking with a girl I met yesterday and she lived in India three years ago, and now is back for the first time. She said (in effect), "The whole time I was gone I missed it horribly, and kept trying to figure out a way to get back. But I also realized, that while I was here I wasn't ever completely happy. I don't think you can be. There's the noise and the pollution, and you have to be on your guard so much. And you often really want a toilet. And there are so many things you can't eat and you get hassled so much that you want to scream. But then there are the women and the children you work with and you love them so much. And the other volunteers - everyone. But then you have to separate your head and your heart. Often you have to cut out your heart completely, otherwise it is just too assaulted and I don't think you can live, I think you would explode. So you walk around each day in your head. And you love it and you hate it."
And now she's back - working at Kalighat again - and one of the women patients remembered her from three years ago and started crying and held her and wouldn't let her go. It almost made me start to cry, but then I've cut my heart out so I can't.
And after work we all went out for beers - France, Spain, Ireland, Canada, and me (I love it!) only there was no alcohol at the bar that night (shitty bar if you ask me) so instead we just sat and talked and voiced all our frustrations, which are growing. Frustrations about the work and the organization and all it could be but refuses. And one volunteer who was last here 12 years ago (!) said that everything is identical to how it was then. No change. (I think "but this is how we've always done it" is the death of so many organizations) and the other girl said that three years ago she sat around with volunteers all having the exact same conversation.
I have so many thoughts. What shall I do with them?
But it was nice to talk. And as frustrated as everyone is, we all love Kalighat: Aroti walked yesterday. This was really exciting for me because she is the sickest woman I've seen - a breathing skeleton with the skin just hanging from the bones. And there are the women with maggots eating holes in the sides of their faces. Huge ulcers and abbesses hanging from the bodies. But Aroti walked.
I've been giving her a massage almost daily for two weeks. Bare hands. And her skin is falling off her back in sores. And not until yesterday did someone tell me that she has a horribly contagious skin disease and I shouldn't touch her without gloves. I asked what it was, and the volunteer looked at me in horror-struck seriousness and whispered, "Herpes." Perhaps it was a misunderstanding of the language barrier, and I'm certainly no doctor, but pretty sure that isn't herpes making the skin fall off her back. If it is. I know a lot of people in a lot of trouble! But the truth is, whatever she has, it seems worse not to touch her. I mean I know I should be careful, but I just keep thinking if I was her - I would want to be touched.
So you see why I've had to cut my heart out.
Last night in our courtyard, we were sitting around in happy silence - satisfied by yet another amazing meal from Nico (I don't know how he takes so little and makes it taste so good!). And for some reason we started laughing. And for some reason I looked over at Anita and she had a huge pool of drool dripping from her mouth. So we laughed even harder and I said, "wait, wait, here's my impression of Anita" and I took a sip of water and let it drip from my mouth. To which she promptly emptied an entire bottle of water over my head. And for the next hour stan, nico, steffi, esther, anita and I ran around screaming with buckets of water and dumping them on each other's heads. Until we were drenched, and dying with laughter, and shouted at by another volunteer exasperated by our water waste and lack of ecological consciousness.
It was the world's best water fight. Ever.
And that is how we survive.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I got married!
alternative title: Best night ever
yesterday really was the best day ever.
let's see. where to start....
Well first, we'll start with death. The cemetery was so beautiful; you stepped through the gates and it was like stepping back into another time. Like and Indiana Jones kind of time with giant tombs and monuments covered in jungle vines and moss and palm trees. It apparently was the East India Trading Companies cemetery so all the graves were british, and many seemed to have died very youg: 23, 25, 27, 28 years old. Many babies as well.
And then I got married.
We took the metro to the kalighat area. And it was insane. I sincerely believe that half of the city was trying to cram themselves on there at the same time. It was utter chaos (and horribly hot as the humidity has been at around 95%) We were packed so tight and still people were yelling and pushing. I was enjoying myself for reasons unknown. Especially seeing how I'm usually horribly claustrophobic. But for some reason I was really unphased.
And then we got to my stop. People were pushing and shoving trying to get out and a nearby Indian man turned to me and said, "you want off here?"
I nodded, and he swooped me up by the waist and jumped off the train with me into a sea of people. It wasn't necessary. But made it much more exciting.
But I didn't marry him.
Instead I went shopping for more moomoos! My housemates have been impressed by my house-dress and wanted ones of there very own. It's funny actually, because they were asking me questions in all seriousness "what do you recommend...what do you think about this one?" as I have become some sort of expert in lounge wear. makes me laugh.
The Kalighat area was a sea of people all celebrating the last day of the Puja. We decided to stop in a few more pandels and unknowlingly went into a small blue one that looked like a castle. It turned out to be full completely of women (in beautiful saris of course) and they all had small trays of red paint or dye in their hands. And they descended upon us. It was hilarious. At first they started with making just the red bindi mark on our foreheads and a red mark at our hairline, but they soon proceeded to cover our faces completely in red. We were laughing so hard and they were laughing and it was like a giant red paint fight with a hundred women.
And when we left the panel there were more women on the street and all around kali's temple and they all came up and laughed and smeared more red on us. Until we were completely covered. And best night ever.
Later, one of the brahmin priests was telling us that the red bindi and hair line mark is the sign of a married woman, so he was joking with us that we all got married last night.
(Though today, in retrospect, I've decided that being married sucks because some of the red won't come off my face, and now I have orange stains, mostly on my chin that really won't come off. I've scrubbed and scrubbed!)
So we walked all around and it felt like the whole city loved us - everyone that saw us cracked up laughing and said, "Oh so beautiful! Very nice, very nice! Happy Puja!"
And driving down the steets were giant open trucks carrying the Durga's to be thrown in the river. And each truck was full of a couple dozen people playing music and dancing. So we jumped in a taxi and followed the procession to the river and watched as they danced the statues down to the river and plunged them in (apparently, the story goes that when Durga is submersed in the river, Kali will rise back up in her place). And it was a huge party, and everyone was dancing and laughing!
Then we headed back to a rooftop restaurant with our bright red faces to greet the laughing waiters and drank beers to toast our marriages.
Best night ever.
yesterday really was the best day ever.
let's see. where to start....
Well first, we'll start with death. The cemetery was so beautiful; you stepped through the gates and it was like stepping back into another time. Like and Indiana Jones kind of time with giant tombs and monuments covered in jungle vines and moss and palm trees. It apparently was the East India Trading Companies cemetery so all the graves were british, and many seemed to have died very youg: 23, 25, 27, 28 years old. Many babies as well.
And then I got married.
We took the metro to the kalighat area. And it was insane. I sincerely believe that half of the city was trying to cram themselves on there at the same time. It was utter chaos (and horribly hot as the humidity has been at around 95%) We were packed so tight and still people were yelling and pushing. I was enjoying myself for reasons unknown. Especially seeing how I'm usually horribly claustrophobic. But for some reason I was really unphased.
And then we got to my stop. People were pushing and shoving trying to get out and a nearby Indian man turned to me and said, "you want off here?"
I nodded, and he swooped me up by the waist and jumped off the train with me into a sea of people. It wasn't necessary. But made it much more exciting.
But I didn't marry him.
Instead I went shopping for more moomoos! My housemates have been impressed by my house-dress and wanted ones of there very own. It's funny actually, because they were asking me questions in all seriousness "what do you recommend...what do you think about this one?" as I have become some sort of expert in lounge wear. makes me laugh.
The Kalighat area was a sea of people all celebrating the last day of the Puja. We decided to stop in a few more pandels and unknowlingly went into a small blue one that looked like a castle. It turned out to be full completely of women (in beautiful saris of course) and they all had small trays of red paint or dye in their hands. And they descended upon us. It was hilarious. At first they started with making just the red bindi mark on our foreheads and a red mark at our hairline, but they soon proceeded to cover our faces completely in red. We were laughing so hard and they were laughing and it was like a giant red paint fight with a hundred women.
And when we left the panel there were more women on the street and all around kali's temple and they all came up and laughed and smeared more red on us. Until we were completely covered. And best night ever.
Later, one of the brahmin priests was telling us that the red bindi and hair line mark is the sign of a married woman, so he was joking with us that we all got married last night.
(Though today, in retrospect, I've decided that being married sucks because some of the red won't come off my face, and now I have orange stains, mostly on my chin that really won't come off. I've scrubbed and scrubbed!)
So we walked all around and it felt like the whole city loved us - everyone that saw us cracked up laughing and said, "Oh so beautiful! Very nice, very nice! Happy Puja!"
And driving down the steets were giant open trucks carrying the Durga's to be thrown in the river. And each truck was full of a couple dozen people playing music and dancing. So we jumped in a taxi and followed the procession to the river and watched as they danced the statues down to the river and plunged them in (apparently, the story goes that when Durga is submersed in the river, Kali will rise back up in her place). And it was a huge party, and everyone was dancing and laughing!
Then we headed back to a rooftop restaurant with our bright red faces to greet the laughing waiters and drank beers to toast our marriages.
Best night ever.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tired today. I've been having trouble sleeping the last few nights and it is catching up to me. Just the horrible horrible heat at night. And noise. And pollution. And I'm picky. But it's o.k. I have plans.
Today is my day off. A few of us will walk over to the old cemetery - I admit to loving cemeteries and visit them in any new city when I get a chance. I heard the one here is very quiet and very green and feels very ancient. I also admit to wanting to go alone. I like sitting in quiet places by myself, but couldn't say no to a woman who wanted to join. Perhaps I will try to go back later just to sit with my thoughts.
Later we will go shopping for Saris and to see some more of the puja pandels.
Last night after work I found that Anita had bought a guitar and she and the Seattleite were playing in the courtyard. Guess what they were playing. Your clue is "college." If your answer is "anything by Bob Marley," you are correct.
Later Felicity, Anita, Steffi and I went to go see one of the major Pandels (house for the Durga statues). It was insane. There are thousands upon thousands of pandels everywhere - all over the light-lined streets (really like christmas), but some of them apparently are the biggest and the best and people will stand in line for literal hours to get in to see them. It was an overwhelming throng of people, but luckily (or with unfair privilege which pricked our conscious as we thought about it in retrospect) we were ushered through the "V.I.P" line. And even there the throng of people was crushing.
We were ushered past an amazing statue of Durga - gold and glittering. And she is housed in this bamboo structure created with incredible details and covered in fabrics and sculpted until it looks really similar to a Disney-esque castle. And what is interesting is that after tomorrow, all of these structures and sculptures created with so much care will be tossed in the river only to be rebuilt and recreated the following year.
But I have to admit last night was a bit much for me. I'm not a fan of crowds in general, and usually go out of my way to avoid them- so to be surrounded, pressed on all sides by about 13 million people. yeah. Not my favorite time. Still I'm glad to have seen it and experienced it. And I'm even gladder (more glad?) that Anita was feeling done as well. We caught a taxi and headed home. Anita was a bit more freyed than I was, so I made her listen to soothing music on my ipod. After listening to the song twice she smiled and said, "thank you, I really needed that. I was getting really annoyed, but now I see it is fine. It is all dust in the wind. :)"
And so it is.
Guess what song I made her listen to? :)
Then we shared the headphones and drove home through the city listening in silence to our own private soundtrack.
Today is my day off. A few of us will walk over to the old cemetery - I admit to loving cemeteries and visit them in any new city when I get a chance. I heard the one here is very quiet and very green and feels very ancient. I also admit to wanting to go alone. I like sitting in quiet places by myself, but couldn't say no to a woman who wanted to join. Perhaps I will try to go back later just to sit with my thoughts.
Later we will go shopping for Saris and to see some more of the puja pandels.
Last night after work I found that Anita had bought a guitar and she and the Seattleite were playing in the courtyard. Guess what they were playing. Your clue is "college." If your answer is "anything by Bob Marley," you are correct.
Later Felicity, Anita, Steffi and I went to go see one of the major Pandels (house for the Durga statues). It was insane. There are thousands upon thousands of pandels everywhere - all over the light-lined streets (really like christmas), but some of them apparently are the biggest and the best and people will stand in line for literal hours to get in to see them. It was an overwhelming throng of people, but luckily (or with unfair privilege which pricked our conscious as we thought about it in retrospect) we were ushered through the "V.I.P" line. And even there the throng of people was crushing.
We were ushered past an amazing statue of Durga - gold and glittering. And she is housed in this bamboo structure created with incredible details and covered in fabrics and sculpted until it looks really similar to a Disney-esque castle. And what is interesting is that after tomorrow, all of these structures and sculptures created with so much care will be tossed in the river only to be rebuilt and recreated the following year.
But I have to admit last night was a bit much for me. I'm not a fan of crowds in general, and usually go out of my way to avoid them- so to be surrounded, pressed on all sides by about 13 million people. yeah. Not my favorite time. Still I'm glad to have seen it and experienced it. And I'm even gladder (more glad?) that Anita was feeling done as well. We caught a taxi and headed home. Anita was a bit more freyed than I was, so I made her listen to soothing music on my ipod. After listening to the song twice she smiled and said, "thank you, I really needed that. I was getting really annoyed, but now I see it is fine. It is all dust in the wind. :)"
And so it is.
Guess what song I made her listen to? :)
Then we shared the headphones and drove home through the city listening in silence to our own private soundtrack.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I wish the geckos would quit pooping in my shower.
But luckily my housemates don't. That would be worst. So in honor of their sanitary ways, a post to let you know who I'm living with:
Anita: Anita is a 29 year old student from Vienna, Austria, studying for her masters in Cultural Anthropology. She is getting credit for being here and is writing about the role of volunteers in overseas positions. Or something to that affect. She admits to not being sure yet. She's here for three months as well and is great for impromptu dancing and games of backgammon. Really like her. She lived for a year in Malawi previously. She's known her boyfriend from birth, but they started dating after a party. Everyone fell asleep on the floor and when they woke up, they looked at each other and said, "Yeah, this is o.k." and have been dating for five years. She loves anthropology, but thinks she will continue in social work, which she's been doing for years. I like her a lot.
Steffi: Steffi is a nurse from Germany. Maybe 27? Maybe 30? She has been to India three times now and last night was telling me about a camel trip they took through the desert in western India. She said that one morning they woke up (middle of the desert!) and found that their camels had wandered away. Luckily they found them. She is working with a different nonprofit in the slums (literal, horribly destitute slums) that runs a health clinic and food kitchen. And she wears beautiful sari's and is such great company and usually up for most adventures
Nico: Nicolai is a woodworker from France. He just turned 25 and specializes in really fine wood craftsmanship. He is here working with another nonprofit that is teaching practical skills to kids from the streets. Which, in his case is the art of woodwork. His other amazing talent is cooking - especially amazing French sauces from which we all benefit. We bought him an apron for his birthday that he now wears every time he cooks - which is great.
Stan: Stan is a Laotian Frenchman who's age remains a mystery, as he won't tell it for some reason or other (though we've found that he has an older sister around 34 and a younger sister around 28 - so he's some where in the middle). Stan works with Mother House as well -and he has been here several times. He always seems to be working and to know people. Currently he works with the kids that live in the slums around the train station. Yesterday he was telling me they had a really fun day because they bought them all new clothes and the kids were ecstatic (which puts once again, into perspective the teens I used to work with who hated the free clothes we offered - which I guess is the difference when you only own one shirt. All American teens should be shipped here for a year, I've decided). On Friday he is trying to rent a car to take them to the beach, as they've never been before. I might join. He's also really good with anything computer or electronic - which has helped me a lot when I almost threw my re-chargeable battery away in irritation because it wouldn't charge. And he pointed out that I had it in upside down.
Felicity: Felicity is in her fifties. 57, I think she said, but that might not be true. She is from Dublin, or at least has called it home for the past 30 years. She will return there in November for good. She had been planning on staying in India to work, but as she recently discovered, "It takes people here at least 7 years to accept you as not being an outsider, and I just don't have that kind of time." So she is planning on going home to work with refugees, as she appreciates what it feels like to be an outsider, and because she thinks she can do more affective work in her home country. She's been self-employed all her life. Currently she's here working with yet another non-profit working with kids and spends her nights coming up with lesson plans - she's really dedicated. And prone to gentle teasing and swearing. And is extremely kind when you're sick and will bring you tea and fruit and toast. And when playing scrabble uses words like "shat" that pass tense of shit.
Esther: Esther is an 18 year old German girl (18 and a half, she stresses, because everyone is so much older) who speaks really good English because she lived in New Mexico for three years when her dad was flying planes. She is an avid skydiver -she has her license and has jumped over 8,000 times I believe. She's working with mother house as well on the team of volunteers that finds the people on the street, literally dying, and brings them to kalighat or prem dan (the other house/hospital for the sick).
And there are about four other people that live in the common area -but they work different hours and keep more to themselves, so I don't see them as much, except when I'm sick (which I guess is often) and as some of them are pharmacists they offer me sympathy and medicine. Both of which are nice.
It's a really great group of people. Almost always doing something interesting. At any point you can sit yourself in the courtyard and someone will be cooking, playing games, or doing something interesting. For example last night: I got home from work at about 7 and someone handed me a plate of dinner (do you have any idea how nice that is to come home to?! It's the nicest!) and several people went out to look at the puja festivities and came home with an american from seattle who was carrying a clarinet in his backpack and pulled it out and started playing jazz. Stan invited me to join him and Nico -I asked in doing what and he said, "I don't know, wandering around until maybe two or three in the morning." I laughed and declined - it sounded fun, but I'm still recovering. And someone was going to a Bollywood movie. And someone was going out with Indian friends, and someone was going to go see about volunteering with an organization that rescues child prostitutes. And others were playing scrabble and smoking cheap Indian cigarettes (that taste like swishers).
I'm happy.
But luckily my housemates don't. That would be worst. So in honor of their sanitary ways, a post to let you know who I'm living with:
Anita: Anita is a 29 year old student from Vienna, Austria, studying for her masters in Cultural Anthropology. She is getting credit for being here and is writing about the role of volunteers in overseas positions. Or something to that affect. She admits to not being sure yet. She's here for three months as well and is great for impromptu dancing and games of backgammon. Really like her. She lived for a year in Malawi previously. She's known her boyfriend from birth, but they started dating after a party. Everyone fell asleep on the floor and when they woke up, they looked at each other and said, "Yeah, this is o.k." and have been dating for five years. She loves anthropology, but thinks she will continue in social work, which she's been doing for years. I like her a lot.
Steffi: Steffi is a nurse from Germany. Maybe 27? Maybe 30? She has been to India three times now and last night was telling me about a camel trip they took through the desert in western India. She said that one morning they woke up (middle of the desert!) and found that their camels had wandered away. Luckily they found them. She is working with a different nonprofit in the slums (literal, horribly destitute slums) that runs a health clinic and food kitchen. And she wears beautiful sari's and is such great company and usually up for most adventures
Nico: Nicolai is a woodworker from France. He just turned 25 and specializes in really fine wood craftsmanship. He is here working with another nonprofit that is teaching practical skills to kids from the streets. Which, in his case is the art of woodwork. His other amazing talent is cooking - especially amazing French sauces from which we all benefit. We bought him an apron for his birthday that he now wears every time he cooks - which is great.
Stan: Stan is a Laotian Frenchman who's age remains a mystery, as he won't tell it for some reason or other (though we've found that he has an older sister around 34 and a younger sister around 28 - so he's some where in the middle). Stan works with Mother House as well -and he has been here several times. He always seems to be working and to know people. Currently he works with the kids that live in the slums around the train station. Yesterday he was telling me they had a really fun day because they bought them all new clothes and the kids were ecstatic (which puts once again, into perspective the teens I used to work with who hated the free clothes we offered - which I guess is the difference when you only own one shirt. All American teens should be shipped here for a year, I've decided). On Friday he is trying to rent a car to take them to the beach, as they've never been before. I might join. He's also really good with anything computer or electronic - which has helped me a lot when I almost threw my re-chargeable battery away in irritation because it wouldn't charge. And he pointed out that I had it in upside down.
Felicity: Felicity is in her fifties. 57, I think she said, but that might not be true. She is from Dublin, or at least has called it home for the past 30 years. She will return there in November for good. She had been planning on staying in India to work, but as she recently discovered, "It takes people here at least 7 years to accept you as not being an outsider, and I just don't have that kind of time." So she is planning on going home to work with refugees, as she appreciates what it feels like to be an outsider, and because she thinks she can do more affective work in her home country. She's been self-employed all her life. Currently she's here working with yet another non-profit working with kids and spends her nights coming up with lesson plans - she's really dedicated. And prone to gentle teasing and swearing. And is extremely kind when you're sick and will bring you tea and fruit and toast. And when playing scrabble uses words like "shat" that pass tense of shit.
Esther: Esther is an 18 year old German girl (18 and a half, she stresses, because everyone is so much older) who speaks really good English because she lived in New Mexico for three years when her dad was flying planes. She is an avid skydiver -she has her license and has jumped over 8,000 times I believe. She's working with mother house as well on the team of volunteers that finds the people on the street, literally dying, and brings them to kalighat or prem dan (the other house/hospital for the sick).
And there are about four other people that live in the common area -but they work different hours and keep more to themselves, so I don't see them as much, except when I'm sick (which I guess is often) and as some of them are pharmacists they offer me sympathy and medicine. Both of which are nice.
It's a really great group of people. Almost always doing something interesting. At any point you can sit yourself in the courtyard and someone will be cooking, playing games, or doing something interesting. For example last night: I got home from work at about 7 and someone handed me a plate of dinner (do you have any idea how nice that is to come home to?! It's the nicest!) and several people went out to look at the puja festivities and came home with an american from seattle who was carrying a clarinet in his backpack and pulled it out and started playing jazz. Stan invited me to join him and Nico -I asked in doing what and he said, "I don't know, wandering around until maybe two or three in the morning." I laughed and declined - it sounded fun, but I'm still recovering. And someone was going to a Bollywood movie. And someone was going out with Indian friends, and someone was going to go see about volunteering with an organization that rescues child prostitutes. And others were playing scrabble and smoking cheap Indian cigarettes (that taste like swishers).
I'm happy.
Monday, October 6, 2008
where I make fun of myself
My room is undoubtedly the hottest in the complex. It's a rooftop room - which is nice for the view -and also for listening to rain fall on the tin roof. But, with its situation, it gets almost no access to the cooler breezes of the day and it also seems to have an affinity for hosting all the hot air rising. Very hot.
But then, part of that (though not all of that) would be my fault.
I was in Felicity's room yesterday, where she let me sleep because I was feeling faint and we both agreed my room was too hot. And I was noticing how nicely her ceiling fan worked. And I sat there musing that it must be at least twice as fast as mine. And the same in Anita's room. "Oh well," I thought, accepting my fate, "at least I have a fan."
I woke up last night, unable to sleep. Restless. Perhaps from too much sleep the past few days. And I stared at my fan and watched it turn slowly, slowly round. By chance I looked over at my wall, and saw prominently displayed, right above my light switch, a large brown knob. I remember seeing it when I first moved into my room and thinking something along the lines of "hello little brown knob," and then giving it no other thought. But last night I gave it thought again..."hmm, I wonder..." I went over and turned it and watched my fan zap into high speed and my room immediately grow ten degrees cooler.
And I've been here a month. In a really hot room.
Sigh. Oh kate.
It reminds me of my first winter in that cat-smell apartment. My heater in my room was broken and I would call Poki late at night telling him how cold I was -too cold to sleep, shivering in my bed. He would plead with me to call my landlord to get it fixed. It's easy he would say, just a phone call. And for some unknown reason I would never do it, and instead just freeze and shiver in bed. (which is hard to imagine now. Cold, what is cold?) Until one night, in an act of greatness he walked through the rain and the cold at one in the morning to bring me a space heater. So nice. And the next fall the landlord happened to be over replacing the carpet and I told him about the heater and he popped a knob on in what took all of two seconds.
Sigh. Oh kate.
In other news in which I deserve to be mocked. I joined steffi last night to go look at all the Puja festivities. I ran upstairs to change (by run I mean I walked really slowly) and when I came back down I got really strange looks and stares from my housemates. "what?" I asked self consciously.
"It's just that we haven't seen you wear real clothes for like a week. Everyday you wear your red house dress. It's a bit of a shock."
This is true. And not at all unique to India.
Eight years ago, when I was in Morocco, I found and bought what I would later affectionately refer to as my red house dress. My college roommates would call it my Moomoo. And I have worn it constantly for the past eight years. All through college, it's the first thing I would put on when I got home. My sister is probably really sick of it as well. And - joy upon joy- I have a HUGE and abbundant supply of moomoos here! I've bought myself a new red one, and wear it from the second I get up and put it back on the second I get home. And my new housemates are really tired of listening to my daily plans to buy more. Maybe even branching out in color. Yesterday they were teasing that everyone looks to buy more cheap work clothes, but with my record all I need are house dresses (as I apparently don't work - just get sick and go on vacation.)
Lindsey was joking with me before I left for India that while most people come home with beautiful souvenirs, I would just come home with a bag full of house dresses. How well she knows me :)
But life is good in moomoos. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
And life is good in general. Puja is like Christmas. There are huge bamboo houses covered in fabric everywhere - and you go in and see scenes set up of Durga and Ganesh and the like - and it's very much like a nativity scene. And there are Christmas-ish lights all over the place decorating the streets. And everyone is walking around in their brand new puja clothes and giving presents.
My stomach is still a bit sensitive, but well, all in all. I might even venture to work tonight! All very exciting.
And I am so happy with my place in Calcutta. It's so nice to have a community of people around. I spend several hours each day just sitting with various people in the courtyard. Sometimes we sit and watch the rain. Sometimes we chat, I don't know about what, often we cook together, sometimes we read, or write and listen to music - but mostly we just sit. It's nice. And I wish we had that more at home - where it's so possible to live an isolated life.
But then I've also really appreciated the time to myself here as well. I had forgotten how much of an introvert I am. I had forgotten a lot about myself - things had gotten so turned around; my perspective askew. But I'm settling into the habits of myself and enjoying the space to do so.
Wow- what a terrible India blog! I talk all about myself and not about India at all! I guess that's the consequence for giving me such freedom - my inevitably tendency towards self-reflection (at the cost of noticing really helpful brown knobs on the wall!)
Oh well :)
But then, part of that (though not all of that) would be my fault.
I was in Felicity's room yesterday, where she let me sleep because I was feeling faint and we both agreed my room was too hot. And I was noticing how nicely her ceiling fan worked. And I sat there musing that it must be at least twice as fast as mine. And the same in Anita's room. "Oh well," I thought, accepting my fate, "at least I have a fan."
I woke up last night, unable to sleep. Restless. Perhaps from too much sleep the past few days. And I stared at my fan and watched it turn slowly, slowly round. By chance I looked over at my wall, and saw prominently displayed, right above my light switch, a large brown knob. I remember seeing it when I first moved into my room and thinking something along the lines of "hello little brown knob," and then giving it no other thought. But last night I gave it thought again..."hmm, I wonder..." I went over and turned it and watched my fan zap into high speed and my room immediately grow ten degrees cooler.
And I've been here a month. In a really hot room.
Sigh. Oh kate.
It reminds me of my first winter in that cat-smell apartment. My heater in my room was broken and I would call Poki late at night telling him how cold I was -too cold to sleep, shivering in my bed. He would plead with me to call my landlord to get it fixed. It's easy he would say, just a phone call. And for some unknown reason I would never do it, and instead just freeze and shiver in bed. (which is hard to imagine now. Cold, what is cold?) Until one night, in an act of greatness he walked through the rain and the cold at one in the morning to bring me a space heater. So nice. And the next fall the landlord happened to be over replacing the carpet and I told him about the heater and he popped a knob on in what took all of two seconds.
Sigh. Oh kate.
In other news in which I deserve to be mocked. I joined steffi last night to go look at all the Puja festivities. I ran upstairs to change (by run I mean I walked really slowly) and when I came back down I got really strange looks and stares from my housemates. "what?" I asked self consciously.
"It's just that we haven't seen you wear real clothes for like a week. Everyday you wear your red house dress. It's a bit of a shock."
This is true. And not at all unique to India.
Eight years ago, when I was in Morocco, I found and bought what I would later affectionately refer to as my red house dress. My college roommates would call it my Moomoo. And I have worn it constantly for the past eight years. All through college, it's the first thing I would put on when I got home. My sister is probably really sick of it as well. And - joy upon joy- I have a HUGE and abbundant supply of moomoos here! I've bought myself a new red one, and wear it from the second I get up and put it back on the second I get home. And my new housemates are really tired of listening to my daily plans to buy more. Maybe even branching out in color. Yesterday they were teasing that everyone looks to buy more cheap work clothes, but with my record all I need are house dresses (as I apparently don't work - just get sick and go on vacation.)
Lindsey was joking with me before I left for India that while most people come home with beautiful souvenirs, I would just come home with a bag full of house dresses. How well she knows me :)
But life is good in moomoos. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
And life is good in general. Puja is like Christmas. There are huge bamboo houses covered in fabric everywhere - and you go in and see scenes set up of Durga and Ganesh and the like - and it's very much like a nativity scene. And there are Christmas-ish lights all over the place decorating the streets. And everyone is walking around in their brand new puja clothes and giving presents.
My stomach is still a bit sensitive, but well, all in all. I might even venture to work tonight! All very exciting.
And I am so happy with my place in Calcutta. It's so nice to have a community of people around. I spend several hours each day just sitting with various people in the courtyard. Sometimes we sit and watch the rain. Sometimes we chat, I don't know about what, often we cook together, sometimes we read, or write and listen to music - but mostly we just sit. It's nice. And I wish we had that more at home - where it's so possible to live an isolated life.
But then I've also really appreciated the time to myself here as well. I had forgotten how much of an introvert I am. I had forgotten a lot about myself - things had gotten so turned around; my perspective askew. But I'm settling into the habits of myself and enjoying the space to do so.
Wow- what a terrible India blog! I talk all about myself and not about India at all! I guess that's the consequence for giving me such freedom - my inevitably tendency towards self-reflection (at the cost of noticing really helpful brown knobs on the wall!)
Oh well :)
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
where Brick= Banana and Road= Lassi
But I'm not ready to talk about that yet.
First I must tell you that I am having horrible dreams at night. In this one he was yelling at me and I was terrified. And I woke up and it was four in the morning and I had to shut all my windows and close my door because I was shivering in bed. And when I woke up again in was 7 and everyone was out in the courtyard singing goodbye to Havilah who left today by train by plane to return home from her year here.
And I wanted to stick my head out the window and say "The invalid in the corner room says goodbye to you too and wishes you safe tavel." But I didn't want the attention. Instead I lay in bed and smiled. Goodbyes are always sad.
And I'm sick again.
On Friday Anita and Steffi and I caught a metro to who knows where (well, they knew where, I had no clue because I have a horrible habit of not paying attention where I'm going, which is probably why, after living all of my life in Portland I still manage to get lost and often have to ask for directions). But we, intentionally, as this was our purpose, ended up in a very beautiful part of town where the streets were wide and the colonial houses large and looming and brightly painted. And in the side streets we found the hundreds of artisans hard at work making last minute touches on the thousands of Durga Puja idols to go out this week for the big festival. The idols are made of clay and straw (some small displays made of styrofoam) and shaped in the forms of Ganesh, and Ramayana, and of course Durga (the warrior goddess who has ten arms with a different weapon in each of them - very fierce this Durga!) and each is brightly painted and then carrried off on the shoulders of six or more men (reminiscent of the funeral processions we saw in Varanasi) and carried to all parts of Calcutta where they will be housed in bamboo structures for the festival until they are ceremoniously dunked (flung) in the river at the festival's end.
We walked along the river, got caught in the rain, huddled on a roadside bench for chai, and went to Kalighat.
And then came Saturday.
I awoke, ate my morning banana lassi, emailed, went to the store. And then had to drag myself back to my room, surprisingly weak and barely able to make it into bed. Steffi woke me up two hours later saying they were leaving for the zoo. My stomach felt horrible, but I hate missing things, so I pulled myself out of bed and off to the zoo I went.
(In my mind I was remembering the trip to the zoo I took in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It was me and six of the monks I was teaching English to. They all wanted to buy me a drink, and since I couldn't accept from one and not from all, I walked around the zoo with six soda's in my hands while they would point to an animal and exclaim, "Look Garakate, an elephant!" And I would laugh and ooh and it was such a wonderful day)
The zoo in and of itself wasn't remarkable. I mean it was a nice zoo, but not all that different from others. But it was a lot of fun because we took Sadatma (I think that is his name, like directions, I'm finding names hard to remember). Sadatma is a Bengali (teenager maybe?) who, for lack of a better word is a bit simple minded. He's shown up for the past year to help some of the volunteers and they give him food, clothes, and money at the end of the day. They discovered he had never been to the zoo before, so we took him (he doesn't speak, but I've never seen anyone utter so many happy squeals in my life! He was completely captivated by the Giraffes and just kept laughing and laughing). It was a fun trip, as the volunteers decided to make it his impromptu birthday (which was unfortunate for Nicolai, whose birthday it was in actuality) and bought him ice cream and peanuts and pranced with him all over the zoo.
And the whole time my stomach moaned. And each step got slower and slower.
And it was really too bad. Because, as said before, it was Nicolai's birthday and we had been planning with excitement all week of the pizza we were going to eat - with real Italian cheese at a real Italian restaurant (these things are very exciting.) And I heard it was a lot of fun. I however, spent the evening puking banana lassi in the toilet and moaning softly in my bed.
Turns out I can't eat anything here.
Maybe my next trip will be to the Greek Isles :)
I was afraid it was going to be all the same sickness all over again. And I admit to crying forlornly under my mosquito net. But I'm recovering quickly, and hoping it was all just a bad lassi and nothing more. And I am continually thankful to have so many people around me. Felicity, in her motherly way, checked on me every couple of hours and brought me tea and toast. Anita fell asleep on my floor by my bed (as she also didn't feel well) and then brought me 7up, toilet paper, and biscuits and played backgammon with me. And Steffi brought me electrolytes and Stan took my temperature and even though it is all a miserable deja vu - it's very comforting to not be alone. Because to be alone and sick is the most horrible thing. As I well know.
And so I made a list of everyone I wanted with me:
Nathan because he is a nurse and I remember him carrying me to his car that horrible horrible night. And I'll never forget that. And later flowers and soup. Best nurse ever!
Jacob because I have a new story idea inspired by sickness and wanted to share
Chris because Chris is Chris and I wouldn't have to explain, he would just know
Jessica, because she would make everything beautiful and make sense
Sarah because she would distract me with stories of Puck and other things and possible even say "poor, poor thing" and I love my sister
Poki because I always want Poki.
Kristy and Amy because they are my Kristy and Amy and there is no replacing them
SueLynn who would be practical in face of my irrationality, and would play card games and commiserate
Amanda who would sit with me and watch Pride and Prejudice a hundred times if need be
My Dad because he would make me food in the kitchen and he makes me feel safe
My Mom because when sick, there is no on who will ever replace my mom
And I made this list in my bed for hours. And I'm pretty sure every single one of you was on it. And when I was done. I didn't feel alone at all. In fact, I feel so completely surrounded by people that all there is to do is keep on keepin' on.
Still, the Greek Isles sound nice, huh? :)
But I'm not ready to talk about that yet.
First I must tell you that I am having horrible dreams at night. In this one he was yelling at me and I was terrified. And I woke up and it was four in the morning and I had to shut all my windows and close my door because I was shivering in bed. And when I woke up again in was 7 and everyone was out in the courtyard singing goodbye to Havilah who left today by train by plane to return home from her year here.
And I wanted to stick my head out the window and say "The invalid in the corner room says goodbye to you too and wishes you safe tavel." But I didn't want the attention. Instead I lay in bed and smiled. Goodbyes are always sad.
And I'm sick again.
On Friday Anita and Steffi and I caught a metro to who knows where (well, they knew where, I had no clue because I have a horrible habit of not paying attention where I'm going, which is probably why, after living all of my life in Portland I still manage to get lost and often have to ask for directions). But we, intentionally, as this was our purpose, ended up in a very beautiful part of town where the streets were wide and the colonial houses large and looming and brightly painted. And in the side streets we found the hundreds of artisans hard at work making last minute touches on the thousands of Durga Puja idols to go out this week for the big festival. The idols are made of clay and straw (some small displays made of styrofoam) and shaped in the forms of Ganesh, and Ramayana, and of course Durga (the warrior goddess who has ten arms with a different weapon in each of them - very fierce this Durga!) and each is brightly painted and then carrried off on the shoulders of six or more men (reminiscent of the funeral processions we saw in Varanasi) and carried to all parts of Calcutta where they will be housed in bamboo structures for the festival until they are ceremoniously dunked (flung) in the river at the festival's end.
We walked along the river, got caught in the rain, huddled on a roadside bench for chai, and went to Kalighat.
And then came Saturday.
I awoke, ate my morning banana lassi, emailed, went to the store. And then had to drag myself back to my room, surprisingly weak and barely able to make it into bed. Steffi woke me up two hours later saying they were leaving for the zoo. My stomach felt horrible, but I hate missing things, so I pulled myself out of bed and off to the zoo I went.
(In my mind I was remembering the trip to the zoo I took in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It was me and six of the monks I was teaching English to. They all wanted to buy me a drink, and since I couldn't accept from one and not from all, I walked around the zoo with six soda's in my hands while they would point to an animal and exclaim, "Look Garakate, an elephant!" And I would laugh and ooh and it was such a wonderful day)
The zoo in and of itself wasn't remarkable. I mean it was a nice zoo, but not all that different from others. But it was a lot of fun because we took Sadatma (I think that is his name, like directions, I'm finding names hard to remember). Sadatma is a Bengali (teenager maybe?) who, for lack of a better word is a bit simple minded. He's shown up for the past year to help some of the volunteers and they give him food, clothes, and money at the end of the day. They discovered he had never been to the zoo before, so we took him (he doesn't speak, but I've never seen anyone utter so many happy squeals in my life! He was completely captivated by the Giraffes and just kept laughing and laughing). It was a fun trip, as the volunteers decided to make it his impromptu birthday (which was unfortunate for Nicolai, whose birthday it was in actuality) and bought him ice cream and peanuts and pranced with him all over the zoo.
And the whole time my stomach moaned. And each step got slower and slower.
And it was really too bad. Because, as said before, it was Nicolai's birthday and we had been planning with excitement all week of the pizza we were going to eat - with real Italian cheese at a real Italian restaurant (these things are very exciting.) And I heard it was a lot of fun. I however, spent the evening puking banana lassi in the toilet and moaning softly in my bed.
Turns out I can't eat anything here.
Maybe my next trip will be to the Greek Isles :)
I was afraid it was going to be all the same sickness all over again. And I admit to crying forlornly under my mosquito net. But I'm recovering quickly, and hoping it was all just a bad lassi and nothing more. And I am continually thankful to have so many people around me. Felicity, in her motherly way, checked on me every couple of hours and brought me tea and toast. Anita fell asleep on my floor by my bed (as she also didn't feel well) and then brought me 7up, toilet paper, and biscuits and played backgammon with me. And Steffi brought me electrolytes and Stan took my temperature and even though it is all a miserable deja vu - it's very comforting to not be alone. Because to be alone and sick is the most horrible thing. As I well know.
And so I made a list of everyone I wanted with me:
Nathan because he is a nurse and I remember him carrying me to his car that horrible horrible night. And I'll never forget that. And later flowers and soup. Best nurse ever!
Jacob because I have a new story idea inspired by sickness and wanted to share
Chris because Chris is Chris and I wouldn't have to explain, he would just know
Jessica, because she would make everything beautiful and make sense
Sarah because she would distract me with stories of Puck and other things and possible even say "poor, poor thing" and I love my sister
Poki because I always want Poki.
Kristy and Amy because they are my Kristy and Amy and there is no replacing them
SueLynn who would be practical in face of my irrationality, and would play card games and commiserate
Amanda who would sit with me and watch Pride and Prejudice a hundred times if need be
My Dad because he would make me food in the kitchen and he makes me feel safe
My Mom because when sick, there is no on who will ever replace my mom
And I made this list in my bed for hours. And I'm pretty sure every single one of you was on it. And when I was done. I didn't feel alone at all. In fact, I feel so completely surrounded by people that all there is to do is keep on keepin' on.
Still, the Greek Isles sound nice, huh? :)
Friday, October 3, 2008
I believe firmly in writing inscriptions and dates in books.
People often say that a certain song relives for them a very specific time and place. That's true for me (and why my ipod is currently breaking my heart). But I think books are the same way, if not even more for me because there's an intenser interaction. I don't know. Just musing today.
Anyways. I've already finished my four books I brought with me. And was thinking with misery what to read next (misery because I finished Love in the Time of Cholera and I wanted it to continue for a hundred more years - apparently of solitude) But as luck would have it, I told Marion from New Zealand what I was reading and she handed me the autobiography of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and said, "here, read this. I need to lighten my pack load before Delhi anyways."
And it has the following inscription:
Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.
I think the literal truth is not always the most accurate truth.
Anyways, off to the zoo today.
If the rain, rain goes away and comes again another day.
(p.s. This is the anthem, get your damn hands up... so they can be breezy :)
People often say that a certain song relives for them a very specific time and place. That's true for me (and why my ipod is currently breaking my heart). But I think books are the same way, if not even more for me because there's an intenser interaction. I don't know. Just musing today.
Anyways. I've already finished my four books I brought with me. And was thinking with misery what to read next (misery because I finished Love in the Time of Cholera and I wanted it to continue for a hundred more years - apparently of solitude) But as luck would have it, I told Marion from New Zealand what I was reading and she handed me the autobiography of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and said, "here, read this. I need to lighten my pack load before Delhi anyways."
And it has the following inscription:
Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.
I think the literal truth is not always the most accurate truth.
Anyways, off to the zoo today.
If the rain, rain goes away and comes again another day.
(p.s. This is the anthem, get your damn hands up... so they can be breezy :)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Not much
I'm trying to be a faithful journaler (journalee?) but these past few days I'm finding myself with not too much to write. Life has begun to find its way into a bit of a routine. Which (secretly, and quite un-spontaneously of me) has been comforting.
I wake up most mornings between 6-8. Depending. Lay in bed and think my morning thoughts. Which today included great relief that I didn't have a book report due in an hour on five books I hadn't read (the nightmare of the dream I awoke from) and then a reflection, with satisfaction, on how well I'm doing. Surprise at my own strength and capacity to adapt and survive. To thrive. I think sometimes I need to put myself in difficult situations to realise that again. To remember it all - it had become so lost and muddled in the terrifying personal tragedies of the past few years. It was satisfying to lay in bed, listening to the day starting of a place so foreign and feel at complete peace with myself. My sense of self. My age, and date, and place in time. Does any of this make sense? Perhaps only to me.
Then I read my book. Thought about friends and family and all those I love. Stretched. And started my daily battle with laundry (as it has to be done almost daily - because 1) everything is always dirty and 2) if not done often it gets too much for a small bucket) Hung my laundry on the line - though now as I am writing, wish I hadn't because it's raining. Le sigh :)
Then I dress, do the necessary hygiene and go out for my morning banana lassi. Hop over to internet where I inevitably run into someone I know. Chat for while, email, then go to the market to buy the day's food.
Return home and read and write letters. Or sometimes explore the city - the market, old buildings, cemetary.
Eat lunch, and walk over to Park Street to catch the metro to Kalighat. Work my shift - massage backs, hand out medicine and dinner, wash dishes, clean bedpans and bottoms, then sit on the rooftop and drink chai with the volunteers and chat about the day. Walk home in the dark. Usually with a new volunteer each time - last night I met a young med student from British Columbia who is just about to start his internship and is doing a tour (for credit!) of different medical facilities. He loves open bleeding wounds he said, and enthusiastically invited me to Canada where he said they are in desperate need of people who have any experience whatsoever in working with autism. It was a fun conversation. And he reminded me of Gilbert Blythe.
And I met a woman yesterday who hasn't been home in seven years. She's been living and working in various countries with various NGO's and just keeps going. She's 42.
And I met a Frenchman with pretty brown eyes who kept warning me, "no, no the chai is very hot." And because I always ignore rational suggestions, I poured myself a glass anyways and burned my fingers terribly. But didn't tell him, because I was embarassed, and so kept holding the burning glass until he turned away and I could fling it down.
And then I go home. And we sit in the courtyard all night. And someone is always cooking and telling a story. Last night we had beer and whisky and sang drinking songs from our different countries. And I had my nightly French lessons.
And there are the little daily differences. Yesterday the hotel staff brought us all chocolate cakes because they were celebrating EID (the end of ramadan) and Gandhi's birthday - so we danced around giggling at the chocolate and had coffee. And tomorrow is Nikolai's birthday and we will all celebrate. And then Durga Puja starts where the whole city will celebrate for a week before tossing their hand-made idols into the river with great ceremony.
And we got into political debates.
Someone said, and I quote, "I never liked Hilary. I think it says a lot about a woman who can't keep her man satisfied."
At which point I flew into a mini-kate rage. And it took me a long time to settle down. But the world is pro-obama so I don't have to get too raging too often. Which is nice for everyone.
I'm not working in the morning at the school anymore. I think it's better for me. But because I love kids. And love being busy - I think I will pick up two morning shifts working with kids with physical disabilities. But only two mornings (and five nights at Kalighat). So I don't kill myself. Because that would suck. And not the point of this trip.
And I will do this for a month. I think. Perhaps (it continues to be the case that I can do whatever I want! so amazing!) Then I will go to Darjeeling and see the himalayas and drink tea. And Nepal to see Kathmandu. And then to ancient places where Siddartha reached enlightenment.
And so it goes.
And I am well.
And really, really proud of myself. In pause - I am amazed to come face-to-face with myself. And amazed at what I find. Still desperately sad and heartbroken and I miss my grandfather and my family and scared and anxious - but also strong and whole and quiet and watching the world with my eyes open again.
I guess I did have a lot to write about.
I wake up most mornings between 6-8. Depending. Lay in bed and think my morning thoughts. Which today included great relief that I didn't have a book report due in an hour on five books I hadn't read (the nightmare of the dream I awoke from) and then a reflection, with satisfaction, on how well I'm doing. Surprise at my own strength and capacity to adapt and survive. To thrive. I think sometimes I need to put myself in difficult situations to realise that again. To remember it all - it had become so lost and muddled in the terrifying personal tragedies of the past few years. It was satisfying to lay in bed, listening to the day starting of a place so foreign and feel at complete peace with myself. My sense of self. My age, and date, and place in time. Does any of this make sense? Perhaps only to me.
Then I read my book. Thought about friends and family and all those I love. Stretched. And started my daily battle with laundry (as it has to be done almost daily - because 1) everything is always dirty and 2) if not done often it gets too much for a small bucket) Hung my laundry on the line - though now as I am writing, wish I hadn't because it's raining. Le sigh :)
Then I dress, do the necessary hygiene and go out for my morning banana lassi. Hop over to internet where I inevitably run into someone I know. Chat for while, email, then go to the market to buy the day's food.
Return home and read and write letters. Or sometimes explore the city - the market, old buildings, cemetary.
Eat lunch, and walk over to Park Street to catch the metro to Kalighat. Work my shift - massage backs, hand out medicine and dinner, wash dishes, clean bedpans and bottoms, then sit on the rooftop and drink chai with the volunteers and chat about the day. Walk home in the dark. Usually with a new volunteer each time - last night I met a young med student from British Columbia who is just about to start his internship and is doing a tour (for credit!) of different medical facilities. He loves open bleeding wounds he said, and enthusiastically invited me to Canada where he said they are in desperate need of people who have any experience whatsoever in working with autism. It was a fun conversation. And he reminded me of Gilbert Blythe.
And I met a woman yesterday who hasn't been home in seven years. She's been living and working in various countries with various NGO's and just keeps going. She's 42.
And I met a Frenchman with pretty brown eyes who kept warning me, "no, no the chai is very hot." And because I always ignore rational suggestions, I poured myself a glass anyways and burned my fingers terribly. But didn't tell him, because I was embarassed, and so kept holding the burning glass until he turned away and I could fling it down.
And then I go home. And we sit in the courtyard all night. And someone is always cooking and telling a story. Last night we had beer and whisky and sang drinking songs from our different countries. And I had my nightly French lessons.
And there are the little daily differences. Yesterday the hotel staff brought us all chocolate cakes because they were celebrating EID (the end of ramadan) and Gandhi's birthday - so we danced around giggling at the chocolate and had coffee. And tomorrow is Nikolai's birthday and we will all celebrate. And then Durga Puja starts where the whole city will celebrate for a week before tossing their hand-made idols into the river with great ceremony.
And we got into political debates.
Someone said, and I quote, "I never liked Hilary. I think it says a lot about a woman who can't keep her man satisfied."
At which point I flew into a mini-kate rage. And it took me a long time to settle down. But the world is pro-obama so I don't have to get too raging too often. Which is nice for everyone.
I'm not working in the morning at the school anymore. I think it's better for me. But because I love kids. And love being busy - I think I will pick up two morning shifts working with kids with physical disabilities. But only two mornings (and five nights at Kalighat). So I don't kill myself. Because that would suck. And not the point of this trip.
And I will do this for a month. I think. Perhaps (it continues to be the case that I can do whatever I want! so amazing!) Then I will go to Darjeeling and see the himalayas and drink tea. And Nepal to see Kathmandu. And then to ancient places where Siddartha reached enlightenment.
And so it goes.
And I am well.
And really, really proud of myself. In pause - I am amazed to come face-to-face with myself. And amazed at what I find. Still desperately sad and heartbroken and I miss my grandfather and my family and scared and anxious - but also strong and whole and quiet and watching the world with my eyes open again.
I guess I did have a lot to write about.
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