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.