La Fille Voyageur

Greece Bound

Today is my last day in India and I am not ready to leave. This past month has flown by faster than any other; it feels like I’ve only been here for a week. I know I will be back to India, as I have merely skimmed the surface and need to see much more of the beautiful country.

My flight to Mumbai was the shakiest flight I’ve ever been on, and a few times I legitimately thought we were going down. Mumbai is a crazy city—even crazier than Delhi—and I have many times feared for my life whilst getting rides in the short period of time that I’ve been here.

I went to the beach today and it reminded me of home. I expected a dirty, seedy atmosphere, but was surprised to find soft sand and palm trees lining the coast. It was very crowded and I wouldn’t have touched the water with a thirty-foot pole, but I enjoyed walking along the sand and taking in my final day in India.

This country has taught me so much and made me think in a way I never knew I could. The Indian people, for the most part, have so little and yet are so happy. Material possessions and societal standards don’t interest them. They are at peace with themselves and the life they have been given, and for that I have an infinite amount of respect.

As I’ve already said, I am certain I will be back to this wondrous land. Thank you India, it’s been real. Greece: here I come.

A Cooler Atmosphere

For the past week I have been in a place called Palampur, Himachal, India. After the 12-hour bus ride I was welcomed with blue skies, fresh air, and a cool climate. And by cool I mean 90 degrees compared to Delhi’s 100+ degree whether.

I arrived on a Monday and almost immediately began the volunteer work. Although I had said I would prefer teaching English to an older age group, I wound up at a day care center occupied with about 10 whining babies. As cute as they were, crying and poopy pants are not really my forte. Maxine accompanied me at day care, and had attended it for five days the week prior as well. One day was more than enough for me, but I somehow ended up going three more times. Maxine and I agreed that we weren’t really making a difference just sitting around with babies that couldn’t comprehend Hindi, much less English. We spoke with the coordinator and eventually ended up attending a street school more similar to where I was going in Delhi. The difference was that these street kids had absolutely nothing. In Delhi they at least had an organized center with bilingual teachers, note books, pencils, and a chalk board. At the school in Palampur class was held on the roof of a tea factory; no note books, pencils, or anything.

Supplied with only our creativity and minds, we had the kids form a circle and took turns stating our names. Most of the children spoke little English, but a few of the older ones helped us explain ourselves. After the name game we played the month game, and went around the circle slapping one hand on another as we named all twelve months in order. Whoever’s hand was slapped on December was out, and surprisingly they knew their months very well. After talking with the older kids, we called it a day and decided it was mandatory to go into the city and purchase some school goods.

The rest of the week was spent utilizing the wide variety of educational equipment we had acquired, such as coloring books, a multiplication chart, and some simple-subject books (abc, numbers, animals, colors, fruits, etc…). We also presented them with a game of “Sorry” which turned out to be a success as they counted out the number of moves in English. All in all I deemed the week a success, and the weekend held a different kind of success. One that would drain my body, lift my spirits, and awe my sight. I’m talking about the Himalayas.

In all of my excitement about no humidity and beautiful mountains I have forgotten to provide all of you wonderful people with information about my new accommodation and its inhabitants. I was taken to what looked like the upstairs of a business, but turned out to be a home with a complex for an Indian family, a single room for an Indian college student/intern, two rooms for volunteers, and a kitchen. I, being a girl, stayed in the girls room where I met Maxine (from Boston), Fred (from Quebec), and Monica (from India). Traveling along with Fred were fellow Quebecers Steve, Hugo, and JP. All lovely people whom I have grown close to in these short weeks.

Anyway, the trek up the Himalayas began at 8 in the morning with an hour and a half drive to the base where we would begin the hike. Maxine and I, accompanied by two coordinators (Bobby and Amit) climbed up the steep terrain at lightning-fast speeds. What normally takes a group five hours we completed in half the time, and when we got to the top we were presented with the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I feel like I overuse the word ‘surreal,’ but that is the only word that seems appropriate to describe the view. Snow-capped mountains stood like a photoshopped picture before us and I genuinely could not believe my eyes.

Our accommodation consisted of a brick cabin with a large bed for the two of us. In the evening the four of us huddled around a campfire, drank some beverages of the alcoholic nature, played some card games, conversed, and just had a grand old time. It was an experience I thought only existed in movies: perfect. At night the stars shone like…stars and it became quite chilly. Unaccustomed to any temperature below scorching, we all shivered under woolen blankets and eventually had to retire to our beds to cover ourselves with thick quilts and blankets. We left earlier in the morning than I would’ve liked to, and on the way down the pain began to set in. Every time we stopped, even for a second, my calves trembled like Elvis Presley’s legs. The following days brought with them an enormous amount of pain, and walking down any downward slope became a challenge.

We got back on Sunday evening and my legs are just not returning to their normal state. It’s Thursday. I sure could use a Thai massage…too bad I’m in India now.

Yesterday the group of volunteers and coordinators decided to hold an Italian dinner night. We cooked excessive amounts of spaghetti and pasta sauce, made some spinach and cheese momos, bought an overly-decent amount of alcohol, got dressed up, and enjoyed. It was a wonderful night with wonderful people, times, food, and drunken foolery.

This week Maxine and I have also been teaching at a formal public school. They pretty much just threw us into whichever classes didn’t have teachers, and so we ‘taught’ conversation, nursery rhymes, opposites, and even Hindi. JK, we didn’t really teach Hindi, but we were thrown into a Hindi-subject class that we ended up playing hangman in.

Since then we have taken on the role of textbook volunteers: painting the school. I’m no artist, but I did a damn good job painting over the already-painted school logo. This was an easy enough task, however it turned into a life-threatening situation as we were forced to stand on top of flimsy chairs on top an uneven surface on top of a questionable roof. Getting onto the roof was manageable as we could pull ourselves up with our prominent upper-body strength, but getting down was not so simple. We had to walk to the other side of the building and make out way down the sketchiest ladder I have ever seen in my life: broken wood planks lined with petruding rusty nails, met by a pile of unstable bricks that formed a semi-staircase. I guess you could say I like to live on the edge. Some call me a daredevil, I prefer determined volunteer.

A few side notes: I’m now a Bollywood film fanatic, I believe I have an instagram addiction, I’m getting sick of Indian food, wine and whiskey is not a good combination, my heart has and always will belong to spaghetti, and the Taj Mahal was pretty cool. Oh, and I’m not as much of a celebrity here.

That’s all she wrote.

A Half-Assed Overview Of My Week

Tuesday was my first Indian metro experience. As opposed to my first day, I would be accompanied by two other volunteers, Lene and Lydia, for the rest of the week. The three of us set out for a fifteen-minute walk to the Mool Chand station and got our tokens to Govind Puri, our destination. Upon entering the platform, signs on the ground directed us to a where the women only portion of the train would be, and so we stood there until the train arrived. The Indian metro system, I learned, was one of the most advanced and punctual in the world, arriving exactly on time with a minimal amount of quick stops. Another fifteen minute walk awaited us as we departed the station, and soon enough day two was underway. The morning started off the same as the day before, correcting homework followed by a bubble session. Instead of going for lunch at noon, we were invited to one of the girl’s house for to meet her family. This was an honorary invitation in the Indian culture, and she was very excited as she led us through a seemingly infinite maze of narrow streets lined with tiny houses. The colors that the houses displayed were unbelievable, and I died a little bit inside as I shot photos with my iPhone instead of my formerly-owned Canon. Her house was a bit bigger than most: including an entrance room and a small bedroom where the family of six slept on a rock-hard bed. Her mom came to meet us all and cooked us a vegetable samosa along with some spicy snacks. The student, Shamsha, went and bought us some juice from a nearby stall and I couldn’t believe how hospitable they were. They were so poor and had nothing, yet they welcomed us into their home and spoiled us in the process. I so badly wanted to leave them so money, but was told that such an act would be offensive, so I restrained myself. After thanking the mom and saying goodbye, we were taken to another student’s house where some lovely tea was made for us as we sat on the ground of a one “bedroom” house. The bed consisted of a thin mat on the floor where another family of six slept. I kept hating myself for all of the pointless complaints I had ever made in my life. They have nothing and are so genuinely happy whereas I complain if my blanket isn’t thick enough or my food isn’t warm enough. The wealthy class is a pitiful excuse for human beings and we worry way too much about the most irreverent aspects of this beautiful an wondrous life we are so blessed to live.

Wednesday and Thursday continued on the same cycle as its precedents, and as I taught these children and watched them grow, I became attached and my heart melted. One child in particular, a boy named Rohit, was one of the most intelligent kids I have ever met. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old and could already speak fluent English and Hindi. He picked up concepts faster than lightning and, as guilty as I feel saying this, was just a mile above all of the other students. He had an extensive vocabulary-using words even kids his age back home wouldn’t know, and was so eager to educate himself it was ridiculous. We began playing hangman towards the end of class and eventually he wanted to come up with a word for everyone to guess. His word was employment. Employment! And he was just a young child whose first language wasn’t even English. I was astounded and worked with him alone the following day because he was just too advanced.

Friday was my last day and the most enjoyable one this past week. In the morning Lydia and I bought a build-your-own-clock craft kit and spent the entire morning painting and gluing and stickering the base and border. For lunch we were again invited to a student’s home. Santu, an eighteen-year-old teacher/helper at the placement, took us to the home where he and Nishu-his sister-shared a room. The house was nice, but tiny, and became even smaller as the posse of kids we had collected along the way followed us in. A dance and bubble session was soon taking place and the kids laughed and danced as some Bollywood music was blasted from a sub-par sound system. In the afternoon session we finished putting the clock together and then I worked individually with Rohit; getting through homonyms, synonyms, and antonyms in about ten minutes. I wanted my last day to be fun, so the remainder of it was spent letting the kids look through my photos, play games on my phone (Rohit already knew how to play Solitaire, by the way) and transforming the kids into different types of people through a photo app called “Yearbook Yourself.” As four o’clock neared a grew sad and didn’t want to leave these children that had stolen my heart after just five days. Rajkamal, the coordinator of my placement, called me into his office for the final goodbyes. He thanked me for my work and said he would miss me and appreciated all I had done. He then presented me with a certificate acknowledging the completion of my week. As I was about to leave, Rohit came to say thank you and that he would miss me and I broke down. I turned away as I didn’t want the kids to see me cry, but they knew and came rushing to my side pleading “No tears Sister, no crying Didi!” I collected myself and threw on my sunglasses, bidding them adieu and then heading home. I would never see these kids again in my life and as we left, Lydia and I sobbed a bit and reminisced about the incredible week we had just experienced.

I have to leave for my twelve-hour bus ride soon, so the weekend will have to wait. Ta ta for now.

Just Call Me Didi Nat

Today was my first day at my placement volunteering for VolunteerIndia. I was driven by Mr. Rajiv - the owner of the house I’m staying at - to a site about fifteen minutes away. A small alley on the side of a road led to an area where street children come, by choice, to receive informal education. Indian volunteers teach there year round, and occasionally volunteers like myself and the rest of the volunteer family lend a helping hand in teaching English.

Upon my arrival I was stared at, per usual Indian behavior; but this time something was different. Rather than eye-balling me as if I was a zoo animal or circus freak, I received smiles along with the stares. Soon enough I, along with about ten Indian children ranging from ages 2-14, was sat in a circle playing the name game. In this game we simply had to state our names and favorite dish. As I assumed they wouldn’t have known what a burrito was, I stuck with Aloo Gobhi as my dish of choice (which is a potato and cauliflower curry). My name might as well have been one of the great wonders of the world because a look of pure and utter confusion became present on every one of their faces after I announced it. We finally settled on Nat, and so I am now Didi Nat. Didi is a respectful term literally translating to elder sister, and is used widely throughout the Hindi-speaking-nation. After the name game I spent some one-on-one time with a few of the kids: going over math problems and correcting errors in their notebooks. The students were so genuinely eager to learn and gain knowledge, it made me somewhat appreciate the extensive amount of education I received back home, though I still dislike school.

For lunch I went to a nearby restaurant and indulged in another veggie burger, along with a banana shake and a black forest pastry for dessert. $2.84 was the total…it’s going to be so hard to pay European prices after I leave India.

The next session of “school” brought with it some older kids (11-17) and I was put on the spot with some chalk and a black board. First I started out with a few question+verb+subject phrases, such as “Did you make cookies?” and explained to them the differences between action and helping verbs. That was easy enough, but then I asked them what they wanted to learn. Their response was the difference between “there,” “they’re,” and “their,” and in this waking moment I discovered what a complicated and irrational language my native tongue is.

I described “there” as being used for a general place or thing, “they’re” as they are, and “their” as possession of something. I then wrote out sentences with blanks in them and had them choose which there/their/they’re would correctly complete them. My first sentence was “We are going to ____ school.” This probably wasn’t the wisest sentence to have chosen, because they all agreed that “there” was the answer. I tried explaining that it was “their school,” but “they” didn’t own the school and the school was a general place, so my first attempt failed miserably.

Next I watched Sathu, an 18-year-old volunteer, have his go at teaching. He began to teach about conjugations and the first example he wrote was “He speak Hindi. He speak English,” which would then be translated to “He speak Hindi and English.” I informed him that “speak” should have had an “s” on the end of it and tried to explain why…failing again. I said that if the sentence was referring to one person/thing, then an “s” was necessary on the end of the verb (ie he talks, she smells, it sinks), and if the sentence was referring to more than one person, than no “s” was required (ie they talk, they smell, they sink). I was then defeated in my own language by the argument “I” because sentences referring to oneself are referring to one person, yet no “s” is required at the end of the verb in such a sentence. I was at a loss for explanation and grew a kind of loathing for the English language. It just doesn’t make sense, yet it has somehow become the most widely used language in the world.

I gave up any aspirations of becoming an English teacher (which actually don’t exist) and called it a day. I then partook in what is now the most frightening moment of my life as I got on the back of one of the teacher’s motorbikes for a lift home. As if getting a ride from an auto rickshaw wasn’t bad enough, we were up the sidewalk, down the sidewalk, in and out of traffic, between cars, off curbs, and through openings no wider than my hips, breaking at the last second to avoid hitting cars and stop for red lights. The song “This’ll be the day that I die,” played in my head as I tried not to look at my surroundings.

On a lighter note, we went out for the first time tonight. Yogan, the crazy, youngish Indian intern, met me and the four other girls at a bar called “Storm,” and I had my first alcoholic beverage in India. A mojito. It was nice, but surprisingly expensive, so I stuck with one and ate some garlic naan and French fries. Yogan asked if some dance music could be played and before we knew it he was out on the dance floor shakin his groove thang like I had never seen before. I hadn’t seen this side of him and we all laughed and enjoyed the strange performance.

Tomorrow I will head back to my placement, this time with Lydia and Lene, and will hopefully have a more successful attempt at teaching than today. Didi Nat out.