Transitions

I biked home in the rain tonight.* It was messy and beautiful as ever. Lights sprayed the black, sopping streets with long tails of whites and greens, oozing red and blinking amber. Fat droplets fell slowly, threateningly, before the entire sky crashed down upon us all. Darkness and dampness urged everyone home. I laughed as I tried to not get run over. Oddly enough, the situation fit, as it matched how I’ve been feeling. Lately I have allowed myself to begin thinking about getting home in the you-live-in-another-country-and-you’ll-be-back-in-twenty-days sense.

And I’m trying desperately not to get hit.

The truth is that I’m a smidge homesick. Funny time to get homesick, yea? Three weeks left. Hmm. I think I did pretty well. It’s almost Thanksgiving, and my whole family is getting together. I’m ready for Christmastime and to see and hug my siblings and my parents again. I am excited to go back to school and see old faces and to attend my good friend’s wedding. Ha, I am excited to worry again about which shoes match my outfit… To eat granola and yogurt with fresh fruit for breakfast each morning. To speak the same language as everyone. To sleep on a thick mattress. And to drink tea and coffee because it warms up the inside of you when your outside is cold… Twenty days, love. Twenty days.

But another thought pattern races in from the exact opposite direction. I’m not ready to go back… I am going to miss this bizarre and beautiful place. I resonate with people and with attitudes and with customs that I am most likely never going to get to experience again. Pump the brakes! What. Is. Happening?? Regardless, it remains inevitable that on the twelfth of December my life will again experience radical change. The food will be different, the streets will be different, and the people will look and talk very differently as well. Familiar things will feel foreign to me. Maybe not most, but some… Just for a while. Then they will set up house again within me, and I will return to the familiar swing and hum of normal life. I will again be home, safe and settled, and my Indian lessons and adventures will get to come along with me too. These are my predictions anyway. I think they're realistic but also nice. It'll be nice to readjust.

Riding in the rain is slightly odd because if you take your time, you get absolutely soaked; but if you try to speed on through, the drops sting a little as they hit you and blur your vision when they fall into your eyes. I think there is a lesson to be learned in that. For the time being, it may be raining, but a little water never hurt anyone. It is better to accept the thought patterns and emotions that accompany my current situation, that flow from general times of change, than it is to try to ignore them. I'm guess I'm just processing these next few weeks in advance. I wouldn’t say that I believe in happy endings (or endings at all, exactly), but I do believe in beautiful transitions. And hope the short time ahead will be one of them.

Love,
Jeannie

*Did I tell you that I have a bike? The little guy belongs to a guy-I-work-with’s mother (grandmother? he wasn’t exactly clear on the details), and I’ve just borrowed it for the semester. I am interning with an NGO here doing research on sustainable transportation options, specifically cycling, in India. Pretty cool, but it makes you think twice about taking a smog-spitting rickshaw everywhere... Hence the bike.

At Home in the Himalayas

Dear friends and family,

I have missed you! How has a month already passed since I last wrote? It's amazing what havoc computer trouble and travel can have on a poor little blog. So, anyway, now I've many, many stories to tell... I shall start with the freshest: Darjeeling.

FRIENDS: Before the sun came up two Saturdays previously, Allegra's phone alarm went off, meaning a rude female british voice pretentiously informed the room, "It's 5 am--time to wake up." Erin, Allegra, and I groggily made our way into Allegra's gracious host parents' car and were whisked off to the Pune Airport. There we met up with Hannah and Erik (waiting. with cookies. LOVE them!) The five of us then flew from Pune to Delhi, Delhi to Bagdogra, spent a night in Silguri, and caught a cab (i.e. JEEP!) up to the mountains. Himalayas ho!

Band Photo

(Erin not pictured... sad day)

I am a firm believer that it's less about what you do, and much more about who you're with, so --even though all we did was pretty frickin cool--it was amazingly refreshing to be surrounded by the warmth of good friends while out on an adventure! It doesn't hurt that they're each hilarious, helpful, and very, very easy to be around either.

DARJEELING: Home base for the next week. Located in the upper-east Indian state of West Bengal, this cozy mountain town lays nestled in the very heart of the mighty Himalayas. The buildings hug the cliffside, as they stack like a house of cards against the hills.

As we explored the steeply sloping streets, we were caught off guard every time the buildings gapped and revealed Darjeeling's awe-inspiring view of Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak on the planet, following Everest (#1) and K2 (#...2).

Oh, you know... just the 3rd highest mountain in the world...

looming majestically in the distance... whatever

TEA: If you have heard of Darjeeling tea, then you are familiar with the reason colonial Britain decided to put the small mountain town on the cultural world map. The fields of tea plantations sprawl across the hillsides and topple down into the valleys.

They are a bright, speckled green--and phenomenally gorgeous. Many an afternoon passed within a tea parlor, as several pots of black tea were spilled into steaming mugs to split between friends--companions, engaged in dialogue, in making the time to read good books, and in admiring the splendor of the mountains. A vacation at last.

MONASTERIES: When you bounce over the crumbling roads that weave themselves endlessly, endlessly up through the mountains, you will undoubtedly notice a point at which the people around you seem to belong to a different country, and not to merely a different part of India. The features of many persons of northern West Bengal appear much more east-asian. You'll see Sherpas, bent forward, carrying (there's no other word for it) impossible loads on their backs using a strap on their forehead, steadily trekking along. Uphill.

Additionally, Buddhism seems to almost replace Hinduism here, as seen by the crimson-robed monks that frequently dot the sides of streets as you continue to drive by. During our explorations, my friends and I poked around in a sample of the impressive Buddhist monasteries and chatted a bit with the austere-yet-amazingly-cheery monks keeping everything in balance. Such cool guys. I couldn't help but laugh in amazement as I saw how young some of these people were; one kid (he couldn't have been a day past seven years old) had Spiderman sandals!

Everyone was so kind, so warm... and I now feel I understand just how peaceful Buddhists can be.

Not a bad place to set up monasteries either

NEPAL: It is obvious that when one manages, in one's life, to finally reach the Himalayan mountains, one absolutely and undoubtably must go for a trek. One would certainly enjoy such an event, especially if one had brought one's small blue Osprey back for just such an occasion. One could get up to watch the sunrise over the largest mountains in the word.

One could brave the cold to watch the constellations chase each other round the night sky--and be struck dumb by the sight of more stars than one had ever dared to imagine (more than one could fathom even as one stared at them). One could look out and see Everest. Oh, and if one, hypothetically, went to Darjeeling, one could also do all of this in NEPAL. And that's precisely what one did. :)

Every time I visit the beach, I think, 'Oh, here I could live forever,' and every time I visit the mountains, I say the same. But whenever I leave the mountains, I feel myself get a little sad inside. It as if my heart is sinking, along with the factual decrease in elevation, as my body makes it way back to the world and life below. I miss the cold mountain air that makes me thankful for sweaters and wool socks... It reminds me of Christmastime, of sitting by fireplaces with mugs of hot drinks, of backpacking trips, of Davidson in the fall, and of course, of all of you I love and miss at home. I miss the the views that remind me how small I am in the scheme of things. On the first day of the Nepal excursion, our guide Navin said something that I have come to believe wholeheartedly:

"One life is not enough to wander all of India."

I am content with my one life; blessedly it has included so much wonderful wandering already.

With adventuresome love,

From India (and Nepal!),

Jeannie

Monkey See, Monkey Do--Not Bite Me

Umm... So did I forget to tell you about the weekend I went to a monkey fort??? 'Cause I'm thinkin that I did. Mah bad. I shall remedy this immediately.

I went with friends Allegra (shout-out!), Lauren, Erin, Hannah & Eric two weekends ago, 17-19 September, to a city called Aurangabad, and more specifically to an old fort that looked like like Helms Deep... but with monkeys. Luckily, we got this picture right before a man sprinted over to us, wide-eyed, with arms waving madly, calling, "NOOO! Do not do this thing!!" So, it turns out that monkeys "will steal yure camrrah!" And then, "they weel bite you!" Narrow escape. But look how cuuuute he eees! :)

Anyhoosiers, the real point of our excursion was to explore Ajanta and Ellora, some wicked old caves near Aurangabad carved by these crazy awesome Buddhist monks. Because this was Ante-Camera Loss 2010, I got some snaps. Ch-ch-check it:

^^ Ajanta \/ \/

^Sweet waterfall at Ajanta...

...and Allegra drinking said waterfall. All of it.

Our guide says, "See the blue hat with blue socks? Yes, yes, ancient India invented matching."

Oh and we went to Rivendell! :)

(Okay, well, no... no, actually we didn't really... But hey, aren't the Ellora caves awesome?)

We took an intermission between the two sets of caves to check out the Bibi-Ka-Maqbara, or th the Mini-Taj Mahal. The five of us affectionately renamed it the "Taj Ma-Small."

Admit it: that's pretty clever.

And we took artsy photos...

and awkward photos... :)

and laid in the grass to watch the sunset...

And then we answered Eric's excited calls for "Monkey Fort! Monkey Fort! Monkey Fort!"

^^more of the fort. and erin... with the fort.

Holding onto another's tail:

So freaking human-like...

"Sometimes I Be Sittin On Trains..."

I can little describe to you the pleasures of riding on a train through India.

Surely, I can tell you of the train: a pale, painted blue; long and lean and open; with niched cabins containing both bench seats and sleeping bunks--

Or of the view: hills of ceaseless, seamless, undulating earth; green parrots strung along the telephone wires; and a sunset of sherbet light against lavender-colored clouds and mountains,

Or the passengers: friendly, dark-skinned, mustached men with newspapers sitting cross-legged, who insist you call them "uncle"--

Or the sounds: the droning offer of the venders for "chai, chai, chai, coffee, chai"; the thurrr of shuffling from a nearby card game; the steady, lulling clack-clack-clack of iron wheels on iron rails somewhere underneath you; and the distant, fatherly whistle as the train pulls into the night, whispering softly, "Sleep sound, my darling, for indeed I know the way"--

And, because I ventured to the open door and leaned all the way through the frame, I may also tell you of the smells: from deep drawn breaths of the fresh, free air; and the crisp scent of newly cut hay--

Or, upon returning to my seat: of the soul-soothing rocking (back and forth and back) of the train upon the track; and the leisure of barefeet outstretched... and of a novel and of a pen upon a page...

But (oh!) how sorely I will fail you, friend, in telling you of the freedom and the fullness and the pleasure that is felt from my freckled nose down through my toenails--the inexplicable urge to either laugh or dance that alights upon my heart--from simply being here.

When I stretch my small body (precariously, purposefully) out the train door, and let the wind tussle my hair, and watch the light blue train continue toward that steady, setting sun--I cannot help but laugh with sheer abandon. What care have I, right now--or you? Because whether I face where the train is going, or stare fixedly at the ever-growing places where it has been, I cannot change that my feet are simply here:

On a train, in a doorway, standing still in India, on a glorious, delicious, and unbelievable adventure. So as the clacking carries on, and a four-thousand cricket choir begins to play, and I watch (good God!) the perfect, friendly starlight begin to penetrate the crisp canvas of this night, I cannot keep my silent lips from smiling.

~*~

I remember you, and wish for you

This same and wholesome bliss

And thus I sign my letter

With the warmth within a kiss.

So soon I shall return to you

Far fuller still than this

But 'til that day, keep well, my love,

And know that you are missed!

{Written the evening of 21 September, while on a train to Goa}

Freeeee-dom!!

So you know how at home, you practically have to make up a disease in order to get an excused sick absence? Well, my program in India seems to believe the exact opposite. Any time you have any small trouble, "you should go home and rest." I have a day off today because of this delightful rule.

First, a comment on Indian doctors. The process, invariably, is as follows: Sit in a matchbox-sized waiting room for fifteen minutes, enter doctor's office, be instantly asked a handful of questions, be told what is wrong with you and what could be wrong with you in the future (how do they know these things??), receive prescriptions for a minimum of 3 drugs--the max I've heard of so far has been 6--, exit the office within five minutes of entering, pay between 100-200 rupees (Am. $2-4 dollars), and lastly, visit the neighborhood "chemist," i.e. pharmacist, to pick up your 100-rupee-total prescriptions. Oh, and the drugs make you feel better by the very next day. Boom done.

Those shenanigans were yesterday. Been there done that, yea? And that brings us to today, in which I found myself, feeling right as rain, with an entire blue-skied day stretching ahead of me, impossibly and absolutely free from any obligation or expectation. I allowed myself to collapse within the thrilling vagueness of the verb "rest." I started the day with a dearly needed skype conversation, followed by a run and a long, cold, refreshing shower. I read more from Atlas Shrugged (which is turning out to be more of a bear that a blessing.. any other book suggestions?), drank some of the apple juice in our fridge, had several good conversations with friends/family back home, flipped nostalgically through dusty playlists from old friends, and watched a pirated version of Despicable Me (hilarious... more the quality of the film than the actual content, but still great... and don't judge me, homes, there was a minimal selection in my flat). Then, I gleefully fled from quarantine to meet with friends for conversation, half a tomato-basil panini, and a few stolen bites of chocolate icecream. Oh. My. Gosh.

Today was particularly extraordinary because back in real life, especially back in Davidson, I largely define my actions within a context of what I feel I should be doing. But today... Well, today was unconditionally, explicitly, invariably and unashamedly, all about me. Taking a day off from everything is an art that I have needed practice in for a long time. Hoorah!

On a different note, because it is important for you fine folk to understand/appreciate just what sort of crucial info our program director carefully selects to high-importance email us about, here's a direct copy & paste of the entire email:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hello ALL
Coming 10th Oct.2010 at 10 Am, 10 Minutes & 10 Seconds
the TIME & DATE is
10.10.10.10.10.10
It will come once in 1000 yrs. Isn't it exciting?

Also, enjoy the studious Lord Ganesh in different posing and moods.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ha ha thanks? We're currently celebrating a festival in honor of the god Ganesh, but the randomness of this email nevertheless made me smile. I mean really... Isn't it exciting? :)

more soon,

from india,

jeannie

A Reflection

I regret it has taken me so long to write you. In fear of failing with words to describe all that I am experiencing, I have neglected many wonderful people's curiosity as to how I am doing. The long and short to that question is that I am, honestly and truly, doing well.

India is both what I had imagined and nothing like it at all. It is every bit the culture that had captivated me back in the States, perhaps even more so. I have come to find that, yes, people here are largely the same as people there, and that the unfamiliar faces, places, and experiences across a hemisphere will teach me new things about the familiar ones back home. And, of course, they will teach me new things about myself as well. I am learning to appreciate myself for exactly who I am, and realizing that this person is not so different from my self back home than I had thought. I feel myself growing stronger, standing taller, and improving my ability to love those around me. Lastly, as I had set out to do, I am learning more about what it is I aim to do during this glorious adventure called life. I am becoming more aware of where I'm headed and who I want to be, and I am gaining confidence in my ability to get there. I have made friends, am doing well in school, and am enjoying myself in the process. As I told you, I am doing well.

That being said, I could never have prepared myself for this. It is only natural to be surprised when things turn out as you never believed they could be, but it is surprising none the less. This realization applies to so many things here that I will spare your precious time the heavy list and simply leave it at that. But. I will say that it has been worlds more difficult to communicate with folks back home than I had thought; less out of a matter of will, than out of a matter of reality of circumstance. When I thought about keeping in touch, I thought about effort and the time difference. It never even crossed my mind that technology here would be any less reliable, convenient, or straightforward than it is back home, a thought that seems so obvious now. I apologize to anyone who misses me, to anyone who this decision of mine has been difficult on. Trust me, it has been difficult to be without you too. However, I also thank all of you for your support and encouragement in allowing me to do this. As I wrote in a letter to my mother yesterday, coming to India on my own has been one of the hardest things I have ever done. But I believe it has also been the most necessary. I will write again soon with more stories, but until then...

with love,

from india,

jeannie

Comparing to the Contrast

So.

I have come to the conclusion that, while discovering the differences between India and home was (and is!) part of the reason why I came here, I have spent enough time and energy doing that for right now.

I have decided that it is now time to start looking at the similarities. In the words of Uttara (pronounced "OO-tar-ah"), our program director/mom-away-from-mom, I am going to "choose happiness." Yay... Ok so that was a bit sarcastic, but I really do think this change in focus has already helped ease my homesickliness. Hokay! So far we have:

1. People honk horns when they have them. Especially in traffic.
2. Strawberry jam with warm toast tastes absolutely wondrous.
3. Regardless of if it's walking or running, going by foot is by far the best way to see a city. You miss so much if you're in a car (or a rickshaw!).
4. Public bathrooms smell terrible. 'Nuff said.
5. Laughter is the shortest distance between two people... especially if they don't speak your language.
6. Living with a roommate is hard, but the investment is always worth it.
7. Coffee shops feel like coffee shops--no matter the language of the cozy chatter.
8. People are people. They laugh and cry; sing, dance, and get angry. They generally want to do good, and are doing their best at figuring out what the heck that actually means. They are fun and bright and beautiful. And, as always, there is more to them than it appears.

That's just a sample for you fine folks. Nothing could ever replace home (and the people there), but India is starting to feel more familiar and homelike. Wahoo!

More soon,

Jeannie

P.S. In other news, I just found out that I have a house to live in for when I return in the spring. yay, yay, YAY!

Challenges by Choice

It turns out that India/being abroad is not a total walk in the park (woah! no way!). I wanted to step outside my comfort zone, and thus I am uncomfortable.

Things that are difficult:

1) Slum Children -- Turns out that I don't deal well with small kids begging. I definitely saw this coming, but it's still heartbreaking. And these adorable kids are everywhere... Majorly sad day.

2) Gender Dynamics -- Never in my life have I considered my femaleness to be a hinderance--or even particularly relevant, for that matter. And I have never allowed anyone to tell me what I can and cannot do simply on the grounds of my gender. In India, however, I am not supposed to dance in public (even when insanely loud techno music is playing in the streets for festivals), to greet strangers, to run (even though I do anyway), to go out by myself, to laugh too much, to be assertive/independent... all because I am a woman. Boo.

3) Faith -- I still don't even know how to process the myriad of world views that people believe over here. So many wonderful people, who believe so many different things....

4) Food -- At home I eat pretty simply, but all the food here is either very spicy or sickly sweet. Oh granola, how I miss thee.

5) Language -- Part of me wishes that I had gone to a Spanish- or English-speaking country because not speaking/understanding even conversational Hindi or Marathi greatly limits the amount of people I can interact with here. I'm loving learning these languages, but part of me is still frustrated.

6) Home -- Ha, yea, I miss home. It did help that I had two really great conversations last night and this morning with people from home who I care about dearly. I am making some solid friendships here; it's just difficult starting over.

That being said... "Difficulties are meant to rouse, not to discourage. The human spirit is to grow strong by conflict." -William Ellery Channing

This adventure is still very much what I want. I'm being challenged in ways I never really have been before, and I'm (constantly) learning a lot. I'm trying to stay positive--because this place really is awesome, no matter how I look at it. I want to embrace the challenges that have been put before me and to work through them with both eyes open. Prayer and encouragement are always appreciated.

With love (and determination),

from India,

Jeannie

Rainy Rainy ("Well I Usually Read Twilight")

India's seasons are as follows: Monsoon, Spring, Winter, Summer. We have been waiting on the rains since our arrival in mid August, and they have finally, finally arrived. This steady (glorious!) rainfall will continue for about twenty-five-ish days. That means twenty-five more nights of being sung to sleep by thunderstorm lullabies, twenty-five more days of polka-dot umbrellas and splashing through puddles, twenty-five more evenings perfect for snuggling up with a novel and hot cups of coffee (hasta la vista, chai), and twenty-five more afternoons heavy with the delicious smells-like-rain air. Sigh, life sure is tough sometimes.

In other news, if you haven't checked my facebook, some pictures are up of my adventure thus far, including some shots from last week when Swapna and her twin sister took my flatmates and I shopping for saris. Now, when I say "shopping" for saris, what I really mean is: "sitting on an ultra-comfy floor cushion and drinking steamy complementary coffee, while the shop keeper unfurls glamorous fabric after glamorous fabric directly in front of you, and your job is merely to say 'oooh' and 'show me another.'" Needless to say, I felt very much like royalty. After giddily admiring about dozens of these expensive woven rainbows, I saw one that was simply to die for. Soft and silky (pure silk, mind you), in a blue that matched my eyes, with a shimmering golden trim. The shopkeeper said, "Come. You will wear this. I will show you how." And he wrapped me inside the sheer beauty of India. It is here that I am standing, awe-struck and staring in the mirror, thinking I am looking very much like a princess indeed--until Swapna suddenly shouts "Wait!", leaps up, and pops a red sticker (out of nowhere, mind you) onto my forehead. "There," she tells me breathlessly. "Beautiful." Even princesses, it turns out, need stick-on bhindis.

{Side Note: I need to make an amendment to my last post. Swapna's sister is the fastest walker ever. Really.}

The weekend was nice. Restful. And zero homework. I need to make myself realize that this isn't summer anymore, and that the school year has actually started. I especially need to practice Hindi. I can't read, I can't write--ha I can't even pronounce half the letters... But it is incredible to learn an entirely different alphabet and to start decoding a few of the signs around the city. After Suddha ("sood-huh", my extraordinary roommate) heartily laughed at my general pronunciation fail, she helped explain a lot of the things I'd been missing. Turns out that she knows six or seven languages and is now teaching herself French. I can hardly speak English. Go figure. Anway, she was such a good teacher. Literacy here I come!

In other news, I saw a boy riding a camel in my neighborhood on Saturday. I know, right? A camel. The boy knew enough English to ask, "Want to ride?" but not enough to answer the all-important-question "How much?" Of course. I guess I'll just wait till next time..

Also, I would like to document the conclusion of what Erin and I have dubbed the Great Roach Genocide of 2010. I may or may not have told you, but our flat may or may not have been experiencing difficulties with a certain deeply-loathed insect. It came down to living with them or killing all of them. So, obviously, we blared the theme from "2001 Space Odyssey" as we emptied half the can of MAXO ("The Roach Killer")... And we haven't seen a sign of the enemy since. Victory, amigos, is indescribably sweet.

Lastly, stuff with the women at the hostel is still going splendidly. Every night, all fifteen of us have family-style dinner together. I am getting to build relationships with my peers half way around the world! It is filling a place of my heart I hadn't known existed. One story from tonight... Prachi (prah-CHEE), a hilarious eighteen-year-old who refuses to wear anything other than sassy Limeted Too-esque t-shirts, was leaving the dinner table saying how she was going to read the newspaper. "I just have to read it before I go to bed," she explained. I remarked how impressed I was with her worldliness and maturity. To which she responded, "Yea... Well, I usually read Twilight, but my friend stole my book, so I just figured I'd read the newspaper instead." Because the news is obviously the best alternative to vampire rom lit. I love India.

With love,

from India,

Jeannie

P.S. Foreshadowing: My Californian ecofriend named Allegra, Erin, and I are plotting to visit Darjeeling in northern India together over our travel week in late October. Said excursion would mean: tea plantations (home to the tea by the same name), a world-famous railway, possible tiger sightings, Buddhist monasteries, and, that's right, the Himalayas. Hold onto your butts.

Week Two (Saris, Strikes, and Internet Sticks)

Well, I finally feel settled. I’ve cleaned and shopped and organized, and my room at last appears as a cozy home-away-from-home. I’ve bought most of the clothes I planned on buying over here. My stomach has adjusted to Indian food (luckily, no major issues there). Classes started this week, and I am loving having a routine again. I’m making friends. And I know my home. Woot. This past week, it seemed that I had hit Indian ground running, panting, and hardly able to keep up with myself. I now feel confident that my feet are underneath me at last, standing on solid ground. Even though it might seem silly, it feels worlds less stressful finally knowing that I am ready for India, that I can handle India, and that I like India. And, I think, India likes me too.

A lot has happened since I wrote you guys last. The cliff notes include visiting a Sikh temple, exploring Pune both with my program’s guidance and alone, running with my compatriot flatmate, Deven, (which, if you ask me, is the only real way to see a city), getting to know some of the Indian women at the hostel, starting classes, boatloads of delish Indian food, and my first sighting of the many cows that mosey along the city streets next to motorcycles and autorickshaws. Oh, by the way, I get to and from everywhere by these small, street legal taxi menaces that more resemble go-carts than anything else. The “rickshawalas” (rickshaw drivers) expertly duck and dive through the absurd traffic of India. Swapna says, “If you learn to drive here, you can drive anywhere in the world.” And honest to God, I believe her.

The nerd in me kept bouncing up and down in the rickshaw this past Monday chanting, “First day of school! First day of school!” In consideration for the dear Rickshawala and my new friend and flatmate, Erin, I refrained from audibly celebrating. Classes since have been great. This semester, I am taking: Beginning Hindi (hard but way awesome), Contemporary India (an all-encompassing insider’s intro to what India is all about), Environmental Perspectives (hasn’t met yet), and hopefully Public Health. The PH prof is tallish and would very much be an old, moustached, big-eared Indian man who says things like “the britishers” and “I like people who smile all the time, because I smile all the time.” Love him. :) But get this: school was CANCELLED today because of a strike! Ok, well, not my classes (typical, right?), but the other students of Fergusson College went on strike to protest some schools wanting to privatize education (the reason we pay so much for education in America). This random guy burst into our Marathi class this morning to say, “We students of FC are rioting against the privatization of education. We are going to have to ask you to go now so that we won’t have to fight you.” Yes, fight us. So, we moved class to “The Program Center,” our home base on FC’s campus, and continued the lecture outside. Indian kids don’t get snow days. They get strike days. Yup.

Yesterday, Pune celebrated a holiday called “Raksha Bandhan Rakhi” in which sisters give their brothers (or guy friends) bracelets, and in return the brothers promise to protect their sisters. Swapna made sure that we came back to the hostel with bracelets for her thirteen-year-old son, Satiam (“sah-tee-ahm”). Satiam is the scrawniest, goofiest kid I’ve ever seen, and he’s almost exactly the same height as his mother. Because of this, Swapna and Satiam always look so lovably comical standing side by side. Anyway, we each gave Satiam a bracelet last night, and he gave us each a gift of stick-on bhindis and life-saver-looking earrings. I feel so blessed to even know Swapna. This deserves a quick pause.

Reasons why I love Swapna:

1) She is an incredible mother to Satiam.

2) She has this unquenchable vitality that makes you breathe deeper and your eyes shine brighter just from being around her. She has so much heart and passion for life and people…

3) She is the fastest walker ever. No, really.

4) She gently bops you on the head (and endearingly pouts!) if you’re late. Don’t test her, bro.

5) She is a brilliant cook (best meals so far have been eaten sitting on the floor of Swapna’s kitchen).

6) She is an unbelievable host-mother. Swapna has already told us repeatedly that we are her daughters now and insisted that we MUST tell her anything we want to do while in India, so that she can see to it that it happens. She said, "You know, I already have decided that these four months... I give them to you. This is not much time, you know, just these four months... so always I am here for you. Do not waste time with me. Say, "Swapna, can we do this?" and then, we will do this. For you. Always." Do you love her yet? Cause I do. We call her "Tai" or "Swapna-tai," which means "big sister."

Thus, when Swapna took the four of us to an I-just-recently-got-married-to-my-husband-so-let’s-party celebration for her cousin’s sister-in-law’s niece (or something like that), the evening couldn’t have been anything short of magical. Little girls and white-haired Indian grandmothers were all dressed in the most beautiful saris I’d ever imagined, and a group of women performed a traditional play for the bride. It was all in Marathi, so I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it was all about, but there was singing and these absolutely crazy dances… I got some on video and am hoping to post them to facebook. For the blog’s sake though, just imagine forty and fifty year old women jumping and twirling, dancing and laughing, all in whirling waves of purple and gold and green and blue. The highlight of the evening, however, was easily meeting Swapna’s twin sister. Because what could be better than Swapna? TWO Swapnas. ;)

I apologize for the delay in posting again... I am going to try to post more frequently (about once/twice a week), but we have all been waiting to get wireless Internet. Right now I’ve been restricted to emailing/posting at the Program Center, which has made communication a bit difficult. Preston, our one of our alumni advisors (he did this same program last fall) has been telling us, “I know a guy.” And TOMORROW is the day on which that guy should come and award us all with “internet sticks” that plug into our computers and give us the oh so blessed gift of the world wide web. This means I will finally be able to skype and call home to you all. Cue the angel choirs and the opening of the heavens. Hallelujah! The only thing is that we have to keep track of how many GBs of info we use the Internet for this month, so that we know how many to purchase for next month… and the log that tells us how many we’ve used apparently always says “This count may or may not be accurate.” Helpful. But that, it seems, is just the Indian way of doing things.

With love,

From India,

Jeannie

First Impressions (Home, Sweet Pune)

Hey everyone! Salutations (“Namaste”) from India, my home base for the next four months. Specifically, I’m studying at Fergusson College in a city called Pune, which is about a two-hour bus ride southeast of Mumbai. The city itself is what I imagine would exist if New York were dropped squarely into a tropical jungle. There are so many cars and people that I can hardly see straight and enough curbside venders to rival even Canal Street. The only two observable rules of the road amount to “don’t hit anything (or anyone!)” and “don’t get hit.” Needless to say, crossing the street is a repeated adventure that depends entirely on a fluid understanding of traffic laws. And yet, in the midst of this metropolis’s bustle, disordered greenery bursts the city at its seams. Unfathomably lush trees, ivy, grasses, and flowers seem everywhere—no, really, everywhere. I still cannot seem to wrap my head around this bizarre fusion of urban and rural landscapes.

The other students on my program and I landed in Mumbai just last Sunday night. We spent our first three days at a retreat center in Durshet for what seemed like the longest orientation of our lives. If our directors had forced us to sit through one more Q&A about Pune without actually taking us there, every single one of us would have mutinied and some even started walking to the city. Okay, to be fair, it wasn’t all bad. Because we’re in the beginning of monsoon season, the weather is cool and drizzly—perfect for either curling up with a cup of chai to watch a Bollywood film (okay, two!) or playing a pre-dinner soccer match in the mud. Also, we took a short morning hike up the small mountain across from the retreat center… straight into the jungle… straight through a tiny Indian village with mud streets and goats. The only indications that we hadn’t somehow slipped back into the B.C. era appeared in the presence of two motorcycles, several mounted satellite dishes, and a “Bon Jovi (Have a Nice Day)” t-shirt hanging out to dry. Equally as amazing, upon this backdrop exclusively comprised of browns and greens, women of the village moved about in vivid pink, yellow, blue, and purple hued saris—balancing multiple metallic jars filled with water on their heads. They were all so strong and beautiful.

I also held a baby goat. Heck freaking yes. :)

The ride into Pune was astounding. It is so odd for me to feel foreign to any green space… I have always felt so peaceful, so at home, in these places. This country (like my dearly loved mountains of western North Carolina) is impossibly green. But Appalachia does not have the trunks or palms of coconut trees, nor gigantically wide banana leaves. North Carolina doesn’t have rice paddies. Or crooked-horned cows roaming along the road. Or monkeys. The mountains are not so steep, nor covered with plummeting waterfalls. The landscape’s wet rocks are grey—almost black. And the rest is green, impossibly green.

But now we are here, in Pune. Finally. After the nightmare of trying to convince my bank that I was in fact in India, that I had already told them that I’d be here, that my ATM card had been denied, that I did mind being put on hold for eight minutes while being charged international telephone rates, and that, yes, high maintenance me, I would need to have access to money sometime in the next four months (oh. my. gosh.), we got a tour of the college campus.

{Side Note: Did you know that Gandhi studied at Fergusson College? Freaking Gandhi. This semester was such a good idea.}

Finally, we arrived at our host homes. I am living with three other students from my program (named Erin, Devin, and Lilly) in a young women’s hostel full of Indian students, artists, and musicians. Oh, and the woman who manages the whole thing is a boss. On top of managing seventeen girls’ living spaces, she plays violin professionally… and teaches classes in violin, dance, classical Indian vocals, yoga, and rangoli—like Indian sand art, but intricate, vibrant, and jaw-droppingly gorgeous… and is a single mom with a twelve-year-old son. This Indian woman stands about four foot eight with personality like a firecracker and a smile that melted our four hearts instantly as she chatted to us over chai. Her name is Swapna. I’ve already decided she is going to be my guru while I’m here. Now I just need to let her know at yoga tomorrow morning.

With love, from India,

Jeannie