The Final Chapter

Here I am, back from my adventure and adjusting to reversing my sleep schedule, eating olives, and visiting with family and friends! What an amazing experience Maher and India was. I feel different and doubt things will ever truly be the same. I am glad that I chose to really cram my last week or so with activity and worry about this last blog after it was over. And cram I did!
Right after my last blog entry, I was in a rickshaw going someplace or another when my stomach gurgled in that particular way... the way it has before very, very bad things happen. I immediately stopped eating anything spicy or greasy and hoped my stomach would hold steady. It did, but the ominous threatening feeling didn't really go away after two days, so I went to the doctor. I was also tired of people asking me "Why are you sick?" and "You should take care of yourself." Indeed- WHY was I sick? If I was anymore careful about my health,  I'd be in a plastic bubble. So, off to the doctor I went. He asked a lot of questions and took all my vitals. He ordered a series of tests to be done, from blood work to a COLOR Doppler ultrasound thingy of my stomach. It's so amazing how quickly and cheaply all this could be done. While waiting for the ultrasound, I noticed a big sign hanging outside the door:"Fetal sex determination is illegal." Wow. I knew about the problems in India with aborting female babies, but here was a sign to prove it. The actual ultrasound on my stomach reveled only my lunch, but I found the experience fun anyway. The doctor sent me off with assorted medicines that eventually made me feel better. I think it is something in the food my body can't deal with well, a bacteria or something. I was just glad I wasn't going to be sick and vomiting my last week. I kept on teaching.
A new volunteer showed up from South Africa. Her name is Sarah and she will be taking over my English classes and guitar classes! How nice to see them continue on,  and to pass on all that I have learned about  teaching English. I wish someone had told me a few things before I started: hints on discipline (not that I'm very good at that), game ideas, what works, what doesn't, motivation, etc. I think Sarah will do an excellent job. The children really seem to like her, and I think she scored some extra points with them by being able to dance. They LOVE dance.
Tuesday evening was my goodbye party/hello to the new guests. It started with a prayer ceremony that must have been designed to make me cry. I had been trying to put the crying off till the day I left, but it started early at this prayer thingy. After a beautiful prayer song, different children got up and thanked me for all the teaching I have done. Then it got quiet and I knew they wanted me to say something, but this was close to impossible. I managed to squeak out a thank you to everyone before I got too choked up but that was all. Try and give a speech when you are crying- its ridiculous! I then said, "Okay. Can we do something happy now?" We all went outside to the constructed stage. The children put on a big dance program for everyone. It's always fun to watch their energetic dances. At the end they called up all the "foreigners" and basically asked us all to return the favor and entertain them. Country by country, they blasted dance music and we performed. South Africa did a line dance that apparently everyone there knows. France (just Stephen) emptied his pockets and busted out his best Capoiera moves. Germany and Austria did a Waltz that was so bad it was good. Kenya did a flail some freak out dance. England did the twist. And the US? We did a swing dance. Thank God Will can lead. After we were finished it erupted into one big dance party, and I didn't even need to pull the girls out on the dance floor. We danced with wild abandon, myself included. When you leave the next day from a place as powerful as Maher, what do you hold back at  time like that? The dancing went relatively late, even with school being the next day. It was the best goodbye ever.
I kept on teaching up till the very last day. My last classes were really fun- I made them all games and treats so they could be a celebration. I gave them a snack mix that was so spicy that I couldn't eat it and they just gobbled it up- that and some Oreo rip-offs that didn't have enough filling, in my opinion. Wednesday morning was my last class, which was huge and incredibly fun. We finished by all singing Twist and Shout while I played the guitar. It took 25 minutes for me to get them out of the classroom. They all wanted to say goodbye, or beg me to stay and keep teaching English. I was very moved, but needed to get them moved out so I could start packing- I left in only a few hours, but had yet to pack! The next few hours I spent packing. I was okay with it too because I was just too emotionally spent to say goodbye anymore. I hate goodbye, and I had been saying it since the day before. I was ready. There were lots of hugs and goodbyes but this time I didn't cry too much till the car drove away.
SO here I am, back on WhidbeyMaher. My heart will always be there. I am so thankful to have had such an amazing experience. Can I walk away from it? Naw. I want to continue helping. Stay tuned for fundraising efforts. Plus, four of the older students will be (hopefully) coming over here to the States to go to school for a year in Bellingham. We are talking cream-of-the-crop individuals too- some of the most delightful young people I have ever met. I would love to stay involved with that.
Thank you for sharing in my experience of Maher and India!!!!!
Namaste

Lots of Dancing and kicking

The past week had been really nice. I settle more and more into Maher and India, just in time to leave. I really feel more adjusted. I get around on my own now too, if needed. Classes have been going well. I use what I call a "carrot" at the beginning of my rowdy classes. The carrot is a promise of fun to come if they mind their P's and Q's, usually a game or a song. I have one class that adores singing "Twist and Shout". I like the way they say "shake it a-baby". This week I have also continued getting up before the sun rises to do Tikwando or Capoeira. Then I stretch a long while or do yoga before going to take a cold bucket bath. There was one amazing morning with Stephane when he told me he could Salsa. I remember the steps, he's an amazing lead, and we spent that morning Salsa-ing our butts off, again while the sun rose. I had a moment where I couldn't stop laughing, thinking how funny it to do Salsa dancing in India with a man from France. My feet have been killing me from the blisters but besides that I feel really great.
Earlier this week I had a great experience shopping in the posh part of town. I found a guitar tuner and books to give my guitar students when I leave. We went into a MALL and bought books too. A real mall, so mall-like that I didn't feel like I was in India. I didn't really like the mall, but I was able to find some books on learning English. We also visited a huge supermarket. I was skipping through the isles, reading this label and that, wishing I could take more home. India is cheap too- till you buy too much stuff. I am getting better at bargaining too. It used to be that it felt wrong to haggle over a price, but now I'm really taking to it. I get really proud when I get them to drop their prices way down. As a white foreigner, they start the price at at least double its value most the time, and I know that. I had fun getting some great gifts.
Yesterday was Maher's 14th Anniversary celebration, and Pinky's (one of the house mother's) wedding. What a fun filled day!! It was busy from the get-go. As we walked to breakfast, garlands of marigold flowers were being strung up all over the place: the stage, the gates, the big main building, and all the doorways. The colorful canopies that I love so much were put up over the stage and next to the building that has the kitchen. Even more marigolds were torn so that there were bags of flower petals to throw and use during the ceremony in the wedding (traditionally, rice is thrown in abundance as a symbol of prosperity, but as it is Maher AND a waste of food, flower petals were chosen instead.) After a fantastic breakfast of Poha (beaten rice cooked with peanuts, tomatoes and spices) coconut, Chapatti, and a small cheese wedge, we got busy too. We took pictures for Lucy of all the preparations. Women were cooking a kind of fried chapatti that I can't remember the name of. Huge pots of potato, chickpea, and paneer curry were being stirred with utensils big enough to be oars for a boat. Lots of Marathi was being yelled and there about how everything should be done. Then it was time to have someone help put me in my sari. I have worn a sari now quite a few times, but the process of getting the folds just so is really hard. You don't just wind the yards and yards of fabric around you: its an art. Once wrapped up like a present, we rushed back for in time to see Pinky getting smudged with what looked like mustard. It's turmeric, and its done as a tradition. We got smudged too. I smelt like curry. Soon after washing my face, the car from Vatsyladam pulled up and Stephane and Toby rolled out, fully dressed like Indian men. Toby even wore the traditional what hat, which made him look like he was ready to sell hot dogs.
How many weddings have I seen since I have been in India? I'm loosing count. Pinky's wedding was extra special since it was a Maher wedding. It still was done the Hindu way: she was dressed beautifully, henna on her feet and hands, the blanket between them, the ceremonial fire (inside!), coconut, and walking around the fire as man and wife. But Sister Lucy acted as the mother of Pinky. Its bittersweet to see her marry. She is leaving to live with her husband. I will miss her singing and tabla playing. Its a time of celebration and sadness.
The afternoon had alot of down time, which we filled up quickly. They had set up the music and microphones and began to play music. ANYtime music is played, the boys dance. They dance with each other, energetically, and I always get a kick out of it. The girls huddle on the sides and insist that they can't dance because the boys hog the dance floor, which is BS. The culture is different. I began dancing. I could care less. Everything I do in India is subject to a crowd of people watching. I have, in the last month, accepted that. I am a strange and fascinating creature. Best that not ruin any of my fun. My goal was to have fun and to DRAG the girls out to dance, which I did. They felt more secure if we all did the same dance and/or stood in a circle. So I danced for quite a while, which was quite a test for my sari. Then the boys drug me off to their side to dance. The boys' dances are much more fun. They are in a frenzy!
The Maher ceremony was nice. There were hundreds of people there. It started with awards and speeches. Then performances from children singing, dancing, and doing tikwando. And then... me. I was supposed to play "Bright Sunny Day" on my guitar. I was nervous about it, but being that it isn't the first time I have played to a crowd, and the fact that most people wouldn't know the words, I felt better. I have placed my WELL TUNED guitar by the stage where they said and sat down to enjoy the program. As I got on stage to play, I saw that a small child had my guitar and no one had stopped him from playing with it. I tried to check the tuning, but could not over the booming of the music from the current performance. Worst performance of my entire life. The child had played with the tuning pegs. The sourness of the guitar mixed with feed back from the microphone, and although my singing was okay, I crawled off the stage, defeated. I was happy there was another dance party directly after. I shook off the sour notes.
It's eleven days till I leave and I will cry my eyes out. It's true that I am excited to go home and see family and friends. And eat some olives and cheese. But oh how I love these people!!!!! The children... what can I say? They are so easy to love. Even the ones that are really naughty. It will be hard to leave, but I know its time. I can continue to help Maher from the states. I can never forget this place.

to life

There's a girl named Pornima that I am giving guitar lessons to two or three days a week. Pornima is 15, with big beautiful green eyes and a very sweet and quiet way about her. She also happens to be in one of my English classes. She really wants to learn guitar, and I mean REALLY. She shows up every time without fail and gives it her all... God bless her, she's horrible at it. I have been trying everything, but have come to the conclusion that her dexterity and grip are very weak. She puts her fingers where they should go with a bit of a struggle, but they won't stay there. She squeezes and squeezes at the strings but its not hard enough to get a clear tone. I have given her a balloon filled with sand to squeeze throughout the day to try to buff up her left hand. Hoping that will help. Poor Pornima.(Her name is easy for me to remember because it has the word porn in it. Not too many American names have that, for good reason.)

I am feeling very proud of myself today. I went to the dentist and got two fillings! If any of you are thinking that I am brave to go to a dentist here, think again. I had a reference from a friend and it was very swanky and clean. It cost about $40 total. Take that US dentists! IN MY FACE! The only differences were: I had to take my shoes off before I could go into the dental room, I had a shiny bindi (the dot that Hindus' wear between their eyes) to stare at while the doctor worked on my teeth, and there was the occasional Marathi word spoken to the assistant. The dentist gets a gold star from me, unlike the post office.


I went to the big Pune post office this week also, to mail a package to my mom and dad. I will be giving away some of the surprise by talking about it, but there's still the surprise of what's in the box. First off, you have to have your package and some light weight fabric, because you have to cover and stitch up the whole package, leaving the top open, before you even get to the Post Office. Once you are there you wait till someone can go through your box to see that you aren't smuggling something forbidden back to the states. (They didn't look very hard. I COULD have smuggled something after all, sorry mom.) Then you stitch the package closed in front of them and go off to join one of the monstrous lines out front. Bernie and I joined 2 different lines. After a half an hour, her line hadn't moved. After 45 minutes with only 4 people in front of me, my line closed for lunch. So I joined Bernie. People cut in left and right and as it approached  2 o'clock (when that line would close for lunch) we just barely got our packages sent before they closed down. I wouldn't say it was very efficient, but it bought us the time needed to befriend a nice girl from Canada, Meeka. She has only been here two weeks and we invited her to lunch to celebrate the success of mailing our packages. I am now racing my package home: there was no time to ask for a speedier delivery time than standard air mail. Go package go!

I got some alone time in Pune to walk around as I'd like. This also meant I got to try to figure out how to get back to the office by myself, which was surprisingly easy. I took my first rickshaw ALONE, so spacious! And I managed to pronounce "Wadgaon Cherry" well enough (even with a numb face) to get a six seater there. The walk back through what I have named Garbage Alley was also nice: I met a nice cow there that not only posed for a picture, but came over and sniffed at me. First cow that has given me the time of day. The others are too busy cowing around.

Stephon and Tobi continue to be great company. They are brand new to India, so it's fun to watch THEM experience all the things I did. There were no other volunteers to show me the ropes when I first arrived. Or share experiences with. It's nice to teach my classes with Tobi to bounce ideas off of. He's got a big toothy grin and reminds me a bit of a German version of my brother. Stephon has a thick French accent that I like to listen to. It turns out he also is very good at Capoeira. We began playing and the children became interested, so he's teaching classes. The other morning he had a class at 5:30 am, but no one showed but me. We played anyway, even when the lights went out at 6:00. It was almost completely dark but I could still make out his grin and at least some of the kicks. Doing cart wheels as the sun came up: I don't think I will forget that morning for a long time. Here's to life!

Back into the swing of things

I have been back from Kerola for about a week and I'll get to that, but let me first tell of my adventures there. There were many relaxing days spent relaxing and walking into the village to a "Cool Bar" to get some of the world's best milkshakes. I'm not sure if it was the heat, the mango ice cream, or the novelty of having a milkshake itself, but they made my eyes roll back in my head. We had a milkshake club for a bit, going almost everyday. The store owners looked for us everyday with big smiles. For only under a dollar each, I only have to pay for them on my hips. Which fixed itself, sort of (get to that later).
I have been visiting so many Catholic Churches that I felt I needed to balance it out, so I started seeing other temples. One day (after milkshakes) we went to a famous one called Chottanikkara. There was a big pilgrimage there (and to another famous temple in Kerola) so it was full of pilgrims dressed in black lungees. I entered the temple area with a fellow volunteer who was also a woman. So, we had to look around a lot for clues to know what to do. There were hardly any women, so we paid close attention that there was always at least one. Otherwise we might me breaking some no-woman-in-this-area taboo. The temple wasn't at all as I had pictured it. It was a Hindu temple, and not very big. It was like entering a fairground with lots of smaller buildings and such. The temple itself was closed. People were all flocking instead to a big, sacred tree. The tree was surrounded by a stone platform the pilgrims circled as they prayed. The trunk of the tree itself was covered with nails and MANY plastic dolls. Yes, I have no idea what the meaning of what I saw might be. I bought a book in English on Chottanikkara to figure it out, but it might as well have been in Hindi. There were some shrines I understood for Gnesh and Shiva. I didn't dare take a picture of any of this.
Next day out I went to see an old Dutch Palace that was built for a king in Kelora many years ago as an apology. "Oops, we sort of destroyed some of your temples... but here's a new Palace!" It is now a museum about Kerola. It was a bit boring, but the old Indian art on some of its walls made it worth the effort. And I learned and stuff and junk. I also went to a Jewish synagogue that had beautiful white and blue tiles covering the floor. There were real crystal chandeliers with uncut crystal swaying on the ceiling. I don't know that I have ever been in a synagogue before. A big curtain covered the front alter area. It sparked my curiosity, like a big "do not push" button. What was behind the alter? I tried to peek but aside from breaking some grand taboo and moving the curtain, I was out of luck. Lastly on my church/temple tour I saw St. Francis, the oldest European church in India. 1500 and something was when it was built (That's an exact fact). It very beautiful despite its simplicity. They allowed pictures!
After a very nice train ride back to Pune, I was ready to get back into the swing of things. I was delighted to see a new volunteer from German (so many Germans) was doing my English classes while I was gone. His name is Toby. He is very tall and quite nice. I look forward to working with him for the rest of my time here.
There is another new volunteer who showed up a few days ago. His name is Stephon and he is French (oooh la la). He is also very tall and will be staying till May.
I spent one day resting before I started teaching and... felt a rumble in my stomach. That night was long and lots of unspeakable things happened, but at least I wasn't as sick as I was before. I didn't need to do the doctor. The problem has not been the recovery (I'm totally fine now). The problem now is the healthy fear I have of food: what made me sick? My beloved Indian food looks so innocent and delicious sitting there, how could it ever do me wrong? Why curry, why? Or was it the Lassi? I am telling myself that it's the Lassi. It's the only way I can trust the other food. But I am eating very cautiously now. That much vomiting will do that to person.
I have been teaching English and guitar again. I am so happy to be back. Once you spend time with the children you start to feel at home right away. They are so enthusiastic to learn and interact that it gets contagious. I think I am getting better at teaching too. Not great, but better. I have new games to use as practise. I think the rest of my time here at Maher will go by very fast.
I was thinking that India's new catch phrase could be "Always room for one more!" I thought of it yesterday on my way back to Maher from the closest town, Koregaon. I took a small rickshaw as usual. This one held the record on how many people were in it: 9 adults (counting the driver) and 2 medium sized children. Rickshaws seat 3 passengers comfortably, in my opinion. There are larger sized rickshaws that hold many more, but this is your run-of -the- mill tiny rickshaw. They are cute and look like some kind of bug, say a beetle. Think about the fastest golf cart you can imagine, then change the shape and have only one wheel up front: Indian rickshaw. I have to admit that even with 11 souls traveling slowly down the village road, packed like sardines, I still was thoroughly amused. Rickshaws are fun. Only 8 rupees to the village, too.
Till next time , sending love back home...

Kerola: India Light

Well well! I am currently in Kerola, Southern India. I had a lovely oppertunity to travel here with Sister Lucy for the wedding of her neice, and couldn't turn it down. We left on New Years' Day, late in the evening. The train had 6 sleeper benches in each compartment, kinda like hanging bunk beds. I layed down to the sway of the train and it's wonderous white noise, thinking that I would be one of the best nights of sleep ever. Boy, was I wrong. The rocking was nice but sometimes became a violent shake. The noise was okay except when we stopped at each station the brakes would squeal, the air would stop, and suddenly you could hear the snoring all around you. I slept most of the night despite this, and woke to wonderful changing scenery. I had a window seat. I was sooooo happy! I also got up and stood in the open doorways alot- they don't close them- and watched as the world spun by with a thrilling scense of danger. The tunnels roared past my face (and Dad- people scream and hoot and haller in the tunnels, much like the way you'd honk the horn in tunnels on our car trips to the mountains!) Rice paddies, villages, and cashew trees flew by. A much greener India meet my eyes. We crept through moutains too. I saw monkeys.

We arrived in Kerola late the next night, and were escoted to Sister Lucy's brother's house. It is so big I thought it was a church! We were served a FULL meal on banana leaves at midnight.Then we passed out for the night. The engagment party was the next day. It is basically a 2nd wedding, but held at the bride's home. This was my first Catholic Indian wedding. Kerola has the most Catholics in all of India, so I have been told. The engagement was glamourous: full tents, flowers everywhere, catered, etc. There were over a thousand people there. The ceremonies were pretty and the music, as usual, is so loud that I have to plug my ears as subtle- like as possible as to not offend. (Indian people love to crank the volume of everything to a level that is deafening.) After the guests left and it was just Sister Lucy's family they all sang songs and danced. I have hardly any idea of what was said or sang, but one can tell they are a warm and lively group.

We toured the area in the next few days, meeting more and more of Lucy's very large family. Everyone fed us. The area is quite beautiful. Kerola is not flat. the roads twist and turn. Banana trees, cahews trees, and rubber trees are everywhere. They tap the rubber trees like maple trees and collect the liquid in a coconut shell. Then they put it in pans, add something or other to it to make it more solid, and run it through a press that looks like a pasta machine. This is smoked in a smoke house and then they can sell it. You see house after house with lines of drying smoked rubber mats. Lucy took us to the top of a mountain where there was a HUGE tea plantation. That was pretty neat.
Kerola is different than Pune in so many ways. It's cleaner- much cleaner. There is still garbage but so much less. There's so many trees that it's green and lush. There's less people, and they look a bit different. The men wear lungees (i think that's what they are called) which is a wrap. They adjust them as they walk and I feel like I am seeing them get out of the shower or something. It's really hot here- humid sticky hot. I didn't use a blanket last night even though we have a ceiling fan, and I was still having problems falling asleep from the heat. This is the cool season, by the way. Kerola people do not speak Hindi or Marathi- they speak malowi (don't quote me on that). So, I'm back to knowing zero language again. If you were to visit India but noramal India scared the crap out of you, this is your place. Keroloa is India Light. They try to be like the west here and they have alot more money. It shows in their houses, their cars, theirs shops and the tons of gold jewelery than they wear. They looooove gold. I still hate it.
We got on another bus and drove to Kerola's Maher project. The rules in Kerola are different, so this house is for boys only. There are 45 boys here, a much more managable size of children. It's a paradise here- they have a swing, orchard of fruit trees, and best yet, a big deep pond that they can use for a swimming pool. Sister Lucy can't keep out of it either- she loves to swim with the children. I love Maher's Kerola project. The boys are sweet and fun just like all the Maher children. I made them braided palm bracelets and they made me assortments of clever toys made from palms.
I also got to go to a water park- yay!!!!!!!!!!!! It was WAY better than Wild Waves, the biggest in all of India. There were some drastic differences. For one, I didn't want to get water in my mouth. Women wore their punjabi suits on all the slides. So I wasz covered head to toe. And some water rides were for men only. The huge wave pool was divided by sex: 75% for the men, a tiny 25% for the women. Besides that, the water park was so fun I hardly knew what to do with myself. It had regual rides too.
Yesterday, we rented a bus and took all 45 of them out for the day. They sang and dance the whole hour drive to the beach. I then swam in my third ocean. The sand was peachy-brown. The waves were a nice size, warm salty bathwater. Actually, it was salter than any other ocean water I have been in, I think. My eyes stung but I didn't care. I swam the whole time till they forsed me out of the water. It was time anyway. I was the last in and men had sort of inched towards me. Dealing with Indian men is really difficult for me. I basically try to ignore them so that they don't get the wrong idea. It's hard, and occationally I'll accidentally make eye contact or whatever, and then try to casually swim away. It's so strange to avoid half the population. After the beach we took them to park and gave them ice cream, and later out to dinner. They were sooooooo happy. The whole thing cost only about $250 dollars. And that was with staff!
I have soooo much more to talk about but my time is up. I will be back in Pune by the 18th. Enjoy my typos.

Vomiting, Christmas Angels, and the Essence of Violets

Dear India,
We have been seeing one another now for almost 2 wonderful months! There are, however, some serious issues I'd like to address. I think you are bi polar. What's worse, you take me along for the ride. I soar with such great heights of joy and crash land into bitter sorrow, all trying to keep up with you. Perhaps you should get some help. And no, we are not breaking up.
Love Always,
Claire


Since my birthday, I could write a book's worth of blog stuff. I am staying at Vadu almost constantly. The reason  is that I have been teaching morning classes and evening classes. If I were to go to the office, I wouldn't be back in time for my 6 o'clock class. So I stay and teach. Teaching has been a challenging affair. The students are there voluntarily, and in addition to their regular schooling. That's a long time to hold still and learn!! My efforts have been to make it as fun as possible. I try to make a lot of games. When classes go well and students leave skipping and singing new songs or I hear them shout new vocabulary at one another, I am so happy. I float around feeling wonderful and encouraged to make the next class even better. When the classes go poorly, however, I crawl out from the class room sighing and trying to figure out how I ended up a teacher at all. It can be REALLY difficult to teach something without being able to explain it. For example: I was unable to teach "go fish" as a way to practice vocabulary. I made cards with pictures and then cards with the words. But there are too many steps to explain without knowing Marathi. It flopped. Also, after confusing my students with a test, I found out from someone that India does not use multiple choice. No wonder they didn't get it. Crazy American girl- what do you mean "A, B or C?"


Something unsettling about India is that it's making my hair fall out. Yep. You read it right. I guess it's not an unusual problem cuz of the water, but I am upset about it. Too much hair is in my hand when I finish combing my hair. I may laugh about this someday with a full ponytail, but I am ready to weep over it now. It's not showing yet, but this is awful. I am asking around to see what to do and I'm only washing my hair with filtered water from now on. Someone want to do some research for me? PLEASE? It wasn't falling out at home!!!! Help me! HELP!

I have a guitar. This has been a wonderful thing. It belongs to Maher, and had been sitting unused and dusty. The tabla teacher, Vijay, was kind enough to take it to his music shop and get new strings for it. It isn't the nicest guitar by far, and won't hold it's tuning no matter how I cuss at it, but it's still fantastic. Noone seems to care what sour notes come out of it. I am a rock star here- playing the absolute worst music of my life to the most enthusiastic crowd ever! I have started to teach occasional guitar lessons to a few of the older boys and girls. It doesn't seem to matter that I'm not very good at it. I use it in my English classes sometimes too, as an add in. I taught jingle bells- the song I have learned to love. I have sang it a million times since the holidays. Its so cute to hear them sing about snow and sleighs in their Indian accent. I was going to play for the Christmas program, but.......

On the 22nd, I woke up with a headache and a slight tummy ache. I taught a class even though it felt like a cement mixer had replaced my digestive system. It wasn't that bad then, so I thought I would rest after class. I ate a small breakfast and went to my room to rest a bit. Things went down hill from there. My head ache got worse and my stomach did too. At this point i knew I was sick, but I had no idea how much. One of the staff came to check on me by 3:30 to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I didn't think it was anything other than a flu. In one hour, I was ready to go to the doctor- it progressed into intensive body ache, vomiting, diarrhea, head ache, and an impending sense of doom. The hour plus ride to the hospital could be described as hell. I fought against India's MANY odors and traffic to not vomit and/or the unmentionable. I prayed to God not to have to pull over the car and vomit with my pants down on the side of the road during rush hour. God is great. I made it!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have an infection in my stomach, most likely due to bad water/food/mysteriousness. I have been careful with water, so who knows? I was in the hospital for 5 or so days! They felt my stomach would riot against the medications I needed, so I was on an IV drip most of that time. It turns out IV's are totally overrated. They aren't great at all- they hurt a lot. My hospital was very nice all except for the fact that my IV did not have wheels, so every time I had to go to the bathroom, I had to be disconnected and reconnected after. This made my veins and wrists huuuuuurt. They switched hands 2 times. I still have sore wrists. The first night in the hospital was horrible and I'll spare you the ooey gooey details. But I was never alone. Sister Lucy did not sleep at all the night, just to make sure I was okay. And Gause (one of the boys who will come to America) slept on the floor all night too. I was thankful and quite horrified that they heard me barf all night.

There were some highlights to my hospital in India Christmas. After the first night, Lucy left and sent a woman named Mangul to look after me. I had met Mangul before at Vatsyladam (one of Maher's homes) where she takes care of elderly patients 7 days a week with a smile on her face. She speaks some English, and however limited, the warmth of her heart is right on her sleeve. She's a stunningly beautiful 27 year old, and I thought of her as my Christmas Angel. She'd bring me anything I needed. She's massage my head when i had a head ache. She even combed my hair ( I stopped fighting her after awhile- "I can do it- no- I can do it- it's okay). The hospital, you see, was a lot of letting it go, just like the rest of my trip here has been. I didn't like that she was missing all the celebrations just for me. I didn't like feeling helpless. Christmas eve I lay asleep gently weeping in frustration over the whole thing. But as I layed there, I thought of people like Mangul, so willing to give without any words of praise. I thought of how great I was in comparison to the people only just outside my hospital. I thought of all the unspoken heroes, the angels, that I were in Maher alone. I felt so grateful and moved. I cried some more for joy, wondering if I'll ever be able to give any of this back.

Another big highlight to the hospital was Indian TV!!!!! How amusing! I got a full education on Hindi films, which are pretty awful by any Americans' standards, I think. Most themes are love, and every damn one is a musical. I liked watching them all the same.I got to watch a few American movies, including (ironically) Slumdog Millionare, Chicago (so much skin!!), and the Accidental Bride. I also really enjoyed the commercials. Highlights: Dominos pizza had a pizza with a strange cream sauce but no tomato sauce, a diaper called "MAMMY NOKO PANTS" and a pad commercial that at the end says "Have a happy period!" I did also read a few books, and I had a lot of visitors. Oh!!!! there was a news story that showed footage of a tiger that tackled a guy!!!! Holy crap!!!! Not a local story, in case you were wondering.

I'm out of the hospital and recovering slowly. I am scared of eating anything that isn't bland. I feel okay except that my strength hasn't returned yet. Glad that tiger isn't around here. I am taking extra care of myself so that I will be well enough to go on a trip to Karola in a few days for a wedding and sight seeing. Karola is supposed to be very beautiful and I just love traveling in India.

I'm sure there's more but I am out of time. Love everyone and Happy new year!!!!!! The essence of violets thing in the title was from a band I was in "The Timid Mergers Apathetic Warriors and the Essence of Violets". I just really like "the essence of violets" and it's my blog.

One Month Down, Two to Go

My blog has been stalled because my schedule has completely changed. I no longer go to the Pune Office everyday. I stay at Vadu and teach. Being an adaptable person is a must for being here in India, and teaching is no different. I came to Maher ready to tutor 4 students in English. Now I am adapting to teaching 50-60 students! I would be lying if I didn't say this terrified me, but I wasn't about to say I wouldn't try. As I like to say,  "Trying is the first step towards failure." Or Sucess. The first challenge was trying to find a way to figgure out what level each class was at. I'm teaching a mix of ages, from 11-19. I am glad I had that class on tutoring or I wouldn't have a clue of what to do. Most of the students are at a very low level of understanding English, and even lower at speaking it. It's a challenge to teach without being fluent in Marathi myself. The first class was so perfect it gave me the courage for the next one. Picture this: it's 8:30am. My class room has windows that are missing so there's a warm breeze drifting through the room. Sunlight is streaming in, and there's about ten sparrows that are noisily chatting overhead (they live in the classroom and drop straw from their nests on the floor everyday). I have my books and lesson plan on my lap, chalk ready and "Good Morning" written across the blackboard, ready to go. My seven students filter in, late. They are all 12 to 13 yr old boys, but thye are all smiin gand ready to learn. They listen and laugh. They learn!!!! As they left, I was on cloud nine. maybe I CAN teach!!!!

Not all my classes have gone so smoothly. The evening classes had too mcuh energy. they had been in school all day and now they didn't want to sit still. A few took advantage of the fact that I am a marshmellow. I had new rules I wanted to make, but how could I explain them? And how do you bitch a student out with such a language barrier? Students came late. Students came that weren't even on the list. Studensts came form other classes. It was time to ask for help. We had a meeting with Hira and she really let them have it. We got the schedule stait and new rules were layed down. We set up another class too because so many other students wanted to learn English. So now I have 12 classes a week. (God help me.) I also still need to figgure out the Thursday night class because Thurday's there's no power so it will be too dark to teach. I had to cancel last Thursday. This Thursday I need to plan a class with flashlights and no black board.




A week or so ago, we had a group come by to tour Maher. I walked in the office and was surprised to see a white guy there. Then I turned around and saw that there was a whole group, very mixed. Their group is called Action for life. They go around the world meeting people who make big changes and learn from them. (There's probably a lot more to them than that, but I am still learning about them). One was from Australia, one someplace in Europe I have never heard of (how embarassing), one from Kenya, one from Korea (I think), and one from China. I like to call them the superfriends. I went with them on their tour to Vatsalydam and we all chatted the whole way. I thought they were an amazing group of people and I was excited they intived me to visit them where they are staying in Punchguna (spelled wrong), about two hours away. I think I shall. I think I shall.

My birthday was amazing. I woke up early to celebrate with the children since I was going to be gone when they returned from school. Upon opening my door, 4 children were already sitting outside my door way. "Happy Birthday Didi!!!!!" They wanted to be the first ones to wish it to me. Then they all shook my hand. My birthday was off to a good start. The main room were we gathered was decorated in balloons and had a beautiful sand art creation on the floor with a prayer-lamp-thingy (that's not what they call it.) I sat on a cousion in front of it and we all had prayer. I lit the prayer-lamp-thingy with Sister Lucy, Hira, AND the birthday boy. Yes, it was not just my birthday: a little boy turned one, so i got to share! They said a prayer in marathi and then English. it included thanks for ME and how grateful they were, and how they wished me happiness, and on and on. I sat with my eyes closed very moved. I don't know that I deserved such a speech since I feel everything I give here is given back to me ten fold. I had to try REALLY hard not to cry in front of those 200 and some children and women. REALLY HARD. They blessed me with kum kum (that red and orange stuff that they put on your forhead). They put a flower garland on me. Then they brought a small cake that me and the birthday boy cut and ate like they do in weddings: I fed him and he fed me. Then sister Lucy. We passed out sweets the women and children and my day moved on quickly.

I was to prepare for my second Hindu Wedding, this one of a higher caste. I wore the apologetic clothing : the Sari. There was alot of running around to fit me into a blouse that made my boobs pointy, just like my Halloween coustume. Noone gets poked though, because your boobs and almost every other part of you gets securely wrapped up. I figgured i wouldn't need help dressing myself for quite some time, but here I was at 29, being dressed my two women. A sari is a complicated thing, much like wearing orgami. Fold here, here, and here. Pin this, this and this. I had to ask how to use the tiolet in it. The women also did my hair and put "matching" jewelry on me. My taste is a bit different, but they all said I looked "soondar" beautiful. We then rushed off with gifts in tote to the wedding.

This wedding was MUCH bigger than the last, about a thousand people. They gave gifts to US. The men and women sat seperately. I thought that was very strange. It was such a striking division: one side was every color you can think of with the women, the other was all white with the men (except for the orange hats that some wore as a sign of respect). This wedding was more organized. I was called on stage twice, once to receive a coconut (an official greeting), once for a photo. It was a beautiful wedding. We stopped and had a snack dinner at a restraunt. It was my first time eating out in a dinning situation. Lucy got me a Lassi which is better than any cake. I was very happy. I doubt I will be forgetting this birthday anytime soon.

I should also mention that a new volunteer showed up a few days ago, from London. Her name is Bernie and she will be here for the rest of the time I am here. She has a nice accent and offers me tea. It's nice to have another English speaking person around.



I am having problems taking enogh photographs. Everthing is intersting and picture worthy, and I'd love to paint alot of the things I see, but... Taking pictures of everyday things is hard. Picture this: you are on your way to work, or you are shopping, when some crazy foreigner is pointing a camera at you! How rude!! Plus, I'm always doing stuff and don't want to be toting a camera. So, my pictures are lacking and I feel I may regret it.

I use alot of restraint here. I want to frolic though the banana trees that are just down the road. Frolic- skipping, chasing insects, humming, the works. But I don't know who owns the field of how they would feel about the crazy woman running through it. I want to run down the road in the Village for exercise, but running isn't propper for women. I want to burst out laughing at many of the things I see, but I don't often. And I really want to cuss at traffic or things, but I do so only in my head. Again I'd like to state that my language skills aren't good enough to explain that I am (somewhat) sane.
Till next time, and who knows when that will be...