Formal Apology

After throwing three students out of my classes this morning and spending the rest of my day telling my kids to sit down and be quiet, I would like to publicly apologize to all the teachers that I tortured throughout my middle and high school years. So to Mr. Schmidt of 8th grade Algebra, Mr. McKay of American Literature (I answered "Tom Cruise" to one of his test questions), Ms. Lathrop of 10th grade French (I used to whistle every time she turned her back; she never knew it was me and it drove her nuts) and Ms. Davies of Trigonometry, I am sorry. Please forgive me. Because karma is a real pain.

Five Rules for Driving in India

Driving can be a little bit nerve wracking here in the spicy country. Now that I've been here a little over three weeks, I am pretty used to being a passenger: clenching my jaw for the entire three hour ride, swearing every seventeen seconds, death gripping my seat belt - those are the adjustments I've made. I've stopped thanking God every time we reach a destination safely - I'm pretty sure He wants no part of these car trips!

Rule #1: There are no rules. Everything means nothing. That is to say that intersections, traffic lights, medians, pedestrian crosswalks, no entry/one way signs and all things related mean absolutely zilch. When arriving at a four way intersection or roundabout, don't stop. Just pull out and hope for the best. And watch out for the pedestrian. And that chicken over there. And the motor bike with the propane tanks swinging off the back.

Rule #2: A two lane road has at least five lanes of traffic - get used to that. If you find yourself behind an ox cart, surrounded by motor bikes, with a public bus veering into your lane and headed straight for you, your best bet is to close your eyes and put your foot on the gas. The results of this tactic will likely involve fewer deaths than if you try to make logical and safe choices when steering your car. Picture New York traffic, New Orleans roads, half of the livestock in Arkansas, all the motorcycles in California, an army of dogs and a billion people. Now try making a left turn.

Rule #3: Unlike your average Indian male, traffic cops do not give a hoot that I am white, or a woman, or from America, or if I miss my train. In fact, those credentials seemed to inspire them to hold me a good bit longer than necessary at the "Forest and Parks Checkpoint". Note to all: when being held unnecessarily at the drug and terrorist smuggling checkpoint disguised as an environmental safety office, keep your mouth shut. You might make your train.

Rule #4: Car seats are not necessary. For that matter, seat belts, helmets, harnesses and other safety contraptions are not on the radar at all here. Almost every time I get in the car, I find myself behind a motorcycle with a mother sitting on the back, side saddle, one arm around her husband, the other clutching their toddler who just bounces around on her hip. It makes me insane to watch this going on.

Rule #5: If there is an elephant in the road, turn around. Do not try to maneuver around said creature. Hell hath no fury like a startled elephant and a defensive one will gauge you and your car to a pulp with its tusks. Of course I pulled out my camera getting ready to snap away until my driver vetoed that smart idea. Elephants do not like having their picture taken. Nor do they stop at the Forest Checkpoints.

Sweet Faces

Introducing 'Tata'

As I have mentioned in previous posts, my life in India consists of an army of domestic attendants, who seem to have been taught that someone like me should not have to do anything for themselves (yesterday I put a wrench in that plan and insisted on packing AND carrying my own groceries). I don't ask whether it is because I am a woman, a foreigner, white, etc. but I don't really like standing there while someone does everything for me. At the school though, it's a little bit different. The cooks, cleaners, drivers, etc. all depend on their jobs for their livelihood, and are proud of their steady employment, so I stay out of the way and try to focus on my own job.

My main man on campus is Tata, our gardener. At first I was pegged by the others as being in love with him, but now they seem to understand that he more falls into the "mascot" category for me ( you will realize how obvious that distinction is after you see how many of his teeth are missing). We think Tata is about 80 years old, he has a wife and sixteen grandchildren (at last count) and is absolutely the cutest little man I have ever seen. Bless his heart, he even has his own gardener's uniform that he wears every single day, no matter how many extra shirts we give him.

This is Tata in his uniform. He also has a matching khaki jacket to go with it.

At first, Tata was not real sure about me and why I was taking so many pictures of him. But these days he and I pal around like we are best buds. From morning til night I can find him anywhere on campus, hose in hand, watering God only knows what, looking a little shorter than when I last saw him. He is skinny as a rake, and his little bald head seems to droop below his shoulders at times, but he perks up when I call out to him. When I see him out in the village, locals must think we are crazy when he comes hollering at me from down the road to shake my hand. It's as if we are speaking the same language, but we aren't: I chat to him in English while he nods along, and then he rattles on in Tamil while I give him the "oh! uh huh, really!" Somehow we manage to communicate and he told Prema the other day that I could be his 7th(!) daughter.

Tata looking very regal in his "evening uniform": a sweater we got him for the chilly nights.

Tata hard at work in the hot sun. No matter the heat, he always refuses water.

The best day of all was Opening Day when he opted out of his uniform and showed up in an ironed plaid shirt and nice pants. He was so proud to talk to all the out of town guests about his flower beds. Meanwhile I was sneaking around snapping shots of him in the spotlight. So cute :)

Five Reasons Why I Should Move to India

Note: I am NOT moving to India.

1) No sinus problems in India. I had an ear drum incident last year and since then have had some serious sinus infections and blocked ears - which make for bad headaches and horrible plane rides. Not in India! I expected the food to be spicy and thought I was prepared. I had done pretty well until last week when I ate a green chili at lunch. I don't know what kind of chili this is but it made for a rough day. As soon as I swallowed it I realized what I had done - my body quite literally went in to shock. I sat for about 10 minutes while the feverish burning and dizziness passed, and then I cried a little and blew my nose for three days. Thank goodness I packed about 100 travel tissue packets - I take one with me to all my meals. Our cook, Krishna murti, who I call KM for short, finds me in the afternoon and tells me if dinner is going to be a spicy one, so I can bring an extra water bottle. Indian food is definitely keeping my nasal passages moving!

2) I am practically a celebrity. Well not quite, but now I know how celebrities feel when they go out for a walk. Most afternoons I put on my walking shoes and go for a rigorous walk down to the river. I go through about three villages along the way, and in all of them people come out of their houses to see me walk by. From what I can tell, most of their puzzled faces indicate thoughts along these lines: "What the heck is this white girl doing power walking through my village like some sorority girl" (don't know if power walking and sororities have made it to India yet, but you get me.) But the second I make eye contact, or smile in their direction, I am greeted with giant smiles and waves from everyone.

3) Everything I say is a riot. I may as well be the fourth Stooge, because as far as Indians are concerned, I am a walking slap stick comedy. English and non-English speakers alike laugh their heads off when I say anything sarcastic or even the least bit witty. It's such a confidence boost for my comedic skills! Although I half suspect the non-English speakers are laughing at my accent, not my jokes. My afternoon walk fan club comes up to me from out of nowhere to say "Haylo mayam" and then the entire village belly laughs while I make a hasty but smiling exit. It's hard to tell whether they are making fun of me but I try not to look into it too much.

4) It's the little things that matter. After wearing the same pair of underwear for seven days (washed seven times I might add), the arrival of my luggage was like the second coming of Christmas. Which is another thing: finding things like underwear is no walk in the park in big-city India, so a drugstore was a pretty major mood boost as well. Then today we got the internet reconnected at the school after going without for 10 days. I almost kissed the technician. Actually I only hugged him and he practically fell over. Lastly, since I cannot communicate with most of the staff, or the children, or anyone in the country for that matter, I have learned the value of a smile and a wave. Most places I go, I could have a duck sitting on my head and people would not look at me any stranger. But the second I bust out a big smile and wave, it is all over. They are just as friendly in return and ready to help or do anything for me ( like warn me about the spice bombs in my food). Mostly a smile is my only form of communication and it works!

5) Did I tell y'all about eating with my hands? I have now mastered yogurt and rice - which is as hard as it sounds. I'm practically an old hand now with the special scooping technique that eluded me during my first week. I'm sure most of you will think twice now before inviting me over for dinner!

xo

Pictures of India

Of the hundreds of pictures I have already taken, I've uploaded a couple of my favorites of the children at Vidya Vanam and the place I will be staying. You will see why it is so easy to love these little guys.

These two little boys, Kartick and Ishwar, followed me around the first day I arrived. When the teacher finally convinced them to sit down for their snack, I shot this picture. There is something about this image that I really love.

This brother and sister team are a little bit shy, but they asked for a picture of themselves dressed in their Sunday best. I am going to do my best to print a picture of each child to give to them. It may be the only picture their parents will ever have of them.

This is me and my pati, Prema. Pati means grandmother and she has accordingly treated me exactly like one of her own grandchildren since the second I got here. Her entire family (about 50 people) has been so welcoming to me and their size (and decibal level) has easily made me feel like I'm back with my own big southern family. Below is a picture of one of our long tables at the Opening Day Dinner we had Saturday night.


This is my little house where I live on the weekdays. As primitive as it looks, the cottage has running water, electricity and windows so it is considered a high scale luxurious residence in this part of India. Every morning I wake up at about 6am and sit on the bench out front to wait for our milk to be delivered by cart from the farm next door. Our school security guard brings it down from the gate and we boil it on the stove for our coffee. At about 8:30 I go back out on the porch to watch all the children being dropped off in our little school bus. The second they jump out, I hear all their little voices say Good morning aka! (sister)

So as you can tell, I am pretty spoiled. This has been the best way to experience India - being thrown into the mix of a big family, treated to massive southern Indian meals, dance and music shows and seeing all different parts of Indian culture - rural, urban and otherwise. I can't believe I have been here less than two weeks! Since I am in the city this weekend and have a fast internet connection, I am doing as many postings as I can. Tomorrow we will go back to the school and I'll begin my first full week of class.

xo

Rishi Valley Rural Health Center

At the beginning of this week I had the privilege of visiting a boarding school near Bangalore called Rishi Valley School. Imagine USN out in the middle of nowhere with a cricket team instead of ultimate frisbee. With a very open yet difficult curriculum, RSV has produced exceptional professionals for over 65 years. On its vast acreage are many projects of all types: bio pesticide testing, a rural education center, water conservation, alternative energy use, etc. The most interesting of all the projects is the Rishi Valley Rural Health Center that has been opened by two doctors, a husband and wife team, Dr. Kartik Kalyanram (RSV class of '75) and Dr. Kamakshi Kartik, respectively. I had the pleasure of spending most of my trip with them as well as taking a tour of the whole campus and the health center.

One of India's many, many problems is health care, and it is a growing one. Lack of education, government money, qualified doctors and nurses are only the beginning of the problems facing a rural area in the realm of health care. Things like reproductive education and health are essentially non-existent - for example, some girls get married and have children so young, they never get the chance to learn about their bodies or learn the simple lessons, like how to have a healthy pregnancy. A story I heard this week involved a woman who went under anesthetic for a delivery and came out of it without a uterus. The doctors failed to mention they had removed her vital organ, so she arrived at RV Rural Health Center in fits because she couldn't get pregnant. The reason behind her panic, she explained, was that she desperately needed to produce a male heir for her husband or risk being beaten and thrown out of his house.

The very ambitious Rishi Valley Rural Health Center Project has made massive leaps and bounds to combat this problem of the breakdown of information and resources. The center is tiny, with only a few rooms and limited technology, but the three doctors there see almost 200 patients per day and provide free care for the cases of TB, AIDS, hypertension and diabetes, eye care and cataract surgery, pediatric care and essentially anything else that shows up in the waiting room. Each patient pays a one time fee at registration equivalent to about 75 cents, and one or two other fees amounting to $2 or so along the way. Some of them will be patients at the center for a decade. The center has an ambulance which can transport the most serious cases to hospitals closer to the city, but for the most part, they do it all on their own.

I was impressed and deeply touched by the dedication of these two doctors, both of whom are educated and qualified to work in some of the best hospitals in the world. Yet they spend their money, and most importantly their time, working for the betterment and well-being of the world's forgotten people. Most of their patients cannot read, they don't have electricity or water, they are starving and they likely will never have enough money to travel outside their village. But in the middle of the night, when their little baby is running a high fever and won't eat, they have the support of the very capable staff at RVRHC. For a very small amount of money, most of these patients can have their health again, and the generous people at Rishi Valley believe they should.

Please read more about this project on their blogspot: rvrhc.blogspot.com There are pictures and stories about a selection of the patients that will make your heart break. It is comforting to know that this is only the beginning of what is hopefully a nationwide movement to bring health care and education to all of India's people. I am lucky enough to be helping out on the education side, and this health center is certainly an inspiration.

Five things you don't need in India

1) Mini-vans. Family of five you say? No problem - all five of you can just hop on this tiny motor bike and scoot around town amidst the scariest traffic known to humanity. From front to back: handle bars, child, father/driver, child, child, mother.

2) Pets. As in many underdeveloped countries, dogs roam wild around India. I would like to get the statistics but it seems to me there must be one dog for every five people in India (which means millions of dogs). I'll check for those numbers with the Animal Humane Society. Oh wait...

The point here is not dogs though, it is monkeys. They are everywhere - like in my ceiling last night (which made for a slowly induced panic attack), outside my bathroom window, hanging out at the bus stop (not waiting for the bus). Luckily they are cute as a button so one doesn't mind having them around but when they chase you things get a little hairy...

3) Utensils. Did I already mention that? Well even so it is still the best part about sitting down to dinner.

4) Domestic skills. Every residence or business I have been to has an army of domestic staff running the place (including my school). Cooks, cleaners, drivers, butlers, sweepers, window washers, rug beaters, you name it. It sounds nice but it is really weird to actually be prevented from doing my own housework and cleaning- short of knocking me out of the way, the various staff get really put out when I try to do anything for myself. I try to be as nice as possible and thank them all the time (however they don't really understand me so I just smile constantly hoping that gets the message across). My favorite of all the staff I have met is the gardener at Vidya Vanam (my school). His name is Tata and he is so funny that he will get a whole blog posting devoted to him soon. I take a picture of him everyday, which he loves (I think)

5) Clothes. Well not exactly - but MY clothes, I don't need. Care of British Airways ineptness and extreme deficiencies in customer service, my bag just arrived today (that is one week late). So I have done a little shopping since then (or maybe a lot) and bought quite a few appropriate Indian outfits. Turns out I would have done this anyway - I think I might stick out a little in my Roll Tide t-shirt. I didn't bring much clothing outside of sleepwear and that is good because I look much better in Indian clothing. I bought the appropriate pants (very thin leggings or linens) and a range of tops to wear over them (these are more like dresses) I have since been complimented on my choices of colors and been told that my legs look like chicken's legs sticking out from under the large dress. Nice. Back to the Bama shirt.

More to come soon about my visit today to a rural hospital. An amazing project being run by a couple here who are doctors (educated in the US). Additionally, if any of you would like gifts brought back from India, send your requests!

xo

The first five things I love about India

1) Indians eat with their hands. As if I don't eat fast enough already, I can now put food in my mouth at lightning speed. Bad news for my hosts (and it makes every meal feel like a snack). But it makes things so easy!

2) Any color traffic light means the same thing: Stop, go, hang out and chat, honk your horn seventeen million times to "let them know you're pulling out" even if seventeen million others are honking and pulling out at that exact moment. Any backseat driver tendencies I had are completely out.

3) All Indian children look like dolls. They are so beautiful and smile all the time. I can't wait to start teaching.

4) This is the biggest place in the world. I literally have no idea where I am. I usually get my bearings pretty quickly in new cities - I still cannot be sure where the elevator in my building is. Fortunately I am not in charge of finding myself food or transportation yet (I am fully incapable of crossing the street alone - see #2) I have a driver who is right there the second I walk out of any building, and he magically always knows where I need to be and at what time. There is something very freeing about being lost all the time with no idea what is up next (next I'll be doing yoga in the backseat)

5) Everyone is so happy I am here. So far the family members I have met are the most welcoming people - not overbearing or super attentive so I feel relaxed and almost like I am a part of the family. I have discovered the secret behind all this: the father of the family I am staying with tonight, Rajan, confessed to me that he has four daughters who all live abroad and he misses having young girls in the house. We just returned from a dance show where I kept catching his wife looking over at me to make sure I was enjoying it. So sweet.

Off to Coimbatore tomorrow to see the school and help prepare for the opening day of the semester!

Vanderbilt beats Boston College!

As if we expected any less! In true gritty Dores style, Bobby Johnson and his boys squeaked out a tough one. With a lot of my family there, it was the best way to end 2008! Happy New Year everyone!