Easter in India

Happy Easter everyone! He is risen!

Yesterday, I found myself pondering just how I would make Easter a special day, as pretty much the only Christian in the village. I was struck by two ideas. First, I should throw an Easter party and invite all of my English-speaking friends. What better way to spend the day than making food for and serving people I love? On top of that, I had been meaning to invite them all over for a while, and time is running out. Plus, I was able to use the party to introduce Nesaru and Lilyane to important people in the community of foreigners. And, it was kind of a farewell party I could throw for myself.

Second, I decided that I needed to have an Easter egg hunt. Last time I visited Brian and Sonia, they had given me three eggs from their chickens. So, I boiled those eggs, borrowed Vandana's markers, and decorated them. (You would be amazed at just how many web sites there are out there which answer the Google query of “how to boil an egg.”)



And then in the morning, I hid them.



The time it took me to brush my teeth and wash my face in the morning was hardly long enough for me to forget where I put them, so it was not a long search.

After eating my eggs, I had a little Easter Sunday service for myself. I read all four Gospel's accounts of the Resurrection and then sung and worshiped along with a recording of OCF singing “In Christ Alone.” It was a good start to my Easter.

Other than preparing for the party in the evening, I decided that I would take a real Sabbath and not do anything even resembling work. The next eleven days until I leave are sure to be stressful, crazy, and emotional. I needed this oasis of lovely calm before plunging into that. Although, I did need to go down to Sidhbari and take a bus four stops down to Sheela Chowk to find carrots for my curry, and I bought the vender all out of carrots too. It's not carrot season any more, I guess.

I spent the afternoon peacefully embroidering and then cooked my curry and chocolate cake, finishing just as the first of my guests arrived. I had to borrow chairs from both Vandana and Dr. Kusum, but we got a nice circle of chairs out on my porch while we chatted and had dinner. Maya brought a lovely salad (when you live in India and can't trust most fresh produce, a good salad is a heavenly thing) and a pineapple up-side-down-cake. Kishwar brought some Sprite. Didi brought herself, which was quite a lot of work for her to walk all the way up to my house in itself, so I was really glad she came. Dr. Kusum came up with some raita (spicy yogurt salad thingy). Lilyane and Pia brought juice with them. Andrew and Nesaru trickled in with some olives and a big 2 candle for my cake (celebrating two years here). Brian had some web site work to do, so he and Sonia came rather late, but they brought ice cream and a chocolate bunny with them. The bunny was Swiss chocolate and had been blessed by a prominent Tibetan monk. With all that, it was a feast and a party. And my, do I have left-overs.

I really had a great time seeing everyone and hosting them. After all the hospitality all of them have shown me, I really leaped at a chance to give back. This was almost certainly the last time I will see Nesaru. Before I leave, even, he is taking off for a vacation, traveling around India. We parted on very good terms, and I'm glad for that. The rest of these people I am sure I will see at least once more. Kishwar and Maya are talking about having a goodbye tea party later this week, and I've still got plenty of work to do with Lilyane on the web site. Dr. Kusum is going to cook me dinner next Sunday, and I think Sonia and I still have a date for cooking together.

If I'm not careful, it's easy to get overwhelmed with all I have to do and all I want to do before I go, but amidst that, I can't forget all of those people who have made my experience here what it was.

All in all, it was a beautiful Easter.

A Quick Trip to Shimla

This week, I went to Shimla. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I'm glad I was finally able to go. Vandana is applying for her student visa to the Czech Republic in the fall. As a part of that, she had to get a background check done at the passport office in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh's state capital. When she told me of her plans, I half-jokingly said, “Take me with you.” The more I thought about it, the more I actually wanted to go. She got the go-ahead on Monday night, so I got up early on Tuesday morning and ran to the bus stand in Dharmsala to buy our tickets, we boarded a bus that night, and by Wednesday morning, we were in Shimla.

During the British Raj period, Shimla was the summer capital for the colonial government. It is high up in the mountains, perched along the ridge line. Streets are steep and winding, cut through by occasional narrow staircases. It's like McLeod Ganj times ten, at least, without the Tibetans.

We arrived in Shimla at something like 6:00 AM, having slept hardly at all the night before on the bumpy, winding bus ride. Vandana was staying with the family of her best friend in a town a little farther down in the valley, but they didn't have room for me as well. Almost as soon as we got off the bus, Vandana hailed a taxi and headed for her friend's house. I was left with a wave in the general direction of the main square. I walked briskly off in that direction, dodging eager taxi drivers, but I soon realized I was being followed by a Kashmiri man. Every time I paused to try to figure out where I was or where I was going, he would wave a badly folded brochure in my face and insist that I let him take me to a nice hotel. I told him, “No, go away,” multiple times, but he ignored me, and continued to follow me, trying to get my attention, for almost five minutes until I finally screamed at him, swearing I would call the police if he didn't leave me alone right then. That was a bluff, of course, I didn't know how to call the police, but it was enough for him. Alone on narrow streets where almost no one was about yet, all the stores close, I was terrified that he was still following me.

I took off blindly, shadowing a young Indian family, hoping that they were heading for the center of town, and that they would provide some kind of protection if I were to get harassed again. I followed them up hill and staircase all the way across Shimla to the city's second bus stand. That was when I realized I was completely lost. I back-tracked and asked directions from a few shopkeepers who were just setting up for the day. The deserted, winding streets of Shimla were disorienting. Again, a Kashmiri man tried to catch my attention, promising me a cheap hotel. I quickly told him off and fled.



After a few more wrong turns, I finally arrived in the main square of Shimla, but my victory was short-lived. I was immediately accosted by a cluster of Kashmiris, all trying to get me to go to one hotel or another. I think I had to yell at them once or twice to get away, and then took off in the direction of what I thought was a hotel I wanted to stay at. That turned out to be another wrong turn. I found myself at another end of the outskirts of Shimla. Returning to the main square, the Kashmiris were on to me again. Again, I fled. At that point, I was nearly in tears.

Lonely planet mentioned a coffee shop near by, so I figured I could sit down, have some tea and some much needed breakfast while I figured out where exactly I was going to stay. The constant harassment from these hotel porters had worn away my resolve and I could no longer decide where I wanted to stay. Every time I got close to a hotel, they appeared, frantically demanding that I go someplace else with them. Obviously, it was all for the commission they would get for referring a customer.

I walked up and down mall road looking for my coffee shop, but nothing was open. I stopped and asked for directions a couple of times, but was unable to find it. Finally, one woman told me that it was out of business. I hit the proverbial wall. All emotional fortitude I had left completely collapsed. I found an out-of-the-way bench and cried. I was hungry, but there was no place open to eat. I had some snacks with me, but after seeing viscous monkey fights already that morning on the streets, I was afraid to open my food for fear of getting attacked by monkeys myself. I was tired and worn down by the Kashmiri porters' harassment. I didn't know what to do any more. It was probably one of the lowest moments in all of my time in India.

I called Vandana in tears, telling her I wanted to go back home to Dharmsala right then. Vandana tried to calm me, and asked her hosts for advice. They told me to go to a particular hotel right on the main square. I should dry my tears, and walk quickly and confidently past the Kashmiris. I should check into the hotel, eat something at their restaurant, and then get some sleep. I did exactly that. But even as I climbld the stairs to Mayur Hotel, I saw a single Kashmiri man waiting for me at the bottom, in case I decided that I didn't want to go to that hotel after all.

In all my travels, I've never broken down like that before. I'm surprised at it myself, how deeply getting lost, all that harassment, and not being able to find a safe place to sit really got to me. I don't mean to paint Kashmiris as all bad. All of them Kashmiris I met in Kashmir were wonderful, respectful people. It was the nature of these men's jobs to recruit people to hotels, and as I was pretty much the only foreign tourist on the street at that time of day, all alone, and clearly needing a hotel with my backpack conspicuously on my back, I bore the brunt of it. So, lesson learned: one needs to have a hotel picked out ahead of time and go straight for it. That would have saved me so much stress and misery that morning.

The rest of my time in Shimla was very nice, if deliriously tired. After a nap, I met up with Vandana in the afternoon. She had already taken her paperwork to the passport office and was free to be a tourist with me. We had lunch, snacks, and shopped. In the evening, I went with Vandana to pick up her paperwork, which was completed without a hitch. Our main objective for the trip was accomplished. We went our separate ways for a good night's sleep.



The next day held more shopping and eating. Vandana's hosts owned a nice multi-cuisine restaurant (Qilaa, I highly recommend checking it out if you ever find yourself in Shima) on the Mall Road in Shimla, so we spent a good amount of time hanging out there, and stored our bags with them. Vandana was looking for a good backpack for her time in Europe next year, and I found a cheap sleeping back for my volunteer time in Japan. We also discovered the loveliest little cotton textiles shop I have ever happened upon in India. I admit to going a little bit crazy. I came out with lengths of six different kinds of cotton that I plan to make into shirts or other western clothes once I get back to the US. It was lots of fun.

Our bus ride back, however, was no more fun than the way there. I will be glad to be done with Indian night buses through the mountains. There is just one more left, on my way to Delhi in two weeks. All the same, the finality of that is a little frightening.

Final two weeks, here I come!

Arts Camps

With my English classes finished, I spent much of the last two weeks working on and running arts camps at our knowledge centers. Exams had just finished and all of the schools had vacation for a week. Kids were ready to kick back and have fun for a while. The idea of arts camps came to Vandana and I in one late-night discussion a few weeks earlier, and from that night, we decided to spearhead the project and both of the knowledge centers as well as a number of our village libraries in more remote villages.

Vandana did the first camp at a village library without me, just before I got back from Kerala, but the day after I returned, it was on me to run a two-day arts camp in Shahpur. Almost sixty kids showed up, ranging from five two twenty-five years old. One of our team members, Amar Singh, showed up to the center with a pickup truck filled to the brim with children from his village.

We started the day with songs, games, and introductions, then split the kids into two grups: big kids and little kids. Activities for the day included origami, paper hats, and thumb printing art. That may not seem like much, but when you only have four pairs of scissors, one stamp pad, and plenty of chaos to go around, activities take a long while. Thanks to the adaptability of the Shahpur team as well as the enthusiastic dramatic stylings of Manju, the day was a great success. We fed them all samosas and bananas before sending them all home in the afternoon, charging the big kids with safely escorting the little kids back home again.



The second day was less of a success. We had only about thirty kids, and a lot of flopped activities. Manju was late, so I had to pull warm-up activities out of thin air, which is good fun when you don't speak a language fluently. We did play the human knot game, and the little kids did far better at that than the big ones. We were planning to make sock puppets (I made a pretty awesome puppet the night before), but only two people of the thirty brought socks, so we grabbed some paper and cut out paper snowflakes. The little kids made paper hats again too. Then we planned to do an acting workshop led by Manju, but they said they weren't interested in acting. We tried charades, but they didn't like that either. In an act of desperation, I had them all stand up and taught them the Macarena. When it doubt, do the Macarena.



We wound up having the older kids read books together in groups, and then summarize them at the end of the afternoon for everyone while the little kids used up every last scrap of waste paper in the knowledge center cutting out paper snowflakes.



On that Sunday, the arts camp came to the Khaniara knowledge center, where I taught English last fall. This time, I had Vandana with me and we settled on just a single-day camp. Again, we had about fifty kids, but this time, it was half little ones and half big kids. We also had some guests from a local handicraft NGO coming to teach origami to the kids. It turned out that one of their interns was Shweta, my bus buddy from the trip up from Delhi. This time, we planned ahead and brought the music for the Macarena. The little kids thought it was hilarious. However, the name 'Macarena,' sounds a lot like the beginning of the Hindi equivalent of “Your mama...” insults. We couldn't have anticipated that that song would set the little kids on throwing insults around like that all morning after hearing the song. Wups.



We did paper hats, snowflakes, thumb printing, and origami again. I spent most of my time with the little kids, as they were very high-maintenance. I wound up making 25 origami fish, step by step, because none of them wanted to try to learn how to fold them themselves. After seemingly never-ending cries of, “Didi! Didi! Do it for me!” with half-folded origami fish thrust into my face from all angles, I decided that I never want to become an early elementary school teacher. No thank you. I now have so much more respect for the people who are.



The third arts camp was to be in our village library in Chola, one of the highest villages in the district. As a crow flies, Chola is pretty near to Dharmshala, but it is about an hour climb straight up the mountain from the nearest road. With thunder rumbling in the clouds above, Vandana, Ritu, and I set off up the mountain for Chola. The path was an unending series of makeshift stairs cobbled together with stones. We had been climbing for about half an hour when it began to drip. That drip rapidly became a downpour. With only two umbrellas between the three of us, we were rapidly getting wet, all of our origami paper with us.

When the wind, rain, and lightning began to pick up even more, clouds surging around us, we ducked under the awning of a house beside the path, which belonged to one of the members of our Chola youth group. We sat there with another old lady, who had also ducked out of the rain with us, waiting out the storm. Soon, the lady of the house and arrived. Recognizing Ritu and Vandana, she invited us to sit inside to stay dry and served us some chai while we waited. Meanwhile, we contacted our village librarian up in Chola, who told us to go back as. The children weren't going to come in all of this rain.



Eventually, the rain did stop and we headed carefully back down the slippery, rocky path. The arts camp didn't happen, but we did manage to stop at the best little momo (Tibetan dumpling) shop in Dharmshal before all heading our separate ways and getting on with our work for the day.

A Short Trip to Kerala

Last week, as my final class finished up, I decided to take a short trip down to South India. The main object of my trip was to visit the child I have been sponsoring through Compassion International for about the last four years, Nandana. As she lives in northern Kerala, that was my destination.

The vast majority was spent in transit. In fact, I think they only day I did no traveling at all was when I visited Nandana's village. Immediately after my class party, I hopped a night bus down to Delhi. In Delhi, I took the brand new airport metro line straight from the bus stand, and got on a plane south.

I thought I would play it smart and get to the airport nice and early, but when I arrived at the check-in counter, they said that if I had taken my flight to Mangalore via Mumbai as planned, I wouldn't make my connection in the layover, so they quickly switched me to an earlier flight via Bangalore, that was loading that very moment. I tore through the Delhi airport and got onto my plane, with a pit stop at a vending machine to get some potato chips for my 'breakfast'. The rest of my trip went well, and I arrived in Mangalore with no troubles at all. The instant I stepped off the plane I was struck by the intense heat and humidity, which only got worse all week.

The following day, I got up and headed to the train station and bought myself a ticket to Payyanur, the closest city to where Nandana lives. In hindsight, I should have bought a ticket for sleeper class (which has assigned seats even if you're not sleeping) instead of getting the cheaper general ticket. I walked up and down the platform, trying to find the general coach (I now know that all unmarked cars are general), and finally gave up and asked a man who worked there. He pointed me towards the ladies' car. Really, it was only half of a car, with seating room enough for sixteen ladies. It is as if they assume that, in a train for hundreds of passengers, no ladies would ever think of traveling alone. Needless to say, more ladies than that came on to ride there. I managed to get a seat, and we squished more ladies than there were room for on our bench. Some smaller women and children were able to sit on the luggage racks above, while others stood or sat in the aisles. The ride took about two hours, and all the women were infinitely patient with my constant questions of “Is this one Payyanur? Is the next one Payyanur?”

One interesting thing that I saw happen on the train was that there was a girl, probably a bit younger than me. I suspect she was a college student in Mangalore. She was dressed in a pretty, colorful salwar kameez, but as we neared her stop, she put on a black dupata, stowing her colorful one in her purse. Then she pulled out a long black fasten-up dress and put that on over her outfit. Lastly, she wrapped that black dupata around her head and pinned it in place as a head scarf. By the time she got off, she was dressed as a perfectly modest Muslim girl. It makes me wonder if her family is conservative and she must dress that way in her own town, but feels like being more progressive in her dress when she is out. Very intriguing.

In Payyanur, I stayed in a lovely four-star hotel. What a four-star hotel is doing in the middle of rural Kerala, I can't say, but it was very nice. The next morning, a car came for me and took me to Nandana's village.

It was a lovely ride, about an hour long. When I arrived at the local Compassion Center, Nandana, her family, and a few staff members were there to greet me, by a huge sign greeting me. Nandana put a huge garland of flowers around my neck and her mother handed me an equally huge bouquet of flowers. They invited me inside the center for chai, biscuits, and chatting. Nandana is not quite eight years old, and is among the shyest little girls I have ever met. She often had to be goaded into speaking, only to whisper something to the translator or her mother.



We then walked to their home, which was only a very short stroll away. They showed me the gum trees that they farmed, their fruit, their cows, and their bucket well. Their house is a lovely, big, old house, but it houses their full extended family. They gave me a little tour around the house and introduced all the members of their family. Nandana and her parents sleep together in a room that is barely bigger than the small double bed it houses. My Christmas gift this year went to purchasing that mattress. On the bed-side table was a blown-up version of a wallet photo of my brother and I. That was really touching to see there, in such a place of honor. It also amazed me how they all knew the names of everyone in my family off-hand.

I sat with the family for a while ate fruit, and had my very first young cocoanut of my time in India. When not totally ripe, the juice inside is at its best, apparently. The chopped off the top and stuck in a straw for me to drink. Nandana sung me a song about a parrot, and I sung her a song back, the style of which made some of her family members giggle. Indian's tend to find classical singing and vibrato hilarious. I taught Nandana and her mother to make paper cranes, and they in turn taught me to make paper boats.

Then it was time for us to return to the center for lunch. What I ate that day, was probably the best meal I have ever had in India. South Indian dishes are a bit spicier, but they involve lots of cocoanut. There was a chicken curry, dry chicken, baked fish, green beans with cocoanut, and even a beef curry. These are Christians, so they can eat beef on a clear conscience, unlike most other Indians. It was absolutely amazing.



After lunch, I got to meet a number of the other children who participate at the center, as well as the women who work as child counselors there. It seems like these ladies act both as sorts of teachers as well as emotional counselors for the children. They support and talk to the children to make sure everything is going well in their lives and help them through their struggles. We went into their church building and a number of the children came up and did little impromptu performances for me, including Nandana. Meanwhile, the fact that I was wearing a proper salwar kameez was causing quite a stir. Two girls did some classical dancing, while others sang, and Nandana and her friend did a comedy skit, which I didn't understand at all. It makes me wish I also understood Malayalum, the local language. Nandana was much bolder, smiling and letting go, with her friends around. Then they rounded on me and told me to do a dance. So, stumped, I decided to teach them the Macarena. They thought it was amazing and hilarious. I sang another song for them, during which there was definitely a lot of giggling, and then it was time for me to go.



I was incredibly blessed to have this chance to meet Nandana and see where she lives. If all goes well, I hope to be sponsoring her for another ten years, until she graduates from the program. The centers and they ways they are run really impress me. They are like our knowledge centers in Jagori, only so much better run, with so many more children. The children I saw there exuded more confidence and more smiles that kids I have seen anywhere else in rural India. I can't make a before and after comparison, but Compassion seems to doing something great in their lives, and I am glad to be a part of it.

The following days, I did a little sari shopping in Payyanur before I had to catch the night train to Trivandrum. The manager of the center, also the priest of the church attached to it, had been unable to be there for my visit, so he offered to come and say hello that night and then drive me to the train station when it was time for me go. He brought his wife and little daughter as long as well. He wanted to know about my visit, but even more, he wanted to know about my general experience in India and what I do up here in Himachal. We talked a long time about my English classes and teaching techniques, and I ended up exchanging contact information with him so that when I get my teaching materials consolidated, I can send him sample activities and lesson plans to use with the children there.

The night train was uneventful. I shared my compartment with a young family, who were polite to me. I slept well through the night and then arrived in Trivandrum in the morning. After showering at my hotel, I spent the day exploring the city, largely in their Zooilogical Gardens. There was a surprisingly good zoo there, lovely flowers, a so-so art museum, and lots of ice cream. Then I went silk shopping. South India has beautiful, cheap silks, and I managed to find some that I was looking for for almost $1 per meter. I am kicking myself now that I'm back in Himachal for not buying more.



The next morning, I flew back to Delhi to spend some time with Devika. As we landed in Delhi and the plane door opened, a stewardess announced over the intercom, “Your attention please, ladies and gentlemen. Sri Lanka is batting, and it is thirty-two for one.” Everyone cheered. It was, after all, the Cricket World Cup finals, and every eye and ear in India was on the game. Back at Devika's house, we spent the night watching the game. India won, finishing with a spectacular hit, soaring into the stands.

The next day, I went shopping with Devika for clothes and origami paper, and then it was time for me to get on a bus again. When I arrived at the bus terminal, it was immediately obvious that my bus wasn't there yet. When asked, one man behind the counter said that our bus was broken down and wasn't coming, but another man insisted that it was coming and everything would be alright. As it turns out, the bus was broken, and it did not come, but everyone did turn out alright. Everyone with a ticket for the Volvo bus was instructed to sell it back and then buy a ticket for the TATA bus, which was going. It was chaotic in the extreme, but in the end, everyone got a seat. My seat mate was a friendly girl from Hyderbad named Shweta who was moving up to Dharmsala to work with a handicrafts organization for a while. We chatted a bunch and then exchanged phone numbers before we parted ways in the morning.

And so I arrived safely back in Himachal Pradesh, ready to finish up my last month here.