"A stint in India will beat the restlessness out of any living creature" (Life of Pi), or Meeting the Neighbors

It's hard to believe that I've been at Rising Star for over three months. In such an isolated environment, time simultaneously stands still and races forwards. It's also hard to believe that yesterday was the first time I sauntered beyond the walls of our campus and into Thottanaval Village.

That's partly due to the fact that we're not supposed to leave the school alone. And when I have left on morning runs (with other volunteers during the summer sessions), we always steered into the opposite direction to avoid inflicting culture shock as far as possible. As I know well from excursions in the Middle East, women (especially) simply do not run around for exercise.

Devaraj, bicycle pilot, lives in the village but attends Rising Star.

Cameron, one of our two current volunteers. He'll be here until the end of the year, and then starts college in January. Moving directly from high school to university just seemed a bit too mundane.

 

These women had just stepped off the bus and were returning to the village. They insisted on posing for several photos.

 A few asked for a solo shot.

Cameron making all the babies laugh...

A baby's first birthday appears to be a big rite of passage around here. We happened on a fete in preparation for that evening.

They hospitably held out a cup with water and lemon, which I unfortunately and ungraciously had to turn down. This has happened several times and always makes me feel awkward. But I have a very strict rule about only drinking bottled water.

The grocer, who sells limes, candy, and toothbrushes. I wonder what Voltaire would have to say about the cause and effect of these items. I'm remembering how "the legs are visibly designed for stockings; accordingly we wear stockings."

Owning a car is rare in the country, so they make do by strapping twenty plastic chairs/one hundred sacks/a dog/a goat/thirty metal water jugs to the rear end of a bike/motorcycle.  

One of the Hindu shrines in the village.

And finally, one of my favorites:

By the way, is anyone noticing the glorious absence of autumn? The absence of the bright colors of decaying leaves or denuded and lifeless trees? Can you guess what it means to me that I haven't had cold feet OR cold hands even once since I arrived?

Photo Session

Parents Day, round two

One of the difficult decisions I've had to make recently was moving kids back to a lower grade level. Two third graders went to first grade (neither could read a word, but now suddenly they're both learning), and two others to second grade. Two second graders are revisiting first grade, and five first graders are back in kindergarten.

I evaluated each case as carefully as I could, and hope to have made the right choices. Even so, I'm concerned that these children are sometimes teased by their peers.

And, much worse, their parents usually do not approve. Many of them have the notion that children should begin school as early as possible, which means the age of five at the latest. Any divergence from this path spells career failure (which entails failure to lift the family from poverty, from the shame of leprosy, from illiteracy, etc.).

Yesterday was parents day and I had to meet with some pretty distressed moms and dads.

This is what I heard:

"You wasted a year of my daughter's life."
(His SIX-year-old daughter, how I don't know, somehow ended up in third grade, where she most definitely did not belong. Now she's in second).

"I told my neighbors in the village that my daughter is in third grade. If they hear that she's in second, they will laugh at me."

"I was angry at my son for having to repeat a year, so I beat him."

"My husband is in the hospital. And now this? How could you do this to me?"

"My husband is a drunkard. I set all my hopes on my son. Now I hear that he's a failure in school."
(He's only six).

The volunteers

Farewell, volunteers!

Rising Star welcomed six sessions of volunteers this summer, from June through August. Volunteers stay from one to three weeks, depending on the length of their session. Most of them are college students (frequently from BYU) and sojourn for about three weeks. We also had high school teachers on summer break, grad students, and a few families.

I was often moved by their compassion towards the children, their maturity and flexibility, and their encouragement of my work.

I wasted zero point no time in putting them to work, and guess where?

Each volunteer tutored eight children in a row, at twenty minutes each. Because I usually had six volunteers at a time (three groups alternated each day between tutoring, medical work at a leprosy colony, and aiding in construction work), we were able to help 48 kids with reading every day. I was thrilled with this result and with everyone's efficiency. Unfortunately I was only able to implement this system with the last group. But they noted improvement in the kids even just after these ten days. Now we'll know what to do next summer!

I'm so sorry to see them go; if they stayed another six months our reading levels would surge! I also try to help 48 kids a day with their reading, but don't get very far...

Here's Lindsey, who's graduating from MIT in December.

After school the volunteers taught mini-workshops several times a week. They often brought fun material with them, such as paints and colored paper.

The children signed up for whatever class struck their fancy. They have so few chances for entertainment and were always excited.

When I arrived at Rising Star, I decided to do my job but not to get too involved emotionally. That resolution lasted about two days. I frequently find myself wanting to weep. Because the youngest children are only five and will be growing up without their parents. Because some of the children show obvious signs of abuse. Because we are all doing what we can but many get so little help or individual attention.

The volunteers also make me want to weep. My gratitude towards them knows no bounds! The longer I'm here, the more clearly I can see how deep their impact is.

 

The children adore them, especially if they happen to be male (girls are a dime a dozen, but not so many guys show up).

Epilogue to food

An hour after completing the previous blog, I came across this in "Life of Pi" about eating Indian food. Such a perfect expression of why I fear it!

Each time it's the same: my taste buds shrivel up and die, my skin goes beet red, my eyes well up with tears, my head feels like a house on fire, and my digestive tract starts to twist and groan in agony like a boa constrictor that has swallowed a lawn mower.

Food, glorious (?) food, (no) hot sausage and mustard!

These days, I don't find myself dreaming of Jeannie, but of lasagna, lettuce, cheese, chocolate, Tiramisu, strawberries, blueberries, peaches, applesauce, at least some meat for heaven's sakes, and did I mention chocolate?

Someone recently emailed to ask whether I found the food monotonous, boring, tedious. Do ducks quack? Is India hot and humid?

Here are the kids queue-ing up:

And voila, here it is in all its glory: dinner! Or lunch? Or is it dinner after all? Maybe breakfast?

Volunteers here who have traveled around this country tell me that the Indian food you get in the States is essentially food from northern India. It's diverse, it's got nuts and lentils, it's interesting and tasty. But alas, here we're in the south!

The big challenge for me is that I have zero tolerance for spicy food. Most of what they offer would frankly send me into a coma. This led to not a small amount of anxiety and insomnia when I first arrived. I pictured myself looking like Gandhi on one of his hunger strikes. But I've made it work and have lasted two months without complete emaciation!

But I exaggerate. I found a Western grocery store in Chennai (2-3 hours away, depending on how many cows and rickshaws get in the way) which is the size of a gas station convenience store, but stocks oatmeal, pasta, bread. At the risk of becoming an ugly American who barely samples the curry (last time I tried, my lips started to tingle and go numb, like at the dentist's), I do quite well. And the peanut butter and tuna from my mom have gone a very long way.

Happy Indian Independence Day!

I arrived home late last Saturday to this sight: the older boys as excited as excited could be, dancing around their newly created flag mound. Deepenraj laughingly declared himself the architect, Rajesh the engineer, and Shankar the manager of the little project. They handed out crackers and asked me to join the party.

I gave them some paper and markers, and this is how they improved the site by the following morning: