Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Twenty two twenty nine on my mind

Today had been an unremarkably routine day. Nothing to write home about, as they say. Unremarkably routine day. One down. Twenty-nine to go. Only twenty-two at Rishi Valley. Frightening calculations for a girl who has grown so fond of the place she’s learned to call home. The Subcontinent. Incredible India. My own Rishi Valley.

The day had started as most days in Rishi Valley do, with waking up to a screaming Bollywood alarm melody, to close the doors for a hope of privacy. A few hours later, I rubbed my eyes out of bed awoken by the intrusion into privacy, the maid in the window singing a long “Helloooooooo”, intruding into the hideously messy cocoon of my life, fit under and on top of two twin bed cots put together with thin mattresses on top.

Some time after the usual morning routine of brushing teeth and inserting contacts, walking to lunch to the hum of my iPod being overrun with outside sounds: cicadas buzzing, various birds singing various songs, tractors plowing down the road, rickshaws blaring more Bollywood tunes. Rice and dhal consumed, kofta gathered into the folds of warm soft chappati pieces placed gingerly in the mouth. A friend once told me that Bengalis have a saying, “Eating with a fork is like making love through an interpreter.” Makes perfect sense. I dread the cutlery waiting for me back home – shiny spoons and sharpened forks, the interpreters of my love for the Subcontinent. Incredible India. My own Rishi Valley.

Post lunch, heading to the office for browsing the internet, connecting with the outside world. Learning about new status updates, request of technological friendships, news of engagements and breakups, reading articles about sadness drenching our world with old wars, new conflicts, neglect, and somewhere maybe even hope. If only the world was drenched with more rain. I hope the sky turns grey. If only over the Subcontinent. Incredible India. If only the rains would come just to my own Rishi Valley.

The afternoon heat is sticky. Physically disturbing. The cool comes after five, close to six, close to dinner-time. But my room remains hot, everything, each piece of the mess under and on the cots and even the cots themselves, warm and unpleasant to the touch. It used to cool off by the time dinner was over, by the time I had finished licking the rice and sambar off of my fingers and walked in the cooler air down the road in the dark by the faint light of my cell phone, familiar sounds mixing: the tunes from the iPod, the birds still chirping, the relentless cicadas, the honking of rare motorcycles going by. But now, it does not cool off until midnight, technically the next day, ruining the post-dinner plans of comfort and productivity. I lay uncomfortably on the warmth of the sheets, swallow pain-killers for the dehydration headache, sip water mixed with Glucon D, try to read, think if I can afford a cold shower during this drought. Mostly, I am filling my head with thoughts not revolving around the numbers twenty-nine or twenty-two. One month left to shudder and distract myself.

When relief flows with the wind from the screened windows, it is not immediately noticed. The air cools gradually, like water boils gradually, first becoming lukewarm, then warm, then hot, only finally bubbling. The desire to sleep floats out the window with the hot air. The cool air allows the head to think clearly, to be productive, to be comfortable, to be creative, to be alive. Fully. Even though it is technically the next day, it is time to savor the one just lived, even if unremarkably routine. After all, it is this unremarkable routine that I will miss the most. The annoying Bollywood melody. The screaming cicadas. The green of the palm trees waving as I walk by them on my way to my forced vegetarian diet. A familiar “Helloooooooo” in the window. My whole life fitting under and on top of the two twin bed cots put together with thin mattresses on top. The heat sneaking out of my room when relief quietly spills in. The Subcontinent. Incredible India. My own Rishi Valley.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Mystery Solved!

Due to the barely bearable heat in the afternoons, I spend my hours post-lunch to about 5:30pm in the computer lab. Of course, it's still just as hot in the computer lab, but the internet and communication with other human beings (Rishi Valley is a lonely place during school breaks...) keeps me conscious. However, since it is hot, I try to stay hydrated by drinking two one-liter bottles of water during the span of the 3-4 hours I am in the lab. Since I don't want to initially lug two bottles of water up to the lab, and since I live so close, I usually take a break at around 3:30 to go back to my room and swap out the empty water bottle for a fresh one (which is usually unpleasantly warm in the afternoon temperatures).

Anyway, during these breaks, I have recently noticed that sometimes, the tap in the courtyard of my house is open. As there is a huge water shortage in the Rishi Valley, this is a big deal. Who would come into my house and open my tap and then leave it running? This was a sort of unsettling mystery... Was it the kids? But they know, they know about the water shortage, they wouldn't... Would they? Who else could it be? Couldn't possibly be the adults -- they know better than anyone!

This morning, the mystery was solved.

I had quite a late night yesterday, reading and doing some work late into the night (past 3am). Since it cools off a bit at night, it's much nicer to work then. Thus, I let myself sleep in this morning. I wake around 11am, only to find intruders in my courtyard. Who is it? I scramble for my glasses and peer out the mesh window, where I see, no joke, a troupe of bonnet macaque monkeys! One jumps on the tap and opens it and begins drinking the water! When he is satisfied, more monkeys follow suit! Also, by my tap, there are empty tin cans from condensed milk left over from the pumpkin pie fiasco of Thanksgiving09. The monkeys were actually using these as cups!

I watched them for about 15 minutes and the show was truly incredible! Such confidence and swiftness in their movements. They were able to use both the tap and the "cups" -- intelligent! They took turns, shared, some showed dominance, they climbed stuff, and I think one tried to make sweet love to my hammock (thankfully, he failed). Also, they always had a monkey watching the main door to see if any disturbances were approaching. It was AWESOME. A mother not only got water for herself, but also made sure her little baby, clinging onto her front (stomach/chest area) got its fill. It was really an amazing sight.

When every member of the troupe was finished drinking, the last monkey closed the tap and climbed up to the roof and out of my house. He didn't close it all the way, though, so I had to venture outdoors to tightly close the water. I'm pretty sure these guys are the reason my tap is sometimes open in the afternoon. Mystery solved!


And that's how my day began today! Studying monkeys! Who could ask for more out of life?
And it's days like these and moments like these, when, despite the heat, I could not be happier about my decision to come to India this year. :)

Monday, May 10, 2010

Gender Bender

A few months ago, the Economist headlined the problems of Gendercide, the phenomena where many girls are aborted during pregnancy due to their sex. This is mostly a problem in east and southeast Asia, but it is prevalent in Africa and the Middle East, as well. The Economist article can be found here.

Yesterday, I was having a discussion with faculty members at Rishi Valley, where it was said that the tables are turning when it comes to Indian marriage. Traditionally, it is the men's family that decides on the size of the dowry, the presents the bride's family will provide, the date, the largess of the wedding, etc. The groom's family held all the power in the transaction and received many riches in the process, while the bride's family paid out. However, now, with a noticeable shortage of girls, the power balance is shifting. As less and less girls are available for marriage, they gain more and more power in the process. This is great news for India!

Ironically enough, gendercide, and the differences it creates in the realm of supply and demand of Indian brides, could play a significant part in empowering the women of India. This empowerment, in turn, can lead to a reduction of selecting only for the male child. India has a long way to go, but it is refreshing to see progress being made. Let's hope the awful practice will stop sooner, rather than later.

Monday, May 3, 2010

The magic of milk

As a lactard, I miss out on a lot of Indian delicacies.  First, there is buttermilk, which south Indians drink with and post meals daily.  (Buttermilk is yoghurt diluted with water.)  Then, there is cool curd, or yoghurt, which one can spoon into their mouth after eating some delightfully spicy thing, or which one can mix into rice for a cool trat.  Then, there is raita, a variation of curd with vegetables (usually onion), which one mixes in with their lemon or tomato or tamarind rice -- sooooo delicious.  I won't even get into the amazing desserts, all milk-based.

Indians eat milk products to quell their stomachs after the spicy main course.  Usually in the form of yoghurt, these post-meal snacks aid in digestion and provide the body with healthy probiotics (the opposite of antibiotics), the healthy bacteria.  It's great stuff. 

As I am bitter I can't have any, I urge all of you to double up your milk product intake today!  Have an extra ice cream cone in honor of me!  Yoplait your little heart out!  Slap an extra slice of cheese on that sandwich!  Do it for me.

And, if you want to learn how to make your own yoghurt, go here: http://aifservicecorps.blogspot.com/2010/04/do-it-yourself-curd-in-kitchen.html

Thursday, April 29, 2010

The Rains


I am in my room and the power has been cut. Once again. I am reading by the flashlight of my cell phone, a worthy and indestructible $20 investment I’m glad I’ve made. After the sun sinks, the heat retreats, and the air resembles something close to pleasant. As amazing as all of my travels have been, I enjoy greatly the feeling of being home, of being in my own bed, of being on my own terms. I notice the wind has picked up, and it smells of rain. Yashada and I have joked about rain earlier today, wistfully looking towards the heavens. Can it be?

I am in the bathroom, and the wind has picked up. It is noticeable even through my picture-frame-sized windows, ruffling my scattered clothes, disturbing the hygiene products on my shelves. This wind is strong, and I smile at the thought of the relief it’ll bring. Suddenly, I hear water. Or at least something I can hope is water, and I rush out.

In my room, through my window and screen door, I can hear it. Pouring. Gushing. Rushing and wetting and saturating every square centimeter of earth in my courtyard. The rain has come. It has finally come!

My happiness gushes as well; it pours out of me in the form of a big smile, even though there is no one at the rural center campus to see it. This rain will make everyone’s day. It will cool the earth, settle the dust, allow the trees to sprout more leaves. Maybe the pond will get bigger – so big that the villagefolk will be able to wash the cows there again. The frogs will come out. This is good for everyone.

But it is dinner time. I must go. The Rishi Valley dining hall waits for no one, and I am slightly hungry. If I don’t make it, I will definitely be hungry in three hours. And most of all, I have missed the food. My taste buds have missed its spice, as much as my fingers have missed its texture. I will go. The rain can come with.

I put on my flip flops and grab the umbrella. I cannot remember how many months have passed since I have needed to use it. Five? Four? I am excited at the thought. The smile has not left my face. Fumbling to open the door, the umbrella prematurely opens – perhaps it can too, somehow, feel the excitement of the event. As I step across the threshold, the rain intensifies. It is dancing now. Saturating. Filling. Flowing. Overflowing. Even in the darkness, it is beautiful. It covers the almost-full moon, interrupting the layer of night only with short flashes of lightning, which make me giddy.

I step out of the courtyard and into the wet sandy dirt. I know my shoes will be dirty, my feet covered in mud and sand and wet, sticky leaves even before I reach the road. I pause for a moment, savoring this thought. I know that my clothes will be soaked and no umbrella could ever truly assist in this type of downpour. This does not deter me. I pause for another moment, this time deciding how to navigate – my usual path includes scrambling down rocks where a stream once was, where a stream will now be reborn, thanks to the crying of the skies. I decide to brave it. Ankle deep in water, I descend. My cell phone, still my only source of light, is in my hands. I hope it will not get too wet. I hope it will still function. I hope my mom will still be able to call me. The phone gives me a wide, but not intensely bright, light. I hope the snakes aren’t out; the doctor is out of town this week.

The main road is a maze of tiny rivers and streams. I navigate clumsily, cool water rushing sand and mud particles between my toes, brushing my ankle bones, lapping at my shins. I try to walk in the middle of the road, where there seem to be the least amount of puddles. I have been traveling for too long to blindly walk the path; I cling to the light and persist.

Soon, the bottom of my Bermuda jean shorts is soaked, clinging to my legs. I pass the bridge and trudge uphill. The wind changes, bringing rain from my right, rather than my left, and water is running down my lower back. How silly I must look! There is no one on the road, no noise coming from the villages around, at least not any loud enough to overpower the rain. I pass the gate, and the watchman says something. He is hiding in his tiny booth, holding a flashlight in order to help me light my way. I say hello and smile vigorously. He cannot see or hear this, of course, in the midst of the rain. He must think I am insane. He might think that all while people are a little insane. In India, weather dictates, and the rain is loud and clear in its demand for you to stay home. But I am hungry, and I have missed the rice and sambar. In our Western contexts, we have been taught over and over that weather can be “conquered”. We put in air conditioning units and powerful heaters in our homes. We buy snow tires. We build overhead tunnels in Minneapolis to show nature who’s boss. It takes a volcano erupting and grounding flights for nearly a week to humble us, to humiliate all of our silly inventions. Of course nature knows, as it has always known, who is boss.

I hop now, from one sandbar to the other. My fear is no longer of snakes, but of branches being torn off of the neem trees and hitting me in the head. Still, I think, the branches that have fallen from the previous storm are not that large; I could escape with a few bruises and still make it to the dining hall for dinner. The rivers and streams lap at the soles of my feet; I am not cold.

Lightning strikes. Again and again. The night sky thunders. I play a childhood game, counting from when lightning strikes to when I hear thunder, bringing back memories of huddling with my grandmother in a huge bed in our dacha, amidst many heavy blankets, and counting from when lightning strikes to when we hear thunder. The point of the game was to find out how far away the lightning is, each count representing a number of kilometers, and thus, safety. I remember Ilya playing, too, and us rarely counting in unison, but somehow always ending on the same number. I count: one, two, three, four. Usually, you can stop counting after four, because the lightning is then far enough for you to stop caring. It flashes again, and I see the rivers rushing through the Rishi Valley campus. It is an exhilarating, beautiful sight. I laugh a laugh audible only to myself in this downpour, as my skin tingles with wetness. It is raining harder now.

A huge stream has formed where my trusted path once was. I navigate by jumping onto a sandbar and then a higher bank the water has made. I walk amongst vegetation, which holds the ground in place. This rain is the earth’s way of rejoicing. This rain gives life. It quenches the thirst of the ground, the crops, the food we’ll eat another day. It cools the air so we might be more productive the next day. It seeps into the ground, providing us with more cups to drink and more showers to be had. It is magic of the simplest kind – natural.

Here, in rural India, it does not take a volcano grounding flights to show you who’s boss. We all know. Nature is worshipped and loved and revered every day. A torrential downpour greatly changes the schedule of the next day, the next week. As does the lack thereof. Or even a three degree increase in the temperature. Here, in rural India, we do not see nature as a force to be conquered, something to be outsmarted by technology. Here, we see it as an inherent and symbiotic part of our life – a god, a mother, a natural complement of our day. And we celebrate it.

I finally reach the dance hut, from where I can see the dining hall. It seems eerily quiet, only wisps of whispers reaching through the music of dancing drops. As I prepare to climb the stone steps, I see that they have transformed into a mighty waterfall, water rushing down the stairs, splashing its way towards vegetation. I climb through the roaring pressure of the fall, washing my shoes in the process. I am thankful that we, as a society, are not sterile here. We don’t mind mud between our toes or rainwater to wash our feet. Some time later, when I return home, I do not wash my feet under the tap; the water of the rains is pure enough for me.

As I approach the dining hall, skipping over tiny streams making vessels in the tissue of the ground, I laugh again, inaudible in the downpour. I am soaked. I am happy. I’m not even cold. And I finally made it to dinner. I open the tap to wash my hands with soap before my meal, and at this, too, I laugh, for there is water all around me. A thought slips into my mind, I wonder how bizarre I look, I bet my hair is a mess. And this is, too, pleasing, an obvious worry of the Western world penetrating this beautiful Indian moment.

I hang my tired umbrella and sit, soaked, to have my dinner. The lunch lady gives me a smile that warms, comforting my dinner experience. It is pleasant in the dining hall – the power is out and the dim emergency lights add softness and warmth to the hot and tasty meal. I pick up rice and dal with my fingers and gingerly place it on my palate. It is nourishing, filling, comforting. The rain is pounding, banging, and threatening against the roof.


A couple of hours later, I am back in my room. The rain had ceased, moved on to water someone else’s crop, to better someone else’s day. I am dumbfounded by the stillness outside. It is like the rain never happened, like it never wreaked joyful havoc on our little valley. But I will not forget. I will remember. I will always remember.

Tomorrow will be a new day. A different day. Tomorrow will be a day after the rain.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Back at Rishi Valley...

I'm back at Rishi Valley from visiting Charlie and Samir, two fellow fellows, in Utterakhand, in the Himalayas working at APV School.  The visit was very insightful, as well as cool and beautiful.  I enjoyed myself a lot.  Thanks, Charlie and Samir, for being such wonderful hosts.  I'll definitely write a more elaborate post about my experiences at the school later.

Rishi Valley greeted me with cool air and the feelings of home.  The Mango Showers, intermittent rains before the monsoons, have started, and RV got a storm the day before yesterday.  Some trees lay broken by the side of the road, but the earth had a refreshed feeling to it, as well.  No longer does dust abound in great clouds as you walk through the soccer field.  There is a new green-ness to the campus, with new leafy sprouts coming from the earth.  The air smells cleaner, less dry.  It is a refreshing Rishi Valley, reminiscent of days in September in October, when it was still hot, but pleasant, crisp, and lush.  It is my favorite Rishi Valley.

It's also great to see the staff, the teachers, my favorite lunch ladies.  They have become so ingrained in my routines of life that I miss them without noticing, realizing their importance only after returning.  As my stay here winds down to the last two months, I get prematurely nostalgic.  Oh, how I will miss this place.  But, now, no time for sappy-ness, no time for sadness.  Now is a time for work.  As travels and sickness took away motivation and capability to complete more milestones, I now must return to productivity. 

Updates to come.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Keepin' it hot

I know I might seem obsessed with this heat dealio, but I'm serious. It's crazy hot.  I grew up in Texas. I used to play tennis matches in 100 degree weather. It was okay.  This is not okay.  It's over 100 every day now and the sun feels like it's sitting on your shoulers.

A fun story: the other day, Yashada, an awesome friend and lizard-researcher/ecologist here at Rishi Valley presented me with a chocolate bar (Yashada is obviously awesome).  I was very excited about this chocolate bar, because I do love me some chocolate.  The chocolate bar, upon lying in my room for half an hour, melted completely and stayed in this molten state throughout day and night. I had to squeeze chocolate into my mouth from the wrapper (my life is hard, I know).  It was in the shade, on the floor (which is cooler than other surfaces), and it was still molten 24/7.

That's how hot it is, ladies and gentlemen.  My brain refuses to work from noon to five. Womp womp.

Update

Sorry I haven't updated in a while.  My b.

Here's a Cliff's Notes version of what's been going on:
  • It's been getting hotter and hotter every day
  • I've been crunching out milestones like it's my job (oh, wait, it is my job...)
  • I went to Delhi for a teacher's conference in the first week of April -- interesting insights gained
  • I am going to visit fellow fellows Charlie and Samir up in the Himalayas at the APV School.  They use a crazy holistic methodology up there, which sounds fantastic, so I am super psyched to check it out.  I am also really excited about escaping this damned heat for a week.
  • I will have the first draft of the 3rd grade curriculum done by the first of May!
  • I might or might not go to Rwanda next year.  Am trying to figure it out. Would be an AMAZING opportunity
  • I miss Chicago, even though I hear it snowed this week
  • All of the students and most of the teachers from the main boarding school left on the 1st.  Life is much more lonely now
  • I just found out that REC has been operating at half-days.  This does not motivate me to work harder...
  • I still love my job

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Oh, the weather outside is...

...blippin' HOT.  It's ridiculous.  I'm sure it gets to somewhere in the 30s (Celsius) during the day.  The worst is between 3 and 4 pm, where you just want to kill yourself (or maybe take cold shower, but there's a water shortage...).

Now, I've been in hot climates before (hello, Texas.  And Ghana.), but never in dry heat.  Everyone always says that dry heat is awesome and humid heat feels like you're stuck in [pardon my French] a ballsack.  I disagree.  Not with the latter point, but definitely with the former.  I actually prefer the humid heat.  Even though you're unpleasantly sticky, at least you're not ridiculously dehydrated.  The dry heat makes everything feel/look like a barren dying wasteland.  It kind of sucks.

Also, it's confusing, because it's March, but leaves are constantly falling/have already falled off of trees and it's scorching hot all the time.  It's a mix of what fall looks like and what summer [/hell] feels like, so I'm very confused.  And my skin and hair are continuously angry, because everything is so dry and unpleasant.  Booo.

The only refuge with this dry heat is that it actually cools off significantly at night, to the point where I have to cover my body with a sheet at around 6am.  Apparently, this will no longer happen in April.  And it will be even hotter in May.  Oh, summer in India!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Vacation = awesome

I returned back from my travels around Coorg and Ooty yesterday, and although it feels good to be back home, the vacation was FANTASTIC and I'm sad it has come to an end. 

Here's a brief review of all the awesome things that happened while traveling:
- Smoked some hookah in Bangalore with Nikolai the Sunday night before my departure for farther places.  It was an awesome transition from Rishi Valley to traveling, and the soundtrack was AWESOME.  Huzzah!
- Hiked to a waterfall in Coorg -- the 8-10km (depending on whom you ask) hike through coffee plantations and beautiful forest was GORGEOUS
- After arriving at the waterfall, we found ourselves at a Bollywood movie shoot.  Um...win.
- Bought many kilos of Indian coffee beans, as well as amazing Indian spices (so. much. cinnamon.) in the Coorg market.  AWESOME.
- I have missed Chinese food.  In the past week, I had gotten my fill.  Nom nom nom nom.
- Went to Dubare Forest Reserve to BATHE RETIRED ELEPHANTS.  This was, perhaps, the highlight of the trip.  Old elephants were walked out of their pens to the river, where they peacefully laid down to be scrubbed by their caretakers.  I got to scrub an old lady elephant.  She was the sweetest.  Some elephants got feisty and sprayed the tourists.  It was awesome.  Another elephant kind of flipped his shit and ran away to the deep part of the river -- the caretakers had to get a much bigger elephant to push him out and back to his appropriate place.  It was awesome.  I love elephants.  We then got to feed the elephants.  Best day ever?  Mayhaps.
- The weather in Ooty was AWESOME.  It was light-jacket weather ALL DAY every day!  Amazing!  It was cuddleweather ALL NIGHT.  So great to feel cold again! 
- Went around town to see some fantastic botanical gardens, rowed a boat in the Ooty Lake, climbed some hills to see magical overviews of the city.  All in amazing weather! 
- A bunch of people make their living by making homemade chocolate in Ooty.  Epic win.
- Rode horses up the hills in gorgeous forests.  Beautiful, scenic, fantastic.  Our horses were also super sweet.  We fed them lots of carrots.
- Bought and planted flowers.  I miss gardening and grandma.
- Found non-dairy whipping cream and had a tremendous amount of coffee shakes!  NOM NOM NOM NOM
- Speaking of noms: shwarma. 
- Back in Bangalore, went to karaoke with Nandan.  What an awesome time! Dancing and singing with some neat Indians.  Crazy great stuff!!


Now, it's back to Rishi Valley, where we're hosting a training for some peeps from Nepal, Bangladesh, and Bhutan.  Fun stuff!  I've got to complete 10 milestones in a month, so this is a challenge I am looking forward to! 

My life is exciting beyond belief.


If you want postcards, send me your address!!

Sunday, March 7, 2010

New Travels

My travels to Coorg and Ooty are starting in an hour!
Overnight in Bangalore on the way and then off to the cooooooolness of the Western Ghats!

It's been much too hot at Rishi Valley.

Can't wait for a week full of awesome.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

New phone number!

My phone might or might not have gotten stolen in Chennai**, so I now have a new number.  Call me, honeys, it gets boring in the evenings (which is mornings, your time).


+91 889 756 7457

Awesome.


<3,
T


**Do you notice how we/people automatically assume that things get stolen when something goes missing?  The immediate reaction isn't the thought of us being careless or us misplacing something, but someone else stealing it.  This might be just a fact for me and the people I know, but I feel like we've been trained by society (to have this expectation) to always assume that it's other people's fault.  I hate that.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Chennai!

Heading to Chennai in a couple of hours to visit my awesome fellow fellows and run a marathon!  (By marathon, I mean 3.7 kilometers.  And by run, I mostly mean walk, 'cause I've been feeling under the weather lately...)  It should be a blast!  I'm excited to see good people and have good conversations and hugs.  And see Chennai!  I haven't done that yet!  Should be fun times.

The English Camp Session one is over and we've had two other sessions since then (I didn't participate much in those, since I got sidetracked with other work).  I will debrief on that excitement in the next post sometime next week.  I will say that if you have really really low expectations for something, it definitely increases the chances of them being met.  So...hooray?

I hope everyone's doing well state-side!  I've been reading some depressing news about our generation and about American politics and about unemployment.  It's all very sad, really. 


The time is now rushing too fast -- I can't believe it's the end of February!  Aaargh!  Where did the time go?!?  Only 4 months of the Fellowship left...  Crazy stuff!  (It also seems to be moving at an increasing pace...)



Much love.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

What I'm working on...

On Wednesday of this past week, one of the co-directors of RIVER, Mrs. Rao, had a brilliant idea: why not host a 3-day camp for 2nd and 3rd grade children in order to teach them essential lessons in English, in order to enable them to start the English program next year at a higher level than our 1st grade babies?

This idea had been discussed since November. As our lessons are based around multi-grade multi-level learning, it would be kind of silly to have all of the children start at level one the first year.  Thus, we decided to equip some children with the knowledge to start at the appropriate level for their age/grade level. 

However, the brilliance of the idea comes from the details: first, 3 days.  That really doesn't seem like enough days to cover two years worth of curriculum.  Secondly, 2nd and 3rd grade children.  That equals around 140 students.  And that is a lot of students for 5 instructors (which is how many we have to run the camp).  Thirdly, essential lessons in English include learning how to read.  In three days.  With a teacher:student ratio of 5:140*.  Brilliant.

The best part?  The camp will start on Monday, giving us approximately two days to prepare, as Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are all holidays here at Rishi Valley this week. 

So, this is my challenge of the week:
2 days to prepare
3 day camp
140 children
5 instructors
2 years worth of curriculum
kids all need to learn to read


Needless to say, I'm working through the 3-day weekend.  Can't wait for Monday. I'm hoping it'll be bloody brilliant.




*We've decided to split up the children in two groups. So, this reduces the teacher:student ratio to 5:70 or 1:14, which is much better.  Hooray.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Watching Bollywood in Rishi Valley


I don't know if any of you reading have had any experience in watching Bollywood movies, but it's quite a trip.

First, some fun facts. Bollywood is the largest film industry in the world. The name originates from the location where most of the filming takes place – Mumbai. The “B” comes from the old name Bombay. The -ollywood part comes from America. Most Bollywood films are in Hindi. Bollywood is not the only film industry in India. There is also Tollywood, in southern India, with the “T” deriving from the Dravidian languages spoken on screen, most notably Tamil (although Telugu is also thrown into the mix, along with Kannada and Mayalam from Karnataka and Kerala, respectively). Bollywood is huge and Indians love it. And I love it.

Another fun fact: another emerging film industry in the world is Nollywood of Nigeria. The movies are pretty hilarious, and not really in a good way. They are definitely worth a watch.

Bollywood movies are pretty awesome. A lot of them rival American films in drama and poignancy and acting. However, one ever-present characteristic is the fact that all the characters, along with hundreds upon hundreds of extras, will spontaneously burst into dance and song. It's kind of crazy. Think of watching American Beauty and then having everyone bust out into a pop song with NSYNC choreography. This stuff is nuts. However, it makes sense in the Indian context, and the viewers love it.

In my second or third week at Rishi Valley, a co-worker of mine, Kala, was kind enough to take me to the movies to watch Maghadeera, an action-packed Telugu film. Now, the film wasn't entirely philosophic, but it was a pretty hilarious action bit. Furthermore, it was pretty great, because I understood everything that happened even though the movie was entirely in Telugu. Good acting or the best acting? Exactly.

There were a few moments in the movie-going experience that were completely foreign to me. First, there was an actual velvet curtain in the theater. Haha. You got assigned seats. You could bring your own snacks. But, these are the little things. The big things included the fact that people openly cheered, whistled, and whooped all throughout the movie. (Awesome.) In addition, there was an intermission, when the movie was shut off. Crazy stuff. (This was appropriate, considering the average time of an Indian movie is more than three hours.) Also, the plot included lots of dancing. And singing. And badly (or greatly?) choreographed dance. It also included the characters all of a sudden appearing in the Swiss Alps and Zurich for one of their musical numbers. (My friends here have repeatedly told me that this is completely natural, because it's like they're in a “dream land”. When I tried to explain that Zurich isn't actually a dream land, but a real place with real people in it, they didn't get it. They're like, “But in the movie, it is like a dream. It is a fake place, like Candyland.” Um...okay. I guess. I still don't get it.)

In moments like the ones I experienced in the movie theater, you always wish you had a friend around. A friend from your context, with your schemas and expectations, whom you could look at and burst out laughing without having to say anything. The movie experience was awesome for bonding with Kala, but it also highlighted how foreign I am here, how there are some things that I will likely never understand.

Last weekend, I watched my second Indian movie, this time a Bollywood film with Amir Khan. (He's like the Brad Pitt of India or something like that, although I'm convinced he looks like what I'd imagine Jude Law's and Eminem's love child to look like, if one ever came to existence. He's hot, though. And does great/thoughful movies.) This time, I was at Rishi Valley, and the film, the name of which escapes me at this moment, was played for our senior school students.

The film contained a great lesson about friendship and the complexities of love. The actors were talented and showed a range of emotion. However, the movie also did not lack those whimsical pop songs and choreographed dances (Switzerland was replaced with scenes from Goa and Australia, this time), as well as the overly cheesy B rolls. Awesome stuff.

Yet, there was no intermission. And, at Rishi Valley, our students did not cheer, whoop, and holler. They laughed. Loudly. With me. They made fun of the overly cheesy portrayals of “love”. And they rolled on the floor during ALL of the singing/dancing scenes.

And you know what?

I felt right at home.


Thursday, February 4, 2010

Speaking of other fellows...

I have forgotten to link this before, but you can read all about the other fellows' placements, projects, and experiences on the AIF Service Corps blog! 

I just contributed with my own reflections on my year here.

http://aifservicecorps.blogspot.com/



[P.S. Thanks for all who read my blog and send me their thoughts.  It's really great to hear from you!  :)  Sorry I haven't updated in a while -- I'll make sure to write some stuff about the travels/midpoint/getting back to Rishi Valley soon.]

Other awesome things going on in India

So, lots of fellows are working on all kinds of awesome things all over India, and I wanted to share one with you!

Kirsten, a fellow fellow in Chennai who has extended her fellowship from last year (meaning this is the second year she's been kicking ass and taking names), is making a DVD series for public schools in Tamil Nadu to help teach kids English.  The material is pretty awesome!  I urge you to check it out and support Kirsten, if you can!


The link below provides the project description, teaser video, links to imporant blogs, and just more information on this really cool project:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/KirstenAnderson/ready-to-reads-educational-english-dvd-series

First and foremost...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY AWESOME BROTHER!

Happy 27th, bro.  I hope everything is fawesome on your side of the world.


Love,
Yer sis.


P.S. Since I am unable to call you, I will use all kinds of social media to wish you a happy day today.  Mmmhmm.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Update

I know I haven't updated the blog in a while, and that has been due to the abundance of traveling I've engaged in in the past month.  Kolkata was followed by the Sunderbans, then by Darjeeling, a five day trek in the Himalayas, more Kolkata, a brief 4-day stint back at Rishi Valley, Hampi in Karnataka, and midpoint in Kerala.  It's been a fantastic, fantastic time.  I'll try to write a collection of essays highlighting my thoughts on each of my destinations, and I'll try to include pictures, as well (if the internet will allow).

The current news back at Rishi Valley is:
  • It's warm again!  80s in the daytime, 70s at night.
  • The puppies are growing, although my favorite, WonkyEye, is missing.  This breaks my heart.
  • The internet is off at REC.  This is sad and limits a lot of my capabilities at work.  We're hoping it'll start running again soon.  I can use the internet at the main office, but this seems to be a hassle for all parties involved.
  • The food is still delicious!  I have really missed Rishi Valley food.
  • We're expecting a team from Mumbai to come visit on the 1st of February.  Hopefully, that'll work out this time.
  • Fellows will come visit me!  Samir, a fellow education fellow, is scheduled to come see me in early February -- it will be exciting to show him around and hear his feedback!  Behzad is supposed to come early Feb, as well.  Kirsten, an awesome fellow who has been here for almost two years (her fellowship got extended from last year) wants to come visit, so that'll also be exciting, as her work is so interesting and closely related to ours!  :)  Charlie should also be here in March or April or so. I'm hoping some others will come, too!  I love visitors.
  • Currently, a Canadian woman is staying at REC.  She is really fantastic, and I have enjoyed my interactions with her greatly.  She's a bit older and is full of fascinating stories.  She is presently working in Bhopal on human rights issues, and it has been great to learn from her.  She is working on enhancing our English curriculum (she did a lot of ESL and English-reading learning with students with disabilities back in Toronto).  I am so happy to have her help on writing more passages -- I feel like she will do great things for our program, even in the short time that she is here.
  • I HAVE HAMMOCKS.  I am super excited!  Pictures to come.


Life is good. 

Also: happy belated birthday to my awesome mother!  And, mom, thanks for the care package you sent me: it was the best thing ever!!