Events of Friday, March 23, 2012
Tonight
for dessert I was handed the sweet dish of acceptance covered with
multi-colored sprinkles of admiration.
After dinner, a cluster of middle school students struggled to match the
long strides of Sohini and I as we walked from the mess hall to the hostels;
their mouths marched with their feet as the students boisterously chatted with
me about the animated events of their day. As we approached the fork in the road that severs the path
to the Teacher’s Residence and student hostels, I was begged by the students to
visit the hostels and talk with them more instead of sulking back to my room. I happily obliged their wide-eyed pleas
and informed them that tonight they shall have a “Hannah Mam” escort back to
their dorms. They led me down the
dimly lit stone path to their hostels, chatting nonsensically about hilarious
YouTube videos they watched recently about killer bugs and the deadly effects
of chameleon bites – important tales to the fascinated lives of twelve and
thirteen year old storytellers.
First
I escorted Karan Patel to the large green doors of the Boy’s Hostel and my
sincere wishes of “goodnight” were met with inquiries of my presence the next
day – was I going to attend the teachers versus students cricket match tomorrow
morning? Was I going to be in the IT lab in the afternoon? Was I going to watch
the movie in the auditorium in the evening? His interest in my daily itinerary is innocent and
heartfelt; Karan appears to be taking on the roles of school coordinator and
tour guide in addition to his responsibilities as a student for the quiet,
desperate hope to make an adult teacher his adult friend as well.
Through
the darkness I then crept over to the Girl’s Hostel, where three anticipating
faces were waiting in the lobby for my promised arrival. With pride surging
through their voices, the girls asked me to come see their rooms and all of the
decorations they put up around their own personal space. For the next hour I
sat on the edge of a bed and watched the three girls bud and bloom like
tropical flowers – unique and vibrant. They pushed back petal after petal,
layer after layer of their lives, sharing stories of their childhood, friendships,
interests, hobbies, dreams, and hopes.
Prachi told an elaborate tale about Disney world in Hong Kong and her
deepest desire for the Cinderella ball gown, while another girl consistently
interrupted Prachi by exclaiming her own love for the character, Belle. I was
also given a 20- minute account of the scariest haunted house ride that she has
ever been on with sound effects and vivid imagery. A seventh grade student who
shares the same room, Megha (pronounced MAY-GAH), simply sat on her separate
bed and shyly giggled at the energetic stories that were being told across the
room. Without fear, without prudence, without embarrassment, these three girls
invited me into their world, and it made me have Two Thoughts:
The
first thought was that I saw a lot of myself as a teen in these three girls and
I had to smile in fond remembrance of the days of long, dark, unruly hair, braided
friendship bracelets, and transforming your small voice into a Big voice with the
shape of a grand story.
And my
second thought was to erase the notion that I was somehow missing out on my
experiences in India because I do not have spare time to sightsee and travel to
other states, but will remain in this school and surrounding city until I board
my return flight. But I am abandoning the thought of “missing out,” because
tonight I saw that the richness of India lies not in the Taj Mahal or riding
elephants, but is found in the tiny bedroom of a Girl’s Hostel where stories
drip from the ceiling and the walls crack with smiles. For me, international
travel is not about the famous sights captured within the lens of a camera, but
the people I meet and capture in my heart.
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