New School Sport: Cobra Launching

Every day here is a mini-adventure. One minute I am rooted down by reality and then my next blink transports me to a world where I am living within the pages of a storybook crawling with various creatures. 

Today as I was descending the steps in my hostel to go to school I noticed a group of security officers, teachers, and students gathered around the garden that lies between the student dorms. My initial thought was that they were having some kind of traditional dance practice with all of the hopping and lunging that was happening . . . but then I noticed the 6-foot cobra slithering in the grass! The young children wrinkled with fear and uttered short cries from a far distance; the curious minds inched closer to the battlefield and gasped on cue;  the Big Voice leaders jumped onto the garden's stone ledge and shouted strategic movements; and the chauvinistic male teachers knighted one another and charged into battle. Armed with shields of bravery and long sticks, the men - in their flip-flops - slowly danced around the slithering beast. Our knights slid their sticks under the snake and simultaneously lifted the monster, hurling it over the boundary wall of the school into the nearby field. A chaotic flurry of joyous shouts and applause burst throughout the garden.

The storybook closed. I blinked my eyes and the garden was empty - the young children, curious minds, Big Voice leaders, and Knights continued on with their normal day, scattering to different destinations . . . But perhaps I will blink and see these characters again very soon . . .

My Home Away From Home

The view from my balcony :)

After All, Princes are People

It is not very often that I am in possession of bragging rights – the lines are rather long to purchase this type of permit – but I believe that yesterday I have acquired a Sanction of Swank, certified by the royal family of India’s Gujarat state :D.  Sohini is friends with a prince of Gujarat, Yogi, and invited me to spend the afternoon with them, sightseeing the city of Vadodara in royal style.

            As this was my first day in the presence of a prince, I naturally had to compare his demeanor to the common peasants that I usually surrounded me (no offense! lol) and I have concluded that princes are simply people and do the same things that us “regular folk” do:

Princes invite you to visit their home – Now granted, his residence is the Laxmi Vilas Palace that was built in the 1800s by a famous French architect, but hospitality can be a key similarity between both houses of rags and riches. 

While Yogi did some royal business in the residential palace, Sohini and I were given audio guides that recited elaborate descriptions of the palace’s history and architecture as you walk around the various rooms. There were 11 numbered signs that corresponded to the mp3 tracks on our audio guide and also navigated the walking tour; the first three signs were in the front lawn of the palace to give an overview of the architectural design. But at the second sign outside on the front lawn, Sohini and I got lost and could not find sign #3 of the walking/audio tour. We started meandering aimlessly onto private property, and were furiously hailed by a guard across the lawn LOL. It became an inside joke for the remainder of our audio tour that whenever Sohini and I would find the next sign, we would smile at each other and say, “Oh, here’s the sign!” :D. It also became a joke that statue butts kept sneaking into the shots of my pictures. See what I mean:

Princes have weird quirks – After Sohini and I were mooned by enough marble butts for one day, Yogi drove us to the Maharaja Fateh Singh Museum, which showcased the majority of the palace’s paintings and statues.  In several of the rooms Yogi pointed out that there are some paintings that he discovered over the years that trick the eye: no matter what point of the room you’re standing in, the painting looks the same OR the path in the painting gets wider or narrower, depending on your point of view. He was thoroughly entertained by my numerous “no way!” moments.

Princes have interests and hobbies – Yogi enjoys candlelight dinners and long walks on the beach . . . LOL Maybe that’s true, but what I know for sure is that he works in the film industry in Mumbai and has taken up an interest in photography as well. He also exercises in the empty gym on the palace grounds every evening, preferring to work out alone rather than in the gym facilities in the city, which he deems as a more of a “fashion parade.”

Princes listen to great tune-age – I had to giggle when music by Ke$ha was being played in the car as we drove to the various locations of the afternoon. I told Yogi that it was almost like being back in America and he smiled through the rearview mirror . . . I completely lost it, though, when I heard the shrill voice of Miley Cyrus, bursting into a contagious fit of laughter at the fact that Hannah Montana was traveling with Hannah India.

Princes have a sweet tooth – To end our afternoon together, Yogi took us to a Chinese restaurant for lunch and we shared an excellent meal of crispy, honey glazed chicken, General Tso’s chicken, and spicy prawns with vegetable fried rice. And even though Sohini and I were completely stuffed, Yogi insisted that we all try the Litchi ice cream, which consisted of vanilla ice cream with pieces of the exotic litchi fruit on top. Plus, he was an absolute gentleman and paid for our meal.

But don’t get any ideas . . . Just because princes have characteristics like us commoners, I still have some MAJOR bragging rights for hanging out with a Gujarati prince in India :) 

Three Little Chatterboxes Sitting on a Bed

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.

Sohini and the Rickshaw

            I will confess that without purpose or consciousness, I have been comparing my new experiences in India to my last international journey to Ghana. While I was studying at the University of Ghana-Legon my days and nights whirled with a plethora of new faces and friends; life was centered on the axis of conversation as fresh relationships were constructed every single day. The atmosphere of the Teacher’s Residence at Navrachana International School is vastly different: only a handful of teachers reside on campus, so instead of the echoes of laughter from other international students, my room is barren of elated emotions. My soul is made of empty shelves and bare cupboards; midnight banter and playful dialogues are out of stock.

I began to dread the evening hours because night smothered my heart with a dark shroud of loneliness and isolation. But then my path intertwined with the journey of a one-minute stranger – we only experienced the awkward introduction of strangers for approximately one minute and then quickly emerged as comfortable confidants from that moment onward.  

And after this chance meeting, I slowly began to shed the layers of sadness that brought on the early night . . .

            Her dark chocolate eyes reflect a world of simplicity and serenity. Sohini is a beautiful individual with a shy smile and kind spirit. She speaks in hushed tones, but her ideas are passionate and vibrant.  Like two souls that were destined to meet, fate quickly forged our friendship based on similar feelings of isolation; we were both visited by Loneliness, the unwelcomed guest that hovers over your shoulder as you unpack your personality for new acquaintances. Sohini is also fairly new to the school, working as the Junior Librarian at NISV for only a few short months, so we simultaneously exhaled a sigh of relief when the vacancy sign flickered in both of our hearts.

            This past Tuesday and Wednesday nights, Sohini and I left the school campus in a mustard cloud of dust and ventured to the city within the claustrophobic dome of a yellow and green rickshaw.  The two-wheeled, hooded vehicle dashed in between the chaotic fury of varied paces on the road: the slow steps of women weighed down with heavy loads stacked on their heads; the confused stumble of stray cows; the steady stroll of spinning bicycles; the blaze of accelerating cars; and the menacing rage of zigzagging motorcycles.

 Once we survived the city’s suffocated streets, I swallowed my stomach, which was lodged in my throat, and followed my friendly guide to a shopping center to buy small, miscellaneous supplies.

With sequin tote bags bulging with purchases, we crawled into the backseat of another rickshaw, swallowed our stomachs, and continued on to breathe in another adventure in the city. Sohini took me to one of her favorite places in Vadodara: Sayaji Bagh Gardens, which houses a zoo, planetarium, the Vadodara Museum and Picture Gallery, and botanical walking paths. The day was winding down so the various buildings were closed, but Sohini and I meandered down the walking paths with the light scent of blossoming dusk and sounds of sitar melodies swirling around the garden air. The sweet perfume of love also wafted through the crowd as the lush lawn was sprinkled with picnicking families, sharing traditional dishes and stories of their day, and romantic couples tied each other in intimate knots behind flower bushes.

Sohini and I walked and talked through the garden until the sun closed its blinds. With the darkness a frenzied crowd of mosquito paparazzi bustled to the event, trying to snap the perfect shot of the new friends. They know that there feeding deadlines can be fulfilled, because the friendship between Sohini and I will continue to ripen, and we will often share the last strands of daylight together in the future. 

Today I received my first hug in India.

It was startling.
It was brief.
It was lopsided.

But it was from Sandhya Mam,

full of warmth.
Full of intimacy.
Full of promise.

She wrapped my spirit in a sari embroidered with friendship

And family.

And the burning aches of my heart began to cool.

Obtaining Visas to Foodapest and La La Land

The students at Navrachana International School are yearning balls of light – curious minds that illuminate the dark shadows of ignorance that are cast on every society around the world. The moment I cross the threshold into their classroom, the students share such radiance with me, asking questions about the United States and its culture. How can America, with its vast array of flavors, be compiled into a few introductory phrases? Furthermore, how can I solely (and accurately) represent “The Melting Pot”? So I speak about what I know – the U.S. destinations that were stamped not in a passport, but the crisp pages of my memories: the electric pulse of colors that surge through one’s entire body in New York City’s Time Square; the tiny windows at the top of the St. Louis arch that collect the entire metropolis within their frame;  the steaming plate of grits and friend chicken eaten in Mississippi, served with a side of “Southern hospitality”; the majestic presence of the violet Rocky Mountains; the flares of yellow and red dragons that fly around Washington DC’s China Town; and most importantly, the rolling hills of Wisconsin farmland, sprinkled with roaming dairy cows and fanatic Packer fans.  The Indian students opened up their own mind passports and traveled around America with me.

After my brief introduction to America, we stowed the passports back into our deep cerebrum pocket.  The eighth grade English teacher, Sandhya Mam, then asked if I would give the class a prompt for oral discussion and evaluation. Due to their great interest in foreign countries, I asked the class to respond to the following questions:

 If you were the ruler of an imaginary country of your own creation, what would your country’s name be and what would the place look like? What infrastructures would you set in place?

The students were shy at first, but after a few minutes of individual deliberation their imaginations began to spark.  The students created the following countries, some of which I would like to obtain a visa to visit on my next great trip:

·      Foodapest

o   Things to know about this country: Visitors can only enter the country with some kind of food in their mouth

o   Tourist Attractions: There are several large marketplaces where every kind of food from around the world is available to buy

·      Science Country

o   Infrastructure of the country: This country has three states: Biology, Chemistry and Physics; the houses in the state of Biology are made out of organic material and the citizens that live in the state of Chemistry live in apartments in the shape of test tubes

o   Things to know about this country: only great scientists are permitted to reside in Science Country

·      Laugh Out Loud

o   Things to know about this country: visitors must be smiling and laughing when entering the country because Laugh Out Loud does not allow any sadness throughout the land

o   Tourist Attractions: There are many festivals and dances to celebrate happiness throughout the year; the sky is green and the trees are pink; the country’s flag is very colorful, like the citizens who live here

·      Republic of Change

o   Government decrees: All aspects of the nation will continuously be adapting and changing so that the country will not stay monotonous. If citizens have many talents and strengths, they can change their occupation often

·      La La Land

o   Things to know about this country: During the day citizens fight for peace like American hippies during the ‘70s.

o   Government decree: No one will act angry or upset in front of the ruler or they must pay a fine

After my mind meandered through the hidden crevices of the Earth where imagination thrives, I said goodbye to the eighth grade rulers and went to observe the learning experiences of grade 11. These juniors were discussing the title of the novel, The God of Small Things, and dissecting the perceptions and associations of the words, “God” and “small”. Their teacher, Subhalaxmi Mam, asked excellent probing questions to help the students further develop their concepts and create a deeper exploration of the text. It appears that no matter where one lives, a system of beliefs is a strong center of society, either based in religious principles or moral righteousness.  The questions that were asked in regards to Arundhati Roy’s novel in this class can also be applied to the mysteries of the universe and meaning of everyday life; so often these same questions have passed through the corridors of my most intimate thoughts and will hang on the walls of my heart until it ceases to beat:

Why do we need a God?

What are the “small” things versus “big” things?

When does a small thing transform into a big thing?

“The test of a good teacher is not how many good questions he can ask his pupils that they will answer readily, but how many questions he inspires them to ask, which he finds it hard to answer.”

-       Alice Wellington Rollins