It took a while, but I’ve fallen in love with Mother India. It happened a while ago, probably at the end of January but it is solidified and strengthened each day, and I figured I should officially let you all know that India and I have found each other.
It’s not the love where I will go kicking and screaming to the plane like my love for South Africa, but like Quinton’s content “third apple” love, where I recognize the faults and problems, yet love it still (The apple metaphor is Quinton’s, my country director from South Africa’s, analogy of adjustment to culture shock, where one goes from euphoric, to depressed to content: the first time one discovers an apple he loves it and only eats apples, but then he discovers one that’s rotten, but finally comes around to realize that apples are delicious but in moderation).
Time goes by quickly, and it’s hard to believe my days here are numbered. But there is still much more living to do before I say goodbye. I’m continuing to pick up some Hindi (don’t even think that means a lot though), I have collected an entire new wardrobe of beautiful Indian clothes (at time of writing my entire outfit from head to toe was purchased here), and there are still a few trips left in store. I’ve adopted the Indian head-bob, where tilting my head to the side means “Yes” when at home it means “No,” and the small flick of the wrist to say “OK.” I have perfected the science of weaving between cars and bikes and cows to cross the street, rickshaw drivers and market vendors don’t stand a chance of ripping me off, and I can even sleep through the night despite the whistling and honking and banging and cat-screaming that is Delhi’s lullaby. If being Indian was an attitude, I’m on my way to cultural assimilation. The downside of only being here 3 months is I will not become as integrated as I was in Cape Town, but the benefit of being here for only 3 months is that I will not sweat to death…the temperature already reached 90 degrees a few weeks ago: Happy Snow Day, AU!
I’ve learned a lot in my time here so far, and I won’t bore you all with cliché lessons or reflections, but one thing I have been proud of is my ability to find family wherever I go. I was approached by my neighbour, Mr. Jaffa, to tutor a family that lives in my apartment complex in English. They have recently come to India from Afghanistan, and some of the girls cannot attend school in India because their English is not good enough. (I will not be very specific about this family on my blog to protect their privacy and safety, that’s why my descriptions are vague.) Mr. Jaffa knows them because he tutors the boy in Hindi, but he cannot tutor the girls. The boy, has excellent English, and does not really need English tutoring because as a boy he could always attend school in Afghanistan. The first day I went to their flat I was very nervous…I knew the girls did not speak hardly any English and I had no idea where to begin. Yet when I entered their flat my fears washed away: the mother, nearly in tears, told me through her son she would never forget the day when I came to teach her daughters. She told me she prayed Gd would bless me with a long and healthy life. The next day, I met her husband, and he said similar things.
So I go to them almost everyday. They do not pay me monetarily, but shower me with Afghan tea and delicious Afghan snacks of nuts and dried peas and fruit, and so much love. Mostly we study English, and I must admit the girls are progressing very nicely, but sometimes we just laugh. We paint nails and play with hair, we look at photos, and if the brother isn’t there, struggle to communicate but always with smiles on our faces. When the call to prayer engulfs the city, we cover our heads with our scarves (or the armrest cover if one of the girls has no scarf) and continue studying. That’s when they tell me I look Afghani. Sometimes the mother sits in on the lesson, and worries if her daughters get an answer wrong and laughs when they get an answer correct. She says I am like another daughter to her.
It’s hard to describe the feeling in the flat every time I go in, but it almost feels like going home. Even though the girls insist on calling me “Ma’am,” what Indians call all female teachers (I’m trying to get them to call me either Laiah or Didi, Hindi for big sister), we are friends, and I look forward to teaching everyday. After reading books like A Thousand Splendid Suns and Kabul Beauty School, I have always been inspired and interested in the plight of Afghan women. I am glad to have the chance to befriend, and possibly even help, some of Afghanistan’s finest.
Mr. Jaffa told me that I am teaching them English, but perhaps, more importantly, I am acting as an American ambassador to a group of people who may not have always seen America’s greatest side. That may be true, but I’m not concentrating on diplomacy, I just feel I’ve found some beautiful friends in the most random circumstance. Sometimes they try to shower me with gifts, I take some , like beautiful blue Afghan bangles, and refuse others, like the earrings out of one of the girl’s ears when I complimented them. Yet I think they are unaware of the biggest gift they have given me: a family across the ocean. Oh, and an addiction to Afghan tea.
And your moment of Zen (or India’s perception of the Jews):
Mr Jaffa: Every time I see you I think you look like you should be in the movie “The 10 Commandments” or out of the book “The Red Tent.”
And another moment of Zen (literally):
Today (Friday) was pay-day for the teachers at my school, so they left early to collect their paychecks. At recess the children were told they could go home early. As they came inside to collect their bags they all began running and screaming. It was so loud that the other teachers and I who were drinking chai in a classroom ran outside to see what was wrong. Because the children were acting like animals, they were punished. Each child had to stand, knees bent, head between their legs, holding their ears. If they squirmed, a teacher hit them on the butt. If they did it wrong, they had to start over with a backpack on their back to ensure accuracy. When I left my chai to see what was happening it was quite a sight…something like 90 boys in grades 1-4 were standing like that in the school. I’d never seen the school so quiet. Then, I walked into the classroom where I teach (that’s right! They gave me a classroom! No more teaching in the lobby for me!) to check on my boys. To my actual shock, it turns out they were the only boys not screaming and running, so instead of being punished, they were inside, on the mat, cross-legged, eyes closed, doing yoga breathing. As the oldest in the school, I fully expected them to be the leaders of the screaming mob. I couldn’t have been prouder.
***Stay tuned for photos of Holi…the Hindu festival for Krishna, where everyone covers themselves in coloured powder and throws water balloons filled with coloured water. Water balloons have already started falling from a few stories up in our apartment village, so walking home from the market is always a bit risky, but thankfully, so far, the water is colour-free.
A link to my photos from Amritsar, where the Golden Temple is. The captions explain what's going on: http://picasaweb.google.com/laiah.idelson/HolyCityTourPartIIAmritsar?feat=directlink
Me @ the Golden Temple!
At the border between India and Pakistan. Guards performing the Change of the Guard ceremony
