We have rats in our school building. Who doesn't?

I always assumed they got into the classroom by squeezing through a slightly open window at night, or under the door from the dank hallway. Their droppings scatter the window sill in the mornings more than occasionally.

But yesterday as I stood in the classroom after school, observing a group of animated, chattering mothers watching over their children finishing incomplete homework, a small piece of light brown trash flew in through the window, landing haphazardly on the floor near the women.

No one seemed to pay any attention, but I had a funny feeling.

As my eyes fell upon the trash fluttering on the floor, it became clear that what had flown in the window was not a piece of trash, but a medium-sized rat.

As it gathered itself from its landing, slowly, then more quickly, it scurried silently across the room and out into the hallway.

I had underestimated our urban companions.

After a very long time with a red, itchy right eye, I finally dragged myself to the private hospital today (Will found it was just around the corner last month) to get it checked out and get rid of it. I had assumed it would take care of itself, but apparently not!

I walked to the shiny, still-under-construction hospital, and found the main desk, along with some 15 - 20 other people. After filling out a new registration form, I handed it to a lady at the counter, and a few minutes later, she looked at me and said:

"375".

I was confused. I said "375 what? Room 375?"

"No, you pay rupees 375".

Oh. I've never paid for a doctor's visit BEFORE I saw the doctor, but ok! I paid the equivalant of $US 7.50, and headed to the second-floor ophthalmology department.

After a 20-minute wait in the clean, shiny, comfortable waiting area, I was shown to the doctor's office. I spent almost half an hour with the doctor, as he performed all sorts of tests on my eyes, with very expensive equipment. I wouldn't have expected any less back home. After a number of sophisticated tests, the doctor gave me a detailed analysis of the cause of my eye irritation - mostly allergies to the smog and a scratch - prescribed medicated eye drops and a cleaning regiment, plus a light glasses prescription for the computer, "just in case I decided to use them".

And off I went. No pulling out the checkbook. No going over services rendered. No big eyes bulging at the triple-digit $ amount.

Oh, U. S. of A., when will you take care of me like India and Japan do?

Today our class visited a home for disabled persons to perform a skit the kids have been working on for almost 2 months, and to visit and learn to communicate and make friends with different people.

The home was an all-tiled, open building, likely not less than 70 - 80 years old. It looked like it was from the old British era. The building was lined with open hallways around the outside. When we entered the front foyer (?), it was sunny and there was a large open space, with the nurse's desk on one wall, and couch/mattresses on the other walls. On three sides, long rooms spread back, where the residents lay on their beds in rows, just as in an old hospital (the kind I have only, until now, seen in the movies).

The kids arrived in 4 batches (4 different taxis), and we were the first 2. So, we all went around and said "Namaste" to the people who were awake. One very large man came slowly out to greet us. He walked on his hands, as his legs were missing from the very top. The children stopped at first, and I think a few whispered to me "Didi! Look!" So, I had the children walk right up to him with me and we all said "Namaste, Bhaiya" (Hello, brother), and then the kids were excited to shake his hands and chat with him.

Many residents were physically handicapped in some way. Many had lost, or been born without, both legs, some without arms. One woman's full body was severely burned. One old woman was physically fit, but did nothing but giggle and have a grand old time at anything that happened - it was wonderful!

When the rest of the kids arrived, everyone got into position in the foyer to perform their skit, and the residents were ushered out to sit and enjoy the show. There were about 20 residents or so that came out to watch. The kids performed very well - it was a skit about a little girl who never shares, but then she realizes that to have friends, she can have fun sharing toys with them.

After the skit, the class sang some of their favorite Hindi songs for the residents. A few got up and sang solo, to the great delight of the audience. Then, with the persistence of friends egging on friends, a handful of residents shared their own talents with us. One very old man, with no teeth and very large glasses, sang a song for the children. We had to hush their giggles, as the man was slightly off-key!

One young man told a few jokes, and two other men sang for us, the last one being absolutely mesmerizing. It's incredible the magic that lies beneath people's skin, just waiting for the chance to be seen or heard!

Then it was time for the kids to draw and color with their new friends. We set the kids up with colors and paper, paired them with the residents, and spent about 30 minutes with everyone just chatting away. At the very end, the residents kept the drawings they had made with the kids, and the kids handed out traditional sweets, then said hearty goodbyes.

It was a wonderful way for the children to learn about community service, connecting with people, and learning from people who are different from them. I must say, I learned just as much!

This week in our class:

Little Miss S. says: "Didi, I don't understand English. All here words, I no understand, what is this?? (pointing elaborately to our word wall) I fever 15 days, I don't know this English!" Apparently English speaking is not a problem though!

Little Mr. Sur: Holds up his banana as if it is covered in mud. "Didi..." he says. The look on his face betrays pure disgust. The one bite of the banana is the object of that disgust. I'd say he's officially not a fan of bananas. We found a taker to finish it for him.

Little Mr. Sh: Runs to grab the soccer ball during play-time in the auditorium. As he leans down to grab it, the corroded cement wall meets with his forehead. I call his name. He slowly stands up, turns around, and stares at me while his left hand catches the pool of blood gushing from his head. Not a tear, not a complaint, just 2 stitches and a few scared children. What a strong boy!

Little Miss S. Sheikh: Upon asked to spell the word "six", announces it is s-i-s. Turns out the pronunciation of 'x' is near impossible for this glittery-eyed, missing-front-tooth, beaming 7-year-old girl. Oh how I love her so!

How Serenity celebrated Eid:

On the morning of Eid (the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan), and consequently Mahatma Gandhi's birthday anniversary, my NGO held a special "Walk" - I was in a group of about 8, and we split up into groups of 4 or so, and walked from one train station through some neighborhoods, to another train station. There were about 300 people total who participated. The aim was to walk, as opposed to drive, take a train, etc., and to take a little time to say hello to fellow citizens, and to celebrate Gandhi's birthday, as he did the same thing throughout his life, walking and connecting with "the masses", as he put it.

As my Hindi is still pretty poor, I didn't talk to many people, but I did observe two women who brought along their 11-12 year old daughters. Their daughters handed out biscuit-packs (crackers) to very poor people we met, and also stopped to talk with some middle-class families walking along, and we all talked about Gandhi and made sure the kids knew who he was and what he did.

All in all, it was a nice way to spend a morning. But, afterwards, the real fun started -

I met at our school (which was closed for the day) with Purvi, our two jr. kindergarten teachers, and our social worker, and we all walked over to the slum community where a lot of our students live, to wish them "Happy Eid". Ramadan lasts for one month, when devout Muslims fast each day while the sun is up, and only eat or drink water when the sun is down. Ramadan, as I understand it, is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, and when the Qu'ran was revealed through God (Allah) to Mohammed. Muslims fast in order to practice patience and sacrifice. Most of our students and two of our teachers are Muslim.

Everyone was so dressed up all over the city - men in bright white pajamas, some with gold stitching, women in brightly colored outfits, jewelled bangles around their wrists, and hair and make-up done up. Small boys were dressed in flashy suits, and girls in countless jewels.

So, we walked through the community - a twisting, turning maze of alleyways and two-story dwellings, where sometimes only a quite thin person with narrow shoulders could get through. As we visited one house of a jr. kg child, their parents came out, and insisted we come sit in their home for a small bowl of sheer kurma - a warm, milk-based sweet soup - a typical food offered to guests, friends, and relatives on Eid.

Then, the number of children and adults around us grew and grew until after about 30 minutes we were parading down the alleys with children, teenagers and adults, holding hands, all visiting so-and-so's house, then running into so-and-so, and all the while, full alleys of families would emerge until the whole place seemed packed full of people smiling, wishing "Happy Eid" or Eid Mubarak to each other, and insisting we sit for a cup of sheer kurma. We had to do a lot of sweet refusals!

The highlight for me was seeing my students in their own homes with family and friends - no school uniforms, no expectations, just to see them as their free kid-selves, running with their friends, excited and slightly perplexed at seeing their teacher at their home. One girl, Sabina, was dressed in an all-white, jeweled salwaar kameez (pants suit), with her hair braided and pulled back into a bun, and black kohl around her eyes - she looked like an absolute angel, I made her give her didi (me) a big hug, I just wanted to steal her and bring her home with me!!!

So, the joy of teaching the children continues...!

And to top it all off, Will and I are enjoying a bottle of red wine we found downtown, cooking spaghetti, and enjoying the Mumbai life!

Spent the day in the city - a cloudy, muggy day. As soon as we emerged from the underground walkway onto the street, Will spotted three boys from the center he volunteers at. They were licking ice cream cones and generally hanging around. They were happy to see Will, so we all decided to walk together for awhile - us two with not much of a plan (except for my mission to a particular store to buy pants), and the three boys, quizzing us and stopping to munch on street food every few blocks.

After about an hour, the boys left to head back to their side of town for soccer tryouts, and we headed towards the coastline, browsing through all the glittering jewelry, sunglasses (of which Will purchased), and stopped for lunch at a new falafel chain restaurant. Mmmmmm.... falafel.

As we leaned against a concrete wall, looking out over the bay, a 'clunck' caught our attention to our left -- down in the water, a fresh plastic bag of garbage floated on the surface of the mucky water. A large, dark woman in an old but colorful sari turned around from the wall to go back to the curb where she sat selling something or other.

Well, that was that for the lovely bay scene, so we headed back to the main station, passing through markets and making a long stopover to pick up some cotton pants and shirts. Will had drank the ever-present sugarcane juice with the boys while I had been shopping, so he bought me a glass and we stood on the corner and shared it - what a delicious, delicious thing!

Sugar cane juice is made directly on the street all throughout Mumbai. At small wheeled stalls, men stand shoving full stalks of sugar cane into a machine which crushes and strips them, extracting the sweet juice in the process. The machine is either hand-cranked or... diesel-powered. I much prefer passing by the hand-cranked type. The diesel-powered ones are extremely loud, and often spew a nasty emission.

So, because we had ran into the boys from the slum community Will works with, I drank sugar cane juice and ate vada pav (deep-fried potato in a bun) from the street. And I didn't get sick! A new step into Indian society.

As the annual Ganesh Chaturthi festival commences, the streets here in Vashi are lined with colorful lights, and on every other corner stands an oversized, temporary shelter for the statues of Ganesh that will later be carried in processions to bodies of water throughout the city.

Last night I sat on our small porch looking out over the main square of our satellite city, and looked on as the first procession made its way down the street, carrying the idol of Ganesh, and beating away on rhythmic drums.

Clothes so comfortable they make you.. ??

Today we get to listen to very loud stereo speakers being blasted from all around us on the streets today, as people celebrate a festival called dahi handi.

It's the birthday of Lord Krishna, and people all around India celebrate by re-enacting a mythological story about Krishna as a small boy stealing yogurt (dahi) from a clay pot.People gather in large numbers as a team, and hoist each other up into a very tall pyramid - the aim is for the top-most person on the pyramid to reach a suspended clay pot which is filled with dyed yogurt. The boy then breaks the pot with his head, showering himself with dyed yogurt. There are also cash prizes sometimes, and in our neighborhood, the local politicians took the opportunity to sponsor some events in exchange for a platform for quick speeches and lots of oversized poster board space.

Looked like a lot of fun though! In between pyramid-building, the crowds just danced and danced to the booming stereo, and were occasionally sprayed with water from a water truck.

Greeting my students as they walked into our first grade classroom
last week, one boy showed me a bandaged finger. I asked him what had
happened. He told me in Hindi a few times, and finally said to me, in
English, "Didi, rat bite".

I didn't know whether to be thrilled because he was able to relay the
information to me in English, or horrified at the fact that he was
bitten by a rat, likely in his sleep.

Every morning, one of my students, 'Sania' and her mother are the first to arrive at school, half an hour before school starts. They arrive with another woman and her kindergarten boy, and I let them run around the classroom and say things in English to impress me while their mothers look on and we adults attempt to chat in Hindi / English - although neither of us know the others' language well enough.

Last week, 'Sania' popped into the classroom with her bright, ever-present smile, and stuck out her hands, with a 'DIDI!'. Her hands and arms were stained with the dark brown paint called mendi, an intricate painting traditionally applied for festivals and special events, but today applied as a pastime and decoration.

I 'ooh' ed and 'aah' ed at her arms in genuine appreciation, and her mother asked me if I had ever had mendi applied to my hands. I replied that no I hadn't, but would love to, and she invited me to her home to paint my arms and hands. She explained (through translation from a co-teacher), that as I was only here for 2 years, and I was doing such a good job of teaching her daughter (opinion only!), she would like to do something for me.

I gladly accepted, and yesterday after school, I walked to her house with her and a co-teacher who came along to chat and help me converse in Hindi / English.

We walked about 15 minutes away from the school, onto a wide, busy road. On the way, we cut through a narrow alleyway lined with small open shop fronts and dwellings to our right, and a row of tied up goats munching on weeds. I gathered it was a Muslim community, as Hindus don't normally eat meat, and mostly chicken if they do.

As we emerged onto the large, busy road, and turned left, walking against heavy oversized traffic, across the street, on our right, were piles of broken bricks, next to which large, orange and blue painted supply trucks were parked in a long line. Behind the decorative bells and paint of the trucks, the remnants of a demolished, illegal slum community stretched as far as we could see.

To our left, our escort (my students' mother) pointed to a small hole in the wall (literally), covered by a pinned-up sheet, and said the name of another of my students. Apparently he lived in that hole, and his mother peeked out and said hello, with a slight look of surprise, as we passed.

Suddenly, we turned left into an extremely narrow passage, where very little sunlight passed through from the two-stories of tiny hovels, the blue paint of the walls casting a dreary glow. Plenty of rain water dripped heavily from the rooftops, leaving little dry room to squeeze through the passage. We walked through muddy puddles, past naked children, women scrubbing laundry on rocks and blaring television sets, and stopped at a narrow, vertical steel staircase leading above us. One by one, we closed our umbrellas and climbed the narrow stairs, (just big enough to squeeze through) to a platform at the top, about 1 foot by 2 feet long. I slipped off my shoes on this platform, and slid into Sania's home.

The dwelling was approximately 6 feet wide by 10 feet deep. At the back right corner stood a small, shiny television, atop which sat dried flowers and a brass container.

Just below the television laid a thin plastic mat, folded so as to fit two people sitting. At the back of the room and to the left of the television, one high shelf ran along two walls, stacked full with metal cups, bowls and pots. Two oversized metal buckets with lids stood at the back of the far shelf, where our host kept clothes and other possessions.

As I sat down on the mat below the television, I turned back towards the entrance. To the right of the door was a waist-high counter, just big enough to hold a large metal pot of water, covered with a lid and a cup resting on its top. One long fluorescent bulb lit the room.

As the three of us sat down - our host, myself, and my co-teacher, two little boys from the dwelling directly next to us came in - one was a kindergarten student at our school. We recognized each other and said warm "hello" 's. Our host handed a small wad of rupees to an older child and told him to fetch a cold drink for her guests. In about 5 minutes, the boy returned with a small bottle of Miranda (orange soda) and a plate of dry packaged biscuits and partly stale potato chips.

Two glasses arrived, and orange soda was poured for us which we happily sipped.

Then, a woman appeared at the doorway, who was introduced as our host's sister. She would apply the mendi to my arms. She was a little younger than our host, and something about her composure and mannerisms suggested, rightly so, that she had obtained some amount of education as a child. In fact, she told us, she had completed the 8th standard in an Urdu-medium school.

As she began to apply to mendi, we all talked, I through my co-teacher's translations. We learned that my 6-year-old student, 'Sania', comes home from school at 4pm, and sits doing her homework until about 5 or 5:30. From 6 - 9, she then attends a local madrassa, where she studies the Qu'ran (which is taught in its original language, Arabic). At 9pm, Sania returns home to sleep. Dinner is not served. In fact, we learned, her only meals each day are the meals we have requested her mother to send with her to school - a small snack and a lunch, eaten at 10:30 and 1pm respectively.

We also learned that the home in which we were sitting had only recently been rented out by this family, as they had formerly lived in the demolished slums across the large busy street. As the slums had been illegally built, the city government had demolished them the month before, planning to plant trees and greenery in a larger project of 'beautifying' Mumbai.

As the dark brown streaks of paint on my right arm turned into wonderfully intricate floral and tribal designs, us women sat and enjoyed each other's company in the small, closet-sized (by western standards) room.



When the artist finished her work, we all stood up, took a photo together, and then I and my co-worker made our way back down the narrow stairs, and out into the stormy, rainy Indian monsoon. Our host walked with us to the train station, and I thanked her politely for her hospitality.

Now, I plan to return her hospitality with some type of gift, but of what, I'm not sure. I've had the problem of buying a gift for someone who has everything, but I have never faced the opposite dilemma.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself on this first true visit to one of Mumbai's countless poverty-ridden communities. While the poverty is very real, I see that life continues as it does in the rest of the world, minus the ability to provide for a family's comfort, and often even basic needs. The ever-present smile on Sania's face is testament that yes, life IS lived, despite the difficulties. Yet her growling stomach, stunted height, and bags under her eyes reveal the sentence of poverty she has been born into and may last her entire lifetime.

On two days' notice, we piled all the first graders into 3 taxis and
a car to go to the Bombay International School kindergarten - 3rd
grade exhibition.

Our organization does a lot of work with that school, which donates
space and resources to conduct after-school classes for teenagers.
So, we set out to let our first graders see what other first graders
were doing in school - first graders at a private, English medium
school. A long way, in distance, culture, and quality of living from
our little school in the slums.

As the 3 taxis filled with kids and accompanying teachers, I got into
our principal's car - 5 little 6-year-olds in the back seat, and one
on my lap in the passenger seat. As the car started and pushed
forward, the kids all giggled and screamed with glee - when I asked
them if they had ever been in a car before, all but one said 'no', it
was their first time.

Bumps on the road caused laughter, the ascent up a windy bridge
caused jumps of joy. Each time the car stopped in traffic, the kids
shouted 'stop!!'. We all smiled and sang and pointed the whole way
across Bombay.

When we got to the school exhibit, the kids behaved incredibly well -
likely in a slight state of shock at the beautiful flowers growing on
the school premises, and the glowing newness of their child
counterparts' displays.

While the kindergarten displays were full of animals made of paper
plates, neatly colored animal faces on paper cutouts, and whole wall-
sized diagrams of crafted trees, our students were just learning to
scribble and color.

While the first graders performed a song and dance routine and
displayed portfolios about all the food, nutrition, and food cycles
they had learned in the last month, our students were learning how to
pronounce the alphabet.

But, what absolutely struck me the very most was this -- the 6-year-
olds at this other school were not only wealthier, plumper, better
dressed, standing straighter, and lighter skinned ---- they were also
6 - 12 inches taller then our group of children from the city slums.

My, what malnutrition can do to a child who otherwise appears to be a
perfectly happy, playful child.

In comparison to the wealthier children, our kids have rotten teeth,
dull skin, uniforms that are likely washed once a week, sniffles and
coughs, and are extremely short in height and lacking in weight.

But I will say, these kids from the slums have bigger smiles than any
other children I have ever seen. There is a richness in their smiles.

Opened the double door to my classroom this morning, the first one into the bottom floor of the dank government building, as usual.

Turned the lights on, and - funny - there were scattered flash cards just beneath the supply cupboard. Set my things down, and noticed the two dustbins near the door had fallen over.

I was the last person in the room on Friday afternoon. Now, Monday morning, and I'd say someone else had been there. Went to the supply cupboard, and as I opened the doors, bottles of glue, more flash cards, paper and a stapler fell to my feet.

A scurry led my eyes to the top left corner. Little eyes peered out at me. I grimaced and stepped back in a flash. My fear had finally come true. I had been greeted by a rat. I stood around and thought about how to get it out. My first thought was "No way am I dealing with that thing - I'll have to wait for someone else to show up". Then I thought "Well, I DID take this job, knowing it would not be in clean areas with adequate sanitation. Heck, I can handle a rat."

So, just as I was looking for some sort of stick to poke at the cupboard with, our social worker showed up, (a young woman the same age as me), and started dealing with the rat too (in the same hesitant manner as I, thank you very much).

Finally, we found a short broom (much too short if you ask me), and I jabbed the top left corner of the cabinet. Without a second to flinch, the rat, dark brown and hefty, scurried down out of the cabinet and onto the floor. Then there we were, the social worker, the rat and I all running in circles trying to avoid each other. Finally we got out of the room, and a child's mother came walking in, and in amusement, went around the room to check for the rat. Apparently it had escaped through an open window. We found a gnawed corn cob on the floor as its gift to us.

Oh, I hope I have the room to myself tomorrow morning!!

While eating lunch the other day, we watched this man pull up with
carts of eggs on his bicycle, selling them to the restaurant.

Quite different from the truck delivery system back home!

Well, it started raining again last night after about 2 weeks of wondering where the monsoon was. The city recorded 6 inches of rainfall in only 4 hours --- wow! Here's a story about it.

So, I never got to work this morning. In fact, only 1 person got to our school, and the rest of us all got stuck in various ways. I was able to get on a train, but once I crossed the bay and got into the city, the train had a hard time getting between stations, and finally, 1 1/2 hours later, pulled into a station a few before mine, and I got off to try and find my way back home. 

I watched as people waded through knee-deep water on the roads in some spots - luckily I avoided that! I met up with another girl I work with who happened to be on the same train, and we caught a train heading back out of the city. Meanwhile, the other railway lines had closed completely because of flooding! 

So - hope we get to open our school tomorrow! 

Yesterday we went into the city to spend the afternoon. First, we
visited the Haji Ali mosque, which sits out in the bay offshore from
western Mumbai. A concrete causeway leads people in droves to and
from the mosque, which is open to Muslims and non-Muslims alike
(quite a treat).

Along the causeway were goats being fed scraps of plants, beggars of
all kinds - blind, handicapped, loud, silent... There were men
selling bright green cloths with arabic inscriptions, others selling
bangles, shoes, purses - the normal fare for street stalls.

The weather was nice - we had a few quick showers here and there, but
overall the breeze from the Arabian Sea was refreshing. Palm trees
swayed in this breeze, encircling the courtyard of the mosque. Some
people left their shoes to enter its interior, while others (like me)
lingered in the courtyard.

After that, we headed to Crawford Market - a famed market area we
hadn't visited yet. We found the area to be swarming with people,
taxis and hand-pulled carts. The fruit and vegetable section smelled
delicious - a nice respite from the other smells in the area.

We finished our little trip with a light dinner of pav bhaji, dosas,
and two cups of chai!

After gazing out across teeming communities from the train everyday, my first experience wandering through the narrow alleys of a Bombay slum was pretty fascinating. 

I and 8 other people - the full staff we have for the English-medium school we are opening - went into the school's adjacent community to spread awareness about the school and hopefully get about 20 more students for our preschool, kindergarten, and first grade classes. 

Stepping off the main road, we crossed a run-down dead-end and approached the entrance of the community. A rusted metal gateway, banner flying above, greeted us as we moved under it and into the beginning of a maze of activity. 

To our left, a small group of young men discussed auto parts for a truck they were working on. An old women carrying a basket of goods on her head passed us, giving an indifferent look at our obvious newness to the area. 

To our right, a man sat on the street, pounding metal against metal. Small children ran through the alleyway, which was just big enough for a taxi to squeeze through, which it did, letting out a family of four. 

We made our way to a woman's house whom some of our team had spoke with earlier. The woman planned on enrolling her son in our school, and expressed interest in helping at the school also. After a few wrong turns, we finally arrived at her humble home. 

Tucked into a back alley, she greeted us from the narrow wooden ladder leading to her upstairs abode, small daughter in her arms. On the bottom floor, five men sat in a dark, dank room, frying 'pani puri', or puffed dough balls, the infamous street snack found on corners all over the city. 

We spoke to the woman for some time, and smiled and greeted the children all around. Finally, we split into two groups, each with a handful of large hand-made banners and flyers, to distribute throughout the community and raise awareness about our new school. 

We passed through narrow alleyways, following the path of small gulleys of running water between two-story make-shift structures housing a guessed average of about 6 or more family members in each small apartment... rooms which are the size of a typical western kitchen or child's small bedroom.

Some women knelt in front of their homes scrubbing laundry on the stone ground. Others came out to see who we were. Children ran to and fro, everywhere we looked.

A pair of goats sat lazily in the sun, while a flock of ducks bathed in a small puddle. Around another corner, a small litter of very young puppies hid behind a bucket, while a green parrot gnawed on a mango in a cage hung from a family's porch.

Alleyways often opened into small sunny courtyards of open space, where a shrine was often placed. Here, the air flowed a little easier and sometimes a tree provided shade. In one such courtyard, a group of old men sat idly between the walls of an open-front stage.

Although much of the community was built from scraps, the scraps used were often good-as-new. One home had a brand new, thick wooden door, complete with grooved decorations. Another home sported light green marble walls around its front door. Some families sat watching tv on shining white tiled floors.

The abundance of life and activity within the community was astounding.

I feel much more confident now in my goal to help foster confidence, curiosity, and a sense of agency among the children who will be our students, for they already have access to so much of the resources they need to create better lives for themselves and their communities, however they see fit.

The Rains made their first appearance last night, as we celebrated our second wedding anniversary together, seated on a cozy blue couch in a cocktail lounge, over mini samosas and pints of Kingfisher.

While reminiscing about our lives together in California, Japan, and now India, flashes of blue lightening caught our eye through the aquarium wall between us and the street, fish lazily observing our evening.

At night, we fell asleep to the nostalgic scent of fresh rain on pavement, and slept soundly in the first cool hint of a new season.

After the final day of a week-long training workshop with my organization in downtown Mumbai, Will met me on Saturday afternoon for relaxing evening in the city.

We took a leisurely stroll along Marine Drive, on the Arabian coast, then headed for a nice dinner in Colaba...


To see more photos of the evening, click here

Happy Birthday to Surenity! 

My 29th birthday was spent in India this year, travelling back from a week-long work retreat, to wonderful Will! Awaiting me, along with my exceptional husband was a dinner of fresh hummus, flat bread, tomatoes and onions, a heart-shaped chocolate cake, and a coffee press to wake us up each morning. Hooray! 

Phone calls from all over California kept me busy much of the evening with love and laughter... thanks everyone! 

And, as always, the highlight of the evening was watching the latest downloaded episode of LOST. Oh, we are so hooked it's ridiculous. 

On to year 29!

I spent 6 days and 5 nights in the town of Lonavla, about an hour from our home, on a professional retreat with the NGO I'm working for, and it was a great experience. 

Despite coming down with either a very nasty bug or some sort of food poisoning on the second day, and spending almost 2 days in bed, the rest of the time was spent meeting and interacting with about 35 new faces, all with similar hopes and dreams of a better world through education. 

The retreat was held at a training center, which had a small hotel, dining hall, conference room, gardens, an outdoor pavilion, a tennis court, barbeque, you name it. The place was gorgeous. 

We attended workshops from 7am until about 11pm every day, which of course tired most of us out pretty significantly. But, it was all worth it all the way through. We focused on poverty and the need to provide solid, meaningful education to those in need, in order for those who live in poverty to lift themselves out through increased opportunities. 

In short, it was a wonderful time, I learned a lot, and solidified my thoughts about what I'm doing and where we're both headed. 

But I missed home, and I'm glad to be back! 

I stood on an open-air train platform one day this week, waiting in the afternoon humidity, overhead fans whirring noisily above. Old women in worn saris sat lazily on the benches, quietly discussing the gossip of the day. Men in slacks dialed buttons on their cell phones, while older men with less fortunate lives smoked bidis and spat on the ground. 

A large black crow and its buddies swooped down onto the empty tracks, searching for morsels to peck at, or stems to carry off. After some deliberation, one crow decided upon a small twig, and with just a little effort, lifted itself into the air, carrying the twig precariously in its beak. It landed on the metal support beams above the tracks, and placed the twig crosswise, adding it to a small collection of similarly shaped items. The crow looked at the new twig, then adjusted the placement with its beak, once, then twice, before settling on the best angle. Surveying its surroundings, the crow then jumped into the abyss of sweltering empty space and flew to join others in a congregation just down the way. 

As I looked up at the small collection of twigs, collected and carefully positioned by the crow, I realized that in fact they were not twigs, but that many of them were long pieces of rubber-coated wire and plastic zip-ties - the beginnings of a make-shift nest, with whatever materials the crow found suitable among the rubbish and chaos of this massive city. 

Images of women washing clothes, men soaping up from buckets for their bath, children playing with sticks and garbage came to me, and the dwellings in which those people find themselves was suddenly familiar. Walls of corrugated sheet metal, window curtains of discarded canvas signs, roofs covered in old rags, soccer fields of trash. Yet not everything is discarded goods. Handmade wooden ladders lead to second-story rooms made of earthen bricks. Stones and bricks are stacked into pathway walls.

We all have to make do with what we've got.

You know you're in India when you look outside your apartment window

and the beggar in the street looks like this:

Got on the train yesterday at 5:16pm. The rush hour had not yet flooded the trains with bodies, and one woman was all that there was in the ladies' first class car. She sat next to the window, feet up on the bench opposite her. I sat across from her, glanced at the sparkling bangles around her wrist, the colorful weave of her salwaar kameez, the bottoms of her bare feet next to me. As I opened my book to its mark, and prepared to dig into the story, I noticed that her head was also buried in a book - Rich Dad, Poor Dad. It jolted me slightly to see such a well-known book from the U.S. in the hands of a middle-aged Indian woman, whizzing through the city on the other side of the world. Culture really can travel far. 

Well, the Indian summer is here, and what a summer it is. 

The temperature itself is not quite so bad, but the humidity is what catches us off guard. I've never drank so much water in my life. We had our first cloudy morning here today - relatively low cumulus clouds, dark gray on the bottom... a sign of things to come.

Otherwise, life is trucking along fine here. At work, I'm in the middle of getting good, solid curriculum ready for our school to open in June, and getting a clear idea of where I'll be taking the kids throughout the year, and what they'll be able to do at the end of it. 

We've been staying close to home on the weekends, as the time to rest and relax is so enjoyable just being in our sunny apartment. We discovered a movie theater in the neighborhood that shows some English films, so we've been taking advantage of that. 170 rupees / person for the best seats, which is about $3. Not bad.

We saw Iron Man last weekend, and loved it - full of action, adventure, romance, and to top it all off, a great plot! Highly recommended, even if you think you don't like comic-book action heroes.

The Firecracker Man must have come to Vashi. There have been firecrackers, big and small, going off in the streets throughout the evening this week. We passed by two young men setting up a 4-foot long string of little crackers in a courtyard on our way home today. 

Some of them aren't so little, either. Last night we watched a whole haphazard show of large, event-size crackers being launched from the central courtyard of a small apartment complex next to ours. Most of the crackers exploded just barely above the 3-story building. 

I set off some firecrackers in one of my classes today, too. 

I've been trying all kinds of ways to get this particular class to settle down, not interrupt me or each other, raise their hands to speak, and maintain a general civility in the classroom. Well, today I had had enough, and I stopped the loud raucous and made everyone get out their notebooks and write a page-long essay about the meaning of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Then I had each student stand up and read their essay to the class. Definitions they gave never went past "Respect means listening to someone when they're talking" and "Respect means obeying". 

So, I decided to really lay into them, enlightening them to the fact that they obviously have no idea what respect means, because it does not mean to listen, and it certainly does not mean to obey. 

They all took it like the teenagers they are, with a grin and puppy-dog eyes, or else assumed disinterest. They all tried to give apologies, and I just told them that I don't want apologies, because if they haven't learned what it means to be respectful, then I'm the one who's sorry, and I hope they can forgive themselves!! 

Sigh... at least it was the first time I've gotten a room full of teenagers to be completely silent!

Last weekend Serenity and I took a trip out of the city for the first time. We took a 5 hour bus ride to the town of Nashik in the Western Ghats (where we promptly missed our stop and were dumped on the side of the road 2 miles outside of Nashik).

After sharing an autorickshaw back into town (there were seven of us on the rickshaw, including the driver) we settled in at our hotel and enjoyed having cable TV (well, actually, simply enjoyed having TV - period).

Early the next morning, we took another bus 30 minutes to the town of Trymbukshwar, where the river Godavari begins. The Godavari is kind of like the Ganges for Southern India - it begins in Nashik and runs all the way southeast and dumps out on the eastern coast. Hindu pilgrims travel from all over India and hike up to the top of the mountain where a spring starts the great river.

The town of Trymbukshwar was definitely India - there was an open air temple in town that surrounded a big pool, where pilgrims bathed in the holy waters of the Godavari. We were asked to take pictures with several people - they don't get foreigners out here.

We just kind of wandered toward what looked like the right mountain, snaking our way through small roads of the town. We met one guy who was also going to the mountain, and luckily he showed us the way.

The area reminded us both of a big Upper Bidwell Park - but with monkeys. It was the dry season, so only a few areas had green trees, but it was beautiful.

Once we got out of the town, we started up the mountain.

Eventually we reached the rock cliffs where the real climbing began.

Once we reached the base of the rock cliffs, we had to climb ancient steps. They were carved deep into the rock, and you ended up passing through steep steps with high rock walls on either side, with barely enough room for two people to pass. At one point there was a tunnel going up through the rock.

You can see here the steps high above us at one point.

The challenging part of this climb wasn't the steep steps, or the heat. It was the crazy monkeys that lined the steps above your head. They knew people were basically trapped in there, and they sat above you so they were at least eye-level.

Then they tried to take what they could. I'd have pictures, but they would have stolen my camera.

I was carrying a water bottle, and one little monkey got on the steps in front of me and tried to face me down for it. I yelled and stamped my foot, but he just kept coming for us, even growling. He had the primate "play face" on, so I think he wasn't going to bite - he thought it was a game.

Someone behind us told me that he wanted the water bottle, and to hide it. So I stuffed it in my backpack. We eventually chased the monkey off...but all of a sudden Serenity yelled at me, and I turned around to see the monkey with both hands in my backpack, yanking on the water bottle trying to take it out of my pack. I had to swat him off.

I've never been scared of a little monkey before. But seriously, you're like fish in a fishbowl on these steps - and those monkeys know they have you trapped.

Finally, we reached the top where there was a Hindu temple dedicated to the river Godavari. The spring wasn't much to speak of this time of year, but there was a little area that could fill up with water (if there was some) inside, next to a cow statue and a Shiva statue.

One monkey got on top of the temple, much to the abhorrence of the pilgrims, who began shouting at him and throwing pebbles trying to get him off the top - I think it was an insult.

That just riled the monkey up more. He began jumping up and down on top, which just made the small crowd below start yelling more. Finally, the crowd coaxed him down by bribing him with food. Why do I think this monkey knew he could extort food by desecrating the temple?


This is the view looking down toward the town, where we just climbed up. Down below there are little grass huts where people sell water or "lemon water."

Everyone we met was real friendly, and a group of guys from Gujarat climbed most of the way with us. They insisted on buying Serenity and I a glass of lemon water at one of these huts, saying that we "were their guests."
It was another one of those "can't really say no" situations...and despite knowing the water came from a nearby open well (which wasn't too clean), we felt we had no choice.

It's been 48 hours - no violent stomach spasms yet.

At the top of the mountain, we sat and ate next to some pilgrims. They didn't speak English, but were real friendly and shared their food with us.

We had a great, short trip. And it was nice to come back to Mumbai. Though it's hot now.

I'm continually surprised at how friendly people are. You'd think a country with a billion people would get sick of other people, but it's the opposite. While walking through a playground in Nashik Saturday evening, two young boys came up and wanted to talk with us. They knew a little English.

Later, three blocks away, the same kid tapped me from behind. He showed me a 100 rupee bill and asked if he could "buy some American coins." I hated to disappoint him, but I told him I had none.


Lastly, this is a photo I took from the safety of our apartment on Holi, the festival of color where everyone attacks each other with powder dye and water balloons. This group of young men had just finished "playing Holi."

Serenity is getting busier by the day, preparing for school. They are looking for a "school anthem," something easy, short, and appropriate for the little kids to sing everyday. If anyone has any suggestions, please let us know.

I have also started updating my blog again, stuff about India and leftover stuff from Afghanistan that I never posted. Please ignore anything you find offensive...
http://www.internationalpoliticalwill.com/

Two weeks ago, I went to Bandra (a neighborhood of Mumbai) to help out with a volunteer's photography project at one of Akanksha's centers. She had been conducting lessons on photography with the kids, and I went to help her take all 12 of the kids around their neighborhood (which is very commercial) to learn how to take pictures. The kids were between 11 and 14 years old. 

We all had a great time!

One of the things the kids had told us they wanted to photograph was the "Magic Steps" in a popular market district. As the other volunteer and I had no idea what these were, and had never heard of them, we said "sure" and followed the kids as they made their way around the market, choosing what to take pictures of. 

Then, as we passed by an open-front department store, the kids started pointing and exclaiming, "the Magic Steps!!" Lo and behold was an escalator. 

Ah, the Magic Steps! 

We all went to the base of the escalator, and one kid was chosen by his friends to be the photographer. The other kids, with bright smiles painted all over their faces, approached the bottom of the steps and waited for our "go". Then, when the photographer was ready, the other kids hesitantly but excitedly stepped onto the moving "magic steps", and turned around to give peace signs and pose extravagantly with each other.

Snap! Flash! The kids cheered and turned around to await the final step at the top, then jumped off like kids on a playground. 

Then I noticed one of the girls was still standing next to me - a quiet, 12 year old girl, grinning silently. When I asked whether she was going to ride the magic steps, she just looked at me in expectant smile, and said she was scared! 

So, I took her by the hand, and we walked to the bottom of the steps. I counted aloud "1, 2, 3!", and she stepped onto the moving stairway with me, and enjoyed the ride. I coaxed her to take the final step off the stairs at the top, and she was relieved and excited that she had managed to use the escalator. 

As this all took place, the other volunteer and I stood and smiled at each other, both of us in awe that the "Magic Steps" had turned out to be an escalator. We relished the absolute glee that radiated from the kids as they happily, yet responsibly, took part in using a technology that children their age in clean, tree-lined, well-lit neighborhoods likely experience on a weekly or monthly basis. 

And so, the Magic Steps became an exciting part of modern life for us as well.

We finally got out of the city. Our first venture out in more than a
month.

Just north of the city (actually, surrounded by the city) is Sanjay
Ghandi National Park, a 104-square kilometer protected area of
jungle. It is the dry season, so it was pretty dry and hot (they
haven't had rain here since probably September). However, we're keen
to go back once the rains come, because you can tell it gets filled
in with greenery.

We rode the local trains about 1 1/2 hours to get there, and then
took a short "van" ride to the caves. They are part of a Buddhist
monastery that is 1,900 years old. They are a bunch of homes and
temples that were carved out of a giant rock outcropping at the top
of a hill in the jungle. It was quite impressive - kind of reminded
me of the Anasazi cliff-dwellings.

We found one old monk's cave and sat on the steps of his "porch". We
had a view of the city way off in the distance. The air was
surprisingly clear, even in the city. But out at the park, we
actually saw blue sky and clouds - another first in India. Sitting
on the steps, with no one around, I actually had 15 minutes of peace
- nothing but birds and cicadas. No horns, traffic, motors, people,
etc. It was literally the first time we've had peace since early
February when we went camping north of San Francisco.

Today (Monday) was even clearer - so I snapped a couple of photos
from our apartment so you can see the difference. I also got a photo
from the other side of our apartment, looking out over the bay (which
is usually lost in the smog).

Work is busy for both of us, and I am now helping out at a center
twice a week with some 11-14 year old kids. They are pretty well-
behaved; I think I lucked out. It's nice to get out of the office
and help someone that can really use some help. Plus my work said I
didn't have to make up the hours...my job is pretty much just get the
work done and who cares how many hours it takes you. Most of my co-
workers take naps at their desk, and half of them don't even show up
2 days out of the week.

Click on the Flickr link to see the photos.

--Will (& Serenity)

I went to one of the educational centers on Monday to meet the teachers there so I can start going twice a week to help out. 

The kids were  8 and 9 years old, unruly and out of control, but for the most part good natured. I'm taking Will there tomorrow (Friday) so he can start going on Thursdays and Fridays in the afternoons also.  You should have seen the look on the one teacher's face when I said there would be two of us coming to help out -- she really needs the help! Apparently the particular class hasn't had a steady teacher EVER, so no wonder they have no concept of consistency or good behavior! 

Basically the 'centers' are two apartments in a large apartment complex. The complex was built by the government to house a community whose legal slums were demolished last year by government-permitted construction projects. So, the complex is run-down, there's dirty kids and chickens running around, and who knows what else. 

The whole neighborhood in general is a very poor area -- bad road conditions, lots of slum housing, trash and dirty water, etc. It's amazing to think about what the kids deal with on a daily basis, not to mention what their family lives are probably like.  

Also, there is a large Muslim population in the area, so that means it's common to see women in the full black burqa, green flags flying from rooftops (green is the color of Islam), and the call to prayer was blasting over loudspeakers when I left around 5:30 in the afternoon. -- Makes for some sights that we certainly don't see at home! 

I wonder if other Americans living in places like this are equally curious about Muslim culture? It seems like since 9/11 it has been an 'us versus them' conception between 'east and west'. I feel privileged to be able to experience 'the east' for what it really is here... whatever that is! 

So I'm staying busy. I'm trying to be out of the office as much as possible - I'm teaching two classes on Thursday afternoons across town, will be visiting the centers twice a week in the afternoons, and next week I'm starting a language course in the mornings for teachers-in-training... to boost their English skills. 

Hope everyone is doing great! 

I drew this picture after watching this lovely woman go by on the back of a motorcycle the other day. I didn't have my camera with me, and probably couldn't have gotten a photo anyway, but I'm intrigued for some reason by Muslim women here - the ways in which they are the same and different from their Hindu counterparts. For instance, they both wear bright colors, but when in public, the Muslim woman covers up... only the jingles of her foot jewelry and the bright colors at the bottom of her pants give her away.

This woman and man were laughing and talking while in a traffic jam. The woman's eyes showed laughter and joy, and she was obviously comfortable on the bike. She was young, and her small figure was just barely visible under her black cover. The invisibility of her body except for her eyes, which were laughing, and the way in which she sat with ease, lended a mystery to her character that I wish I could know more about... and who is this young man driving the motorcycle? Her husband? Her secret boyfriend? A classmate? Her brother? When does she get to take off the chador? At work? Only at home? Is this a special occasion or does she get a ride on the back of a motorcycle every day? (I have seen this same scene at other times). Anyway, go ahead, ponder.


And then -- there's this delightful dish that we discovered accidentally from the place where we eat so many of our meals...

Behold,

Kashmiri Naan.


This is a soft slice of naan bread, filled with Indian cottage cheese and cilantro, then topped with candied beets, fresh sliced apples, cashew nuts, fruit jam, cilantro, and a cherry.

Like Will says -- "If this is what they eat in Kashmir, no wonder India and Pakistan fight over it!!!"

This afternoon I watched as two teenage boys were reprimanded by a
woman for being on the ladies-only train car. In a car full of women,
one raised her voice to let the teenage boys know it's not okay to be
on the ladies' car.

Henna-covered arms waved through the air as the woman let her
thoughts be known, while the rest of us looked on... the boys of
course got off quickly at the next station.

Riding the train can sometimes be a pain, but it is nonetheless a fascinating experience here in Mumbai...

Today, as I gazed out at the slums and the poverty that is so much of this city, I got a soundtrack to the sites.

Coming from somewhere in a nearby 2nd class car, loud bells, drums, and boisterous singing filled the air as the Indian city swept by.

There is something about the ringing, chanting, and festivity-like quality to the sounds of acoustic, tribal or religious music that turn an otherwise drab morning into a colorful experience for the ears.

Twice now, I have hopped off the train and strained to catch a glimpse of these musicians, as the train leaves the station, wondering how in the world they find space in the train cars to play their music, and twice now, I have seen not even the slightest trace of this band of men. They are swallowed up by the masses, hidden away from sight among the throngs of people -- only their music permeates the crowds.

Will says: "I don't know, that laundry is pretty cheap... Seems too cheap". 

He's been taking his shirts and pants to a young man just around the corner to be washed and ironed. He drops them off one day, and picks them up about a day or two later. 2 shirts and 2 pants -- 10 rupees he's charged. (That's about $0.25). 

Getting ready to leave the house on Sunday morning, Will starts to think about the clothes he's been getting back from the launders. They just don't smell that fresh. 

Come to think of it, that dirt around the collar hasn't gotten any lighter either. 

A conversation with the man next door, out in the hallway, brings more light to that increasingly funky smell... 10 rupees happens to be about what the neighbor pays to have his clothes ironed - only. 

"Just a local boy" our neighbor says of the young man with our laundry.

Then Will and I think back to what that young man around the corner is doing every time we stop by -- he's ironing. 

Do you know what that means? 

That means that Will has not worn a clean shirt since we arrived in India - over a month ago. 

Let's just say the colors of India I saw as I poured the soapy water out while washing those shirts in our big laundry bucket was not bright blue, orange or red -- it was black.

Had a good day at work - did a lot of brainstorming and am helping coordinate the how the new school will operate on a daily basis.

I left at the same time as a co-worker so took a train home with her. She gets off at the stop before mine, so we rode together, which was really nice, although I went on the 2nd class train with her instead of 1st class like I usually go by myself, and we had nice conversation, but while crowded like sardines - oh well! I always take the ladies' car, so at least it's just other women I'm crowded in with.

The price difference: 2nd class -- 7 rupees // 1st class -- 87 rupees. Pretty significant!

The only difference in 1st class is that people have to pay a lot more, so there's not as many people -- otherwise it's the same train car.

Today in the train car I was squished with, among many, many others, women in every color of sari and salwar kameez you can imagine, and some you've never imagined, a woman holding a large drum, and old woman trying to sit on the floor, business-like women, muslim women in full black cover, little school boys (they're allowed to ride the ladies' car until 12 years old).... and the list goes on.

Always someone or something to look at!

I uploaded a few photos from my walk to work this morning, right before the batteries died in my camera.

It's an interesting walk from the train station to the office. Once I cross the busy road with traffic coming, never stopping, from 6 directions, I walk through a few streets filled with vendors, kids, oxen, trucks blaring hindi music, the list goes on.

When I cross through the gates into the office complex, I give a big sigh... phew!

I think what bothered me the most about the drunk lady in the restaurant is two-fold:

1) In a city of 20 million people, the first obnoxious, irresponsible drunk person we came across was NOT Indian. I don't understand why that is.

2) Here was a woman with the ability to provide her children with the greatest gift - an education. She obviously had the financial means to afford her children some education and, therefore, a future. But she didn't.

The American education system should be our number one export. It may have some shortcomings on the K-12 level, and we be able to learn something from Japan on that, but considering the outstanding University system, America is above the rest by far. And that education system, with all it's faults, is the number one reason why we (and myself, specifically) have the ability to sit around and think about reasons why things are they way they are - and also, we can think about how to make them better.

What was so disappointing to me, is that this woman had the chance to afford her children that gift...and wasn't going to take it. Apparently, because of alcohol.

But my question still remains - why does it seem that alcohol is not a serious problem like it is elsewhere?? (meaning Europe, North America and perhaps, Africa - I don't know, I've never been to Africa.).

I thought affluence might have something to do with it, but the Japanese are extremely affluent and don't have the social problems America does with alcohol, so that doesn't explain it.

Anyone have any ideas?

First of all, I have to address the road "work" and the Indian policy of hiring as many people for one job as possible.

I'm convinced that if there is a 100 foot section of sidewalk or road anywhere in this city, someone will dig it up.  I think it's a form of job creation. 

This country seems to have a knack for providing a ton of jobs, but they probably all pay crap.  Every restaurant, no matter how busy, has at least 10 guys standing around watching you eat, one waiting to take your glasses when you're done, one waiting to wipe the table, one waiting to take your order, etc.  And then when you order your meal, the waiter turns around and repeats it to another waiter who then goes to the kitchen and repeats it to the cook.  And most waiters, busboys, etc. are barefoot.  Can you imagine?  You can't even get service in McDonalds in the States without shoes...much less having the people serving your food sans shoes.

We walked past a jewelry store last night that had three small counters, each with 5 employees behind them, for all of 7-10 customers.

Yet trying to get someone to come to your house to do some work is a pain in the ass.  The gas guy was supposed to come before noon on Saturday, and when I called the office at 1 p.m., after being hung up on TWICE, finally some woman got on the line and told me he would be there by 6 p.m.  Right.  Conveniently, 6 p.m. was when the office closed, hence I couldn't keep calling and complaining.  We'll see when we get the gas stove.

Walking on the sidewalk is like going through an obstacle course.  If you aren't dodging open manholes, you're avoiding the bricks that are piled up, or the curb that has been removed and laid to rest on the sidewalk, or a pile of one-foot diameter concrete water mains that someone has left there...or the occasional dead rat.  Given how many dogs there are wandering around, it's a wonder avoiding dog shit isn't a huge problem.  I haven't figured out where the dogs are all going, but maybe they have taken on cat like qualities and are digging holes and covering it up.

By the way, today qualifies as a "toxic" air quality day.  I cant see more than a half-mile.

However, I don't think I would like to be anywhere else.  The people here are laid back and friendly, and I'm amazed at how hard everyone works. 

Even the beggars...they are determined folk, and are out there everyday, in the heat, pollution, dust, scrambling for a few rupees.  I've watched the locals and realized saying "no" doesn't work - instead you give a little click with your mouth and shake your head to the side once...miraculously, I've turned beggar kids back from ten feet away with a preemptive "click."  And if they are really persistent, you just have to get over your western-culture barrier of avoiding physical contact.  It seems mean, but if push comes to shove, and they won't let you walk freely down the sidewalk, you just have to push them away.  But here in Mumbai, there aren't many tourists and the beggars aren't really much of a nusiance. In Delhi the beggars were much more persistent and annoying.  And here in Vashi, there are NO tourists whatsoever, so you don't get targeted anymore really than locals do.

However, walking past a woman sitting in the dirt, with her baby laying naked in the dirt and trash next to her, is tough.  It's happened a couple of times, where I've seriously wondered if the kid was dead.  If not dead yet, it was only a matter of time.  But there's not much you can do, especially now that we are on an Indian salary.  Our money doesn't go that far to be able to afford even giving a couple of rupees...and since we do kind of stand out as white folk, we have to be careful not to get a reputation as the "foreigners that hand out money" in the neighborhood.

At work, I've noticed a big difference in how women act.  They are aggressive, outspoken, assertive and NOT intimidated by men.  It's quite a change from Japan.  I had a meeting at work, and the women dominated it.  They feel free to interrupt, speak their mind, and NEVER apologize for anything. 

My work week is slow on thursday and Friday, so I think soon I can start volunteering at one of the centers from the NGO Serenity is working at.  There is one just a short train ride away, and I can spend a couple of hours in the afternoon with the kids.  I think that is the only way to really help anyone, cause handing out spare change seems only to solve the problem temporarily and really probably only serves to ease your own conscience. 

This is kind of just a rambling post, but lastly, I'd like to address an uncomfortable incident last night that reminded me of a problem that I can definitely now identify as "non-eastern."

Alcohol seems to be a curse upon largely western countries of the world.  Japanese love to drink, but as I've mentioned before, have a certain social responsibility that comes with it that deters aggressiveness, misbehavior, etc.  In Afghanistan and the UAE, alcohol was illegal (only consumed by the tourists in Dubai), so that area of the world doesn't seem to have a problem like in the States.  And here in India, alcohol is available, but not as popular (likely because of cost).  Even so, I haven't seen any evidence of any serious or chronic alcohol-related problems...no loud drunks, no aggressive, fighting drunks, etc.

But last night, while eating our dinner inside a restaurant, in walked a woman and her two kids.  I heard her talking to the kids as we walked past, telling them to "make it quick."  Obviously they were stopping just to use the toilet.  She had a slight African sounding accent, but appeared western in most respects.  She was well-dressed and was financially well-off. 

One of her kids, probably about seven or eight years old, came over to our table, and without saying a word, reached over and grabbed one of the little licorice candies they give you here after a meal.  Serenity told her to hold out her hand and she would give her some, but the girl didn't respond - didnt say a word, and acted like she didn't understand, though obviously her mother spoke to her in perfect English.

Then the mother came over to our table, and obviously drunk, started a conversation.  She didn't have much of an accent, and my guess would be she wasn't straight off the boat from Kenya, where she said she was from.  Anyway, the waiters were uncomfortably trying to usher her and her kids out of the restaurant, but she was to drunk and was oblivious to everything around her. 

Then her kid came back over, and again without saying a word, grabbed two huge handfuls of the candy from the tray.  meanwhile, her older brother was bouncing and hitting the back of Serenity's chair as hard and as fast as he could.  The mother was oblivious, continuing on with her drunken conversation that only she thought was appropriate. 

I realized that her kids didn't know how to communicate with anyone.  It wasnt the language, it was the complete lack of structure, attention, proper guidance, etc.  The little girl didnt know how to talk to someone normally.  It was sad.

Finally the waiter lost it and pushed the two kids out the door.  The mother still didn't notice.  She went over to another table and tried  another inappropriate conversation with another couple, while her kids were out on the street.  She was barely aware they were around.

I was bothered because here was someone who had the financial means to be able to provide for her kids, as opposed to the sea of poverty surrounding us.  And yet she couldn't.  Alcohol had taken that from her.

The beggars, the kids living on the street that probably bathe once a month, and live off of scraps and garbage, know how to communicate with others.  they may be poor, but at least their parents know how to instill some semblance of social conduct.  They don't grab what isn't theirs.  They respond when spoken to.  The difference seems to be alcohol.

I don't know why so many people have a hard time controlling alcohol.  And I don't know why it's something that we haven't seen inherent in Japanese, UAE, AFghan and now Indian society.  I'm not saying it isn't existent in any of those societies, but it doesn't seem as common.  And I think this is something many societies see in American society, and has something to do with their resisting any American-culture saturation of their own.  They are scared that it may become a problem.

Anyway, that was my rant.  It's 11:40 am on Sunday, and the gas guys just showed up.  Better late than never, and come on, it's a Sunday....where else can you get the gas company to do anything on a Sunday?  Like I said...hardworking.

Hi all ~

We purchased and assembled our first piece of furniture this week -
a desk!
Next is a stove with a gas tank, and finally, mother of all
appliances...

a fridge. We hope.

Then we can start grocery shopping at the colorful market nearby and
taking leftovers to work for lunches everyday.

We're also getting curtain rods put in today supposedly as well.

I say 'supposedly' because there is definitely a lack of timeliness
here. Guess people probably call it "Indian time".

Waiting 2, 3, 4 hours for something to happen that was supposed to
happen when you showed up is what it's all about here it seems.

Oh, and they're digging up the streets and side walks left and right.
We've been watching the very big main road in front of our apartment
get slowly, slowly laid with concrete. Then just the other day they
started digging up the little street on the other side of our
building. Then, this morning I watched as laborers were digging up
bricks from the entire sidewalk on the other side of the street.

No idea what it'll all look like when they're done... if they ever are!

Anyway, that's what's happening!

Hi all!

 

Ok, I know this blog posting is long, long overdue, but at least here it is!

 

We are now almost officially living in Mumbai. (We'll register with the foreign office on Monday).

 

We are living in Navi Mumbai (or New Mumbai), just across an inlet of the Arabian Sea from the main city. We are in the neighborhood of Vashi in Navi Mumbai.

 

We have a lovely, brand-new 'flat' (yes, we're in former-British India), on the 10th floor of a 15-story building right in the middle of the city. Grocery shopping, clothes shopping, restaurants, an internet cafe, and international calling booths are all in easy walking distance, and the train station is a 10 min. walk away. Will's work is just next to the station.

 

So, we are still getting settled, but will be finishing our first week of work here. Will travelled far for training from Monday to Wednesday, but now he's going to his regular office.

 

As for me, I went to the Akanksha office on Monday and Tuesday, and it took me about 45 min - not bad at all. But, on the first day, I actually MISSED two trains because they were SO packed that not a single soul could add themselves to the car -- although some tried. The pictures you see, if you've seen them, of Indian trains packed to the bone and people hanging out everywhere are real. It's insanity.

 

Akanksha is fantastic. Here's the link to their website: http://www.akanksha.org/

 

I will be the English teacher at the organization's first full-time school. I'll be teaching 5th graders (about 10-11 years old), and will have one homeroom class that I'll meet with at the beginning and end of the day, and be in charge of, basically.

 

The school will have 3 classes of kindergardeners and 2 classes of 5th graders. Then next year those kids will move up a grade and we'll recruit more kindergardeners and 5th graders, so that the school eventually ends up with all grades k - 10.

 

The school goes from June 1st to May 1st. I'll get a week off for Christmas and a week for Diwali (an Indian holiday - research it for us!!). Plus we'll both get other days off - we should have time to explore India to some degree.

 

We will be recruiting children from the slums nearby the school who are not doing well in standard school or aren't going at all. From what I've seen from the trains, I'm really excited to have the opportunity to provide care, support, and education to the kids that need it here.

 

And, at the same time, we are living in an exciting country, an exciting city, and meeting lots of people. We'll be sure to upload photos soon.

 

While I didn't end up on a more long-term basis with the organization in Afghanistan, we are excited to be doing something needed here.

 

Hello to everyone in Japan - we miss you!!

 

Hello to California - we miss you!!

 

Love to everyone!