Today our wonderful volunteer from London left after 1 month of helping us immensely, with our reading project, writing, and just letting the kids learn how to understand a person from London's English!

She was very kind and decided to pay for the children to visit the Nehru Science Museum to watch an IMAX-like film about wildlife in the Serengeti, as her last-day present.

So, we piled all the kids into taxis and headed to the science museum. When we walked into the building, the children clanked their shoes onto the polished tile floor with great gusto, and oooh-ed when we all quietly entered the theatre - a small theatre with a screen that covered both the wall in front of us, on the sides of us, AND above us.

When the lights went out, the kids were all excited..... then the beginning of the film came. The introductory scenes were way bigger than life, and the sounds boomed through the theater. That would have likely gone over smoothly, except that the images confronting the children were dizzying views of wildebeast migrations and lions and vultures eating dead carcasses - within about 30 seconds, about a third of the kids were crying and whimpering!!!

I sat two girls on my lap and whispered "It's just a movie, it's okay!" We pointed at the animals and they said whatever came to mind... they were settling down. Then I looked behind me and saw little Khushi - a delicate, lovely girl whose smarts will carry her far. She looked like she was ready to puke, so I put the other two girls down and went up to have Khushi sit on my lap. She immediately calmed down, and asked me "Didi, what is this?" I told her the same thing, that it's just a movie, and to look at all the animals. (Screen showing pouncing lions, wandering zebras, big-teethed crocodiles).

The rest of the hour-long show went about the same, with the kids pointing out the animals and unsure of what to do when a lion ate something. Everyone smiled for one boy when a cheetah came on-screen --- every single time he is asked about animals in class, he proudly states that CHEETAH! is his favourite animal. He pronounced it when the animal came on the screen too.

As a lion was feasting victoriously on one unfortunate baby deer, Khushi said softly in my ear, "Didi, lion eats children?". "No, no, his favourite food is deer and wildebeast - he doesn't like children to eat!"

So, in the end, we discussed with the children this:

"Did all the animals you saw have babies?"

Kids: "Yes!"

"Did all the animals eat food?"

Kids: "Yes!"  "Didi LION!!"

"Yes, so what is the lion's favourite food?"

Kids: "Deer!" "Buffalo!"

"That's right - a lion also needs to eat because it gets hungry - so, it takes a small animal to eat. Is that okay?"

Kids: "Yes, okay".

"Did you like the movie?"

Kids: "Yes!"

Meanwhile, Khushi's face is twisted and she is pointing her thumb down: "Didi, I don't like lion!"

Well, I don't think they'll forget their "London Didi"'s gift!

Standing in front of my first-graders on Friday, I ask them what the rules of taking tests are.

As usual, many of them raise their hands. One little girl states that we should "not look at friend's paper". Someone else reminds us that we do "not talking".

Then one bright, innocent boy raises his hand, and I call on him. He states, very animatedly and with actions, that
we should not drop our pencil or eraser on the ground, (he demonstrates), then stand up to get it and meanwhile, glance
at our friend's paper (demonstration again).

I look at my co-teacher who is sitting in the back of the room grading papers, and neither of us can contain our laughter
as this seemingly simple technique had never crossed our minds!

These little kids are getting smarter by the day!

As I finished up my cardio work-out at the gym the other day, I was approached by a tall, lanky elderly man. He commented on the color of my skin and then asked me where I was from. I told him, and apparently he had spent the last 40 years in L.A., where he raised a family. Now, he has recently moved back to Mumbai where he was born, to live out his days in a retirement community. He beamed at the convenience of his new housekeepers, maids and cooks - which he did not enjoy the luxury of having in the USA.

As I mentioned that I was indeed the only white-skinned person at the gym, he answered that no, he had also spoken to a tall gentleman recently who was also from the States. I said that that is my husband, and confirmed we were talking about the same man by pointing out his beard.

At that, the elderly man said the following:

"Well, you know, that beard isn't fully grown out, and he's lucky. If it was any longer, I'd think he was a Muslim!"

I laughed awkwardly, we said our "nice talking to you"'s, and I walked away with a grin - man, that guy must be pretty uncomfortable walking around this city then, what with such a large proportion of Muslims! I almost felt sorry for him.

Got my hair cut this week too. 

Sitting in the barber's chair in a hip salon near my house, the guy cutting my hair asked where I was from - 

"America" I said. 

"Ahhhh, Obama! That's great." he replied. 

I smiled and sighed.

Much better than the Bush years. That conversation usually went like this:

Random person: "Where are you from?"

Me: "America"

Random person: "Ah"

pause.

Random person: "This Mr. Bush likes too much war."

Me: "Yes. I know."

awkward chuckles and a sigh.

Of course, we'll see what people say about Obama in the years to come. Will may be right - he may just get a free 4-year pass due to his popularity. 

---------------

Anyway, the haircut was good, although minus the thorough hair washing and head and neck massage with accompanying warm cloth over my eyes, like I got used to in Japan. Now those were salons - for a decent price, too. 

There's something different also about walking out of the salon, feeling great with a new 'do, and passing by an old haggard, soot-covered woman begging on the street. No pretty haircut for her. :-(  What a different world. But then I'd bet she'd enjoy it just as much as I do if she could have one.

What a week in the first grade universe.

- A little boy lied about it being his birthday, and we didn't know he was lying until his mother dropped off his uniform an hour AFTER the class had sung Happy Birthday to him. Why did he lie? It's a mystery hidden in his look of shame upon being questioned. 

- Three struggling kids got their first full marks on the weekly spelling test. I just about fell over. 

- The usual, and not so usual, bathroom emergencies occurred. I won't go into detail. 

- One girl came down with the measles. Not a pretty sight! 

- A certain animated yet shy boy spotted a mosquito on his chair during class and let out a perfectly-pronounced announcement while leaping out of his chair: "MO-SKEE-TOW!!!!!" I wish he'd pay that much attention to lessons.

- Our helper quit. I don't know why - something about false rumours or not working a lot. Anyway, she's gone, and we're lucky to get a sweeping after the day is over now - I'm getting better at the natural-grass broom. I agree with my dad's wife - highly superior over plastic ones. 

- A local radio station came to record the kids for a Valentine's Day show. They didn't really seem like they knew what they were doing, but the kids definitely had a blast, dancing, shouting and singing. 

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?