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.