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.. ??