WLC Interns' Blog

2010-08-10T20:20:00.000-07:00

Namaste to the Motherland

With exactly two days left to go of our five -month stay in Varanasi I find myself constantly cataloging my favorite memories, nostalgically swerving back through them, attempting to grapple with the major transition I am about to make. The following are some of the moments I have been re living:

Back in March I ventured solo off to an evening of classical Indian music. A regular, government sponsored concert series, run over a five- day period where musicians play into the early hours of the morning. I remember sitting cross -legged on the ground listening to the sitar and tabla echo out through the monkey temple and up through the roofless stage into the night sky. Sitting alone, eyes closed, my reality collapsed as the music floated my thoughts into a different realm. I could have been anywhere, let alone in a Hindu temple, half way across the world.

Watching the first hint of monsoons back in May. Early one morning during yoga class, myself and the other students ran with our yoga blankets off the temple to take shelter below in the home of our yoga guru ji. Sipping chi as I looked out on the first of the season’s sheet of water showering the streets. It will continue to amaze me the naturalness and innate ability to treat strangers and guests as warmly as family members.

The maturation of our guesthouse into a home; it did not happen over night but it is no surprise that my enjoyment of this internship increased exponentially the closer my relationships became with the family members I live and work with. Mera ji and Mamta ji fulfilled pseudo mother / sister roles while our brother/ personal chef, Lalu, spoiled us daily with his delicious, home cooked food. We became a family and when it rained whoever was around home ran out and pulled everyone’s clothes in off the line.

I can safely say that food was an integral part of our internship. Gulping down servings of oiling okra subji and tasty aloo gobi, guiltily swallowing as I calculate just how vigorous my workout routine will have to be back in Canada if I indulge in a third / fourth serving, I lose count. Apple pie, cakes, amazing reincarnations of our western favorites, to say we have been spoiled, treated as princesses, waited on hand and foot is not an exaggeration.

The Tulsi Kunj community library fashion police – aka library assistant Sarika ji and her less vocal comrade Chandana ji, swelling my head with praises and compliments for my newest salwar kaeej. Sarika, one day, almost losing her balance as I entered the library in a traditional chudar suit, so overwhelmed with my transformation from a Canadian into “pure Indian”. If I am honest with myself my amassing collection of Indian suits might have been encouraged by her constant praise and approval.

The continual, genuine friendship and pride I feel as a teacher for my tutoring students. The generosity our students have shown us as they freely and regularly invited us into their homes for elaborate meals and hilarious conversations. Without a doubt the last hour each day I spent tutoring was the most enjoyable and rewarding part of my internship.

Thank you World Literacy Canada, thank you to the Yadav family and thank you India…. until we meet again.

2010-08-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

“The Off Season” – You know it’s the off season when…

It was forty five to forty seven degrees for two months straight. We might have been the only westerners in Varanasi; even my beloved yoga teacher vacated his temple studio to take refuge from the heat in the mountains, leaving me stiff and unfocused. It was so hot that showering in ones clothes, for some, became the only reprieve. Yes, it was so hot that the library children looked at me in utter dismay, as my light grey suit soaked its way to a navy blue, as I discovered new sweat glands like Easter eggs.

I believe now that surviving extreme weather builds a special kind of endurance. Entering spring after a long bout of Canadian winter can feel like a rebirth. Similarly, emerging from the extreme heat we have endured over the last five months feels like a triumph. The weather tests and strengthens your endurance in so many ways. Hot weather, I find, has the tendency to amplify current emotional states for example, impatience easily turns to frustration when a heard of cows suddenly blocks your path or their trail of manure throws you off balance. The heat presents you with a choice; you either fight it or slow down. You either shower ten times a day or you learn to accept feeling sweaty. When you choose to slow down, the heat moves you to function in an overall calmer, slower manner, you can’t afford to lose your temper, or get too worked up because it all requires too much energy and will only raise your body temperature. Certain things become unimportant, previous annoyances begin rolling off your back. The heat ironically cools you off. Instead of fighting how your feel, you accept it and learn that, like the weather, this too will pass.

The benefits of health education

2010-07-22T03:17:00.000-07:00

A small but valuable service is provided by WLC in Varanasi and rural communities: health education meetings. During these meetings, members of our Mahila Mandals acquire useful knowledge about health issues that can affect community members’ lives. This past month, I surveyed 10 of the 20 health groups, to check up on where their knowledge level is at and how these meetings might be changing daily lives.
Though knowledge levels varied between communities, there were certain topics that everybody knew about. Oral Rehydration Solution (ORS) is a life-saving, simple treatment for diarrhea and related GI illnesses, and every single mother in every single group knew how to make it and when to use it because they learned about it in health meetings. The benefit of this knowledge may be immeasurable, but I’m certain that at sometime, for one of these women’s family members, it has made the difference between life and death.
And although malaria isn’t a major problem in Varanasi, every year some people in the community contract it. Women at WLC health meetings know how malaria spreads, how they can protect themselves against it, and how to recognize its symptoms. Their use of mosquito nets is high (in some places it's 100%), and when they don’t use a net, they use a mosquito coil. These women are empowered by knowledge that is keeping themselves and their families healthier. They also act as leaders in their community, telling neighbours, in-laws, and co-workers about information they learn at WLC health meetings.
It’s been a pleasure to conduct this survey, and I’m certainly grateful that WLC has declared health education a necessary service for the community. I’m hopeful that WLC can continue to advocate for community health by pursuing avenues in which the rural communities it serves in Ghazipur can build latrines—a vital part of sanitation in the 21st century.

2010-07-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

TOP 10 THINGS I LOVE TO DO IN V CITY !

1. Sitting out on the steps of Assi Ghat listening to Ganga Arti (the daily ceremony that pays tribute to the Ganga river) and sipping on some chai from a cullard (clay) cup.

2. Taking a 20 rupee cycle rickshaw ride to Godwolia market to go shopping for saris, suits, fabric, jewelry, and more. Break time from the shopping madness usually consists of us grabbing a fried snack from a local trustworthy vender. “Aloo tikki anybody?”

3. Taking a 20 rupee cycle riksha ride back from Godwolia to Assi Ghat, and stopping along the way at Cheersagar (sweet shop) to pick up a large box of sweets for all of us to eat at home. Here’s my regular order: “Ek jalebi, do laddu’s, char coconut burfi’s, teen gulab jamun, paanch malpua’s, achaaa ehhh ek hor gulab jamun dado !”

4. Playing Scrabble competitively with the other interns. It is becoming a nightly ritual for Kelly Anne, Andrea and I to play Scrabble before going to bed. Each of us play solely for the purpose of winning, so we can brag about it after ( “ I am the Scrabble Queen….”)

5. Going to I.P. mall every Sunday. This eventful outing usually starts at 3pm, when we auto rickshaw it to I.P mall, grab a late lunch at McDonalds or Dominos and buy tickets for a 4:30 show of a recently released Bollywood movie, usually of my pick of course.

7. Eating cakes and pies. My god! Lalu is the cake master who is making the online game “Cake Mania” into a reality. So far we have tried the vanilla cake, banana cake, carrot cake and my favorite: apple pie cake. Lalu has made us all into little “gol gappas” with his home made yummy treats.

8. Walking, sitting and napping on the roof. Usually after having a large dinner made by Lalu, which of course always includes dessert. I end up walking around the roof 20 times to digest all that deliciousness. Also there are times when it is so hot and my room feels like a sauna, I end up lying down on the cool cement and star gazing. This is when I feel most at peace.

9. Watching goatman yell “chaal hut” to herd his goats up the stairs of Assi Ghat. I know this seems like a boring thing to do on my list, but honestly it’s remarkable to watch how the goats follow this tiny patient man who has such a controlling voice.

10. Calling out Lalu’s name when I come home from work, and asking for the same fried snacks that I know he will not make. A typical conversation sounds like this……
Herleen: “Laluuuuuu! mujko bhooke lagi hai”
Lalu: “ Kha khanna hai ?”
Herleen: “Aloo tikki, GOL GAPPA !, chaat, samosa, jalebi”
Lalu: “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” ….Smile……. “No possible ! ”

Non-reserve trains and grade 11 physics

2010-06-24T05:25:00.001-07:00

In the midst of our week long vacation to the Indian northwest, Andrea, Herleen and I were in the Amritsar train station hoping to buy some non-reserve tickets that would get us halfway to our next destination, Dharamshala. After defending our place in the ladies ticket line and partially dodging bombs of pigeon crap (it landed on my backpack, not head—thank God) we secured our 17 Rs. tickets to Pathankot.
Walking onto the platform was not unlike other train station experiences, save and except a much larger than normal congregation of passengers near the end of the platform on the left. I spoke aloud to myself, “I wonder what they’re all doing over there,” but didn’t give it much more thought. One of us set out to purchase our go-to travel food—Parle-G biscuits—while the other two stood waiting. Not more than ten minutes later, a train moved its way into the station. “Great!” I thought, “It’s on time!” It seemed like a positive omen for our next leg of travel.
My optimistic thoughts took a drastic downturn when I noticed how abnormally short the train was, and I immediately realized why those astute Indian travelers all stood near the end, while we naively stood in the middle.
The train was no more than 8 cars long. My brain went back to high school physics and tried to calculate how fast we needed to run to score a seat on that thing as it glided past us with the cool, indifferent composure of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. The answer came to me quickly, and it was simple; we needed to sprint. Fast.
There was a chaotic herd—think wildebeest stampede circa the Lion King—of people trying to get onto that train. Grown men were flinging themselves into the open windows, as mothers with children displayed no caution in charging toward any open door.
From behind me, I could hear Andrea and Herleen call out, “Kelly Anne!!!!! We’re not gonna make it!!” as I panted with my luggage in the 45 degree weather, trying to find a car with empty seats. The last car on the train had a locked door and initial attempts to open it from the outside were unsuccessful. I moved on.
I had already caught up to the second last car when I heard my name called again. I turned my head quickly to see my fellow interns floating onto the last car of the train in the front of a current of pushy travelers.
I blurted an expletive and adrenaline propelled me toward that open door. Surprisingly, I made it on and found one seat—one glorious, shining, open seat—waiting for me in the first row. I sat down, and settled in for an otherwise non-eventful 3 hour ride to Pathankot.

2010-06-23T21:44:00.000-07:00

Lessons I’ve Learned

If life is a classroom then Varanasi is a lecture hall that I find myself frequenting daily. As time continues to passe, I am able to observe the emotional ebbs and flows this experience has produced for me. Have I been inter-culturally effective? Manulea, our CIDA facilitator with whom we took an ‘intercultural effective course’ prior to our departure to India, might diagnose me as ‘right on track,’ the point in the trip where the graph levels out. With the honeymoon and homesick phases over and done with I am now feeling like a regular Varanasi resident, so much so that I would like to drop in at a city meeting and voice my opinion re: electrical power outages; but that’s a whole different blog.

My Varanasi residency brings with it an uncanny sense of familiarity with the city. The warmth and unmatched Indian hospitality create this feeling, as does the daily encounters with the chai walas, the slow moving street cows who have been great teachers in patience. My patience has also been tested in the Tulsi Kunj library. The combination of deadlines and scorching heat have had an exhausting effect on my energy levels, which are consistently tested by the ‘hard to say no to’ faces of children pleading me to play with them. As I write this blog in the Gandhi room of the Tulsi Kunj library I have eight of these beautiful young faces who are, periodically peering up at me from their books, begging me to entertain them. At last I oblige and show them pictures from a wedding I attended last night.

The epic and long anticipated wedding has come and gone. Shitanshue, The Banaras office’s program director, is married! The excitement for this wedding rippled down to us interns who, I can confidently say, have been looking forward to this wedding since our arrival three and a half months ago. An opportunity to buy and wear a sari might have had something to do with our level of anticipation. Shopping for saris: a monumental event alluded to in a former blog.

After the wedding, on our late night rickshaw ride home, buzzing with happy exhaustion, we began tailing the rear of a tractor pulling a truck full of men chanting a haunting chorus: “Ram Ram Satya Ram, Ram Ram Satya Ram.” The disturbing and evocative mantra moved us from our post wedding contentment into sober reflection. The men were traveling to the Ganges with the body of a dead relative. Their chant translates into “Ram is our God, Ram is our God.” Aware of the stark proximity of life and death in Varanasi, for me this was a palpable example of how vivaciousness lives a rickshaw away from mortality in this city of contrasts.

I remember our first meeting in Toronto when Mamta Mishra described Varanasi’s ability

to cultivate resilience in the absence of the West’s artifice surrounding death; now I can see that she was completely right. Watching a boy fly a kite next to a funeral pyre on a burning ghat or leaving the bliss of a wedding only to run up against a funeral procession has stripped away some of my fear of and blindness towards death. A beautiful Buddhist proverb says: “when you were born you cried and the world rejoiced and when you die the world cries and you rejoice.” Death has a whole new meaning in Varanasi, an ancient meaning. As the days march on I know the lessons I teach my students in the Tulsi library will always fall short of the lessons I continue to learn from the ghats of Varanasi.

It's wedding season in Varanasi. You know what that means.

2010-05-25T04:02:00.000-07:00

I went shopping for saris on Saturday. I was excited to go. It was my first time. I’m going to admit to you now that I didn’t adequately prepare myself for the experience. It was kind of like braving the crowds you encounter at the local mall in the weeks leading up to Christmas, mixed with the fierce competition you’d find at a sample sale for wedding gowns. High estrogen, lots of elbows, and not enough A/C.
So anyway, there we were, in the thick of things, when my fellow intern spotted a beautiful sky blue sequined number from across the room. By the time she navigated her way over to the salesperson, he had made the sale. Blast! We needed to move more quickly—the only problem with this practical advice was that there were literally mountains of saris in our way.
We made our way into our fourth store, and I was getting exhausted. Before the day began, I had an idea of the colour I wanted. That idea had faded. Instead of focusing on my future sari, I was concentrating on ducking my head as henchman threw vibrantly coloured sequined silk over my head from every angle.
I made my way upstairs to where they keep the slightly more pricey saris, which helped slimmed down the density of the crowd. I blurted out some colours in the same manner a gunshot victim would try to name his shooter while the cops questioned him on the emergency room table: “…Buh-lue…….greh-een….dark”. The salesperson held up the first sari that arrived. I caved immediately. “OK…I’ll take it,” I said, in a merciful plea to end the chaos. I emerged from the store dazed, but with an overarching sense of calm. I was victorious, and I had a midnight blue stunner to prove it.

- Kelly Anne

On the cultural similarities of Yo Mama jokes

2010-05-13T22:49:00.000-07:00

Back to tutoring again, and I’m sitting in the back of a classroom, with three bright, albeit rambunctious, teenage boys. I am attempting some semblance of a work period, each student semi-working on whatever subject he pulled out of his backpack that day. An older man who tutors at Tulsi Kunj comes running in, and I catch the words “bunder” and “bahar” coming out of his mouth, along with a river of excitedly spoken Hindi I don’t understand. It’s as if he has transformed into his younger teenage self, eager to invite my students to come gawk at the monkeys outside the building. I’m totally shocked by this abrupt shift in personality; he’s the “Sir” you don’t mess with in TK—kids can’t get away with anything in his class.

Anyway, my students go out, stare, laugh, and throw a couple things near the monkey until my maternal instinct kicks in and I insist they cease and desist. Reluctantly, they come back to the classroom; however, the monkeys remain a source of entertainment. The following dialogue occurs:

Abhishek (to Rajesh, pointing to the monkey outside): That’s your mother. (Cue explosion of laughter).

Rajesh: No, it is your sister. (Second explosion).

Sumit (to both): No, it is your cousin. (Third, extended explosion).

I already knew some things crossed cultures: smiles, love, laughter. I am pleased to add Yo Mama jokes to that list.

2010-05-11T21:27:00.000-07:00

THE MOBILE LIBRARY!

The Library on Wheels

The engine rolls, books bounce, packed lunches clink together in tiffins, I am off again, another day in the mobile library! Sitting in the front sea of the bookmobile with Uttam Ji, the driver/ librarian I feel an undeserved sense of pride, like I am co-pilot in full trust and belief in the arrive of this vehicle at our destinations; in full trust that our books will be read. Cows, manikins draped in saris, topless children, men laughing all pass by as Uttam effortlessly makes his way through a kind of traffic that any description would fail to describe. Slowly my stimulant sensors are given a break as the scenery changes from city to countryside. Dusty, dry fields are scattered with women in saris crouched over in work. Characteristic of my relationship with Uttam I joked before we left that today we are having another mobile library party and it kind of feels like that as Uttam grabs the stereo remote control to turn up the bumping bollywood beats. Flying through the country -side in a truck filled with books, blaring Indian pop music with Uttam smiling ear to ear beside me, life feels pretty grand.

We arrive at our second community for the day a village called Darekhun. The mobile library bumps along, up and down through ditches and gullies finally coming to a halting stop at the designated mobile stand albeit with rotary sign. Per usual the children run over flocking to the truck like bees to honey. Everyone is full of questions and curiosity, who is the new girl? I begin making notes as Uttam hands out the reading mats for the children to lay on the ground. Distracted by the presence of a new visitor, the books are yielding less of their usual appeal. This is my first time in Darekhun. In an effort to channel some of the buoyant energy I decide to play a game with the kids.

I divide the 30 plus kids into two teams, boys and girls. The kids are yelling and running all over the place with a level of anticipation and excitement that makes me think this might be the first structured game some of that have ever played. I can barley deliver the instructions to Uttam who attempts to translate the information to the rowdy hoards. The two teams are physically divided from each other. There are two representatives on each team who are blindfolded. I have two empty water bottles that I show each team. First I take one water bottle and hide it about thirty feet from where they are standing. Everyone on the team can see where I have placed the water bottle except the blindfolded person. I do the same for the other team. It’s a race. Which team can use the best communication skills, while not moving, to guide their representative to the water bottle first!

kids are off. There is a resounding chorus of yelling and screaming and it takes a few tries before the kids understand they cannot physically lead their blindfolded team member to the object. Towards a participant’s final steps to the water bottle you can barley hear the sound of your own voice amongst the directional commands. Even the boys have switched sides and are eagerly trying to help the girl locate the object. At last she stumbles among the bottle, tarring off her blindfold she holds up the water bottle triumphantly. The victory is not hers alone as she hugs all the boys and girls around her that aided her to this success. The competitive component of the game has become obsolete as both teams cheer with excitement for their friend, who, with the help of everybody, regardless of separate teams was able to find the water bottle! I feel like I am at an Indian festival or wedding! The cheering, laughter and hugging, it’s contagious and I too feel like hugging someone. The game ends with an award ceremony where left over women’s day march trophies are distributed to all the blindfolded participants. Working with kids and young adults over the years in a number of positions I can honestly say I have never witnessed the level of pure excitement and joy that I saw here today

A Change of Scenery, A Change of Heart

2010-04-26T02:10:00.000-07:00

Off to Jaipur

It is hard to believe that more than a month of my internship has gone by. Varanasi’s time vortex ushers in an urgency to live more in the moment. It is easy to become consumed in a routine of to- do lists and forget to ‘be’ in the moment you are living. Lucky India’s constant orchestra of horns, auto rickshaws, flutes, the serenade of a man trying to sell potatoes all rouse me from my mind’s chatter. Another great way of shaking up one's routine is a weekend away! Myself and the three other interns recently returned today from a weekend in Jaipur. Kelly Anne, Andrea and Herleen stayed at a hotel while I stayed with my host family whom I lived with two years ago while studying in Jaipur on a semester abroad.

It was eerily nostalgic to be in the city for the second time as a tourist and not as a student. Memories surfaced from my previous semester as my auto rickshaw soared past the University of Rajasthan on its way to Jahwar Nagar, the neighborhood of my host family. It was so lovely to see them again, sad even. Sitting at the kitchen table eating the familiar flavored chapattis and dal felt like going back in time. My host mother, Auntie G is still hilarious as ever in her incessant monitoring of how much and how often each family member is eating. I found myself forcing down servings of subji if only to see the grin widen on her face. Needless to say this will be a week of lighter eating.

A physical departure from Varanasi was a worthwhile escape in more ways than one. First, to those who have an appreciation for tactile, Rajasthan beauty the shopping was amazing. Having previously completed the shopping circuit in Jaipur a few times already, I felt less justified in filling my bags with pashminas and antique wall hangings but decided to indulge nonetheless. Shopping aside, to witness again the vastness of India and Indian culture was a feast for the eyes. Working and living within one city and neighbourhood it is easy to get caught up in the normalcy of a nine to five routine. Visiting Jaipur reminded me of how diverse and dissimilar places in India are from each other. Seeing Jaipur positions Varanasi in a new perspective. The proverb rings true, distance makes the heart grow founder. My short departure from Varanasi has deepened my appreciation for it. As I sat on the train writing this entry in my recycled paper journal I bought around the corner from our guest- house I was tempted to say I am looking forward to going home. It is strange how quickly certain places adopt the essence of home.

“Sleepy from last nights sleep on the train my fogging eyes awake to the passing hazy brown fields wherein coloured saris, hanging from tree branches blow dry in the dust. As my mind begins cataloging this week’s library duties and work goals I feel as though this weekend has imparted to me a new vigor and resolved attempt to luxuriate fully in each moment”.

धन्यवाद (Dhanyavad)

2010-04-22T01:46:00.001-07:00

Dhanyavad to World Literaacy Canada for selecting me for this amazing opportunity to work and live in India. After 10 long years, I am finally back home. Being an Indo-Canadian, I find my experience in India extremely personal because of my religious, cultural and family ties. I have already made a list of all the gurdwaras, families and historical places I need to visit. However, this is my first time in Banaras and I would like to say Dhanyavad to both Meera ji’s family and the WLC India staff. They have been very welcoming and accepting of all four of us. Every morning I am greeted by Meera ji and asked the same three questions “did you sleep okay?”, “how are you feeling?”, and “how are the other girls?”. I have given her the title as my “India Mom”, and enjoy spending time with her.

Just like the other interns, it has also taken me some time to adjust to our new settings. It is hot, and clearly shows on my face as I am always sweating……thank god for the 3 piece Indian suit, the dupataa is very useful. I have also become accustomed to drinking nimbo pani (lemon water) four times a day as it helps me cool off from this heat. On the other hand, I feel like I already belong here as I enjoy speaking in hindi, watching the latest bollywood films, shopping for colorful suits and eating mouth watering sweets….mmmmmmmm jalabi’s !

Again Dhanyavad to WLC, this is truly an enlightening experience !

हेर्लीन (Herleen)

Tutoring Tales

2010-04-21T22:56:00.000-07:00

Growing up in Canadian classrooms, I became accustomed to a certain amount of mischief and an average amount of respect for teachers within the academic environment. In Varanasi I have been filling in as a pseudo-teacher at Tulsi Kunj, and it has produced some mini school/culture revelations for me. Small things like saying Namaste when coming or going, asking permission to leave or enter a classroom, and insisting that I get the best chair in our closet-like tutoring room all demonstrate the significant amount of respect I have been receiving from my students. However, now that I've been tutoring for over a month, I think my Canadian upbringing has infiltrated the tutoring group. I realized how slack I had let my class become last week when a thought crossed my mind about how useful it would be to have a bouncer standing outside to deal with the surplus of kids who want in. I can picture the conversations the students would be having outside in a roped line: “Yeah, this is Kelly Anne didi’s class. It’s the best. She’s oblivious to the rules, we can do whatever we want!”

For anyone reading this who has ever babysat, this situation is akin to the time when you babysat for the family you didn’t really know. Meeting the parents was fine, and the kids seemed nice, very polite. But you're unfamiliar with the household, and when the parents leave, your mind starts to lose track of the list of rules you were given at the start of the evening. All of a sudden it’s 10:30 p.m., the kids' faces are covered with orange popsicle, they’re giggling uncontrollably after their 6^th can of Coke, there's crayon on the walls and a weird smell coming from the bathroom. You’re in a Catch-22, because you’re praying for someone to arrive who can control the raucous bunch, but you don’t want the parents to show up and observe your complete failure.

Analogy aside, I have not completely failed as a tutor. Really. Flexing my algebraic muscles has been a dream for a former math nerd like myself—and one of these days, I’ll let the kids win when we compete in word problem races. Maybe.

The Journey Begins

2010-03-29T04:06:00.000-07:00

India! I still wake up some mornings in disbelief that I am actually living and working in Varanasi for five months. The trip thus far has been fairly characteristic of someone readjusting to a completely altered universe. These characteristics being somewhat wavy. The first sentence about Varanasi in the lonely planet is "brace yourself" and the last sentence is "persevere". That being said, the lonely planet also goes on to write that Varanasi could be the most impressionable, memorable place you visit in India.

This was my experience with Varanasi when I came to India two years ago. I was here on a semester aboard with the University of Guelph where I spend 4 weeks studying in Kerela, 4 weeks studying in Jaipur and 8 weeks traveling around the country. Never would I have imagined though that I would be back in Varanasi of all places to live.

Coming to India to work as an intern is a vastly different experience then traveling India as a tourist or student. Instead of peering in and catching occasional glimpses of Indian culture and life, I feel as though I have an 'outsiders insiders perspective' working and living alongside people from India.

My favorite days so far here have been spend in the mobile library and with its driver/librarian, Uttam. He is the best. He looks like the archetypal ice cream truck driver: jovial, large, always smiling. We are officially buddies. He drives around to eleven rural communities over the six day work week. When he arrives at a village he spreads out wicker mats for the kids to read on and then hops back into his open concept van, picture a fish and chip stand on wheels ( if they are not already) and checks out books for kids to read. In addition to the books that are checked out he also has fun games such as bowling pics, balls, lego and puzzles for the kids to play with. He is excited and open to adding new programs. This has sparked thoughts of starting a story telling session, creative writing days, art activities, drama etc! The mobile library could really be its own internship. The best part about shadowing Uttam is that the excitement generated from books and reading is comparable to that of ice cream and treats. Many of these children seemed starved for any kind of academic stimulation.

Work aside I am happy that I am starting to feel "at home" here. I had a moment walking down the stairs today to work where my surroundings were starting to feel "normal". I am also getting more excited and less overwhelmed about the freedom of starting new programs at both the Tulsi and on the Mobile libraries. In terms of living arrangements I have my own room on the balcony of a guest house that is literally right across from the office, right on the Ganges. The guest house is like a little hippie haven. There are always old expat, yogi gurus and enlightenment seekers coming and going. No doubt we will be meeting some interesting characters in the coming months.

Namaste!

2010-03-22T00:27:00.000-07:00

Namaste! I’m writing to you on the banks of the Ganges on a slightly soporific Monday morning. Since arriving in India, I have refused to check the temperature because I fear attaching a number to the heat will only increase its intensity. The heat was one of my biggest concerns about living in India (particularly because we will be here during the summer), but so far it has been quite manageable. We’ve all adapted our own techniques for dealing with the high mercury, but my personal favourite has to be the Bollywood celebrity look. I wear large sunglasses and a scarf wrapped around my head as if I was some famous actor attempting to look discreet. In reality, the headgear draws far more attention than I intended, but it keeps me cool, so I’m sticking with it.

Living at Ashish’s Guest House and Café with the other interns has been wonderful so far. Our rooms are on the top floor, which also houses two clotheslines, a myriad of potted plants, and a flat rooftop perfect for stargazing and surfing the Internet with the super-convenient wireless connection. And after my jumpy first encounter with the house lizards, we have become friends—distant friends. As long as they stay where they are, eating bugs on the wall, I happily remain cordial. When their poop ends up in my bed, I begin to question the boundaries of said friendship.

My work activities have already taken me through the beautiful BHU (Benaras Hindu University) campus and to a farm in Dagmapur, Mirzapur. The farm visit was an exposure trip for the students at Tulsi Kunj, and we all learned about the crops and plants that grow there as well as the farm animals. The previously mountainous land wasn’t being used very well, so the farmers dug 15 metres deep to cultivate viable farmland. It was pretty neat to see the diverse tropical vegetation thriving—banana, papaya, mango, and cherry trees, as well as every type of vegetable you could imagine. The farmer had no problem boasting about the achievements of the farm, which included an 8 kg cauliflower and a cow named Sita who produces 20 L milk/day. We had sabzi and chippati for lunch and were back on the 4x4 traveling home, the kids belting out what I can only assume were Indian equivalents to “On Top of Spaghetti” and “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”.

- Kelly Anne