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.

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

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.

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

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)

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

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.