On March 23rd I shut the door to my apartment for the last time, tearfully hugged my neighbors goodbye and headed to the Surat train station with Drew. I was on my way to Delhi and destinations unknown and he was on his way to catch his America-bound flight out of Mumbai. I spent only one full day in Delhi despite the fact that it took 20 hours to get there and I was off again on a ten hour train to Amritsar.
Amritsar is in the Northern state of Punjab and is home to the Golden Temple, the holiest temple for followers of the Sikh religion. The Golden Temple attracts more visitors than the Taj Mahal and lies in the center of a man-made lake known as the Immortal Nectar. Being the holiest temple, visitors are required to cover their heads, remove their shoes and no alcohol or meat is sold within the vicinity of the temple. It really did have a calmer and more peaceful feel than many of the Hindu temples I had seen and I returned later that night to watch the sacred Book being put to bed at 10pm.
After viewing the Golden Temple I went in search of transportation to the Pakistan border to witness the border closing ceremony. I struck up a conversation with some Brits who had already arranged a jeep and we were off. Our jeep let us out about a mile before the actual border which is where we joined one of the longest lines I have ever seen. It took quite a while to get to the security check point where I was given a thorough (and uncomfortable) pat down, and finally, we were admitted into the stadium. It was quite a show with lots of yelling, flag waving, and finally a handshake before closing the gates for the day. You can see a video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4luORtjKu4
I spent only two days in Amritsar before the heat proved to be too much, so the next day I packed up and went to the bus station. I bought a 10 hour bus ticket to McLeod Ganj which is nestled in the hills just above Dharmashala, the Dali Lama’s refuge home. I had already spent time there after running the half marathon, but the cool weather and peaceful surroundings brought me back. I arrived at 8pm, had some Tibetean momos for dinner and found a room for the night. The next morning I was out the door by 6:30am to see the sun rise and to watch McLeod Ganj come to life. The weather was perfect, the air was fresh and the sky was blue. I spent the entire day walking around and then at 5pm I went to yet another bus station, and was leaving again after only spending a day there.
At the bus station I boarded a 12 hour night bus bound for Delhi to meet up with a friend. The roads in and around Dharmashala are notoriously dangerous because of the numerous hair-pin curves and I said many prayers during the long journey as the driver flew down and around the sharp corners. After we reached the bottom of the hill and were on a straight stretch there was a loud noise from the back of the bus; one of the tires had blown. Had it happened just ten minutes before on the curvy road, the driver wouldn’t have been able to control the bus. In the early morning we finally reached Delhi and as I was getting my bags from the bottom of the bus I happened to look at the tires; they were all completely bald.
From Delhi my friend and I took a 12 hour train to Jhansi, the nearest station to Orchha, an ancient city known for its many temples. The most interesting temple is the Ramaraja Temple, which is actually a palace and the only temple in which Rama is worshipped as a ruler. I stayed several nights in a heritage hotel palace named Amar Mahal with sprawling grounds and swam in the infinity pool by moonlight.
After Orchha we were off to Khajuraho, yet another city famous for its unique temples. The Khajuraho temples, from the 9th and 12th century, are known as the Erotic Temples and for good reason. Discovered in the late 19th century, the carvings at these temples depict the various ways in which people can um, enjoy each other (I don’t recommend children to view the pictures on my Picasa album).
From the Erotic Temples we changed vehicles at a friend’s house and then rode around in a 1942 Ford jeep from WWII to the city of Satna which was a lot of fun. The next day we left the jeep behind and drove an SUV to Bhopal, the capital of Madhya Pradesh. Bhopal is a nice city complete with a wildlife park placed alongside a huge lake in the center of the city. Without knowing the background on Bhopal, you would never have guessed that it was the site of the worst industrial accident in India’s (some say the world’s) history. In 1984 the Union Carbide plant leaked a lethal gas that immediately killed 9,000 people and eventually left an estimated 20,000 people dead. Today, people are still suffering the effects of the leak and many children are born with birth defects while the people of Bhopal await justice from the new owner of Union Carbide, Dow Chemical. I you are interested, you can see a short documentary here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ehFcv4ywvA
While in Bhopal, I was taken outside the city and was able to see some cave paintings. These paintings are relatively unknown and have only been viewed by three groups of experts who date them at 20,000 years old. After the caves we drove through the wildlife park and were able to see a large variety of animals, including some tigers and sloth bears. After our time in Bhopal we met up with another friend and drove to Jhirabagh Palace in Dhar, a lavish palace redone in 1943 in an art deco theme. We were the only guests at the palace and I spent time wondering through the large estate which felt like a jump back into time. From there we traveled to Fort Amla, a historic fort in central India, for a night before boarding a night train back to Delhi where I spent my final day in India.
On April 8th I sadly went to the airport. Kirsten and I boarded our flight to London and said goodbye to India. As the airplane lifted off the runway the life I was living suddenly became a series of memories; the present became the past. In a matter of minutes, India was a speck behind us, and unknown adventures in England were in front of us, stories of which are soon to come.
Pictures from my India trip are here: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/lyndi.milton
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Go Goa!
After my last day on the 26th of February, I was feeling very sad and I knew I had to do something to snap myself out of my gloomy mood. Two other Nanubhai teachers had left for Goa on the 27th and they had invited me to go, but initially I declined. Goa is located in the South of India and is known for its beautiful beaches, party scene, and as a place to unwind and relax. Goa was now sounding like the perfect place to go. On the afternoon of the February 28, I looked for tickets and found two; one to take me from Surat to Bombay, and the other to take me from Bombay to Madgaon. I bought my tickets at 3:00pm and I had to be at the train station at 11pm to catch my train. I did a fast packing job and was waiting for a bus by 9:30pm.
When I finally boarded the train at 12am I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep for long. My train was scheduled to arrive in Bombay at 4am, and then I would have 7 hours to kill until my next train. When the train pulled into Bombay I had to navigate the city commuter trains to get to the next train station, which was confusing, especially in my sleep deprived state. Three commuter trains later and I was finally at the LTT station, where I now had 5 hours to kill before the next train. I was exhausted now and was looking for a spot on the ground to curl up when I saw a room with the sign “Ladies Waiting Room.” Curious, I peeked inside. There were two very old ladies inside and it looked relatively clean. I picked a corner, laid out a plastic bag, and tried to sleep. Sleep was difficult as women streamed in and out and the early morning sun shone into my face. One woman saw me smile at her baby so she walked over and thrust it into my hands. I then became the babysitter for her pantless and diaperless baby for the next 45 minutes while she washed dishes and clothes in the sink.
At 10:30am on the 1st I boarded my 12 hour train and was happy to find that I had the top bunk. This meant that I could sleep undisturbed for as long as I wanted, which turned out to be 7 hours. I eventually climbed down and had a delicious dinner of crackers. The train was scheduled to arrive at 11pm and in my haste to prepare for the trip I had no time to research the city of Madgaon. From Madgaon I would need to take a two hour bus to Palolem Beach, but no buses would be running so late at night. I was now faced with the decision to either sleep on the ground in the train station, or venture out into the unknown streets for a hotel. In my anxiety I had been praying a lot on my train rides because I really had no idea what to expect or what I would do upon arrival.
Thankfully, before the train arrived I started talking to an Indian man in my compartment named Thomas. He was 45 and a self-proclaimed Roman Catholic and he would not allow me to sleep in the station. Together, we walked the darkened streets in search of a decent hotel. When we found one, he booked two rooms and paid for them both. He then insisted on taking me to get something to eat because he had seen me eating only crackers all day. The next morning he brought me chai, took me to breakfast, and then put me on a bus to Palolem. I feel so blessed to have met Thomas!
Goa was ruled by the Portuguese and they lent their architecture and religion to the region, giving it a distinct flavor which felt so different from any other part of India I have seen. There were many large, beautiful cathedrals, and even the style of dress was different. There were fewer saris and more skirt and blouse combinations. After five train rides and a beautiful bus ride, I arrived in Palolem where I met up with Kathryn and Addaia. We went to our beach hut, which was precariously perched (partly) in a tree. One side of the hut was supported by the small tree, and the other three sides were supported by bamboo. When we walked around in the hut it would creak and move and I began to have flashes of our eminent death due to beach hut collapse.
We retreated from our rickety hut and headed to the beach for some sand and sun. It was very strange for me to put on a bikini. After nine months of being wrapped up in yards of fabric and always being completely covered, wearing a bikini was like being naked to me, not to mention the ghastly color of white my body had turned. The water was so warm it was like bath water and the beach was lined by restaurants and bars offering tempting items for three girls from Gujarat. We spent several days lazing around, reading books, playing cards, drinking lassies, and decompressing from a challenging year. I literally kicked off my shoes and I spent five days without wearing them.
After a week on the beach it was time to bid the sand and sun farewell. I headed back up to Bombay to meet up with Kirsten and Meghan for what would be another difficult time…see the blog below to learn more.
When I finally boarded the train at 12am I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep for long. My train was scheduled to arrive in Bombay at 4am, and then I would have 7 hours to kill until my next train. When the train pulled into Bombay I had to navigate the city commuter trains to get to the next train station, which was confusing, especially in my sleep deprived state. Three commuter trains later and I was finally at the LTT station, where I now had 5 hours to kill before the next train. I was exhausted now and was looking for a spot on the ground to curl up when I saw a room with the sign “Ladies Waiting Room.” Curious, I peeked inside. There were two very old ladies inside and it looked relatively clean. I picked a corner, laid out a plastic bag, and tried to sleep. Sleep was difficult as women streamed in and out and the early morning sun shone into my face. One woman saw me smile at her baby so she walked over and thrust it into my hands. I then became the babysitter for her pantless and diaperless baby for the next 45 minutes while she washed dishes and clothes in the sink.
At 10:30am on the 1st I boarded my 12 hour train and was happy to find that I had the top bunk. This meant that I could sleep undisturbed for as long as I wanted, which turned out to be 7 hours. I eventually climbed down and had a delicious dinner of crackers. The train was scheduled to arrive at 11pm and in my haste to prepare for the trip I had no time to research the city of Madgaon. From Madgaon I would need to take a two hour bus to Palolem Beach, but no buses would be running so late at night. I was now faced with the decision to either sleep on the ground in the train station, or venture out into the unknown streets for a hotel. In my anxiety I had been praying a lot on my train rides because I really had no idea what to expect or what I would do upon arrival.
Thankfully, before the train arrived I started talking to an Indian man in my compartment named Thomas. He was 45 and a self-proclaimed Roman Catholic and he would not allow me to sleep in the station. Together, we walked the darkened streets in search of a decent hotel. When we found one, he booked two rooms and paid for them both. He then insisted on taking me to get something to eat because he had seen me eating only crackers all day. The next morning he brought me chai, took me to breakfast, and then put me on a bus to Palolem. I feel so blessed to have met Thomas!
Goa was ruled by the Portuguese and they lent their architecture and religion to the region, giving it a distinct flavor which felt so different from any other part of India I have seen. There were many large, beautiful cathedrals, and even the style of dress was different. There were fewer saris and more skirt and blouse combinations. After five train rides and a beautiful bus ride, I arrived in Palolem where I met up with Kathryn and Addaia. We went to our beach hut, which was precariously perched (partly) in a tree. One side of the hut was supported by the small tree, and the other three sides were supported by bamboo. When we walked around in the hut it would creak and move and I began to have flashes of our eminent death due to beach hut collapse.
We retreated from our rickety hut and headed to the beach for some sand and sun. It was very strange for me to put on a bikini. After nine months of being wrapped up in yards of fabric and always being completely covered, wearing a bikini was like being naked to me, not to mention the ghastly color of white my body had turned. The water was so warm it was like bath water and the beach was lined by restaurants and bars offering tempting items for three girls from Gujarat. We spent several days lazing around, reading books, playing cards, drinking lassies, and decompressing from a challenging year. I literally kicked off my shoes and I spent five days without wearing them.
After a week on the beach it was time to bid the sand and sun farewell. I headed back up to Bombay to meet up with Kirsten and Meghan for what would be another difficult time…see the blog below to learn more.
Beautiful Bollywood
After hanging out in Goa for a week I ended up in Bombay to meet up with my roommates Meghan and Kirsten for what would be our final dinner together. Meghan was heading back to America in the early morning hours of March 11th and Kirsten and I wanted to be there to say goodbye. It is hard to say goodbye to someone who, for nine months, was your co-worker, roommate, friend, and little sister. Most of my tears were shed before I even got to the restaurant so I was able to keep it mostly together. Still, as Kirsten and I drove off in a cab and watched Meg disappear into the chaotic mess at the airport, we were again struck with sadness and we clung to each other and cried.
While entering our hostel a few days later a man asked if we would like to go to Bollywood…Kirsten and I looked at each other and immediately said “Sure!” I had been waiting for this very instance for a long time! Bollywood is India’s version of Hollywood and it turns out more movies than Hollywood. Bollywood movies can be very fun with lots of singing and dancing, and you rarely ever see kissing. They usually run about 3 hours and anytime a movie is shown in the theaters here there is an intermission.
The recruiter promised transportation, three meals a day, hair, makeup, costumes and a mere 500 rupees. We did have our misgivings though, as we had heard of scams involving just these kinds of promises. We decided that we would see what kind of people showed up the next day and would go from there. The next morning when we headed down to the lobby to meet the recruiter my worries were put to rest….there were several very large men and people from all different backgrounds and decades. For some reason this made me feel better…I would have been very nervous if it was all young women. We boarded the bus with everyone and we were off to Bollywood!
About an hour later we showed up at a studio. We were taken into a huge room full of makeup mirrors, costumes, and production assistants running around screaming at each other on headsets. They had us all sit in chairs while the director walked up and down, scrutinizing us. She pointed at Kirsten and another girl. “You, and you! Come with me,” she said. They were to become the waitresses; while in the meantime, I was taken to the costumer and given a short black dress and heels. After I was dressed I went to accessories where they gave me jewelry and was then sent to hair and makeup. After the transformation from rural teacher to glam clubber was finished I was allowed to eat some breakfast before I was rushed to the set.
As I walked onto the set my mouth dropped. It was an incredibly beautiful nightclub, apparently set in Istanbul. I was immediately paired with a man from Iran, given a fake martini and was directed to walk with my “date” in front of the camera while laughing and talking. We did this simple scene about 5 times before the director was happy. Then, I was placed at the bar talking with a man from Holland while the real bartenders showed off their skills for the camera. Another scene at the bar had me sitting right next to one of the main characters while he did his dialogue. During dialogue shooting we were not allowed to make any noise, but we had to appear as if we were having real conversations while dancing and having fun. This was sometimes a challenge, especially when there was no music to dance to. When the cameras rolled all the air conditioners and fans had to be turned off and the set soon became incredibly hot, especially with all the lights shining on us.
Finally, the moment I had been waiting for all day; Abhishek Bachchan entered the set and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He is a very famous (and handsome) actor in India; he is married to Aishwarya Rai (purported to be the most beautiful woman in the world) and his father is the most famous actor in India. In several scenes I was standing within feet of him. We had just watched him in a movie called Paa and it was weird to now be standing so close to him.
One thing I really enjoyed about the day was meeting and talking with all the other extras. I talked with people from Australia, Iran, Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, America, Spain, England, etc. It was a really interesting and very exhausting day. After nine months in flip flops, my feet and my back were protesting the heels. At 9pm, 12 hours after we started, we were released. We changed back into our street clothes and once again became hippies, teachers, and tourists. Kirsten and I were asked to come back for the next five days with paid accommodation and an increase in pay, but we already had confirmed tickets back to Gujarat, so sadly, we had to decline. Despite shooting for 12 hours, probably only 5-7 minutes will actually be seen in the movie. Look out for Crooked (working title) in the future and you will be able to see Kirsten and I, or at least my right arm and the back of my head ;)
While entering our hostel a few days later a man asked if we would like to go to Bollywood…Kirsten and I looked at each other and immediately said “Sure!” I had been waiting for this very instance for a long time! Bollywood is India’s version of Hollywood and it turns out more movies than Hollywood. Bollywood movies can be very fun with lots of singing and dancing, and you rarely ever see kissing. They usually run about 3 hours and anytime a movie is shown in the theaters here there is an intermission.
The recruiter promised transportation, three meals a day, hair, makeup, costumes and a mere 500 rupees. We did have our misgivings though, as we had heard of scams involving just these kinds of promises. We decided that we would see what kind of people showed up the next day and would go from there. The next morning when we headed down to the lobby to meet the recruiter my worries were put to rest….there were several very large men and people from all different backgrounds and decades. For some reason this made me feel better…I would have been very nervous if it was all young women. We boarded the bus with everyone and we were off to Bollywood!
About an hour later we showed up at a studio. We were taken into a huge room full of makeup mirrors, costumes, and production assistants running around screaming at each other on headsets. They had us all sit in chairs while the director walked up and down, scrutinizing us. She pointed at Kirsten and another girl. “You, and you! Come with me,” she said. They were to become the waitresses; while in the meantime, I was taken to the costumer and given a short black dress and heels. After I was dressed I went to accessories where they gave me jewelry and was then sent to hair and makeup. After the transformation from rural teacher to glam clubber was finished I was allowed to eat some breakfast before I was rushed to the set.
As I walked onto the set my mouth dropped. It was an incredibly beautiful nightclub, apparently set in Istanbul. I was immediately paired with a man from Iran, given a fake martini and was directed to walk with my “date” in front of the camera while laughing and talking. We did this simple scene about 5 times before the director was happy. Then, I was placed at the bar talking with a man from Holland while the real bartenders showed off their skills for the camera. Another scene at the bar had me sitting right next to one of the main characters while he did his dialogue. During dialogue shooting we were not allowed to make any noise, but we had to appear as if we were having real conversations while dancing and having fun. This was sometimes a challenge, especially when there was no music to dance to. When the cameras rolled all the air conditioners and fans had to be turned off and the set soon became incredibly hot, especially with all the lights shining on us.
Finally, the moment I had been waiting for all day; Abhishek Bachchan entered the set and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He is a very famous (and handsome) actor in India; he is married to Aishwarya Rai (purported to be the most beautiful woman in the world) and his father is the most famous actor in India. In several scenes I was standing within feet of him. We had just watched him in a movie called Paa and it was weird to now be standing so close to him.
One thing I really enjoyed about the day was meeting and talking with all the other extras. I talked with people from Australia, Iran, Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, America, Spain, England, etc. It was a really interesting and very exhausting day. After nine months in flip flops, my feet and my back were protesting the heels. At 9pm, 12 hours after we started, we were released. We changed back into our street clothes and once again became hippies, teachers, and tourists. Kirsten and I were asked to come back for the next five days with paid accommodation and an increase in pay, but we already had confirmed tickets back to Gujarat, so sadly, we had to decline. Despite shooting for 12 hours, probably only 5-7 minutes will actually be seen in the movie. Look out for Crooked (working title) in the future and you will be able to see Kirsten and I, or at least my right arm and the back of my head ;)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
A Year to Remember
On Friday, February 26th, Kirsten and I woke with a heavy weight on our hearts; it was our last day of school. The day we had been dreading for weeks was finally here and there was no avoiding the pain that we would feel. As I wrapped myself in a sari for the last time, my eyes stung with tears. I thought back to the first time Kirsten and I wore a sari to school. I remember feeling nervous that my sari would fall off and how our cheeks burned with embarrassment when 700+ students cheered wildly at the sight of us in traditional Indian dress. That day seemed so long ago, and now, here we were preparing to say goodbye. I could have never predicted the emotions I would feel on our final day, but earlier that week I was given some insight into just how hard it would be.
On the 22nd, after weeks of preparation, endless amounts of frustrations and several headaches later, our Spoken English students performed their Annual Function to a hall packed with students, teachers and families. Despite our worries, the students did a fabulous job and we couldn't have been more proud. At the end of the program some of my girls rushed up to me and said, "Teacher, Binal is crying." As I went to comfort her, the tears became contagious and soon, all 16 girls were huddled around me, tears streaming down their faces. "Please Teacher," they begged, "don't go to America. Don't leave us!" Now, I was the one with tears running down my face.
The rest of the week was just as hard and filled with tears. In each of my final classes I wrote my address on the board and the students copied it down into their worn notebooks. I was crying again when my 8D class presented me with gifts and roses. I was deeply touched when my 5th standard students gave me whatever they could, which amounted to 15 ball pens, 2 key chains, a half bottle of purple nail polish and a heart made from notebook paper. I choked back my tears as I said goodbye and walked out of the classroom for the last time.
Not only did I build relationships with the students, but also with our fellow teachers, and saying goodbye to them was just as hard. As a small token of our appreciation, Kirsten and I hosted a lunch for all the staff members on that final Friday. The entire staff of 60+ people gathered in the center hall and I was fighting back tears (unsuccessfully) as some of the teachers spoke about us. When it was my turn to talk, I couldn't. Sadness had gripped my throat and I couldn't catch my breath. Kirsten took over while I regained my composure and I then tried to relate with words the feelings in my heart. I thanked them for opening their school, sharing their students, and for treating us like family.
As we sat down to eat, a teacher leaned over and whispered, "Even though you are leaving, we will always remember you in our hearts."
"And you will be in mine," I replied.
My days in India are numbered, a fact that I would like to deny. This country is so vibrant and full of life, from the colors to the people. India is bursting with possibility and I hope that the students, the future leaders of India, are given the skills to make their dreams possible and to lead their country. I hope that I helped to contribute to their future successes, and I hope that they will remember me, because I will remember them.
I feel so blessed to have had this opportunity to experience India in such an intimate way; to interact with it's future, to fall in love with it's people, and above all, to learn. India is a country I have grown to love, even though it challenged me. It's a place I have learned to appreciate, even though at times it frustrated me. My heart will not forget the things that my eyes have seen or my ears have heard. The kindness that was shown to me and the friendships I have made will not be forgotten.
For me, India will always remain Incredible.
On the 22nd, after weeks of preparation, endless amounts of frustrations and several headaches later, our Spoken English students performed their Annual Function to a hall packed with students, teachers and families. Despite our worries, the students did a fabulous job and we couldn't have been more proud. At the end of the program some of my girls rushed up to me and said, "Teacher, Binal is crying." As I went to comfort her, the tears became contagious and soon, all 16 girls were huddled around me, tears streaming down their faces. "Please Teacher," they begged, "don't go to America. Don't leave us!" Now, I was the one with tears running down my face.
The rest of the week was just as hard and filled with tears. In each of my final classes I wrote my address on the board and the students copied it down into their worn notebooks. I was crying again when my 8D class presented me with gifts and roses. I was deeply touched when my 5th standard students gave me whatever they could, which amounted to 15 ball pens, 2 key chains, a half bottle of purple nail polish and a heart made from notebook paper. I choked back my tears as I said goodbye and walked out of the classroom for the last time.
Not only did I build relationships with the students, but also with our fellow teachers, and saying goodbye to them was just as hard. As a small token of our appreciation, Kirsten and I hosted a lunch for all the staff members on that final Friday. The entire staff of 60+ people gathered in the center hall and I was fighting back tears (unsuccessfully) as some of the teachers spoke about us. When it was my turn to talk, I couldn't. Sadness had gripped my throat and I couldn't catch my breath. Kirsten took over while I regained my composure and I then tried to relate with words the feelings in my heart. I thanked them for opening their school, sharing their students, and for treating us like family.
As we sat down to eat, a teacher leaned over and whispered, "Even though you are leaving, we will always remember you in our hearts."
"And you will be in mine," I replied.
My days in India are numbered, a fact that I would like to deny. This country is so vibrant and full of life, from the colors to the people. India is bursting with possibility and I hope that the students, the future leaders of India, are given the skills to make their dreams possible and to lead their country. I hope that I helped to contribute to their future successes, and I hope that they will remember me, because I will remember them.
I feel so blessed to have had this opportunity to experience India in such an intimate way; to interact with it's future, to fall in love with it's people, and above all, to learn. India is a country I have grown to love, even though it challenged me. It's a place I have learned to appreciate, even though at times it frustrated me. My heart will not forget the things that my eyes have seen or my ears have heard. The kindness that was shown to me and the friendships I have made will not be forgotten.
For me, India will always remain Incredible.
Friday, February 19, 2010
A Difficult Day
Time. There is never enough of it. Time seems to speed up as we get older and it flies when we are having fun. These realities about time are becoming more and more evident to me as my final weeks of teaching draw near. On Monday, I taught my English Medium students for the last time and it was a very depressing day. The students had no idea it would be my last day when I walked into the classroom on that Monday morning. When I told them, there was an audible gasp and the pained look on Dhruti’s face was especially hard to bear. Her mouth dropped open, her brow furrowed and it looked as if she might cry. I felt the same way.
When I first came to the English Medium school the students didn’t know what to think of me, especially the Kindergartner and Pre-KG kids. I was immediately drawn to them because they are some of the cutest kids I have ever seen, especially in their uniforms. The dress shorts, plaid button-up shirt, and striped tie make the boys look like little gentlemen. The girls, dressed in blue pinafores, white socks and the same striped tie, look like petite ladies. Some of the kids are so small that their white socks slouch and bunch around their tiny ankles. The illusion of perfect gentlemen and ladies is shattered when the school bell rings and they run full force to the playground, their striped ties waving to me in the breeze.
My favorite part of the day is recess, which is when the kids descend upon the narrow patio to devour the delicacies packed into their small lunch tins. Instead of sitting in the staff room with the other teachers, I sit on the patio and watch the kids.
On the first day I did this, the kids walked by me and recoiled in horror at this strange creature that had appeared at their school. I would smile at them and say hello, which would either send them into a fit of giggles, or send them running.
Part of what I love about recess is the opportunity to watch them interact with each other. They are so animated with their facial expressions and their bodies; they use their arms and hands to gesture to each other in such a serious manner. At times they are in such intense discussions it seems they could be discussing the future of India, or how to achieve world peace. I asked the teachers what they are saying and was told that they are talking about their snacks, and most arguments involve “He/She was eating my food!”
Slowly, week by week, the kids became more comfortable with me. Now, the kids are the first to say “Good morning Teacher!” When I walk down the corridor, I am greeted by every student with a smile and a wave. They ask me (in Gujarati because they are so young) to open their lunch boxes and water bottles. It may sound weird, but I was especially touched when a KG student came to me to tattle on another student. Tattling, usually seen as an annoyance by teachers, meant to me that they finally recognized me as a teacher. I was no longer some alien creature. My persistence had paid off and they had accepted me.
The Principal told me in our final discussion on Monday that I was the best teacher in his heart for his students. This touched me deeply and I was taken aback with his sincerity and at once I felt the same. His students are the best students in my heart.
When I first came to the English Medium school the students didn’t know what to think of me, especially the Kindergartner and Pre-KG kids. I was immediately drawn to them because they are some of the cutest kids I have ever seen, especially in their uniforms. The dress shorts, plaid button-up shirt, and striped tie make the boys look like little gentlemen. The girls, dressed in blue pinafores, white socks and the same striped tie, look like petite ladies. Some of the kids are so small that their white socks slouch and bunch around their tiny ankles. The illusion of perfect gentlemen and ladies is shattered when the school bell rings and they run full force to the playground, their striped ties waving to me in the breeze.
My favorite part of the day is recess, which is when the kids descend upon the narrow patio to devour the delicacies packed into their small lunch tins. Instead of sitting in the staff room with the other teachers, I sit on the patio and watch the kids.
On the first day I did this, the kids walked by me and recoiled in horror at this strange creature that had appeared at their school. I would smile at them and say hello, which would either send them into a fit of giggles, or send them running.Part of what I love about recess is the opportunity to watch them interact with each other. They are so animated with their facial expressions and their bodies; they use their arms and hands to gesture to each other in such a serious manner. At times they are in such intense discussions it seems they could be discussing the future of India, or how to achieve world peace. I asked the teachers what they are saying and was told that they are talking about their snacks, and most arguments involve “He/She was eating my food!”
Slowly, week by week, the kids became more comfortable with me. Now, the kids are the first to say “Good morning Teacher!” When I walk down the corridor, I am greeted by every student with a smile and a wave. They ask me (in Gujarati because they are so young) to open their lunch boxes and water bottles. It may sound weird, but I was especially touched when a KG student came to me to tattle on another student. Tattling, usually seen as an annoyance by teachers, meant to me that they finally recognized me as a teacher. I was no longer some alien creature. My persistence had paid off and they had accepted me.
The Principal told me in our final discussion on Monday that I was the best teacher in his heart for his students. This touched me deeply and I was taken aback with his sincerity and at once I felt the same. His students are the best students in my heart.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Near Zero North
Before I knew it, it was nearing the end January and it was time for us to leave on our two week trip up North to run our half marathon. I trained for 11 weeks, along the way posting weekly blogs on my progress (www.21k4kids.com). While the students prepared for their exams, we prepared for our trip by packing the warmest clothes we could find, which for me were two long sleeved shirts and a fleece zip-up. I never anticipated that I would be cold in India so I brought nothing from America useful to combat the cold.
We started our journey on yet another train ride in sleeper class, a mode of transportation that I am beginning to loathe. Drew, Kirsten, Addaia and I jumped on a packed bus to Surat and had to stand with our packs on for 30 minutes, about 29 minutes more than I could handle. Meghan stayed in Bajipura to finish some work and was scheduled to meet us in Chandigarh on the 30th. We arrived at the station, hopped onto our train and settled in. The scheduled 24 hour train ride turned into 30 hours as dense fog reduced visibility to zero. During the long periods of time we spent sitting on the tracks my sanity decreased as the hours increased.
Finally, we arrived in Delhi to my friend’s familiar face. We checked into a hotel, washed the train grim from our bodies, and headed out to the Defense Colony for food and choice beverages that can’t be found in Gujarat. We spent the next few days bumming around Delhi, drinking coffee, eating western food, and watched New York I Love You, which made us all a little homesick for America.
For the next few days we headed off to Jaipur, about a four hour drive from Delhi in the state of Rajasthan. Jaipur is known as The Pink City, named so after the Prince of Wales demanded that the city be bathed entirely in pink. Jaipur is home to many ancient forts and palaces that mystify and take your breath away. We toured the City Palace and Ajmer Fort, a fantastic fort perched on a hill. Jaipur was originally a walled city and remnants of the wall can still be seen from Ajmer Fort on the distant hills and at first glance, it reminded me of the Great Wall. After sightseeing, it was time to head back to Delhi. As night fell, so did a thick blanket of fog, again reducing visibility to zero. The four hour trip stretched into a painful 9 hours and we didn’t make it back to Delhi until 4am.
After Jaipur, our group split up. Drew and Addaia left for Chandigarh to meet some friends and Kirsten and I hung back in Delhi for another day of fun in the capital. Then, on the 29th we got on the Delhi subway, stopped at the Interstate Bus Station and searched for a bus to Chandigarh. We found one leaving at 3:30 and we didn’t arrive in Chandigarh until about 9pm. Having not reserved a hotel beforehand, we were stuck haggling rickshaw drivers to take us to unknown hotels. After looking at three hotels out of our price range we were directed to The Blue Moon Hotel in Sector 12. At this point, we were so tired that we gladly accepted his ‘bargain’ of 1,000rs and were happy to find a modern room with a hot water shower!
We spent the day before the race walking around Chandigarh to get a feel for the city. The Lonely Planet described it as a boom town, but Kirsten and I thought it was more of a bust. The city was a planned city with the heart being sectioned off into numbered ‘sectors.’ We headed to Sector 17, which was supposed to be the most interesting sector, but we were disappointed by what we found. We hired a rickshaw to take us into another sector so we could carb-load at Pizza Hut. We gorged on pizza and pasta until we were happily satisfied. At the hotel, we laid out our running clothes, shoes, and bib numbers so they would be ready when our alarm went off at 5:15am, then, we burrowed ourselves into our thick fleece blankets.
The alarm went off. It was here. Race Day. We shivered as we slipped into our running clothes and laced up our shoes. I stuffed some money into my shorts for a ride back after the race and we went down to the lobby, hoping to easily find a rickshaw at 6:00am. It proved more difficult than the front desk man said it would be the day before. We were growing more and more anxious as we stared down the empty road bathed in darkness. Finally, a rickshaw pulled up to our hotel to drop some people and we jumped in. We shivered violently as the cold morning air blew against our bare legs while the rickshaw flew down the road. After about 7 minutes of driving we came to a police barricade and were not allowed to pass. We jumped out and pleaded with the officers, who only gave us directions on how to walk the half kilometer to the starting line. Just then, a car pulled up with a fellow runner in it. “Would you like a ride?” asked the driver. “Yes, please!” we answered back between our clattering teeth. Being a native of the city, the driver of the car knew some handy shortcuts and got us to the starting line just in time to meet up with Meghan, Drew and Addaia. We huddled, said a prayer, and we were off and running.
The race proved harder than I thought due to the acclimate weather. I am now a Gujarati Girl, used to hot, dry weather and Chandigarh was cold and wet. I settled into a comfortable pace and tried to focus my attention away from my slowly numbing body. I tried to drink some Gatorade at one of the stations, but found that I could barely swallow it because my muscles were so cold. I also tried to sniff my nose but my face was too numb for it to be effective…yep, I used my sleeve (don’t tell my mom). After some mental and physical battles I made it to the finish line in 1:48, well under my goal time. Our efforts raised over $1,000 for our libraries! You can read a more detailed account here: www.21k4kids.com
After we were all showered and had regained feeling in our extremities, we packed up my friend’s car and headed further North. We drove for about 6 hours into the hills and stopped at Palampur, famous for the production of North Indian tea. We toured a tea plantation the next morning and I couldn’t help myself…I plucked a leaf off the bush and was not impressed with the taste. After sampling tea, it was back into the car for some more driving, this time to Dharmashala, home of the Dali Lama. The drive was beautiful and the roads that were lined with tall trees wound up endlessly into the peaceful hills. We drove further up and stopped at McLeod Ganj, a more bustling center of activity. The girls decided to call this home for the next two nights while my friend, Drew and I continued into the hills to a more secluded place to stay, literally, on top of the mountain.
When I first saw the road we were to drive up, I didn’t even think it was a road. Regulations state that any new roads must be carved out of the mountain by a chisel, which made for a very small, and very rocky road. I closed my eyes at several points during the drive, but couldn’t believe the view at the top when I finally opened them. Stretching out beyond our guest house was an unbelievable sight. Tall, snowcapped mountains on either side made for a dramatic valley below. Wild monkeys could be seen jumping from tree to tree and the air was so crisp and clean. During the drive a leopard jumped in front of our car and it was a thrilling sight. It was hard to believe that this was India.
That night we dined with the Crowned Prince of the region at his estate, which was a great experience. Even though the ruling class gave up their powers in favor of a united India in 1947, many people still look to and recognize the descendants of the Maharajas. Some of these descendants still own great forts and palaces scattered throughout India. Drew and I had a great time talking with the Prince and learning more about Indian history.
The next day Drew and I were feeling a little ambitious, maybe a little too ambitious, as we embarked on a hike further up the mountain. My legs were still sore from the half marathon and the hike wasn’t as easy as I had hoped it would be. After about an hour we reached a small tea stall, the halfway point. I glanced around and looked up on the top of another mountain that was looming above us. I squinted at some small structures on the top. “We had better not be hiking up to that!” I said to Drew. He shrugged his shoulders and we continued on…to that very peak. The higher we hiked, the colder I got. My hands were so cold that I thought they would crack. I pulled them inside the sleeves of my cheap fleece and huffed on. Finally! We made it to the top and were rewarded with an impressive view at 9,059 feet. I couldn’t resist making a snowman out of the patches of snow…a snowman in India! I never would have thought.
Good times must come to an end and we were again packing up the car for the 12 hour drive back to Delhi. Our road trip through North India was a great time and I enjoyed getting to see a side of India I didn’t know existed. As we boarded our 7:45am train I took in one last deep breath of cold, fresh air and then climbed into the top bunk, where I would remain until our 1:30am arrival in Surat. I am excited to plan my next trip through India where I would like to find myself maybe on a beach, or, anywhere for that matter.
Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lyndi.milton
We started our journey on yet another train ride in sleeper class, a mode of transportation that I am beginning to loathe. Drew, Kirsten, Addaia and I jumped on a packed bus to Surat and had to stand with our packs on for 30 minutes, about 29 minutes more than I could handle. Meghan stayed in Bajipura to finish some work and was scheduled to meet us in Chandigarh on the 30th. We arrived at the station, hopped onto our train and settled in. The scheduled 24 hour train ride turned into 30 hours as dense fog reduced visibility to zero. During the long periods of time we spent sitting on the tracks my sanity decreased as the hours increased.
Finally, we arrived in Delhi to my friend’s familiar face. We checked into a hotel, washed the train grim from our bodies, and headed out to the Defense Colony for food and choice beverages that can’t be found in Gujarat. We spent the next few days bumming around Delhi, drinking coffee, eating western food, and watched New York I Love You, which made us all a little homesick for America.
For the next few days we headed off to Jaipur, about a four hour drive from Delhi in the state of Rajasthan. Jaipur is known as The Pink City, named so after the Prince of Wales demanded that the city be bathed entirely in pink. Jaipur is home to many ancient forts and palaces that mystify and take your breath away. We toured the City Palace and Ajmer Fort, a fantastic fort perched on a hill. Jaipur was originally a walled city and remnants of the wall can still be seen from Ajmer Fort on the distant hills and at first glance, it reminded me of the Great Wall. After sightseeing, it was time to head back to Delhi. As night fell, so did a thick blanket of fog, again reducing visibility to zero. The four hour trip stretched into a painful 9 hours and we didn’t make it back to Delhi until 4am.
After Jaipur, our group split up. Drew and Addaia left for Chandigarh to meet some friends and Kirsten and I hung back in Delhi for another day of fun in the capital. Then, on the 29th we got on the Delhi subway, stopped at the Interstate Bus Station and searched for a bus to Chandigarh. We found one leaving at 3:30 and we didn’t arrive in Chandigarh until about 9pm. Having not reserved a hotel beforehand, we were stuck haggling rickshaw drivers to take us to unknown hotels. After looking at three hotels out of our price range we were directed to The Blue Moon Hotel in Sector 12. At this point, we were so tired that we gladly accepted his ‘bargain’ of 1,000rs and were happy to find a modern room with a hot water shower!
We spent the day before the race walking around Chandigarh to get a feel for the city. The Lonely Planet described it as a boom town, but Kirsten and I thought it was more of a bust. The city was a planned city with the heart being sectioned off into numbered ‘sectors.’ We headed to Sector 17, which was supposed to be the most interesting sector, but we were disappointed by what we found. We hired a rickshaw to take us into another sector so we could carb-load at Pizza Hut. We gorged on pizza and pasta until we were happily satisfied. At the hotel, we laid out our running clothes, shoes, and bib numbers so they would be ready when our alarm went off at 5:15am, then, we burrowed ourselves into our thick fleece blankets.
The alarm went off. It was here. Race Day. We shivered as we slipped into our running clothes and laced up our shoes. I stuffed some money into my shorts for a ride back after the race and we went down to the lobby, hoping to easily find a rickshaw at 6:00am. It proved more difficult than the front desk man said it would be the day before. We were growing more and more anxious as we stared down the empty road bathed in darkness. Finally, a rickshaw pulled up to our hotel to drop some people and we jumped in. We shivered violently as the cold morning air blew against our bare legs while the rickshaw flew down the road. After about 7 minutes of driving we came to a police barricade and were not allowed to pass. We jumped out and pleaded with the officers, who only gave us directions on how to walk the half kilometer to the starting line. Just then, a car pulled up with a fellow runner in it. “Would you like a ride?” asked the driver. “Yes, please!” we answered back between our clattering teeth. Being a native of the city, the driver of the car knew some handy shortcuts and got us to the starting line just in time to meet up with Meghan, Drew and Addaia. We huddled, said a prayer, and we were off and running.
The race proved harder than I thought due to the acclimate weather. I am now a Gujarati Girl, used to hot, dry weather and Chandigarh was cold and wet. I settled into a comfortable pace and tried to focus my attention away from my slowly numbing body. I tried to drink some Gatorade at one of the stations, but found that I could barely swallow it because my muscles were so cold. I also tried to sniff my nose but my face was too numb for it to be effective…yep, I used my sleeve (don’t tell my mom). After some mental and physical battles I made it to the finish line in 1:48, well under my goal time. Our efforts raised over $1,000 for our libraries! You can read a more detailed account here: www.21k4kids.com
After we were all showered and had regained feeling in our extremities, we packed up my friend’s car and headed further North. We drove for about 6 hours into the hills and stopped at Palampur, famous for the production of North Indian tea. We toured a tea plantation the next morning and I couldn’t help myself…I plucked a leaf off the bush and was not impressed with the taste. After sampling tea, it was back into the car for some more driving, this time to Dharmashala, home of the Dali Lama. The drive was beautiful and the roads that were lined with tall trees wound up endlessly into the peaceful hills. We drove further up and stopped at McLeod Ganj, a more bustling center of activity. The girls decided to call this home for the next two nights while my friend, Drew and I continued into the hills to a more secluded place to stay, literally, on top of the mountain.
When I first saw the road we were to drive up, I didn’t even think it was a road. Regulations state that any new roads must be carved out of the mountain by a chisel, which made for a very small, and very rocky road. I closed my eyes at several points during the drive, but couldn’t believe the view at the top when I finally opened them. Stretching out beyond our guest house was an unbelievable sight. Tall, snowcapped mountains on either side made for a dramatic valley below. Wild monkeys could be seen jumping from tree to tree and the air was so crisp and clean. During the drive a leopard jumped in front of our car and it was a thrilling sight. It was hard to believe that this was India.
That night we dined with the Crowned Prince of the region at his estate, which was a great experience. Even though the ruling class gave up their powers in favor of a united India in 1947, many people still look to and recognize the descendants of the Maharajas. Some of these descendants still own great forts and palaces scattered throughout India. Drew and I had a great time talking with the Prince and learning more about Indian history.
The next day Drew and I were feeling a little ambitious, maybe a little too ambitious, as we embarked on a hike further up the mountain. My legs were still sore from the half marathon and the hike wasn’t as easy as I had hoped it would be. After about an hour we reached a small tea stall, the halfway point. I glanced around and looked up on the top of another mountain that was looming above us. I squinted at some small structures on the top. “We had better not be hiking up to that!” I said to Drew. He shrugged his shoulders and we continued on…to that very peak. The higher we hiked, the colder I got. My hands were so cold that I thought they would crack. I pulled them inside the sleeves of my cheap fleece and huffed on. Finally! We made it to the top and were rewarded with an impressive view at 9,059 feet. I couldn’t resist making a snowman out of the patches of snow…a snowman in India! I never would have thought.
Good times must come to an end and we were again packing up the car for the 12 hour drive back to Delhi. Our road trip through North India was a great time and I enjoyed getting to see a side of India I didn’t know existed. As we boarded our 7:45am train I took in one last deep breath of cold, fresh air and then climbed into the top bunk, where I would remain until our 1:30am arrival in Surat. I am excited to plan my next trip through India where I would like to find myself maybe on a beach, or, anywhere for that matter.
Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lyndi.milton
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Christmas in Colaba
Christmas this year was not traditional, which actually seems to be the tradition for me. In the last 5 years, I have spent only one at home with family, which was in 2008. Before that I spent Christmas in Beijing, Xinzheng, Manila, and now India. My roommates had never spent a Christmas away from family, so we decided to go on a trip to distract ourselves and Mumbai was the perfect destination for four days off.
We boarded the train on Christmas Eve after working a full day and woke up in Mumbai at 5am. The train ride from Surat to Mumbai should be about 5 hours, but we took the slowest train imaginable and the trip took a lengthy 12 hours (one way was 99 rupees; about $2.00). We found a taxi and headed towards Colaba, one of the most popular places in Mumbai, in search of The Salvation Army Hostel. It was too early to check in so we hung around the dining area and while we waited we witnessed a small Christmas gathering of the workers and got to sing some Christmas songs and listen to the Christmas story. Then, we all filed downstairs to check in, which is when I realized I had made a huge mistake.
As I was packing for the trip I was hesitating about bringing my passport, and then, at the last minute I decided against bringing it. As a traveler, your passport is the most important item. A lost passport can be devastating, so if I think I don’t need it, I leave it locked up at home. Other teachers had told me that they had stayed in hotels in Mumbai with no passport, so I thought I would be okay. This was not the case for me. When the gruff front desk man asked me for my passport my stomach dropped. I did have a black and white copy of my passport and visa which I handed to him. He was looking them over when I realized that the visa copy was of my OLD visa which had expired on November 14th. I had neglected to photocopy the new visa I received in October. My stomach jumped.
“This is expired,” he said in a rough tone.
“I’m sorry, I left my passport in Gujarat. I do have a new visa,” I managed to say.
“You cannot stay here without a passport and visa. Go to the police station and ask for a letter,” he replied flatly, handing the copies back to me.
When I entered the Colaba police station several officers turned as I entered and gave me a hard look. “What can I do for you?” the sergeant asked.
“I, um, I need a letter to stay at The Salvation Army. I, uh, forgot my passport,” I stammered as I handed him my passport and visa copy.
“Sit and wait,” he barked back and I obeyed.
I sat for about 45 minutes while he dealt with four Indian women and their grievances. The longer I sat, the more nervous I got. I started to run through my options if I was not given the letter that I needed. I decided that I could give my bags to the other girls for safekeeping inside and that I would wrap myself in my sheet and sleep outside. It wasn’t too cold, and if no one saw that I was a foreigner maybe I could survive two nights sleeping on the streets of Mumbai.
Finally, the sergeant finished with the women and it was my turn. Before I even sat down in front of him he swept all the papers from his desk, including my only copy of my passport, balled them up, and threw them into the corner. Not good.
“So what do you want from me?” he asked.
I repeated my story as he looked at me, clearly not happy that I was there.
“How can I write you a letter?!” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “I don’t know you. Go back to America and get your passport,” he said.
“I have my passport, but I left it in Gujarat. I’m sorry. I made mistake and left it in Gujarat,” I replied, shrinking smaller by the minute.
“Go back to Gujarat! Get your passport, and then come back to Mumbai,” he growled.
“I can’t, my return ticket is for the 27th. I am only here for two nights, for Christmas. Today is Christmas,” I managed to say through the growing ball in my throat, and I felt it coming; tears.
Till this point, I had not cried in India, but this was too much. It was Christmas Day and the irony of not having a place to stay was too much. I bit my lip and my eyes spilled over as a few tears slid silently down my cheeks. He picked up the phone and began a lengthy conversation with someone while watching me.
He slammed down the phone and said “Do you know what Whagwalla means?”
“What?” I sniffed.
He began to write the word on a scrap of paper. “Whagwalla! It means Tiger Killer. Say it! Tiger Killer.”
“Tiger Killer?” I said in a questioning voice, totally confused as to what was happening.
“You go to Salvation Army and ask for the Tiger Killer,” he said as he slid the paper across the table. “I have just spoken with him. You tell the manager he is the Tiger Killer. Maybe he will let you stay,” he said.
“Uh, okay, um, Tiger Killer? Ok, thank you,” I said as I walked out.
The manager at the Salvation Army was clearly not happy with the trouble I was causing by not bringing my passport. He was more Army than Salvation and he too gave me a hard time about not bringing my passport. I don’t blame him; it was a stupid mistake on my part, but it was Christmas! He snatched the scrap of paper I humbly offered and slammed it into his desk drawer.
“You stay only two nights,” he said in a tone of finality.
“Yes. Thank you. Only two nights. Merry Christmas,” I said as I breathed a sigh of relief.
After cleaning up, we hit the streets. Mumbai, also interchangeably called Bombay, is an island in the Western state of Maharastria. Our hostel was in prime real estate in the Colaba district and we were just a five minute walk to the Gateway of India and other sites of interest. The weather was perfect on this Christmas morning and our appetites were craving both good food and entertainment. We ended up at Mondegar Café for our Christmas brunch which included bacon AND sausage for me. After filling up on delicious food, we headed to a nicer part of Mumbai to watch Avatar in 3-D, which we enjoyed immensely. As we were walking out of the theater we literally ran into a famous Bollywood actor, but were too star struck to speak.
The next day we went to the Museum of Modern Art, did some shopping, marveled at the Gateway of India, admired the Taj Hotel, and got lost in the chaos of Crawford Market. We spent the majority of our time eating all the food and drinks that are impossible to find in our village. Before we knew it, it was time to head back to Bombay Central to board our train headed for home. After another 12 hours we arrived back in Madhi, the village Kirsten and I teach in, and jumped into a rickshaw bound for Bajipura.
We had postponed opening gifts until the 28th, which is when we celebrated our after-Christmas Christmas. I made some muffins (thanks to Shellie) and Dunkin Donuts coffee (thanks to Hannah) as a special treat and we all sat on mattresses on the floor as we exchanged our Secret Santa gifts between the four of us. Then we laid on the floor together and watched Elf and Love Actually. Even though we were missing our families, we were still able to have a good Christmas.
New Year’s came and went with barely a second glance from me. Running at 6am everyday makes me very tired and I try to be in bed by 10pm. As I was heading to bed at 9:30 Drew asked if I was going to stay up, and then I realized that it was New Year’s Eve. Going to bed sounded like more fun, so I missed the arrival of 2010.
We boarded the train on Christmas Eve after working a full day and woke up in Mumbai at 5am. The train ride from Surat to Mumbai should be about 5 hours, but we took the slowest train imaginable and the trip took a lengthy 12 hours (one way was 99 rupees; about $2.00). We found a taxi and headed towards Colaba, one of the most popular places in Mumbai, in search of The Salvation Army Hostel. It was too early to check in so we hung around the dining area and while we waited we witnessed a small Christmas gathering of the workers and got to sing some Christmas songs and listen to the Christmas story. Then, we all filed downstairs to check in, which is when I realized I had made a huge mistake.
As I was packing for the trip I was hesitating about bringing my passport, and then, at the last minute I decided against bringing it. As a traveler, your passport is the most important item. A lost passport can be devastating, so if I think I don’t need it, I leave it locked up at home. Other teachers had told me that they had stayed in hotels in Mumbai with no passport, so I thought I would be okay. This was not the case for me. When the gruff front desk man asked me for my passport my stomach dropped. I did have a black and white copy of my passport and visa which I handed to him. He was looking them over when I realized that the visa copy was of my OLD visa which had expired on November 14th. I had neglected to photocopy the new visa I received in October. My stomach jumped.
“This is expired,” he said in a rough tone.
“I’m sorry, I left my passport in Gujarat. I do have a new visa,” I managed to say.
“You cannot stay here without a passport and visa. Go to the police station and ask for a letter,” he replied flatly, handing the copies back to me.
When I entered the Colaba police station several officers turned as I entered and gave me a hard look. “What can I do for you?” the sergeant asked.
“I, um, I need a letter to stay at The Salvation Army. I, uh, forgot my passport,” I stammered as I handed him my passport and visa copy.
“Sit and wait,” he barked back and I obeyed.
I sat for about 45 minutes while he dealt with four Indian women and their grievances. The longer I sat, the more nervous I got. I started to run through my options if I was not given the letter that I needed. I decided that I could give my bags to the other girls for safekeeping inside and that I would wrap myself in my sheet and sleep outside. It wasn’t too cold, and if no one saw that I was a foreigner maybe I could survive two nights sleeping on the streets of Mumbai.
Finally, the sergeant finished with the women and it was my turn. Before I even sat down in front of him he swept all the papers from his desk, including my only copy of my passport, balled them up, and threw them into the corner. Not good.
“So what do you want from me?” he asked.
I repeated my story as he looked at me, clearly not happy that I was there.
“How can I write you a letter?!” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “I don’t know you. Go back to America and get your passport,” he said.
“I have my passport, but I left it in Gujarat. I’m sorry. I made mistake and left it in Gujarat,” I replied, shrinking smaller by the minute.
“Go back to Gujarat! Get your passport, and then come back to Mumbai,” he growled.
“I can’t, my return ticket is for the 27th. I am only here for two nights, for Christmas. Today is Christmas,” I managed to say through the growing ball in my throat, and I felt it coming; tears.
Till this point, I had not cried in India, but this was too much. It was Christmas Day and the irony of not having a place to stay was too much. I bit my lip and my eyes spilled over as a few tears slid silently down my cheeks. He picked up the phone and began a lengthy conversation with someone while watching me.
He slammed down the phone and said “Do you know what Whagwalla means?”
“What?” I sniffed.
He began to write the word on a scrap of paper. “Whagwalla! It means Tiger Killer. Say it! Tiger Killer.”
“Tiger Killer?” I said in a questioning voice, totally confused as to what was happening.
“You go to Salvation Army and ask for the Tiger Killer,” he said as he slid the paper across the table. “I have just spoken with him. You tell the manager he is the Tiger Killer. Maybe he will let you stay,” he said.
“Uh, okay, um, Tiger Killer? Ok, thank you,” I said as I walked out.
The manager at the Salvation Army was clearly not happy with the trouble I was causing by not bringing my passport. He was more Army than Salvation and he too gave me a hard time about not bringing my passport. I don’t blame him; it was a stupid mistake on my part, but it was Christmas! He snatched the scrap of paper I humbly offered and slammed it into his desk drawer.
“You stay only two nights,” he said in a tone of finality.
“Yes. Thank you. Only two nights. Merry Christmas,” I said as I breathed a sigh of relief.
After cleaning up, we hit the streets. Mumbai, also interchangeably called Bombay, is an island in the Western state of Maharastria. Our hostel was in prime real estate in the Colaba district and we were just a five minute walk to the Gateway of India and other sites of interest. The weather was perfect on this Christmas morning and our appetites were craving both good food and entertainment. We ended up at Mondegar Café for our Christmas brunch which included bacon AND sausage for me. After filling up on delicious food, we headed to a nicer part of Mumbai to watch Avatar in 3-D, which we enjoyed immensely. As we were walking out of the theater we literally ran into a famous Bollywood actor, but were too star struck to speak.
The next day we went to the Museum of Modern Art, did some shopping, marveled at the Gateway of India, admired the Taj Hotel, and got lost in the chaos of Crawford Market. We spent the majority of our time eating all the food and drinks that are impossible to find in our village. Before we knew it, it was time to head back to Bombay Central to board our train headed for home. After another 12 hours we arrived back in Madhi, the village Kirsten and I teach in, and jumped into a rickshaw bound for Bajipura.
We had postponed opening gifts until the 28th, which is when we celebrated our after-Christmas Christmas. I made some muffins (thanks to Shellie) and Dunkin Donuts coffee (thanks to Hannah) as a special treat and we all sat on mattresses on the floor as we exchanged our Secret Santa gifts between the four of us. Then we laid on the floor together and watched Elf and Love Actually. Even though we were missing our families, we were still able to have a good Christmas.
New Year’s came and went with barely a second glance from me. Running at 6am everyday makes me very tired and I try to be in bed by 10pm. As I was heading to bed at 9:30 Drew asked if I was going to stay up, and then I realized that it was New Year’s Eve. Going to bed sounded like more fun, so I missed the arrival of 2010.
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