Something that we have learned to vehemently avoid is drinking skin; the skin that forms on the top of our chai and coffee that is. The milk that is delivered to us daily is fresh milk (hours out of the cow perhaps) and is not pasteurized. We have to boil the milk to help kill any bacteria and to make the milk last longer. During our first weeks here we did not know we needed to boil the milk and a glass of milk left in the fridge after one day turned into something that looked a science experiment. It was scary.
The milk we get has a higher content of fat as well. We can’t order 1% or skim. It comes as it does; fatty. Our cook has recently been skimming this fat off the milk and saving it in a bowl. She then made this into butter, which she then turned into ghee (clarified butter) that is used in much of the cooking here.
The higher fat content is what I blame for the infamous skin. After making a fresh cup of chai on the stove I let it sit to cool, and as it cools, the skin forms. I usually try to move the skin aside but occasionally it sneaks its way into my mouth, which I then promptly spit out. It’s not that it tastes bad; it’s just kind of gross, and well, it is a bunch of fat. Sometimes as we all sit around the table drinking our chai or coffee while reading someone will suddenly spit out a mouthful of chai back into their mug and I know; the skin found its way in. My favorite is the unsuspecting swallow where someone is so involved in what they are doing that they don’t notice that the fat has formed. As they take a drink it takes them by surprise, and it comes dribbling out of their mouth as they try to get it out. You may think I have no life if I am sitting around watching people drink chai, and you would be right. Why else would I be writing a blog about chai skin?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Happy Anniversary!
This weekend I celebrated my three month anniversary; with India. My arrival in June seems so far away and some days it seems that the more I learn about India, the less I know. I have learned that in India there are some things you can always count on, like the lunchtime chai delivery at 1:25 every day and the consistent inconsistencies of power and water. Stereotypes of India and of Indian people should never be counted on.
In my three months I have developed relationships not only with my students, but also the Gujarati teachers and one teacher in particular comes to mind. Upon meeting this teacher for the first time I was unsure how to feel about him. He introduced himself as the PE teacher, but he didn’t have to tell me that for me to know. I could tell by the shirt tucked into his sweat pants, the athletic shoes on his feet and the whistle around his neck. He also walked around with such an overbearing air; he was loud, his eyes could stare any student into submission and his whistle blows were sharp and piercing. It was funny to me that such a stereotype could cross cultures. Truth be told, I was a little scared of him at first.
Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when I found the PE teacher in the back of my first Spoken English class. “I want to learn from you,” he explained when he could see my eyes questioning his presence. His English was broken and we communicated with holes of confusion. He made notes on paper from my writing on the board and I could tell he was making a concerted effort to improve his English. When my section of boys got too loud one day he was quick to reprimand them and I decided that this arrangement would work quite nicely; I could teach him English and he could help with classroom management.
Our conversations became more frequent and we talked about many different things. I learned things about his family and told him things about mine. We talked about the different sports the students enjoy and how to play them (although I still have no idea how to play Kho-Kho). When I needed rides to and from the English Medium school he was quick to volunteer, his reply to my "thanks" always being “No mention.” One day another American teacher was introduced to him and she told him that his English was very good. He laughed, and pointing to me said “She is a good teacher.”
Another teacher that I have grown very fond of is a primary teacher that I work with. Together we teach 6th and 7th standard, two of my favorite classes. Our working relationship in the classroom is seamless. After class on Thursdays we sit together in the primary staff room drinking tea and talking. She said she would help to arrange my marriage, and I half agreed. Her love for her students is obvious and I am so happy that we can teach together.
Someone else that I have enjoyed spending time with is a trustee on the school board. Within the first two weeks of arrival in India we had an invitation to his house down the street for a Mexican dinner. His family worked hard to make us feel at home and that night I had the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. Tonight I called him to ask if he knew a place to get faluda, our new favorite Indian dessert. He said he didn’t know of a place but that he would call back in five minutes. When my cell rang he said he was waiting outside our house. We jumped in his car and he took us to his house where his wife made us delicious faluda and we feasted on custard apples while sitting on his porch swing. It was a very nice night.
I am always so surprised at the level of kindness and hospitality shown to us. I love getting to talk candidly with people here and the new ideas that form in my head as a result of those talks. I am enjoying the relationships that I am developing and I look forward learning more from them.
In my three months I have developed relationships not only with my students, but also the Gujarati teachers and one teacher in particular comes to mind. Upon meeting this teacher for the first time I was unsure how to feel about him. He introduced himself as the PE teacher, but he didn’t have to tell me that for me to know. I could tell by the shirt tucked into his sweat pants, the athletic shoes on his feet and the whistle around his neck. He also walked around with such an overbearing air; he was loud, his eyes could stare any student into submission and his whistle blows were sharp and piercing. It was funny to me that such a stereotype could cross cultures. Truth be told, I was a little scared of him at first.
Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when I found the PE teacher in the back of my first Spoken English class. “I want to learn from you,” he explained when he could see my eyes questioning his presence. His English was broken and we communicated with holes of confusion. He made notes on paper from my writing on the board and I could tell he was making a concerted effort to improve his English. When my section of boys got too loud one day he was quick to reprimand them and I decided that this arrangement would work quite nicely; I could teach him English and he could help with classroom management.
Our conversations became more frequent and we talked about many different things. I learned things about his family and told him things about mine. We talked about the different sports the students enjoy and how to play them (although I still have no idea how to play Kho-Kho). When I needed rides to and from the English Medium school he was quick to volunteer, his reply to my "thanks" always being “No mention.” One day another American teacher was introduced to him and she told him that his English was very good. He laughed, and pointing to me said “She is a good teacher.”
Another teacher that I have grown very fond of is a primary teacher that I work with. Together we teach 6th and 7th standard, two of my favorite classes. Our working relationship in the classroom is seamless. After class on Thursdays we sit together in the primary staff room drinking tea and talking. She said she would help to arrange my marriage, and I half agreed. Her love for her students is obvious and I am so happy that we can teach together.
Someone else that I have enjoyed spending time with is a trustee on the school board. Within the first two weeks of arrival in India we had an invitation to his house down the street for a Mexican dinner. His family worked hard to make us feel at home and that night I had the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. Tonight I called him to ask if he knew a place to get faluda, our new favorite Indian dessert. He said he didn’t know of a place but that he would call back in five minutes. When my cell rang he said he was waiting outside our house. We jumped in his car and he took us to his house where his wife made us delicious faluda and we feasted on custard apples while sitting on his porch swing. It was a very nice night.
I am always so surprised at the level of kindness and hospitality shown to us. I love getting to talk candidly with people here and the new ideas that form in my head as a result of those talks. I am enjoying the relationships that I am developing and I look forward learning more from them.
Monday, September 7, 2009
"Super Fast Express" to Chennai
On August 5th we all piled into a jeep and headed to the Surat Train Station. The last time I was at this station was when I first arrived in India, fresh off a flight from San Francisco. I remember walking around the station in a daze, feeling jet lagged, tired, confused, and apprehensive about my decision to move to this chaotic country. Now, after being in India for about two months the station felt more manageable. It was packed full of people as we made our way to the crowded platform to wait for our “Super Fast Express” train to the South. When our train finally pulled into the station we climbed aboard, stored our stuff under the bunks, took a look around, and settled in for the start of our 36 hour journey, which was anything but “Super Fast.”
The start of the trip was nice. Men selling snacks, cold drinks, chai, and coffee frequently moved through the car and I enjoyed many cups of both. I sat on the bottom bunk by the window and watched as the amazing scenery flew. Since there was no AC in our car the barred windows remained open the entire trip so we could catch a breeze. Our birth was next to the door so at times I sat on the steps of the train and watched as the ground sped past my feet (not very safe in hindsight). The recent rain had turned the countryside of Gujarat into stunning colors of green and as we flew past fields of sugar cane and paddies of rice we glimpsed women in their colorful saris toiling away in the humid heat.
As we continued south the green gave way to shades of yellow and brown and the wind blowing in our car started to get hotter and hotter; so hot in fact that I had to move away from the window. We were now traveling through the desert and our nice train ride had turned into a trip through a wind tunnel in hell. The scenery was now drastically different; dry, arid land surrounded our train as we flew past lone palm trees providing respite from the blazing sun to lone herders.
We were all miserable by this point and I couldn’t even handle sitting next to anyone because of the extra body heat that was generated. I climbed up to the top bunk and tried to find my happy place in such an uncomfortable environment. I pulled out my bag of coveted Hershey Kisses, my fail safe, and wanted to cry when I saw that they had all melted! Feeling distraught, frustrated and tired I laid down on the hard, vinyl covered bed and tried to sleep through the night. In the morning I climbed down from my hot perch, eyes red, energy level low and craving for coffee high. I sipped on coffee and immersed myself in my book, trying to forget that our train was to arrive in Chennai at 4pm and it was just barely after 8am. Finally, we arrived in Chennai, a mere 36 hours after departure.
The Chennai Train Station was huge and bursting at the seams with people. We negotiated a mini-bus to take us to our dorm which had been confirmed weeks in advance and it took about 45 minutes to make our way through the busy city. I was so excited to get settled in and finally take a cold shower; it was my light at the end of the tunnel, or rather, the end of my train tracks. Upon arrival we were told that this was a men’s dorm and we were not allowed to stay there. There was a mix-up in the reservation and apparently our names were mistaken to be names of men! At this point we were all exhausted and feeling disgusting after sweating profusely for the last 36 hours. The only thing on my mind was a cold shower and scrubbing off the train grime from my body. After about an hour of waiting they were able to find a place for us to stay at a nearby campus, which we walked to in the thick humidity.
The dorm can be compared to accommodations at a summer camp; a really bad one; for really bad kids. Our room had three wooden beds covered with a very thin cotton mat (circa 1950 perhaps) and decaying fabric that tried to pass as a sheet. I gave the pillow a couple pats and clouds of dust flew into the air. Mosquitoes were already buzzing around, obviously excited that they would have fresh flesh to feed on for the next four nights. The ceiling fan was spinning in the most lackadaisical manner and barely produced a breeze at all. I groaned and headed for the shower/bathroom which was located downstairs and through a courtyard; not a trek I would be making in the middle of night alone.
Life always seems better after a shower and we felt renewed by the cleansing water and were ready to hit the town. We jumped into some rickshaws in search of some dinner. I feasted on a burger (veggie of course) and savored my first cold beer in India. We were still tired from our exhausting trip and so we went to bed early. Again, it was almost impossible to sleep because of the heat and mosquitoes. I was the only one to bring bug repellent which we had to use sparingly between the three of us because it was a very small can. It only contained 23% deet; no match for the determined mosquitoes. They acted as if we didn’t have any deet on at all and proceeded to feast. I tried to cover my body with my sheet to protect myself from bites, but then I became impossibly hot. In the morning I was covered in bites and the bed had given me fresh bruises on my hips and back. Looking at the bites covering my body and face I thought that my souvenir from Chennai would be a case of malaria. This is not what I had in mind.
Our purpose in Chennai was to attend a conference for English teachers. The takeaway from the conference was questionable; most of the lecturers geared their talk towards college age students and the assumption that resources fully abound. This is not the case for us where we teach. My resources are a chalkboard and a piece of chalk; I can’t even rely on electricity in my classrooms. I had to laugh when a man wanted to demo a language program that cost $20,000. He had to laugh when I told him my yearly budget is $500. Some of the lectures were interesting and we did get to network with some teachers. There were only 5 other foreingers from America, Canada, and the UK. To be honest, my favorite part of our days at the conference became our twice daily tea break.
When we weren’t busy in the conference we explored Chennai as much as we could. Chennai is a nice city and is much cleaner and more organized than the bigger cities we have explored in Gujarat. It is situated on the ocean, making for high humidity and heat, and during our time there it was unusually hot. We sped through the city in rickshaws, cutting in and out of the busy traffic. We spent some time in a coffee shop (with real coffee! no Nescafe!), stopped at an English bookstore-twice (I went a little crazy), walked along the beach at night and ate the best masala dosa at a local favorite spot. Chennai definitely has more to offer, but our limited time there only allowed us to get a small taste of the city.
Reluctantly, we returned to the Chennai Train Station to board our 36 hour train home. My body was already tense just thinking about the next 36 hours and I seriously regretted not buying sleeping pills in Chennai. Again, I plunged myself into my book and then listened to my iPod as I stared out the window from my bunk. Slowly, the yellow and brown scenery returned to green as we crept closer ever so slowly back into familiar territory. As we stepped off the train onto the platform at Vyara an incriminating photo was taken (see below blog titled Feverish Foreigners) and we rushed to the vans that were arranged to pick us up. Happily we unlocked our front door and breathed a sigh of relief. We were home.
The start of the trip was nice. Men selling snacks, cold drinks, chai, and coffee frequently moved through the car and I enjoyed many cups of both. I sat on the bottom bunk by the window and watched as the amazing scenery flew. Since there was no AC in our car the barred windows remained open the entire trip so we could catch a breeze. Our birth was next to the door so at times I sat on the steps of the train and watched as the ground sped past my feet (not very safe in hindsight). The recent rain had turned the countryside of Gujarat into stunning colors of green and as we flew past fields of sugar cane and paddies of rice we glimpsed women in their colorful saris toiling away in the humid heat.
As we continued south the green gave way to shades of yellow and brown and the wind blowing in our car started to get hotter and hotter; so hot in fact that I had to move away from the window. We were now traveling through the desert and our nice train ride had turned into a trip through a wind tunnel in hell. The scenery was now drastically different; dry, arid land surrounded our train as we flew past lone palm trees providing respite from the blazing sun to lone herders.
We were all miserable by this point and I couldn’t even handle sitting next to anyone because of the extra body heat that was generated. I climbed up to the top bunk and tried to find my happy place in such an uncomfortable environment. I pulled out my bag of coveted Hershey Kisses, my fail safe, and wanted to cry when I saw that they had all melted! Feeling distraught, frustrated and tired I laid down on the hard, vinyl covered bed and tried to sleep through the night. In the morning I climbed down from my hot perch, eyes red, energy level low and craving for coffee high. I sipped on coffee and immersed myself in my book, trying to forget that our train was to arrive in Chennai at 4pm and it was just barely after 8am. Finally, we arrived in Chennai, a mere 36 hours after departure.
The Chennai Train Station was huge and bursting at the seams with people. We negotiated a mini-bus to take us to our dorm which had been confirmed weeks in advance and it took about 45 minutes to make our way through the busy city. I was so excited to get settled in and finally take a cold shower; it was my light at the end of the tunnel, or rather, the end of my train tracks. Upon arrival we were told that this was a men’s dorm and we were not allowed to stay there. There was a mix-up in the reservation and apparently our names were mistaken to be names of men! At this point we were all exhausted and feeling disgusting after sweating profusely for the last 36 hours. The only thing on my mind was a cold shower and scrubbing off the train grime from my body. After about an hour of waiting they were able to find a place for us to stay at a nearby campus, which we walked to in the thick humidity.
The dorm can be compared to accommodations at a summer camp; a really bad one; for really bad kids. Our room had three wooden beds covered with a very thin cotton mat (circa 1950 perhaps) and decaying fabric that tried to pass as a sheet. I gave the pillow a couple pats and clouds of dust flew into the air. Mosquitoes were already buzzing around, obviously excited that they would have fresh flesh to feed on for the next four nights. The ceiling fan was spinning in the most lackadaisical manner and barely produced a breeze at all. I groaned and headed for the shower/bathroom which was located downstairs and through a courtyard; not a trek I would be making in the middle of night alone.
Life always seems better after a shower and we felt renewed by the cleansing water and were ready to hit the town. We jumped into some rickshaws in search of some dinner. I feasted on a burger (veggie of course) and savored my first cold beer in India. We were still tired from our exhausting trip and so we went to bed early. Again, it was almost impossible to sleep because of the heat and mosquitoes. I was the only one to bring bug repellent which we had to use sparingly between the three of us because it was a very small can. It only contained 23% deet; no match for the determined mosquitoes. They acted as if we didn’t have any deet on at all and proceeded to feast. I tried to cover my body with my sheet to protect myself from bites, but then I became impossibly hot. In the morning I was covered in bites and the bed had given me fresh bruises on my hips and back. Looking at the bites covering my body and face I thought that my souvenir from Chennai would be a case of malaria. This is not what I had in mind.
Our purpose in Chennai was to attend a conference for English teachers. The takeaway from the conference was questionable; most of the lecturers geared their talk towards college age students and the assumption that resources fully abound. This is not the case for us where we teach. My resources are a chalkboard and a piece of chalk; I can’t even rely on electricity in my classrooms. I had to laugh when a man wanted to demo a language program that cost $20,000. He had to laugh when I told him my yearly budget is $500. Some of the lectures were interesting and we did get to network with some teachers. There were only 5 other foreingers from America, Canada, and the UK. To be honest, my favorite part of our days at the conference became our twice daily tea break.
When we weren’t busy in the conference we explored Chennai as much as we could. Chennai is a nice city and is much cleaner and more organized than the bigger cities we have explored in Gujarat. It is situated on the ocean, making for high humidity and heat, and during our time there it was unusually hot. We sped through the city in rickshaws, cutting in and out of the busy traffic. We spent some time in a coffee shop (with real coffee! no Nescafe!), stopped at an English bookstore-twice (I went a little crazy), walked along the beach at night and ate the best masala dosa at a local favorite spot. Chennai definitely has more to offer, but our limited time there only allowed us to get a small taste of the city.
Reluctantly, we returned to the Chennai Train Station to board our 36 hour train home. My body was already tense just thinking about the next 36 hours and I seriously regretted not buying sleeping pills in Chennai. Again, I plunged myself into my book and then listened to my iPod as I stared out the window from my bunk. Slowly, the yellow and brown scenery returned to green as we crept closer ever so slowly back into familiar territory. As we stepped off the train onto the platform at Vyara an incriminating photo was taken (see below blog titled Feverish Foreigners) and we rushed to the vans that were arranged to pick us up. Happily we unlocked our front door and breathed a sigh of relief. We were home.
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