Growing Pains

In my travels I have learned that I am quite happy and elated to be on my journey.  But after two or three weeks my heart starts to long for familiarity and the routine of home. I yearn for the comfort of my own bed, the smell of my own sheets and simple normality. I was rather surprised to discover this last year when gallivanting around Europe with my family. On the second leg of our trip, just after landing in Italy I remember saying, "I can't believe that we have two more weeks of this trip."

This realization stunned me quite a bit.  I will not deny that I can be quite lazy, who doesn't love an afternoon well spent in front of the television watching a Cary Grant movie marathon on TCM?  Or perhaps Law and Order better suits your fancy.  So you would think that being at leisure, touring and getting cultured would be something that I could never get enough of.  However, I will also acknowledge that I come from a family of workaholics and have banged out many an eighteen hour day. What a strange combination.  Armed with this knowledge I was ready to face the inevitable third week homesickness. 

It is also a well known fact that there a few things worse that being ill when not at home. Having a fever or the rumbly tummies could make even a navy seal want mommy.  Whenever I am ill it is most likely a sinus infection, a personal favorite of my body.  I stock up on tissues, tea and saline nasal spray and I know that I talk to my mother quite regularly from the comfort of my couch.  And every time I hear the ache in her voice to be by my side, to comfort me even though I am an adult of twenty-seven.  And last summer when the mysterious stomachs pains (that I would later discover we're due to a gluten intolerance) returned when I was teaching in Alabama, she threatened to drop everything and fly down to Huntsville to be with me.  It was a very much appreciated but nonetheless very silly idea.  Especially since it was opening week for the resort where she is program director.

"What are you going to do, just look at me be in pain on the floor?"

"Well, " she sighed " it would make me feel better."

To which I replied, "I think there are a lot more people who need you there."

I faired that storm with the help of friends and the lovely community surrounding me down there.  That memory surfaced when I was preparing for India.  I knew I would probably come down with something at some point while here.  The length of my stay was too long for me to be healthy the entire time, the air too polluted.  Not to mention the fact that I had be warned  "everyone gets sick when they're in India".  You don't see that on any billboards.

 

What I was not ready for was perfect storm of awfulness that was about to blacken my horizon.  And like the beach goers of early summer in Maine, I was not necissarily warned by big black slow moving ominous clouds.  This thing swept down from the north quickly and all the warning I had was a sudden swift cool breeze on my back.

At this point let me say that this is about to get graphic. I will not venture into great detail but I would not properly be reporting on my time here if I was not honest about it.  If you are squeamish, easily grossed out or have not reared children stop reading and and we will see each other at the next post.  This is not for the faint of heart.

The second week that I was here two of my roommates came down with  stomached issues.  I was surprised to see that it took them nearly four days to recover and return to work.  I have suffered from indigestion.  I live in NYC where you can the worst possible food for you from all over the globe.  And these eateries are open till the wee hours of the morning making the likelihood that a night of drinking will preceded these bad gastronomical choices inevitable.  Needless to say, I've made food choices I have later regretted.  But getting an illness that knocked you out for a week had been reserved for the respiratory system in most of my experiences, but hey, I'm not one to judge. I had been very lucky not to be ill so far, and I knew it.  Claire had been so kind as to point that out to me.  But after my second week, I felt fatigue and illness creeping my way.

 

The air here is of the worst quality imaginable.  Well, short of people needing to walk around in hazmat suits due an outrageous toxic spill or nuclear blast or something.  Everything is covered in a layer of grime and dirt.  Most streets here are not paved, they are dirt and since it is not the rainy season everything is very dry.  So dust kicks up very easily.  Also, the waste management program here would make even the environmentally challenged American raise an eyebrow.  There are no trash cans here in Kolkata, none.  I can never find one anywhere at the homes or the mother house.  So everyone just throws their trash on the ground.  When getting chai on the street they serve it to you in a little clay cup that transfers the heat rather quickly.  So you stand there burning your fingers and your mouth on this tea that just kinda tastes like clay.  But the good news is that when you finish, you can shatter your cup on the ground and demand another just like Thor.   All day this garbage gathers, and then at some point, some mysterious group of men sweep all of it into the gutter.  After it has been picked through by all of the dogs, cats, goats, cows and buffalo the rest is set on fire.  I guess we can't blame that hole in the ozone layer entirely on 80's hair bands.  This is the air everyone is breathing. Delicious.  I had been handling the air quality fairly well, but it was after several consecutive nights of a group of chain smokers camping out on my door while I attempted sleep that I came down with a sinus infection.

 

I knew I was coming down with something and that I needed sleep. But I had promised Claire that we would go to the leprosy colony together.  There is a group that goes out every other Thursday that leaves earl in the morning but is back by lunch.  That morning I woke up feeling very groggy and it was with great effort that I even made it out of bed.  Had it not been for the seventy rupees that I had paid for the bus to take us there I am fairly certain I would have bailed.  Having prepaid for things that are early in the morning is a great incentive to make sure you actually go.  

The bus ride out was long and crowded, but there was good company and conversation so I didn't mind terribly.  The tour at the center was lovely.  Victims of the disease are able to get full treatment and are even given jobs. They harvest food and care for many animals that are able to use for sale.  They also work making clothing and blankets for all of the other homes.  The blue and white habits that are the uniform for the sisters are made there.  The children of people at the center are cared for and schooled.  People who are far enough along in the stages of the disease that they require prosthetic limbs have them.  They were easily the happiest most convivial  group of indians that I met. It was a wonderful experience.

The return trip was not so wonderful.  I have always had a tendency towards getting motion sick, and this ride proved to be the worst.  My head was pounding from sinus pressure and my stomached was queasy from the ride.  I got off the bus, walked directly home and passed out.  I proceeded to sleep and cough and wheeze and blow my nose for the next three days.  I was so exhausted, I hardly ever got out of bed except to eat maybe one meal a day or to lay in the sunshine.  I plugged in to my audio book and lived in that world while I recovered.  Three days of resting up passed before I felt I was ready to return.  After all it was Hanna's last day and I wanted to send her off.

  

My return was triumphant, many people were asking for me.  I guess even among the volunteers my hair color does not go unnoticed.  Several people I had hardly seen but in passing came up to me, " I was just asking my friend if they had seen 'that girl with the red hair'," they would say or "I am so glad to see you are feeling better."  My friend Anna came bounding forward and hugged me proclaiming, "You're alive!". I was filled with a sense of community and belonging, it was wonderful.  I was even greeted with a smile from Dilip when he saw that I was back.  I was having a great day.  Claire and I had made plans to get masala dosa (a dish popular in the south) for lunch.  We sat in the cafe talking about life, our trips, New York and Hanna leaving.  After lunch, Claire took off to go back to volunteer in the afternoon and I went to rest.  I was not quite feeling back to myself and I was exhausted.

 

The next morning we said good bye Hanna after a lovely breakfast.  Claire and I decided to take the morning off, she wanted to go shopping.

  She turned to me and said, "What do you want to do?"

"Lie down!" I said emphatically. I had a pit in my stomach that I knew had nothing to do with Hanna leaving.

 

I made a bee line back to my room where I tried to get control over my flip flop cramping tummy.  I took a fist full of tums and lay down.  I attempted to sleep through the pain, then Claire insisted that I needed good bacteria in my system.  So she convinced me  went to try some curd.  Now, I like regular yogurt, and I love Greek yogurt but curd is foul.  Greek yogurt is bitter and tangy but it's thick and very creamy. While regular yogurt is thinner and not as creamy it is sweeter.  Curd is thin and bitter, the worst of both worlds.  I put one spoonful in my mouth and looked at Claire horrified.  She smirked then grimaced and suggested that I add more honey.  After an hour I had my fill, a total of two and a half bites.  I could feel the unsavory awfulness churning in my stomach.  I briefly was able to talk to my mom and then I headed back to my room.  It wasn't long before I was completely regretting the curd.  And if I thought it was unpleasant to choke down, it was only worse when coming back up.

 

There are something's that I observed about myself during this.  Normally when ill, I succumb to my pain and become the most pathetic person.  It is not beyond me to camp out sleeping on my bathroom floor in the comfort of my own home or cling to the toilet as my stomach empties itself.  I know I'm not alone.  You wallow in your illness fidgeting not knowing what to do with yourself.  I feel I can safely say, that since the time when I was eleven when we discovered that penicillin causes me to vomit violently, I have never been this sick.  However, I have also never kept myself together as gracefully as I did through this illness.

 

The paragon, where I am staying is completely disgusting.  I don't know that the bathrooms have ever been actually cleaned with cleaning products.  Once a day a man hooks a hose up and just sprays everything down, like people who have vinyl siding on their houses.  That is basically the extent that things get cleaned here, the old rinse-a-roo.  If he can't hit it with the hose from the hall it does not get cleaned.  This actually isn't that bad for the pop-a-squat Indian toilets, but this is not an approach that I recommend for any western style toilet.  Most people opt to "improve their aim" so to speak, in an attempt to avoid using this bathroom.  However, when your system is trying to empty itself as quickly as possible, this is not the time to check how accurate your aim is when vomiting.  I therefore adopted a very specific posture when in the western bathroom to avoid touching anything.  I would stand with my feet hip width apart and slightly turned in, knees bent, with my hands resting on them and  bent over at the waist.  I would stand in this posture, puking my brains out.

 

One afternoon, I was standing there perpetually dwelling in the anticipatory moment before vomiting and praying it would come soon, when an insect with many legs caught my attention crawling up the wall.  I was finally able to kick start my stomach.  After every purging session I would then calmly return to my room, grab my toothbrush and listerine and return back to the sinks to clean my mouth.  Through all of this I had very little privacy, because even though it's not an open bathroom stall, the sound carries quite well through to the person showering next to you, or the rest of the building for that matter.

  

This purification lasted for five days.  I was confined to my room out of fear that if I went out I was going to cough and then do a public one woman reenactment of the bridal shop scene from Bridesmaids.  No thank you.  I had refrained from any more curd.  My diet consisted of water, water with pediatric electrolyte powder (fruit punch flavor!) and orange juice.  Although, I did discover that I prefer the brand "real" of orange juice over tropicana because it tastes better to vomit. These are the things that you talk about with the other people who were also sick.

 

My roommates were wonderful, running out and grabbing juice or toilet paper and laughing at my misery. They understood all too well, they had been there.  After my second day though, I had to say goodbye to Claire.  It was a sad affair, but I'm sure we will see each other again in New York.

During the days, I was so grateful for my iPod.  The first few days I laid there listening to the audiobooks that my brother had given me. As I laid listening to Pirates Latitude a raw ache unrelated to my physical illness sunk into the pit of my stomach.  I had been here for three weeks and it felt interminable.  How on earth was I going to get through the next three months here?  I wanted my mom, or anyone that I knew.  I wanted something familiar, anything familiar. Everything here is strange and smelly.  I wanted to be home where I had people who knew me and could make me laugh.  I was dreaming about my clothes and my plush bed, my perfume and my make up.  I miss smelling good and feeling pretty.  I felt that I was losing myself in this place.  So many of the things that I felt defined me so specifically were slipping away.  I know now I haven led an extremely comfortable life where I have the luxury of complaining about my job where I sing and dance.  How stupid and ungrateful I can be.

 

Then later I remembered the Bugs Bunny cartoons that were on my iPod and the movies.  I was able to plug into the characters that had been so prevalent through my childhood and I thought of my brothers and my Papa.  Why was is necessary to travel to the other side of the world to know that I have the best family? They are not perfect but they are supportive and love me through every cavalier reckless decision I make.

 

Then I watched Hairspray and I proceeded to openly weep in the dark surrounded by my sleeping roommates. But this was not out of homesickness.  I was flooded with all of the love that I felt doing that show.  I can say with the utmost certainty that was one of the best times of my life, just pure unadulterated joy.  And I was lucky enough to not have a romantic fling screw it up. How could I ever be sad again when I had such joy in my life?  Joy that I can still hold on to.  And hadn't I gotten a tattoo to try to preserve that memory?  How was able to get so far away from that and into a place of such unattractive self pity?  I realized as I lay there that these were all valid feelings that I was having, but I was also blowing things out of proportion due to the fact that I was so ill and my brain gets weird when I deprive it of food for a week.  But at the end of it all I realized that what I missed most was being able to freely express myself.  This whole country is so pent up, reserved and deprived and if anyone is going to burst out with any emotion it would be anger.  You are more likely to see a mob with machetes than a flash mob.  You never hear people laughing.  In my life back home I frequently am brought to tears because I am laughing so hard.  There are plenty of people who are friendly.  People smile enough, the sisters are extremely pleasant.  But with them, I feel that because of their life style, they are akin to a Jedi and all their emotions are balanced.  I prefer to have the whole spectrum at my disposal.  And apparently I was attempting to feel all of them at the same time like I was going for some world record.  I guess that the conclusion of this self analysis is that I would rather have to throw myself into the gauntlet of Kolkata every so often to ensure that those moments of pure love and laughing so hard I cry are completely appreciated than lead an emotionally balanced pleasant life.

 

Also, I miss not being the loudest most obnoxious person in the room.  I miss my quippy sardonic gay friends and I miss black people.  I miss singing and dancing and acting like an ass.  I miss my job (not Ellen's or Point Sebago specifically) being an artist.

After four days of eating absolutely nothing and vomiting up absolutely everything Josh popped his head in my room to check on me.  He asked about how I had been feeling and that my mom had sent Kate a message saying she had not heard from me in days.  I filled him in on all the gory details.  His face when I told him I hadn't eaten since Monday was comical.  "It's Friday" he exclaimed! After some consideration and when I told him I still had absolutely no appetite he thought I contracted a parasite and ran out to get me some meds.  I thanked him for getting me some medication and promptly took it when he returned.  I also promptly threw it up after he left.  The next day I was still a complete mess, but after two days of medication I ventured out into the world to see Kate and Josh.  We had lunch that day where I enjoyed a meal of four bites of rice and ketchup. The company was wonderful and the next day we headed to McDonalds where I stuffed my face with four chicken nuggets and eight french fries.  It was familiar and wonderful.  I could have cried and I think I was trying with great effort not to. However, after the ten minute walk back I felt like I needed a twenty minute nap.  But I was getting better.

All in all, I got through it.  No one said that changing your life and working to be a better person was easy work.  I didn't end up back at work until Wednesday.  And while I wouldn't recommend it to anyone as a diet, I also feel lighter.  The first glance at myself in a full length mirror was down right shocking.  I truly feel that the eight days of illness and self reflection that I endured were at the end of it, empowering.  My renewed sense of purpose was nearly overwhelming.  I feel stronger and more capable than I can ever remember.

 

I did the math and I only have about ten weeks left here.  Ten weeks is nothing.

A Stroll Through the Streets of Kolkata

One afternoon when I was walking back from the ATM I was fortunate enough to stumble upon a Baskin Robins.  I could not believe my eyes.  Baskin Robins in Kolkata? Where's Dunkin Donuts?  And after my momentary shock I decided to treat myself to an ice cream.  I had a rather tough morning with Dilip and I had been relatively good since being here.  I have been living on a diet of almost entirely Indian or at least eastern food, mixing up my paneer and chicken masala with some stir fried vegetables. And rice ... so much rice.   But there is plenty of opportunity for fruits, I choke down a banana every morning at breakfast.  Also the oranges here are quite tasty.  I could have on of those for breakfast every day, but the bananas are free.  My point is, I deserved a modest scoop of ice cream.

As I turn towards the the shop I am halted by a dog lying on the corner.  Now I must say that I am not surprised to see this street dog, their presence is overwhelming.  In fact there seemed to be a few packs that did a two week run of an all canine version of West Side Story that served as a very punctual 4:30 am alarm when I was jet lagged.  They are everywhere and they sleep everywhere.  Skinny and mangy things covered in scars from their fights.  The thing that caught my attention with this dog was it's placement.  Most dogs choose to sleep on the smaller less crowded streets or near somewhat off to the side on the more crowded sidewalks.  This one however was right in the middle of the sidewalk.  As I got closer I was able to see that this old guy had a pretty bad gash from a recent brawl, he was desperately skinny and so mangy that he hardly had any fur.  I my heart went out to the guy, but I was on a mission for ice cream.

  When I approached the counter I was afraid that I was going to be confronted with 31 variations of curry ice cream.  That is not entirely unrealistic, you can't get a burger at McDonald's here, but don't worry there's a spicy paneer wrap. Much to my relief however, there was mostly very American flavors.  Fudge ripple, coffee, German chocolate, cookie dough, and Mississippi mud were just a few of the options.  I opted for Mississippi mud and gold medal ribbon.  As the man was scooping the ice cream, I looked back at the dog on the street corner.  What a strange place for him to rest, there was so much foot traffic.

 

I took my ice cream and thanked the man.  As I trotted back towards the corner, I looked at the dog and realized it was dead.  Well, that explains that.  I stood there staring at the dead dog with chocolate, caramel and vanilla flavors swirling and melting over my tongue I and proceeded have an internal battle with myself.  I was feeling bad about the dog, but I had been working and deserved a treat.  Nope, I'm sorry you died on a corner Mr. Dog but I was going to enjoy this ice cream and no one was taking that away from me.  I turned on my heels and continued on my way.

I was enjoying every little spoonful of rich sweet flavor and all the action as people were pedaling their goods on the street.  People selling beautiful multicolored shawls and really stupid posters that make no sense and tee shirts with John Cena on them.  I looked down and see a little street girl of about four covered in dirt being roughly led by her older brother while she is sucking a slice of lemon.  She looks at me and I smile at her.  She smiles back and then is crest fallen as she looks at my ice cream and then at her lemon. And before I even have a moment to register what happened she's gone again.

 

My ice cream is beginning to lose its flavor as I turn the corner to Sudder street.  I shuffle along in the road and see a fat dead crow ahead with a car speeding toward me not much beyond it.  I avert my eyes as I realize the car is going to run over the bird's carcass.  A wise choice, but my lack of sight does not make me deaf to the loud crunch it's body makes under the weight of the car.  And just as I am recovering from this most recent atrocity I am hit in the face with a fresh breeze from the stagnant open urinal on the street a head of me.

Game over.

 Well played Kolkata, well played.

100 % Love

If you are thinking that something unexpected and very exciting has happened to me here in India, you are right.  And that thing is a Bollywood movie called 100% Love.

 

My roommate Claire had been raving about a movie called Don 2 staring Shahrukh Khan (the Indian "hero" that introduced Slum-dog Millionaire at the oscars) that she saw in Mumbai. She went on and on about how silly and amazing the movie was and she wanted to take me. I am a movie junkie so I agreed, but alas Don 2 was no longer playing. We had decided to go see this action packed movie called Agneepath, but when Hanna and Abby went to go get the tickets there were none and they went to another smaller movie theater down the street and got tickets for a new romantic comedy called 100% Love. As it would turn out we would end up seeing Agneepath the next week, but more on that later.

 

All Bollywood movies can be relied on for a few things.  There will be emotional turmoil, perhaps forbidden love, a powerful elder, a fight scene, an intermission and of course musical numbers.  100% Love quite literally had everything that you could possibly want from a movie and even more. 

The movie starts with our leading man tall and sort of good looking, dressed in jeans and a plaid button up in a pitiful place. He is fighting with his father (an Indian version of Jerry Stiller)  and is dissatisfied with his life in general.  As he walks down the street, he is as low as he can get when he is the target of a poop bomb and it begins to rain. When you think that maybe this is the end for this man a car drives by and he thinks that he is going to be sprayed by a puddle, but he isn't. When he looks the rear window is partially open and he sees a woman in the back seat. She is beautiful and the music swells and a passionate rhythm begins. The cars stops after a bit and we see the woman reach out her delicate hand with tacky long acrylic nails feel the rain. She leans out the window to feel the warm rain on her face and the man is entranced.  His life will never be the same.  We are now in the throws of our very first musical number. 

The scene is inexplicably swept off to the Himalayas?  Not sure.  What I do know is that we're on a snow covered mountain in some really impractical outfits.  The man is in a flashy suit looking very Vegas playboy.  Perhaps if we were in Vegas or some other city it would be attractive, but it's the mere fact that we are on a mountain that makes him look like such a massive tool.  The girl is in a fit and flair mermaid skirt that is made of taffeta from the waist to the knee and then chiffon from the knee to the floor. The top is separate from the bottom creating an I dream of Genie mid drift peek-a-boo affect. She is wearing galoshes for shoes. Who picked these outfits!?!  They romp around in the snow in a coltish awkward sort of way. I highly doubt either one has had much practice playing in the snow. This is intermittently spliced with  aerial mountain scenes,  shots of the man standing front while the girl wiggles on him like he's a stripper pole and the girl posing in the snow while the man prairie dogs up behind her.  There is not a word of English being spoken. I have no idea what is going on.  The look of pure glee that was on my face must have been remarkable.  I have accepted that we are now in the land of the Al Jolsen style musical where anything goes once the music starts, things don't have to make sense.  This is not the Rogers and Hammerstein school of thinking.  

At the end of the number we are brought back to the streets of this Indian city. He now proceeds to go to great lengths to get close to the girl with out talking to her.   This includes but is not limited to following her, finding out where she works, applying for a job and studying up on his global economics and computer skills. I believe this is called stalking and surely in the US he would have a restraining order slapped on him.  We are shown that the girl is a shrewd business woman, harsh and screechy.  But despite her being rather disagreeable, he is smitten.  And during this sequence we see him at home with his father who is bewildered by his son's new found purpose and by his love sick behavior.  Especially when his son starts hallucinating and seeing his father as the girl.  But through all this he eventually manages to get hired and placed on her team despite is clear lack of knowledge in the field. 

After he lands the job, the man gives this long and heartfelt monologue to his father. I imagine it's about finding purpose in his life and feeling like he is finally on the right track. Did I mention that he is giving this while driving a scooter with his father riding on the back peeking up over his shoulder? 

His life at work is tumultuous.  He manages to make the love of his life really dislike him and he also manages to make the entire computer system crash.  The result of this is the girl being screamed at by her superior in front of the entire devision bringing her to tears.   I guess she is not quite the frigid witch we all thought she was.  But after staying and working all night long he is able to repair the damage and everyone congratulates the girl. She begrudgingly thanks him for repairing the damage. 

We do not escaping the series of office scene with out a musical number. And it is a glorious one. There is dancing and cubicles and throwing of reports like confetti and bewildered blustering fat man.  Just so tasty. 

The story moves on and the man gets to go to Australia with the girl on a business trip. He goes shopping and shows off his new clothes to his father while Livin' La Vida Loca plays in the background.  Next we see him on the flight where he is sitting next to the girl. Things get awkward and a bit judgmental when he orders a whiskey soda (that was in English) and they fall asleep on the flight waking up nose to nose.  Because everyone sleeps like that when they're in love. 

When they arrive they begin to work with an Australian company.  All the white people seem to have a weird Indian accent despite being Australian.   To celebrate their arrival the team decides to go out to a club and they manage to convince the girl to come along. This next part is amazing, because we get to this club and all the white Australian girls are so heinous and garishly dressed that I was guffawing.  In the late 80's and early 90's there was this trend where girls would take oversized tee shirts and cut them up along the bottom and side seems to create a fringed affect. This enables you to take the shirt in at the sides and make it form fitting. It also was pretty slutty/trashy looking, especially when you would cut it so your middle showed and decorated the fringe with beads.   This is what all the white girls in the club were wearing along with daisy dukes and halter tops.  They also were not the most physically fit women and had sloppy make up and hair.  Now, every Indian woman in the movie had nothing less than exquisite hair and make up.  And I mean everyone from extras to the leading lady.  So these white woman who were so consciously and intentionally dressed in this horrifying way was just completely absurd.

  

The girl ends up deciding to drink (which is a huge deal, the entire audience was screaming and cheering) and she ends up consuming about  ten cocktails.  For someone who was so contemptuous about the consumption of alcohol she sure can put them away. So, the man is now charged with the care of her. He brings her back to her hotel room where she vomits on him and herself.  She also attempts to be promiscuous by showing off her ankles but he resists but stays with her to make sure she's alright from the safe and respectful distance of a chair. 

When she wakes in the morning, she is horrified by his presence and her behavior. She yells at him and then he yells at her. It's weird and uncomfortable. 

The man gives the presentation and it goes over amazingly.  Perhaps the girl is seeing him in a new light? She seeks him out after and finds him on the helicopter pad on top of the building.  We now head into the title number of the movie. I'm not going to give any details, but I will attach the link to the YouTube clip. That will speak for itself.

 

 

After the song, the man gives the woman a speech about how much he loves her and she does not react well. She says something about invitations and he gets mad and starts to get a little "I'm a man and you're a woman" when she yells, "because I love my job!" I have no idea of the details but we return to India where things go from bad to worse.  The man's father goes to talk to the girl after seeing how upset his son is. This does no good and after a hissy fit and some slaps thrown by the woman security is called to remove both the man and his father. 

They go home and drown their sorrows and stinging cheeks with booze.  This evokes more screaming and cheering from the audience.  And after this short comical scene between liquor, father and son we shift to the next morning where we find the father dead. Woah!  This leads to an intense funeral and series of wallowing scenes.  Eventually the man's friends come and persuade him to go away. He accepts the offer to go with his handsome friend out to the country to his parents place. As the train pulls away, we see the girl chasing down the train. The man is ignorant to her pursual of the train. Just you think she will fall behind, the friend reaches out and pulls her on board. They cling to each other and laugh. Horrified, the man is finally introduced to his best friend's fiancé, the girl!

Intermission 

I know what you are thinking. How can this be intermission, that was like four movies all in one right there.  How can there possibly be more? Why is this movie so crazy and long? I don't know, it just is. 

When the lights come up for intermission I am able to appreciate the fact that we are dead center in this large movie theater as three hundred pairs of Indian eyes turn and stare at the four white girls.  We aren't exactly subtle either. Abby and Hanna with their blonde hair, all of us with our blue and green eyes.  I was attempting to be conspicuous by hiding most of my attention grabbing red locks under my Red Sox cap. A futile attempt. When you think about it, it's actually somewhat impressive how shameless they are about staring.  I am not unfamiliar with the sensation being in the spotlight but holy Hannah is this uncomfortable. There was nowhere to look. You either looked at each other, the ceiling, or did your best turtle impression.   After fifteen minutes of this, I was ready for the movie to resume and the staring to stop. 

We left off our story with the grieving man embarking on the most uncomfortable couples weekend ever.  They journey to the friends house for what turns out to be his wedding.  Yikes! When they arrive there are many women who fuss over meeting the bride and meeting the man.  Among them is a young girl of maybe fourteen or fifteen.  She gives the man the once over and the Bollywood equivalent of bow-chicka-wow-wow plays. The audience bursts into cheers and cat calls.  Are approving of this behavior? The man is easily in his thirties. 

The  family has many cooky characters including a warm and benevolent mother, a feisty Nana, a stoic and revered father as well as many aunts and uncles. There are many events that take place leading up to the nuptials. The family goes to a carnival where a group of bad men turn up.  Their leader has freakishly white teeth and green eyes.  This is not attractive and makes him look like Satan.  He threatens the family and the man steps in between them and we now break into a crouching tiger hidden dragon fight.  The man, who couldn't get a job and was covered in poop at the beginning of the movie  is now round house kicking sending bad guys into carnival game stands and throwing people on and off of ferris wheels.  He single handedly defeats the entire gang and walks away with only a cut on his hand. The girl holds his hand while it is being bandaged and when he leave she has some of his blood on her hand.  Which by the way is obviously paint, the powder kind, and it has not been mixed with enough water to even appear to be liquid.  But, the girl, is she having a change of heart? 

We press on where the man must go shopping with all the women who are now simply fawning over him and all the children.  The women are getting things for the wedding attire.  Then for some reason there is an awkward scene with little boys needing to go to the bathroom and they're naked.  I can say I wasn't ready for that. 

Now we return to the house where Nana is dead.  She lies surrounded by family and many people unseen before this weeping around her body.  The man walks in and yells at everyone, they leave and he has a private moment with Nana.  Now, let me remind you, this is not his family.  This is his friend's family.  There seems to be an unbelievable power that you have as a leading man where you can yell at anyone regardless of the situation.  Seems rude, but I'll go with it.

 

He now delivers a monologue at Nana's deathbed where he is crying.  Again, I have no idea what's going on, but after shedding some tears it appears that Nana is back from the dead!  She flutters her eyes and smiles at the man.  The family rushes back in and now celebrates.  

There is a scene that feels similar to rehearsal dinner where the next song takes place.  This a more traditional Bollywood number where the dancing is fluid and quite graceful.  This is the best quality part of the movie, it seems the most natural. 

The affections of the teenager for the man have only grown.  She flirts with him and he is very uncomfortable and the girl becomes jealous of the teenager.  Somehow they all end up in a car together with the man and the teenager in the back seat.  She nestles in to him as they drive down a bumpy road and she even kisses him. The girl slams on the brakes of the car and the man tells the girl that he is not interested.  The teenager leaps from the car and runs away and throws herself into the river.  The man and the girl chase after her and the man jumps into the river and retrieves her.    They call her name, but she is unresponsive.  No one is administering CPR but they do slap her feet?  Eventually the teenager oozes water out of her mouth, yes I do mean ooze, and wakes up.  They bring her back to the house.

The woman now knows that she loves the man.  That night the rest of the guests arrive for the wedding and we see the man's other friend and work colleges who know that he is in love with the girl.  They lament over the situation and just as the man is ready to leave or go to bed (I'm not sure which) the girl appears.  

We now go into the most jaw dropping musical sequence of the movie.  The set is a gas station, pacific gas and everyone is dressed like they are attending a jersey shore party.  There are a lot of back up dancers and all of it is awkward. And just when you didn't think that it could get anymore ludicrous there is a shift in the music and a shift in the scenery.  We are now in the wild wild west.  All the men have chaps, jeans, cowboy hats, aviators and leather vests with no shirt on underneath.  The girl is wearing a brown leather skirt, a gold sequined corset and a gold lame bra.  They dance around, but in the back of the scene there is a guy standing in the gallows with a noose around his neck.  At one point the man  dances up to the guy, takes the noose of his neck and he dances away all happy and smiling while the man puts the noose around his neck and the trap door lets go.  The music pauses on a shot of the girl gasping. The man pops up next to her and the song continues.

After the number is over, the man leaves and we see that the father has seen the whole exchange. He visits the girl in her room and slaps her. Everyone finds out that she is in love with the man and her fiancé is furious.  We now see the man leaving and heading to the train station.  He leaves and then comes back to the wedding but then leaves again.  I really don't know what happened here, it was weird.  But on his second departure the wedding is fully on, the girl is in her bridal get up.  We go back and forth from the wedding to the man heading to the train station.  When suddenly, he passes the bad guys who jump out and stab him.  The man lays dying on the side of the road.  Some villagers find him and tell everyone at the wedding. They all look to the father and he says nothing but the man's friends plead with everyone and eventually Nana leaves, so does the fiancé and then everyone else.  The only two who are left are the father and the girl.  Words are exchanged, and next we see the man waking at the hospital.  He walks out to see the family all there and eventually he sees the girl.  They go to each other, hold hands and then it cuts to them being married.

The end 

What?

Taking Steps

I am now at the two week mark of being here in Kolkata and sometimes it feels like I just arrived and other times it feels like I have always been here.  It's strange when you become so comfortable and settled into a routine that you forget there was another routine, another life, another world before this one. How easy it is to forget there was a time when your surroundings were strange and new.  I find it even more strange that I am still surprised by this realization that happens every time I settle into a new life since my life seems to be a series of temporary existences moving from contract to contract, show to show, school to school, city to city.   Some times I feel like the Phoenix, constantly burning my time out in one place and being born new into another.

When I first arrived in Kolkata and the culture shock was so completely overwhelming I would repeat a little mantra to myself, "My name is Meghan Brideen Doherty-Scannell.  I am from Steep Falls, Maine.  My mother's name is Deb, my father's name is Tom.  I have two brothers TJ and Jack.  I leave Kolkata on May 1st.  I do not live here."   I won't pretend that I didn't steal this from The Hunger Games, but it was a great little trick that would help calm me down and remind me that all of this insanity was temporary, it was not my real life.  

I am happy to report that it has been over a week since I have had to use that little trick.

The best word to describe how the work has been going at Daya Dan is erratic.  There has been great progress in many aspects.  A week and a half in and I think the more coherent boys have begun to realize that I am more than just someone who will breeze through.  I am constantly reminding myself not to underestimate any of them.  My friend Mukul is a great example of why.

I met Mukul on my second day at Daya Dan.  He is probably about eleven or twelve years old and again I'm not too sure of what his diagnosis is but at first glance he is vegetable who is mobile.  He does not have good control over his body but he is able to walk, although his arches have fallen and he is incapable of straightening his knees.  He back is hunched and he drools quite a bit.  We sat through mass on Sunday rocking back and forth, holding hands, him drooling and me wiping it up.  After observing him for a while, I noticed that he drifts in and out of (for lack of a better word) consciousness. It reminded me of another boy I had babysat for years ago, who had seizures.  I was alarmed when his mother told me of his condition  and had a visual of this child dropping to the ground and convulsing, but in reality he would simply check out and shake a little, nothing more than a shiver, and then come back to life just as animated before.

  

As I sat wiping Mukul's mouth, I saw a similar glazed look fall over his eyes as he slumped retreating into darkness of his mind and then he would jerk up right, look around,  swallow and a smile would blossom over his face.  When he was animated this boy was so endearing. From far away these kids are needy, dirty,  smelly and covered in God knows what.  But as I get a closer look and begin to figure out the puzzle that is each of their brains I grow ever more fonder of their idiosyncrasies.

 

The programming at Dayan Dan can be a bit inconsistent depending on the skills of the volunteers.  When I started there was a young woman from Spain who had been doing speech therapy with the children.  She left a work book with us when she left so that we could continue her work.   Last week we filed into the meditation room, I flopped down onto the cushy mats eagerly anticipating whatever was next.  I cant say I was actually ready to spear head a speech therapy class, but I certainly was going to shirk off the responsibility when it was thrust upon me.  

The good things about all of these challenges is that I am getting to know these kids so much better.  There is Joahkim who has the sweetest face but sounds like pure gibberish when he talks, Rama who is is shy but bright and affectionate and John who screams like a gremlin till you want him to talk and then he is ever so bashful and down right coy.  Then there is Shubashi who just wants you to talk to him, Noel who can't use his left side and just wants to be held or Benny who has down's syndrome and the craziest extensions.  He nearly kicked me in the face when we were sitting on the floor during mass and he was sitting cross-legged.  Then there is Baskar.  I thought the mashie said his name was Butters (I still call him that) when we first met.  He is eight but he looks about four. He also has down's syndrome and is deaf as a post.  He clings to you like a koala, is covered in boogers, is constantly peeing, rips your hair out, and sits cross legged cross eyed with a grump frown and I love him.  When he latches on to your hair you tickle him then he will let go  and he squirms and giggles and coos.  He is the most adorable thing that you have ever seen. These boys are beginning to open up to me and know me when I arrive and miss me when I'm not there.  

  Since I am here  for so long I have the privilege of being assigned to a child as a tutor.  We are to work on very basic things such as math and basic reading and writing.  The boy I have been assigned to Dilip, (pronounced Dee-leep) and he is tough.  From what I have observed he has autism and obsessive compulsive disorder or OCD.  He spent most of our first lesson perfectly sharpening pencils and then braking them.  He also can get violent.  When I wouldn't let him color he proceeded to rip down some of the posters that decorate his cubicle and take the top of his desk and repeatedly slammed it into the wall.  But I think sister assigned me to him because I don't take crap from anyone, even disabled kids.  He can't really hold a conversation and has problems with his speech.  He is not the cutest, he is not the sweetest, and he is not my favorite but that doesn't mean that he deserves or needs me any less.  

My first day with Dilip I looked through his work book and surprised to see some rather advanced math and some full sentence writing.  He is eleven, but with their schooling being primarily left up to volunteers I wasn't sure how far along he would be.  With any child it can take a while to figure out their learning style and you can spend a fair amount of time spinning your wheels.  With the added complication of autism and tutors changing so frequently there can be a great deal of time that it lost on trying to put the puzzle together.  And when we sat down to attack the first lesson I had planned out I was disappointed to find out that Dilip had not retained much of the information his last tutor had worked with him on over the period of two months.  We sat in a small cubicle both frustrated and feeling quite inadequate. It seemed that he was simply memorizing items on flash cards and not actually being able process the information.  He could put the flash cards in order to spell certain sentences but if I asked him to find the cards that started with B he couldn't.  I felt lost and quite perplexed.  We spent the rest of the lesson writing out the ABCs to build motor skills. Clearly I was going to have to approach this differently. 

After a few lessons, I has picked up with the flash cards that his last teacher worked with him on.  We did some numbers and we were starting to find our rhythm. Dilip was smiling and seemed to enjoy our lesson.  There were no outbursts and no temper tantrums.   I have realized the that he loves animals and colors and I remembered that when I was a kid that my favorite game to play with my mom was memory. So I made some flash cards that had color blocks on them and then the color written out in the corresponding color, then a set with just the word written in the proper color and lastly another set written in black.  We went through the flash cards sounding them out.  He doesn't seem to grasp the concept that letters translate to sounds.  Then we matched up the words written in color with the ones written in black.  When he seemed to be understanding that we moved on to a game of memory. This was actually down right fun, once he understood that he had to wait his turn and not just turn them all over.  We we laughing and as it seemed, learning! Success! I was so proud of Dilip and proud of myself.  

Then like all good things, it came to an end.  What I have learned in my years of working with children is that they want to test the boundaries and figure out what they can get away with.  In the midst of all of our silliness and fun Dilip started taking the flash cards that I had spent the morning making and ripping them in half.  The fun was over.   I immediately took the rest of them away, explained why that was wrong, why I was furious and hurt and got out his boring work book making him write letters over and over.  No more songs, another more colors, no more smiles.  

I knew I had him when after a bit of writing and coming down on him for his posture and form he began looking at me and flashing broad big smiles.  At first I found this alarming.  I thought he was have some sort of fit.  After three with no reaction other than puzzlement from me, he grabbed my arm and turn his head to the side and flashed his ridiculous over smile.

 

"Are you trying to say you're sorry?" 

He nodded, sort of.  I told him that if he was going to be rude and a stinker that we wouldn't play games.  Games are only for good nice boys.  I think he may have understood.

We may never get there, but we are taking steps.