Good Morning F*#$ Pants

Let's take a moment and talk about sexual harassment.  There are oh so many things that are completely different about this country when compared with my homeland.  I understand that I am an interesting mix of independent New England feminist and shrewd New Yorker.  This makes me the girl who moved to East Harlem to live by myself and did not think twice about it.  My standard mode of operation when in New York is to walk down the street with purpose like I am not to be trifled with, I might be crazier than you.  And most important, however this maybe something only women have, pay attention to that "uh-oh feeling" that occurs in your gut.  I emplore you, always listen to the "uh-oh" feeling.  This has kept me out of uncomfortable and possibly dangerous situations.  I am not saying this to make anyone think that NYC is scary or that Kolkata is worse, but rather to illustrate the code of conduct that I have followed and that I continue to follow when I am here.  I may never get hit on, but I also don't get followed or my ass pinched.  I was propositioned once on the subway but the man was extremely intoxicated and one death look accompanied by my growling the phrase "do we have a problem?" sent him off the train.  My point is, only stupid drunk people mess with me back home.

Here in the lovely city of Kolkata, we have a bit of a different situation.  This culture is extremely conservative.  The woman dress in traditional Indian garb with the exception of a few of the more wealthy younger girls.  But even so, you do not see shorts or tank tops.  This can be mind boggling for westerners since the temperature is so warm and you so often see elderly women baring their mid drifts.  What's more is that their movies have no kissing.  I did see one movie that had kissing and a sex scene but I was so shocked I yelled "what!?" quite loudly drawing the attention of other movie goers.  In your averave Bollywood movie even if the couple gets married, you will never see them kiss.  Not a kiss on the hand or cheek, absolutely nothing.  I don't think I could come up with more than five American movies where there is no kissing. And even so, most of them would be movies like The Lion King and March of the Penguins.   

Then we take the fact that in many ways, this country is still fuctioning like it is in the 19th century.  Most marriages are arranged, and women still need to have a dowery.  A DOWERY I tell you! Technically its illegal, but it is still practiced. There is a tremendous prejudice against women.  Many still do not inherit their husband's propety when they die and so unless they have a son to take care of them, they are put out on the street.  If you see a little old lady in a white sari with no teeth, this is her situation.  

In the early 1980's feticide  was outlawed.  Thus so was finding out the sex of a fetus due to the large number or women who were electing to have abortions to avoid having a daughter.  But that does not prevent the people who reside in the villages from committing the crime or doctors letting the information slip out during and exam.  It has been estimated that somewhere around seven million women have gone missing in the last twenty five years.   This has created an extremely imbalanced gender ratio and explains all the trouble they have with human trafficking and the sex trade.  In short, India is a sausage fest.  One afternoon while standing by then entrace to the subway I counted over a hundred men but only twenty nine women entering and exiting the station. This has made finding the younger generations of men wives rather difficult.  It is also an accepted practice that many wives stay in the village to raise the children while the men go to the city to work, living there for most of the year.  So the imbalance seems even greater in the cities. Then on top of that, the more conservative and traditional people never even see their spouses naked. So, what we have is an extremely sexually repressed culture that is easily riled up and now throw in a bunch of westerners.

The more obtuse tourists have no issue sporting sundresses, tank tops and shorts.  I personally think you have to be a complete idiot to wear that here.  When you get off the plane in India you become aware of a strange phenomenon that will follow you through the duration of your stay.  Indian people stare at anyone who is not Indian. And Indian people gawk at white people.  And me? Oh, a ginger like me gets greeted like I am a real life leprechaun frolicking down the street with my pot of gold bestowing lucky charms on all the wee children.  This gets old so very quickly.  I challenge anyone to not become self conscious when people see you, then get the attention of everyone around them and then actually point at you.  It feels harmless when its done by a small child, but that is not always the case.  It can be down right infuriating when it is done by a group of young men. Especially those times when you are lugging a large package, and then not only do they stare at you but they also refuse to get out of your way.  This does not bring out the best in me.  

The other day I was walking down the street with a rather cumbersome box.  Two packages had arrived at the mother house, one addressed to me and the other to the Tucker family.  Since they had departed I took the package.  To make the transportation of both parcels easier, I opened both and combined them.  So instead of needing to manage two boxes of moderate weight I had one heavy and very unstable box.  The fact that the damage of the larger box was so severe that it made it difficult to wield through the crowded bus, sidewalks and streets was a major oversight on my part.  I was a bit miffed by my poor decision.  This was exacerbated by the heat and the men gawking at me.  Most days I walk down the street with my sunglasses on and my head held high, ignoring the attention that I get and hoping that I give off an air of "don't even think about it" and magically,  I am left alone.  This day however, it was impossible to walk down the street with dignity when the box was so heavy and I was so sweaty.  Unable to fall back on my usual defenses I resorted to giving off the air of a disgruntled troll.  Grunting, sweating and giving off an odor similar to a dairy farm I wielded my box like a club, bashing the men who were staring at me and unwilling to get out of my way while cursing them out.  Not one of my finer moments. 

However, I am happy to report that while my mother would be most ashamed of that sort of behavior my father would be delighted to know that I have yet to be propositioned.  I was told before I arrived here to anticipate the groping situation and not to fear defending myself.  I have so far been pinched twice.  But both times were strange and apparently the perpetrators had bad aim since it was the side of my knee that received the squeeze.  You do hear the occasional horror story of young boys jumping out in a pack and grabbing a girl's chest, a man following a lone woman as she walks through the streets at night, or sexual predators who lure women into the back rooms of their shops offering to help them try on a sari.  A word to the wise ladies, an Indian man would never offer an Indian woman help with putting on her sari.  But most of the time it is just staring, and men "accidentally" brushing up against you as you pass in the street.  The best defensive stance it to carry some sort of bag that you can hang over you rear, while holding the strap in the front covering your chest with your arms.  Other people may be concerned with the bag being an easy target for pickpockets, but I rely on the large amount of crap in my bag to serve as a defense.  I figure, I can never find my wallet in my bag without some severe rummaging, so likelihood of someone else doing it stealthily is pretty low.  

I must say however, the men that I have been working with have been nothing short of chivalrous.  It must feel very emasculating to not be able to protect your wife or female companion.  I met a young German man named Sam who certainly felt this way.  He had heard some stories from some girls he had met and personally witnessed a girl he was walking with get his chest grabbed and it was quite endearing to see how upset he was by it.  Sam, I should say is quite tall standing at 6'4" and practically a giant for Indian standards.  He also rowed crew, played lacrosse and American football when he went to boarding school in Connecticut.  So he has an athletic build which is something you really only see in the movies here.  The wonderful thing about Sam was his gentlemanlike need to protect the ladies he was with.  I have been the only female to volunteer as a tutor downstairs at Daya Dan for nearly six weeks now.  So when the day is over, I am also the only female heading back to travel on the metro, an infamous place for groping.  Sam, being so tall while I am so short was always very protective of me, despite the fact that I am nearly eight years older than him.  He always let me through the turnstile first and made sure that other people weren't cutting me off when I was in line to get a token for the train.  One afternoon a train pulled up that was jam packed full of people.  I hesitated thinking that we could easily wait for the next one, when Sam side stepped into the train checking aside the much smaller men creating a small birth for himself and me. Just before the train doors closed he pulled me by the arm onto the train.  I stood there koalaing him, "we're good friends right?" I asked from his armpit.  He laughed.  As the train pulled up to the next station he said, "Ok, I'm going to hold them back as long as I can. You get off the train and step to the side till we can get back on." This is as close as I want to get to actually being in an action movie.  Laughing and shrieking I jumped off the train as the doors opened.  Sam actually did hold them back, and just as the doors were about to close he grabbed my arm again and pulled me back on the train.  This time, another man yelled from the middle of the car, "madam, come over here." I knew he was talking to me, because there were no other women around.  Sam however saved me the trouble of responding by saying, " No, she's fine". This, thank goodness has only ever happened once. 

Sam has left now, but I was fortunate enough to fall in with a few new young men, one from Denmark and two from Canada.  Each of them, has proved to be just as chivalrous.  And even though my new Canadian friends will be leaving next week, I have faith that they will most likely be replaced by another group of young men who will be happy to protect me on the subway and have lunch after.

The reason why even a modestly dressed western woman is such a susceptible target for all of this is obvious, it's Hollywood's fault.  Young men pack themselves into movie theaters here to see Hollywood movies with their racy sex scenes.  Men see movies where the main character approaches a woman in a bar, they talk for a bit and then low and behold, in the very next scene she is in bed with him.  Clearly this means all American women are sluts.  So, naturally men will see a western woman and then, not even thinking that he is doing anything wrong say "Hello madam, I would like to f*#$ you".  Uh, no thanks.  Then on occasion we have a young man who does not actually speak English but gets a random collection of words and tries them out on the first white girl he sees.

One afternoon I was informed by Kate of such a man who approached her on her way back from the station.  He came up to her with his ever so witty greeting of "Good Morning f*#$ pants." I might add it was about 5:00 pm.  I believe she was taken aback enough to say "excuse me?" but when he repeated himself she did not dignify him with a response and kept on walking.

Somedays when I am alone, after hearing a particularly vexing story from another young woman I sit and day dream of all the wonderful cutting remarks I might use on such a disgusting man.  And I know from my own past dealings that I have no problem defending myself if someone gets too handsy, so there is no need to worry about that.  But then I also wonder, has any man ever had succeeded with such a line? Are there actually girls with big enough daddy issues to succumb to such a offensive and lame request? If you are reading this and you are one of those girls, stop and get some therapy.  If not for yourself, then please, for the rest of us, so that we may walk down the streets in peace.  And to the them men out there who lack the self control to keep their hands to themselves, I am inclined to take away your genitals.  You can have them back when you have demonstrated yourself to be mature enough to handle the responsibility.  

Until then India, not if my life depended on it.

A Love Letter to the Tucker Family

Most people have a core group of friends that are involved in their everyday life.  These are the people we plan movie nights, coffee and lunch dates and share our birthdays with.  These friends are brought into out life through school or work and may fluctuate over the years as people grow and change.  Then there is another level of friendship that has stood the test of time.  These are the people who you may not see everyday but nonetheless you are bonded together by the longevity of kinship and their staked claim in being there for all of your firsts.  If you are luck these friends were there on your first day of school, when you chose your first color elastics for your braces, had your first kiss, had your first car accident and your first heart break.  However, life leads us down our own path which frequently carries us away from these childhood friends.  But those who are most true never move too far away from our thoughts and stay nestled in our hearts.  

Then there is another type of friend.  This is a person who you most certainly must meet as an adult. And you do not have everything in common, but such a deep respect for them that it overrides any petty differences. They are not the type of person who is casually brought into our lives but rather done so with such purpose that surely angels must have been involved.  And regardless of the time and distance between you, the fellowship developed will most certainly never wain.  This type of friend I think is quite rare, and I was lucky to not just find one but a whole family.

Before I ever dreamed of coming to Kolkata I am not even sure if I had exchanged more than a few words with Kate.  I knew her family and her three vivacious talented youngest sisters best.  I think the first conversation we ever actually had I was defending the vegan black bean burgers she had made for her sister Ali's college graduation party.   Friendly acquaintances would be an accurate description of our relationship.  

We sat down last June over coffee in a Dunkin Donuts to have our first talk about Kolkata.  I wanted to know as much as possible about the city and see if this was something I was actually looking to do.  As she delved into her story about why she had gone the first time and what the experience was for her, it was hard to not yearn to go simply because of how passionately she spoke about it.  Her first venture quite simply changed her life and the ripple effect was so great that it resulted in the adoption of two of the boys she had worked with while volunteering at Daya Dan.   I knew immediately that this was something I wanted to try.  When she asked me what I was looking to get out of it, my reply was "an experience".    

We stayed I touch over the next six months while we prepared for our trips.  Josh, her husband was there to answer any questions I had when filling out the forms for my visa.  Every time I would begin to get overwhelmed or nervous about anything Kate was there to just talk to, and I always came away with my nerves feeling quite settled.  I felt that it would be a great security blanket to have them here with me.  Not to mention the fact that they would have their three small children with them, and that would be quite the adventure to witness.  

I must say that I would have never ended up here if it were not for them and I might have never grown to discover the new person that Kolkata has made me.  And for that I owe you this:

Dear Josh, Kate, Ray, Jude and Hosea (Beezer)

I can not possible express to you the overwhelming gratitude that I have for all that you have done for me.  I do not know that I would have ever managed with out you and your guidance.

  I am truly inspired by your commitment here.  From your work with the Missionaries of Charity to Sari Bari (a center that rehabilitates prostitutes teaching them to sew bags and blankets) to the relationships you have with the street people, I am awestruck.  I managed to take myself out of what sometimes feels like the epicenter of narcissism to a place where everyday is filled with honest hard work to help others.

  Josh, rumor had it that you were a "rock star" over here.  I didn't quite know what that meant before my arrival but now I do.  Watching you interact with the locals and speak bengali was quite impressive.  Not to mention all of the stories you had to share about your time here.   And learning the story of your path to Kolkata just adds to my respect for you.  Thanks for checking on me when I was sick and getting me medication.  And thank you for helping me negotiate the food.

  I admire your courage to carry the lessons that you have learned through to your children from the get go.  Kate, you once said to me that you want your children to be more than just good at their profession but "good citizens of the world" and I have such faith that your boys will be.  The choice to bring your family here raised many eyebrows (including your own on some days) but after watching your boys learn to handle the streets of Kolkata, I feel you made the right choice. It was a joy to watch Ray befriend anyone and everyone from the people at your hotel to the waiters at Blue Sky to the street children, I know that the lessons you want him to learn were not lost on his young mind.  Often the things we learn when we are young still hold true into our adulthood.  Which explains why when my mother uses my full name and says "I need to talk to you" to this day I wrack my brain to think of what I could have done to be in trouble.  Even if many years pass before you are able to return here as a family, I think that your time here will resonate quite strongly.  I consider it a great privilege that I got to spend this time getting to know all of you.

  I shan't gush too much longer, or this will just get embarrassing for everyone.  So, thanks.  And I look forward to getting some Mexican food and margaritas with you when I get back.  Josh, we can compare fruit ninja scores then.

Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

It's a white girl problem

After being here for five weeks, making through my illness, getting a handle on my surroundings and finally feeling settled and strong in my purpose here I was ready to make some concessions to my western ways.  I can handle a fair amount of adversity.  I can handle virtually never feeling clean.  I can handle wearing clothes that feel like I am wearing a sack.  I can handle not wearing make-up.  What I can not handle is all three of these things all the time.  

I do not consider myself to be a prissy girl.  I have ripped a picnic table apart to use as firewood and I can adequately handle a drill.  However, I feel that I can safely say that the last time I went five weeks with out wearing a stitch of make up was easily before the Monica Lewinsky scandal.  I like red lipstick and fake eyelashes and I don't see anything wrong with that.  I have the kind of face that can take make-up like a drag queen.  In fact I have had several ask for advice, and I have decided to take that as a compliment.  It took me many years to figure out how to do my face and accentuate my features.  No one escapes the faze when your foundation is far too dark and not blended in with the rest of your skin.  Or when you don't know how to apply eyeliner to your upper lid so you just add more to the lower lid. Then of course there is my favorite awkward make up stage when you just wear whatever new sparkly eyeshadow Mary Kate and Ashley have put out applied as if by a tiny paint roller over your entire eyelid with nothing else.  Electrics blue is always a ballsy choice.  I know that many people may think I have a heavy hand when doing my face but because of my coloring, but I have realized that I am not able to do the "oh I'm not wearing make-up, I just naturally look like this" look.  So, I have simply chosen to boldly charge into my daily life sporting the "I am wearing make-up and I am not even a little bit sorry about it" look.  But I especially in my adulthood I have discovered the many steps it takes to make my face look balanced.  

Here is a glimpse at my daily make-up routine.  I wear very little foundation, I like to even it out more than cover it up.  I like my freckles and I don't want them to go away.  So, I cover up the imperfections (giant dark circles and annoying adulthood acne)  on my face and then apply a light layer of bare minerals powder to take care of any shininess. Then I move on to what is actually one of the most important parts of my face my eyebrows.  Eyebrows are so frequently overlooked when doing make-up but can really make a difference in your face, especially when like me, you don't have any.  For me, if I do my face and don't do my eyebrows it's like looking at a house with out a roof.  Even if the siding and the paint are great really, what's the point?  And in the summer when I want to lighten up on my make-up (because I'll sweat it off otherwise) I dye them a medium auburn color.  I twice tried having it done by a professional but both times had disastrous results. The first time the result had me looking like the most deplorable love child of Lucille Ball and Grouch Marx.  As it turns out, black eyebrows aren't really my look.  And the second time ended with a more suitable light brown color but unfortunately it was on one and a half brows.  Since then, I've just done it myself.  

Next, we move on to eye make-up.  There's a lot potential here, keep it simple or make it fun and colorful.  However, whatever I choose, I will certainly end with black eyeliner and mascara.  I know many people wonder why I don't go with brown, but I will say this, brown just end up looking kind of muddy, where black really makes my blue green eye color pop.  And I figure, no one is going to think I'm not wearing this stuff so, go big or go home.  Then lastly I sweep a little bronzer in an arc from the hollows of my cheeks to my temples, and a bit of blush on the apples of my cheeks.  I know this is extensive, but I also really like playing with make-up.  It's a full commitment but it certainly makes a difference.  

When I left home I did not intend on leaving my make-up at there, that was an accident.  But I wasn't too concerned.  I really didn't intend on putting a face on while I was here.  I felt that it would be good for me or good for my skin or something.  Mostly I just felt that I was coming here to focus on other things.  Also I had been warned about the groping situation with the Indian men here (we can save that for another post) and was prepared to go bare faced and baggy clothed for most of my trip.  Initially that sounded like a dream.  You must know that for all of my girliness I also asked for sweatpants for Christmas like four years in a row.  I am that girl who walks out of the house with a full face of make-up and hair and then is in sweatpants.  The point that I am dancing around is, I was fine with the idea of sweatpants and no make-up for four months.  

However, after my bout with all of the illnesses, I came to the realization that I didn't want to feel gross anymore, I wanted to be presentable.  If I understand this correctly I believe that this is a common side affect of being a grown-up.  The easiest and cheapest solution to this would be the purchase of make-up.  So, after I had recovered I ventured out to attempt to track down some products that would work.  Now, when home unless it is the middle of the summer and I have spent a good deal of time outside I always need to buy the fairest foundation available.  I have usually have the same skin tone as a vampire, so I knew I had a tall order.   Granted, there are entire lines of products here dedicated to whitening your skin here.  Big american companies put out all sorts of products from body lotion, to face and night cream, to a spray for your armpits.  "White armpits will drive your man wild."  What?! All these years I had no idea I should be concerned about the color of the skin in my armpits.  

The best part of those advertisements is all the women in strapless dresses.  What part of India are women wearing dresses like that?  I will tell you.  Nowhere. This country is very conservative in the décolletage, shoulders and back region.  Which makes these advertisements all the more silly.  But what I knew from all of this is that I had a little bit better than a snowball's chance in hell of finding some any products for my skin tone.

When I walk into the first shop I decide to just try to track down some suitable eye make-up.  I walk up to the counter where there is a group of women ready to help potential customers navigate their meager selection.  I am shown some foundation that they recommend for my skin that would be an Italian girl's summer foundation.  One woman tries very hard to sell me some teal eyeliner and I assure her that I don't think the nuns I work with would appreciate it.  She is able to help me out with some eyeliner and mascara that I will use, but when I ask her if they have any matte brown eyeshadow with no sparkles or shimmer things start to get interesting.  She assures me that they do have what I am looking for and takes my hand and repeats my phrase "brown eyeshadow, no sparkles" back to me as she smears sparkly copper eyeshadow across the back of my hand.  I am greatly amused at the thought of having shiny penny eyebrows, but then elaborate on what I intend on using this for.  When I say that it is to color in my eyebrows she gives a slight chuckle of realization and then delves into the cabinet and retrieves a champagne gold color liquid eyeshadow.  We have taken a step back.  I look perplexed for a moment and attempt another explanation.  After a few more exchanges I realize that I am getting nowhere and just take the mascara and eyeliner.  

On my way back I see another store that advertises having Maybelline and Cover Girl products.   I am greeted by another group of women who are ready to deck me out and experience deja vu as the exact same scene right down to the dialogue replays in this store.  I again try to elaborate on what I will be using this for and the women do not comprehend me.  Unibrows are a highly common here so I can understand why no one is looking to darken their eyebrows. 

Later that night, the Tucker family and I ended up venturing out to the South Street Mall.  A mall that is just as nice as any mall I have ever been to anywhere.  They even had toilet paper and soap I the bathroom. There was a crocs store, a multiplex movie theater and a subway sandwich shop, but don't ask for ranch dressing.  There were escalators and everything was very clean.   I was in heaven.  It almost felt like home.  After getting dinner at the food court, we wandered around looking at the fancy shops with western clothing.  I have rarely ever wanted to don a dress as desperately as I do now.  Anything whimsical and fancy really.  It does a girl good to be fancy every so often.  But after a while, when it just started to just get depressing looking at the dresses, I made my way to a department store called Pantaloons where I figured they would have the best selection in make-up.  I headed to the make-up counter where there were many women eager to help someone, anyone.  I looked at the many different sections to see what they would have for brands here.  I find it highly comical that at a department store in London or Paris or anywhere in the states you would find high brow designer brands like Estée Lauder or Clinique where as here I was looking at the the very exotic brand Maybelline.  A brand you normally find a Walmart.  However, at this point I don't care, at all. 

I talk to the woman at the Maybelline counter and explain my predicament.  And as the scene from earlier in the day is about to replay for the third time I stop her and slowly explain that I am looking to color in my eyebrows.  She pauses, looking a bit perplexed, and I commiserate "I know, it's a white girl problem."   But when I ask for a brown eyeliner pencil, comprehension dawns on her face and she pull out a brown eyeshadow pallet. There is a color that is a a bit sparkly but close enough.  I also purchase some other pieces and when as I get ready to leave she exclaims that I have purchased enough to receive a case.  She holds up two garish vinyl make-up bags almost shaped like a heart and informs me that I have a choice between pepto bismal pink and purple.  I would have found these ugly when I was in elementary school and dry reply "Obviously the purple one.".  She smiles kindly and her obtuseness to my sarcasm makes me feel like a jerk.  

A warning to all of my witty  sardonic friends and family members, Indian people are impervious to sarcasm and no amount of exaggeration in delivery will make them understand.  In the end, you come off looking like an a-hole.  No matter how much I try to remind myself to refrain from the use of sarcasm, I seem to weekly have a sticky moment where I appear to be a cad.  

After the acquisition of the materials necessary to paint my face on.  I felt like a whole new woman, almost.  There was matter of my eyebrows.  I have never been able to shape them myself.  This was never quite so evident as when they were jet black that one harrowing afternoon.  After voicing this Kate informed me of a beauty parlor that was one block over from Sudder St that did waxing and threading.  Soon enough we found ourselves walking through the door that said "ladies only" and climbing the stairs.  We were greeted by several women who more than happy to be pulled out of their perpetual state of ennui by our arrival.  We enquired about leg waxing and threading and I was lead over to a chair and two women whipped off my painted on brows to reveal the two blonde caterpillars perched on my forehead.  Then one swept down pulling the skin taught while the other woman proceeded to clean up my brows with her thread.  Threading is nothing I understand.  They take a long piece of thread and twist it and then move it over the offending hairy areas.  Essentially these women cat's cradle your hair off.  It seems like witchcraft, but whatever gets the job done.  

Meanwhile, Kate was whisked over to a row of several chairs where a woman approached with a bowl of hot wax and several fabric strips.  Her five year old son Ray had accompanied us to the beauty parlor and was intrigued by the gruesome prospect of his mom getting her hair ripped out ... on purpose.  Ray watched and held his mothers hand as the woman spread the hot wax over her skin, pressed the cloth piece down and then pulled each strip off.  He only exclaimed once when his mom squeezed his hand too hard.  And he eagerly scampered over to sit next to me when it was my turn to endure this insanity.  

All the while, the women were talking to each other about the state of our feet.  Managing your feet here is a full time job.  Because the streets are mostly dirt and it is too hot to wear anything but sandals your feet take a beating daily.  Every night I soak and then scrub them down in an attempt to prevent my heels from cracking further and return them to a normal human color as opposed to the swampy black they usually are.  I do not envy the poor pedicurist who is going try to fix my feet when I return.  In the beauty parlor the woman looked at our feet in horror and assured us that they would give us "normal feet". As tempting as it was we had not scheduled that for ourselves and had to depart after the waxing.

At the end of it all I spent three hundred rupees for everything, including the tips.  That is about six American dollars and easily one tenth of what I would have paid for just the leg waxing back home.  What a bargain!

The thing I had learned from all of this is that it is not selfish to want to be presentable.  There something to be said about not wanting to completely let yourself go.  I feel that it is not a luxury but a strong dose of medicine to ensure that I don't loose my mind in the middle of all of this mess of women putting their infants to bed on the sidewalk and men shooting up heroin in between their toes in the gutter.  I am willing to give a lot of myself to try to lend a helping hand here, but I won't give my sanity.  And if clean eyebrows and mascara help I don't see anything wrong with that.  

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.