Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-jig

Home to Dallas that is. For those of you wondering, I'll be back in L.A. on December 2.

Now that I've had a few days to recuperate, I felt I should write one final post, if for no other reason than to assure you that, despite my semi-threats on facebook, I did not end up staying in India.

I might have been more inclined to stay. But, Charlie and I had to leave the orphanage on Thursday because some paperwork was not filed correctly. (Phil, could you maybe just skip this paragraph entirely? I can only imagine the reaction to this explanation from someone who works in international law... and it's not good.) Anyway, it's not exactly anyone's fault: it just is what it is. Apparently, we weren't registered to be at an orphanage (at least, this is what I gathered from having it explained several times in very broken English). Anyway, the man who ran the orphanage (understandably) didn't want the orphanage or the school that's attached to it to get caught up in any controversy, so he asked for us to be placed somewhere else.

I can understand his point of view, and his duty to all of the kids at the orphanage, and therefore why he should make that decision. But all that logic didn't keep my heart from breaking when I had to leave. I would have been leaving in two days anyway, but I would have been more prepared by then... ah well... like I said, it is what it is.

So, Charlie and I left on Thursday to stay at Dr. Bandhu's house - he's the local coordinator, and he always has volunteers stay at his house, so there was no problem. In fact, we were joining three people who had already been there several weeks: Christian, a 19-year-old from Norway; Isabella, also 19 and from Germany; and Amber, a 28-year-old from Colorado. So, we got to meet cool new people and have a second life of sorts in India. We went to another girls' orphanage on Thursday, and to a school on Friday. We saw James Bond (there was an English showing!), we watched Friends and Tarzan on TV... it was quite different than being in the first orphanage, but it was fun.

Saturday was my last day, and since my flight was out of Delhi, we decided to rent a car for the day to take us sightseeing in Delhi. Then they could drop me off at the airport before they went back to the house. There are two quick stories worth sharing from that day:

First was our trip to the police station. Okay, calm down: we only went because Christian had his camera stolen earlier, and we went to file a report. Anyway, after talking to some officers downstairs, they told us to go upstairs to see someone else. But, when we got to the stairs, Isabelle and I had a little moment: a paper sign was posted that read, "No ladies on these stairs." We asked one of the officers, and she pointed to another set of (seemingly) identical stairs on the opposite side of the lobby. So we took those - right up to the same floor - and met Christian. How weird! I felt like I was an African-American in 1950s America who had just been pointed towards the "colored" water fountain. Weird. So, anyway, I started writing some thank-yous by the landing of the afore-mentioned "forbidden" stairs while waiting for Christian, and I heard a racket, like someone had thrown a chair down the flight of stairs and it was hitting every step on its way to the bottom. I instinctively took a step to the side, and none too soon! Three monkeys came crashing down the stairs, rolling, tumbling and skidding over the marble floor - right through where I had been standing - and then jumped up on the balcony and skittered away. I felt like I was in a scene from Jumanji.

The second experience was one of those "be careful what you wish for" kind of things. Whenever we were out in the cities, people were continually trying to sell us stuff. And usually, it was the same stuff. I saw so many little statues of the elephant God, so many
bracelets, even so many wooden chess boards! I started to think, "If only someone had a product that was really different - then people would buy it!" Well, so as we were walking through the park at Connaught Place, we were approached by a man who - are you ready? -
wanted to clean our ears for us. Yup, you heard right. He had his little tool in his hand (to give him credit, it did look clean, but I wasn't going to take any chances), and he had a little journal filled with his credentials - glowing praise from his past customers, all in different languages. The weird thing was, I think the book was legit. I think all of those people from around the world actually had let this man clean the "muck" out of their ears, as he said. So, he definitely wins the prize for the one-of-a-kind product... but I'm still not buying it.

My flight home was long (VERY long) but pleasantly uneventful. So now I'm back in Dallas, sorting through loads of pictures and getting ready for Thanksgiving with family. I'll be sure to let all of you know when the pictures are up, but until then... Thanks for "traveling with me," and have a great end to your week!

Agra, and the attraction of hair

I'll try to keep this post briefer, and better organized.

So, we (Charlie - the girl who joined me at the orphanage and I) are in Agra now. Yesterday we saw the Taj Mahal, and today I saw Fatehpur Sikri (an abandoned city 39 km away) and the Agra Fort. We also fit in a shopping trip, and I now have a beautiful cobalt blue sari with silver trim - I can't wait to show it off! Maybe it will help me blend in...

It started yesterday at the Taj Mahal. First, let me say that it is exquisite. Absolutely gorgeous. No picture could have prepared me for the first glimpse I caught of it as I passed through the gate before it. Surrounded by darkness, I saw part of the giant white structure, peeking through the doorway, framed by the beautiful scalloped edges of the traditional archways. As I emerged through the doorway and it came into full view, I think my jaw actually dropped just a little.

It's graceful and powerful at the same time. In person you can see the
slight texture of the beautiful white marble. It's awe-inspiring.
Anyway, as I was still staring at the monument (constructed by Shah
Jahan for his favorite wife after she died giving birth to her 14th
child), a boy of about 12 came up to me and said, "One photo?" He was Indian, and I think that was pretty much the extent of his English. Assuming he wanted me to take a picture of him and his Dad in front of the Taj Mahal, I reached for the camera. He pulled it away from me,and repeated his question, pointing to me. It still took me a minute to figure out he wanted a picture of me... so, fairly confused, I consented and awkwardly posed by myself while he snapped the picture. Later, a woman of about 35 asked me the same question. I caught on a little faster that time, and ended up posing for a picture with her and then for another with her husband. It's strange to think that I'm the one who looks so different that it merits a photographic record. Is it the light hair? The freckles?

The hair must be part of it, because as I was walking to the red sandstone mosque at Fatehpur Sikri, a group of girls - probably about 14 years old - almost swarmed me, asking me where I was from and trying to touch my hair. I was glad to have a group of people next to me motion for me to come walk with them, and they formed a sort of semi-circle around me to keep the curious girls beyond reach of my hair.

Interesting cultural experiences and crowds aside, seeing the monuments has been magnificent. The red sandstone of the Agra Fort and the mosque is striking, particularly when set against the vivid green of the gardens as it is at the Fort. I was the first person in this morning, trying to catch a glimpse of the Taj Mahal at sunrise from the walls (though the fog made this impossible). The architecture was still beautiful, though, and very similar to the mosque. Both look important and massive, but then have beautiful and tiny details carved into every doorway and column. That, along with the mist and the monkeys at the Fort, made me feel like I was in a lost ruin.

Well, I suppose that's it for now. Tomorrow we leave for Jaipur, and hopefully I will be able to write again soon!

Namaste!

India - Part "do"

As I was saying, I defied all laws of physics and probability and made it to the orphanage. And I love it. (I don't think I mentioned that in the last email, but I should have - right away.) I have fallen in love with the kids there. They are all so sweet, and eager to learn and play.

But back to my arrival. I was greeted outside by the "father" of the orphanage (not any sort of religious father, as they are all Hindu there, but I think of him as the father of all of the children there).

He's a kind-faced, round sort of man, maybe about 65 years old. I was told to sit (in a chair that was brought for me), and brought Chai tea and "biscuits" (i.e., cookies). First, let me say, this chai tea is like nothing I've ever had before. It's a delicious blend of spices and creamy milk, and there's definitely some sugar in there, too. It's a daily necessity - at least four times daily.

Anyway, I tell of this only to begin to exemplify their hospitality. He speaks very little English, but he has told me more than once that I am his guest, like a daughter to him, and he is very happy to have me there. I came here to help with the kids, but I have ended up becoming royalty. They serve me every meal - literally bring it out on a tray, bringing in hot roti and puri off the skillet when mine has disappeared from my plate. And when I'm done, the dishes are silently taken away before I have a chance to say "Dhanywad" ("Thank you" in Hindi). Now I know what you're thinking: she's supposed to be there working, helping, she should do other people's dishes! Trust me, the attempt was made. I've tried several times, even just to do my own dishes. My sneakiness worked on about two occasions (when people left the kitchen after bringing me chai), but I was foiled every other time, and honestly, they seem mostly offended if I try to take in my own dishes, or serve my own plate. It disrupts the order of things more than it helps. They are the hosts, I am their guest. That is how they see it, and they have certainly fulfilled that role to its utmost.

And, I feel like part of the family as well. I have learned several words in Hindi, from the girls as well as the adults and my guidebooks. The constant game is pointing at something and exchanging the Hindi and English word for the given object. Or, simply trying to have a conversation - that's a game in itself. But, I've played tag, soccer, duck-duck-goose, and danced with them, too. And yesterday, I learned to make parathas on the stove, and the day before, roti (can't make the dough, just roll them and fry them).


As far as logistics, there are probably 25 girls, and 15 boys (they stay upstairs, so I don't see them as much) at the orphanage. The girls range from I think 4 years old to 15. The older ones cook and clean every day, and go to class part of the day. The younger ones go to school, then play the rest of the afternoon til TV watching time in the evening, just before bed. (TV is either an Indian TV show or Tom and Jerry). There is a man (the "father" mentioned before) and a woman (the "mother" as I think of her, about 55 or 60) who play those roles, and Vivek, who is 22 and manages the business side of things. He speaks the most English, but it is still very "weak" according to him (and although it's much stronger than my Hindi, I'd say that's still
an accurate description).

There is (as you may have guessed) no internet there, so I am forced to cram my lifetime's worth of experiences from the last week into these two emails now that I am traveling.

So, quickly (I will try to write again sooner this time), I am now in Agra with Charlie, a girl (it's short for Charlene) who is from England. She came on Thursday, which I was very glad of since it meant I had a traveling buddy. We saw the Taj Mahal, but I will try to save that for another post, as I feel I'm starting to ramble and my fingers are tired of this old keyboard. For now, just know that it is completely and totally amazing, completely and totally different, and
I completely and totally love every minute.

p.s. "do" is Hindi for "two" ;)

India - The Arrival

India. I don't really know where to start. How about at the beginning?

I arrived at the airport at 4:50am Sunday morning. My luggage came at 6am. It wasn't lost - everyone's bags had to go through "security" first. I never thought I'd be one of the people searching for their name in the sea of hand-written signs held by drivers at airport arrival terminals, but that's exactly what I found myself doing. To my relief, I found my name amongst the rest, and let the driver help me outside with my bags.

That's when it hit me: both the realization that I was in a completely different country, and the wall of air. Or maybe the realization was due to the way the air hit me when I stepped outside: it was smoky, or smoggy, or something that made the air gray and heavy. To me, it smelled like there had just been a fire. Or perhaps everyone in the entire city was burning those Citronella candles that keep mosquitoes away. But as we continued walking (and in the days that followed), I realized that's just how the air is.

Driving from the airport to the project (which is south of Delhi), I saw lots of cows, dogs, a horse or two, some monkeys, and even a peacock in the road or walking alongside it. And, perhaps what surprised me most in the animal category was looking up from my Hindi/English phrase book (I was trying to strike up a conversation with the driver, who only spoke Hindi) to see a camel pulling a giant cart outside the window. (Quite a common occurrence, as it turns out.)

But obviously the most striking thing was the people. And the houses. I use that term because it's more well-known, but tent might be a better description. Everywhere there were people living on the side of the roads, in plastic tents or other constructed shelters. There are
houses more like what we're used to in the city (i.e., an actual building with a foundation and walls), but still completely different from our Western standards. It's like nowhere else I've every been. The closest I can come is Juarez, Mexico.

And, while driving, it is necessary to continually swerve back and forth, both in your lane and in any other lane or shoulder of road that is available, in order to avoid the potholes. Giant potholes, that might swallow a car if given the chance. Not to worry, though: honking constantly (or at least when in sight of another vehicle or person or biker) helps them to keep tabs on your whereabouts so that, no matter whose lane you're in (or how many vehicles are in one lane at once), it all works out somehow. And you always have the right of way, even if you are on the wrong side of the street. Just keep driving straight, and honk at the oncoming traffic. It works.

Anyhow, defying all odds I made it to the orphanage, and...

*This post is far to long for one sitting already. To be continued in a second one, soon!