A week ago, Lyndi, Meg and I celebrated our 6 month anniversary in India. We marked it by having breakfast at the Gateway Hotel in Surat. There was a lovely buffet of fresh fruit, filtered coffee, Belgian waffles and muesli; among other things. The hotel was lovely; soft music playing in the background, BBC News airing on the silenced TV, black and white clad servers coming to refill our coffee cups. I felt out of place. The wandering school teacher look that I am sporting doesn't quite fit in with the posh NRI's and wealthy businessmen and their Blackberries. Anyway, I didn't really care; there was fresh food in front of me that had not been made with tablespoon heaped upon bucket-full of oil. I was paying attention to that and the hushed quiet. Silence. Ah, welcomed silence. How I've missed you, peace and quiet.

Flight or Fight. I remember hearing and learning these words vividly in my intercultural classes at Houghton. Sometimes, you'll want to run the other way. The honeymoon, "This is all so new and different!" stage is long gone. The blinders are off. There are serious flaws in the system to make me want to take flight, and I'm aware of them, not ignoring them, and finding it hard not to be annoyed by them.

The Flaws: students that don't give a crap and teachers/principals that look like they are ignoring it because, "What can you do? You work within your limitations"...So, I'm supposed to just give them work to do in class that they have the answers to in their "GUIDE BOOKS" (it is not a guide book when it is giving you the exact answers to any and all questions, exam essay, etc) ?? These are students that are in the commerce stream. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I think that we are here teaching English to exactly that demographic: those that will run businesses and the like. India makes English compulsory for exactly the students and future businessmen that these students will become. Yet, they don't care. In a class of 40 or so (these classes are smaller because their classmates that made up classrooms of 70 or 80 in standards 9 and 10 have dropped out) 3 or 4 students will attempt to do what looks to me like, appeasing the teacher. They don't like to see me marching to the principals office armed with a list of complaints and urges. They answer the questions to the best of their knowledge (with the help of their trusty guide books!!). I called on some boys in the back that seemed to have a lot to say, only none of it was pertaining to the class or directed towards me. The kid stood there for a few minutes, unable to read. I put up on the board, "I'm not here to embarrass you, I'm here to help you."

I want to give up on the 11th Standard hooligans. Yes, I did say hooligans.

Fight. Well, I could fight for them. I could fight against my emotions and keep pressing on. I could look forward to April when I'm back in the States to a different type of insanity that seems fairly placid from where I stand right now. I could go into that classroom on Thursdays and Fridays and love those obnoxious kids enough to keep doing it...I could do that.

I feeling the ups and downs more now than at the beginning. Recurring events are more obvious to me. It's easier to focus on the downs; maybe because they remind me how much work I have to do, how long it takes to accomplish some things, and that sometimes there is just nothing that one person can do; which is hard to accept for the dreamers and optimists in the world. But I guess I should recount the ups, because they are what is making it hard for me to imagine leaving come April.

Our clerks office is great. They are always helpful and I don't know how many letters I have taken to them to deliver to the post office for me and had them pay for it for me. A week ago they asked me if I would teach them English and of course I said yes because I really like these guys and they are always trying so hard to communicate with me. We had our first lesson on Friday, to great success. We worked on the WH questions. Saturday I came in to say good morning and get the key for the library and Chindan asked me where his lesson was for today! I walked out smiling. At least someone is excited to learn. And any teacher will tell you, that's what keeps you going. It's keeping me going at the start of another hectic, full, demanding week.

Meet my new students: The Clerks Office Class

Second Wind

They say it takes 7 weeks to make things a habit. While it hasn't yet been 7 weeks, we all seem to be getting in the habit of getting out on the road for our daily runs. It's becoming a routine and one that I don't dread but look forward to at the end of what has lately been, a very long day.

Now that I am into my second term teaching, I can see how last term I was really just getting into the routine of things. This term seems to be going much smoother for me. While I work with great co-teachers, these last couple of weeks I really feel like I am making headway in the classes and being an effective and creative teacher. Recently, I have been being much more diligent about making sure homework is turned in, spelling tests are administered and punishments are doled out (instead of making empty threats). While I know these points are making a difference in my student's performance, it means more work. On top of this, we have a lot going on with all the new books that have been donated to the Foundation for our libraries. Running in the evenings gets my mind off work for an hour; relieving my stress.

As Meg and I ran this week, we talked about discipline problems in our classes; discussing what has worked and what really hasn't been effective. Discipline in an Indian classroom with an American as the teacher is often a precarious routine. While it is illegal to hit students, most teachers still do to maintain authority in the classroom. With 70 students in a class, things obviously get out of hand. I don't, under any stretch of the imagination, feel comfortable with hitting students so I have to find more creative ways to illicit their cooperation. On Friday, I put my new disciplinary plan into action - if homework was not brought in in my 9A class, the students would be picking up garbage from the school yard. One girl brought in the assignment. We went over her homework and I gave her one on one help while the rest of the kids picked up their trash that they prefer to throw on the ground; both in the classroom and outside it. Let's see if they bring in Monday's homework...we might have a really clean school yard after next week if not!

More training news to come...it's time to lace up my shoes for a long run....

Week 2

It was a long day; Thursday's are always long for me. In and out of chakras and auto-rickshaws, feeling as if I'm traveling the length of Surat district. The moment I got out on the road though, I felt better. Meg and I are still running in the evenings and for the first time since I've been here, I could see the stars.

Today we ran 2.5 miles at race pace - we don't really know what that is exactly so we just ran at a comfortable pace. The sparkle of stars above us and the sound of crickets in the sugar cane fields entertained us as we ran. The amount of traffic on our "Sugar Cane Lane" is so less at this time of night (I just used and Indian phrase right there. What is happening to me!?); just us, the trucks empty of their sugar crop on the way back home, and bicycles coming at us in the pitch dark. It's a perfect end to a long day.

But, I have another cold - India has completely killed my immune system and I'm exhausted from the long day. Will post more after our long run tomorrow! Happy running everyone...

The Week 1 Endurance Test

It's week 1 and I've already decided that I hate running in the mornings. Lyndi and Drew seem fine with waking up while it's still dark, running through the smoke of villager's cooking fires and sprinting past parked trucks with their drivers either fast asleep at the wheel or looking out their windows at us in incredulous wonder. My feeling is, mornings are for cups of coffee, the newspaper and struggling with my sari.

Meg and I have decided to run in the evenings. It gets dark early here, same as most of the world right now, so we are often jogging towards fast approaching darkness.

We took a new route tonight that took us through the migrant worker's tent village across the river. There, exercise is not something one chooses to do for their health. I wonder if staying 'fit' even crosses their minds. Staying fed is their driver. They work hard in the sugarcane fields all day, the women bend over their wash at the river; beating the life out of their clothes to clean them - why would they want to run on top of that? The crazy white girls are providing some entertainment, that's for sure.

It's still week 1 and I'm feeling pretty good. My legs haven't reached the leaden stage yet. Maybe that won't happen, but I'm guessing it will...

Until next time...

Hitting the Pavement

When my roommate suggested I start training with her for a marathon my first thought was that it was a great idea. We started running during the summer season, before monsoons, and after a few weeks we realized that no matter how early we woke up, it was just too hot to continue it. Then monsoons started up and it was raining nearly 24 hours a day for a good long time. At this point I thought training was a crazy idea.

A vacation full of food in Nepal prompted me to reconsider the marathon training option. That, and we have decided to make it a fundraising opportunity for Nanubhai. The hope is, that people will be interested in reading our daily blogs on training, have an interest in rural education in India, and want to sponsor us to run. Soon, there will be a link on the Nanubhai website (www.nanubhai.org) to this blog and Lyndi, Drew and I will write about our training experience and our experiences in India.

We started yesterday. I always hate getting back into the habit of running. The first weeks are terrible and you want to give up. The weather is cooler, that's for sure, but conditions are still tough. The pollution levels, even out here in the rural areas, are intense and the roads we often run on, not more than a one lane, pot holed path full of stray rocks and buffalo dung. But, it's beautiful. The scenery is constantly changing and running through the villages as they wake up is always an experience.

Completed day 2 today. Muscles are sore from running twice yesterday and probably not stretching properly. Is it time for a day off yet?? Lyndi is a rigid trainer so...probably not. That's what I get for training with an experienced marathon runner...wish me luck.

In Emptiness there is still Longing

Delhi took more out of me than I thought I had to give. I have always disillusioned myself into thinking that I didn't want to grovel back to God at a time of despair; grasping for his blood-stained feet like the mere woman that I know I am. When I gave up my facade of self-reliance and asked for his hand back, I wanted it to be at a time when I was doing well, my life was in order and I had maintained, after having found; peace. I felt that then, he wouldn't be able to hold my return over my head; guilting me into pleasing him as so many have before.

And then, as my head hung over the window of a bus, puking till there was no more and then, again...I decided spirituality cannot be found in this place. How can it be? The smooth talking shop owner, sidles beside me, persistent to find me entering his shop. "Would you like a scarf, madam? I have excellent handbags..." My inner self screams, "NO, leave me be for 2 minutes to make it to a bathroom!" While I let him read my mask that is answering with a cool, "No, thanks". No spirituality in the striving....

My rickshaw weaves, in and out, sputtering towards the next intersection where I am sure we will never make it through. Our driver shoots his browned arm out the open side to stop the bullet-like approach of a similarly hurried rickshaw, driven my a similarly harried rickshaw driver; his browned arm expressively gesturing to his own on-coming bullets. I see no God in the frenzied hurry for some arrival.

The smell of India assaults like nothing I can compare. One moment I am smelling incense from a temple and the next, a man with no seeming dignity is peeing in a long stream to my left and then it is his unwanted emissions I am indignantly made to smell. Smell - it doesn't seem the appropriate sense because I can feel the sticky, sick of the city permeating through my skin; coloring my skin as the sun. My eyes burn and sting, reacting to the pollutions no one is fighting to gain control of. Another man coughs, spits and pulls out his prick for another round with indignity. In humility, where there appears to be no amount of restraint, where is a god that gives dignity to it's people?

Many come to India to find spirituality. They sit for hours in a lotus pose at an ashram, eyes closed, looking for enlightenment. Thousands travel to the footsteps of the Dalia Lama's exiled home and plead for peace. But, my trip to Delhi left me wondering if it were at all possible for me to have a similar spiritual experience. How could I find God when no part of my being seemed to be at quiet enough to hear him?

My body told me how as I knelt, retching into a dirty hostel toilet...Oh, God, please help me. Make it stop. Send some light. Send some peace. I'm sorry I have to beg you now, instead of coming to you with some grace left. But, please...if you're still into hearing from me...please make the void go away...

And then, the sickness slowed a little and I made it to our train; followed by a chorus of men trying to take us to the airport when it was clear we wanted the train station and just like my crackers evaporated into the beggar child's mouth, so go's my resolve to rely on the someone who held my hair back to mop up my sweat as I lay, feverish. "Why can't you back off and leave your scamming lies to someone who will know better the first time?!" Where are you now God? Are you in the pushing and the striving and the battling for one more grasping step? I can't see you..I'm about to snap - oh, wait, I think I just have only I can't be sure because the sound of my own voice has been drowned out...

The words of my friends ring in my head. Once I finally made in online to regain contact with a world that feels sane (but only maybe in perspective) right now, I hear them beg me to make sure their friend comes back to them in one piece. I think, maybe, I will be in many new pieces. Not all of them bad.

One piece will be the one that finally gained a measure of peace, lying on the hard floor for hours on end; Jars of Clay pumping it's inspired lyrics into my head, my heart, and my soul, last of all.

One new piece will believe the words of Isaiah's when he writes Israel's words that have sounded so much like my own: "'My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God"...Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow weary and his understanding no on can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.'

One more piece of me will want to fathom....

Many more pieces...an ocean of possibility.

And one last piece that I can fit right now will be singing with Jars...

My soul was restless for redemption
My feet were lookin' for a place to stand
Well, I ain't got no life
And you no I ain't got no money
Just the faith of an empty hand
Amazing grace, I feel you coming up slowly now
Like the sun is rising, heat on my face
Oh the love that keeps on shining, don't let the shadows come
Ya know I've gotta feel your healing rays

Maybe, a piece of God, a piece of spirituality, and a piece of me have been found in India yet...

Faluda Adventures

I have been here more than three months now and I haven't really gotten to the point where I crave food that I can't have. I don't wake up, mouth watering, after a dream about a steak. I don't walk past the Mc'D's in Surat and feel the lure of the arches. I like Indian food for the most part and denying my cravings and succeeding is sort of thrilling in a weird way. But..some days you just need ice-cream. There is a ice cream treat here called faluda and last night, we were craving it. Not knowing where to look for it in our village, we called our helpful friend, Kaushik-bhai. Lyndi called and I could hear the deep disappointment in her voice when he said that you couldn't get it in our town. All 4 of us groaned in unison. Her face perked up though, when he asked her to call back in 5 minutes. Ten minutes later, he is in front of our house with his car and we are piling in. We have no idea where we are going but, we have our wallets just in case (even though, we would never have had to pay for it). Next thing we knew, we were pulling in to their driveway and his wife is pulling out the ingredients to make us homemade faluda! Vermicelli, ice cream, milk, crumbled cookie pieces, large glasses.

How did we go from asking for directions to eating what it was we were looking for in a friend's home?...that's India.