Rural India is the twighlight of a sunset, a lavendar and periwinkle blanket that covers the world in a hum and a smell of an open fire and the taste of the spiced chai, the peacocks meowing and the ticking of generators, motorbikes, and cricketts, a distant wedding blasting Indian Bollywood love songs and fireworks.
I miss them. They are so sweet and beautiful. How can I write about them to share with the world, how can any words let anyone ever understand how intensely wonderful, beautiful, soft, loving and graceful they are? Or how deeply I fell in love with them all or how deeply I fell into the experience?
I will try…
Week 1
Fun drama games, meeting the teachers who are learning English in Marie-Louise’s class, understanding the way of the village life, getting my stomach used to the food, drenching myself in bug repellent every night with no apparent effect, bonding with Marie-Louise, visiting homes of teachers and students in the villages, feeling lost and frustrated with my drama class, but finally finding a way to have the kids think of their own stories around one simple “other” tableaux that finally brings a possible show into light and, attending a village wedding.
Week 2
Marie-Louise leaves. I take over her English classes, which consists of teachers. I teach them guitar, yoga, Bob Dylan, American culture, and allow them to practice English conversation with me. I bond with teachers, learn more about arranged marriages and love marriages, feel misunderstanding and possible tension with Madhu, my theatre teaching assistant, but then after a magical night with her in the village, I find her to be fascinating, lovely, grounded, centered, intelligent and extremely loyal to me and my theatre class. The kids in my class seem to be confused as to what they are doing, and start to take advantage of my playful teaching style, until Madhu returns and kicks them into gear. I have an intriguing exchange with one thoughtful male teacher, where he writes a “statement” about the meaning of peace, which ignites a conversation in our English class about the meaning of peace and how we can incorporate it into our lives and our students lives, in addition to a conversation outside of class about why, and how, men and women should be friends. Meghna arrives.
Week 3
Meghna, a very progressive urbanite, someone I was probably best friends with in a past life, who I clicked with in the first 12 seconds of knowing her, arrives to stay at the teachers colony for a week, to start a shoe design project with the girls. She helps me immensely (with everything in the world) but starting with translating for my class- she understands what I am getting at because her English is fluent as opposed to Madhu, so she can translate to the girls more accurately. She and Madhu and I, although at first unsure of how the 3- teacher at a time dynamic will work, bond and help each other out. I visit people’s homes every night this week, which completely exhausts me, but enriches the experience as I connect deeper with teachers.
My students do their two performances- one in the school, which went very well, and one in the street of a village, which does not go as well as I had hoped, although always a learning experience. We had to use microphones which distracted the girls from acting. Also, the people in the village did not understand the point of what the girls were trying to say- as Madhu says, they were expecting “cheap entertainment” (singing and dancing.) But the kids worked it out and kept going and did everything they rehearsed, which is a strength In itself.
The goodbyes were teary and full of many jeweled and Indian gifts. I think I now own 10 rings, 2 bracelets, and 3 necklaces.
Week 4
After officially finishing at the school, I returned to Delhi with Meghna, and went into city urban modern culture shock. This manifested itself in terrible nasuea and puking. (too much information?) Literally, I was sick for 48 hours. Then I was better, watched a few football games, and Marie-Louise and I returned to the village. We then joined the teachers on a tour- a teacher retreat sort of thing- to Dehra Dun, Misoori, Sehesth Dhara, and Rishikesh. During this trip, I developed more of an obsession with the blaring gender inequalities of the culture. The men on the bus could blast music, dance around, make loud noises and take up all the seats, while the women were squished together trying to sleep, making no efforts to quiet the men. For example.
In Rishikesh I met up with Meghna, said my final goodbyes and spent the night there with her as the teachers flew away on the hot buses. After dipping my toes into the Ganges with her, we zipped back to Delhi to take care of business and hang out with her friends in the city before making the transition to the final cultural leg of my trip: Europe.
Journal excerpt:
18 June, Misoori, Driving down the mountain road after I fell and Reena threw up;
I just had a beautiful moment I never want to forget. I was staring out the window with Reena, marveling at the beauty of the world. I asked her how the mountains make her feel. She said they are strong, patient, always standing. So we sang very quietly together “blowing in the wind”- the line about mountains, and took in its glory silently as the sun began its set and our bus ventured around the curves and swerves, each person on the bus in their own quiet world of contemplation or sleep. I felt very clear and a part of a beautiful moment in India. And it was beautiful because it could have been anywhere, it didnt matter in that moment where I came from or what differences we had on opinions about appropriate clothes or arranged marriages- the mountains were patient and accepted our bus.
China, Thailand, Japan- yes, these places were entirely different culturally than anything I’m used to. It was fun and interesting to explore competency in these cultures. Rural India- I had the hardest time. My morals, my iceberg (the part of culture that each person has deep beneath the surface that defines who we are)- for the first time- did not allow for me to want to gain competency with their iceberg morals. For the first time, I judged something very negatively about a culture. The gender inequality. The accepted idea that girls do not ever think for themselves. Men can get away with anything. There is no freedom of love or opinions. Here I am at a school that is trying to change that- but the teachers, the adults, they are still silenced, only to marry who their parents choose. Some teachers seem to want to change that. Some don't. I can't and wouldn’t dare change anything. I also can't take on cultural competency. Or rather, I did, but I couldn’t under principle for any more time than that. Love and opinions are far too important to me .
It’s sad and beautiful and amazing to have had the experience, all at the same time.
