June 12, The Monsoon Rains Came Early

I woke up to Freddy, our fatherly figure here as an Asha volunteer, filling up the water tank in our apartment, which he does every morning. I explained to him my troubles with teaching and he immediately took charge. When I got to the Asha center he called a meeting of Dr. Krishna, the literacy leader, Felix and Paul, explaining that I needed a whiteboard, a stand, fewer students, and notebooks. Him and his wife both have an authority about them that trumps the typical Indian cultural trend of not getting things done. The first day I arrived Paul asked me what my hindi teacher had said was the worst thing about India. After saying I couldn't think of anything bad I finally remembered she had warned us against the difficulty of being efficient here. People will say "yes, yes of course no problem" and then nothing ever gets done. While comical this can be frustrating as well so I was pleased when I found myself being loaded down with school supplies, after my roomates and I had lamented our lack of resources for a week. In the back of the Asha center in a strange underground closet, they have shelves of basic supplies. They still did not have flashcards, which I preferred to paper because in the humidity, thin paper quickly becomes floppy and may rip. They also did not have crayons or colored pencils so a pack of markers sufficed. I printed out some word searches I had found online with the help of friends back home, gave up on the idea of printing out pictures due to time constraints, and headed off on the hour drive to Zakhira. On the way we had to do the word search in order to have the answers and discovered that trying to read in a car in India is a sure way to make yourself nauseus.
Let me take a minute to discuss the infamous topic of traffic in New Delhi. There are no rules. Basically it is survival of the fittest and every man (cow, or dog) to himself.
The streets are a constant buzz of motorcycles, cars, trucks, auto rickshaws, tricycles, dogs, and the one I still cannot get used to, cows. The motorcycles are often loaded up with an entire family, toddlers holding onto backs and babies in arms. The cars are mostly European in style, small enough to cut in front of each other in the smallest spaces. The auto-rickshaws are yellow and green vehicles, open on the sides with a thing roof covering. The trucks are usually filled with men in the back and have signs on the back reading, Please Keep Distance, Use Horn, Use Dipper at Night. Dipper, I learned means to flash your high beams. The tricycles are packed sometimes ten feet high with material and a man stands on his pedals to haul the load usually to a building site. The cows, black or white, meander along the road without a care in the world. The motor vehicles simply have to avoid them not only because they would cause considerable damage to a car, but because they are sacred. The dogs too have adapted pretty well to the insanity on the roads. I hold my breath every time one of the scrawny, mangy animals trots across. Today however I saw one head out into an intersection, squat, and do its business in the middle of screaming vehicles. Miraculously it survived, and nonchalantly headed to the other side of the street. The horn is a vital instrument on the streets. It serves as blinker light, brake light, and flashing lights. It reminds me of the movie Little Miss Sunshine when the family's VW truck's horn is broken and constantly sounds. I wonder why they bother to put lane lines on the road because vehicles cruise happily through what we know as the emergency lane, and swerve along the road without a second thought to the painted white indicators.
Driving in India feels like when you're on the highway in the right lane, and cars are merging on and you're not quite sure if you should pull ahead or slow down and sometimes it feels like a very close call, only you get that feeling the entire time you're on the roads.
We headed into W88 to do the TB survey. This time I was completely distracted from my task because I finally met some smiling children. There were a group of about six boys, under age 7 I'd guess, who Loved to have their picture taken!
Everytime the flash would go off they would jump for joy and shout "ayyyy!!". I couldn't get enough of them and have about twenty photos of essentially the same pose. Eventually the mothers said enough because the kids were literally jumping up and down. It was interesting to juxtapose these joyful children in such desolate conditions.





After about an hour of TB surveys (I'm learning the Hindi words on the survey already) it began to rain. A few droplets turned into a downpour in a matter of minutes. All of a sudden, we were the dependent ones. Everyone in the slum had a dry place to go to, and we were left out in the elements. We hurried back to the Asha center, a ten minute walk away, and were soaked by the time we arrived. The streets are all dirt and quickly turn to mud with large puddles everywhere.



When we arrived at the center it was packed with people and the heat inside was almost unbearable. We were ushered into another room and five adolescent boys were called in. Rumy, a woman from Asha who came with us, starts quizzing the boys on what they have learned in the Adolescent class. I am handed the book they use, all in Hindi, and gather from the drawings that it is basically sex education. They are learning about the biology and anatomy of men and women. They are learning about STDs and contraception, as well as family planning. Asha encourages familys to be only four people, including parents, although most slum families have about four or more children. Then all of a sudden Anurag translated that they wanted me to ask the students questions. I was caught off guard, wondering what on earth to ask these ten to fourteen year olds about sex ed. What an awkward situation, this material is already difficult enough for all young people, add in the Indian cultural context and then asking them to regurgitate it to a perfect stranger? I declined the offer and the boys were relieved to head out into the rain.
Men, women and children were hovering around a table all shouting in hindi. I asked Anurag why the small center was overflowing with people and he explained that the slum was opening a bank account. Asha helps them to create a communal account, and they each donate a small amount. They can then begin to apply for loans and have a savings. I was then invited to a meeting of the Mahila Mandal, the womens group in the slum. We returned to W88 now that it was not raining, and entered the house of the president, a woman in her 50s who looked like she was about 80. She made us sit on the cot despite our protest and settled comfortably into the preferred sitting position of Indians, squatting on their haunches. A heavily pregnant woman shuffled in and also assumed this position. A few other women came in including a girl of about 17. She showed us some fans and weavings she had made. I assume Asha gave her white plastic sheets made up of small squares. She then wove string through it in elaborate patterns. The fans were squares of the plastic attached to a long wooden stick which you move in a circular motion to create a breeze.This was her form of income, selling them both at Asha and on the streets. The women continued to babble in Hindi while I looked around the one room home. The cement walls were painted a light blue and decorated with posters of what I thought was Hindu art but later found out was just standard Indian artwork. There were two cots side by side, a small tv which had cables running through a hole in the wall, and a table piled with several chests. The home was immaculate though simple. I was getting used to the sound of hindi, realizing that since I could not understand the words I was enjoying the rhythm of it. I asked Anurag what they were discussing and he translated that they were talking about the bank account, and then about the pregnant woman because she already has four kids and her husband has tuberculosis. Then the women from Asha brought out some saris to give to those in need. They also presented the older woman with a beautiful turquoise and gold sari. She nodded from her squatting position and held her hands out to receive the gift. This was for her daughter to wear in her wedding. The women continued talking and Anurag explained that they were gossiping, another signature of not only women's culture but especially Indian culture.
Suddenly Anurag took off and told me to come with him. We walked quickly through the slum as he explained that the slum is Muslim and they were doing their prayer. We came out of the slum into a large clearing where an immense blue building was under construction and inside the structure sat about twenty men. To the left of the building was a two story structure with loudspeakers attached to the top blaring the call to prayer. In front of that house sat another group of men, all wearing the fitted hats and sitting on a mat. As the call turned into prayer the men knelt, stood and sat accordingly. It was an amazing scene to witness. Such intensity of devotion in such an unlikely setting. Next to the praying men was a pile of garbage burning up and reeking the smell of burnt plastic into the air. A train rattled by behind the slum overflowing with people. Despite the desolate condition of the slum, the people took the time out of their valuable working hours to dedicate to a spiritual being. It is also unusual to have a Muslim population in predominantly Hindi India. I found this experience really valuable to observe. I took a video which I will try to add sometime.






After a hurried lunch of cup of noodles, again envious of Anurags homemade Indian food, it was time for class. The rain broke the heat considerable and for once it was water droplets dripping down my back instead of sweat. When I entered the cement room of our classroom and discovered that the windows didn't open and the fan merely blew hot air around, the sweating began again. During the lesson I began to truly appreciate my eyebrows. I'm considering not tweezing for now because one really needs the eyebrows to perform their primary duty of stopping the sweat from dripping into your eyes. I made a mental note to bring a small towel to absorb it as I taught. My first class was only fifteen students today and Anurag was helping me out. We started out introducing oneself (my name is) the person next to you (his/her name is), other people (their names are) and oneself plus others (our names are). The secret is besides giving them practice it helps me to begin to learn their names, many of which are hard to pronounce and very long. We then discussed Professions. First they gave me blank stares when I asked them to suggest some, but soon after shouted out Air Hostess! Pilot! Engineer!. We did another word search and presented the students with new notebooks. The second class was the same, again all boys in the latter, and it was again evident that they knew more english. I was impressed however that the students who had not completed the word search, continued to work on it diligently even after most of the class had left. It was incredible hot in the room and we were running overtime. I was content to just let them go but they insisted on finishing, and when one student was missing one, Anurag sent him back to sit down and complete it. There is definitely an attitude of hard work and dedication towards education that many schools in the US lack. It is also very important to them that their work be graded and that they do well. Another aspect which impressed me was the student's handwriting. All these middle-school aged kids wrote in immaculate script, slowly and surely. After another exhausting day I was in bed by 8pm.