To begin, I would like to apologize to my friends and family at home who have been wondering about my journey since my last blog post which seems like so long ago. I have found it extremely difficult to rearrange the sights, sounds and feelings that I experience everyday into coherent sentences. How do I express the beautiful grace of Indian women while they are sifting sand to make bricks? How do I tell of the food that makes my tongue go numb from its spice? How do I explain the frustration I feel when men are whistling at me from the moment I step out the front door? How do I portray the immense joy that seems to embrace my whole being when I spend time with my students?
As some of you may know, I have been sharing this journey of mine with a Beyond Borders' student named Erika. Throughout this journey, Erika has become more than merely a travel partner; she has become my friend, my sister and at times my more responsible conscience. That being said, yesterday morning, as I was struggling to find some way to frame this trip which has become my life, Erika showed me an email explaining the task of a potter creating a work of art. The potter will bake the pot until it is ready, then he/she must check the solidity of the pot. So he/she will pull the pot out of the oven and “thump” it. If the pot is ready it will “sing”; however, if it “thuds”, the potter will place the pot back into the oven until is ready. I wish to describe some of those challenging moments with you. Here are some of my “thump” moments:
- In India, you must be prepared for anything - On the morning of June 16, Erika and I made our way to the YWCA School. We were told that we would be teaching two grades every day for a few weeks, and then we would move on to another two grades. We had been preparing for this for a long time and we had all of our lesson plans ready, our alphabets laminated, and our Canadian flags set to go for the first day of school. However, when we arrived at the school, everything changed...like it often does in India. We soon found out that we would actually be teaching five grades of Spoken English every day. We were surprised, to say the least. My first class was grade 3 and they decided to put both the grade 3 classes together for my first day of teaching. So, I had nearly 70 grade 3 students crammed into a room that was only meant for 20 in 40 degree weather. The moment that I will never forget is when one of the grade 3 students quietly raised his hand and explained in broken English that he was so sorry, and that he didn't mean to, but he was just so surprised so he had...peed his pants.
- (Some) Cashmere men are like sugar covered onions - seem nice on the outside, but just wait til you get to the core – The first encounter I had with a man from Cashmere was when I was escorted into a rather expensive store near one of the major temples in Madurai. As I attempted to quickly walk through the store and then leave, one much-too-friendly employee decided he would befriend me. As I was beginning to leave, he said “Oh don't go, the sun - too hot”. As I quickened my pace, I stated, “but I like the hot weather”; to which he responded “You like hot? I am hot”. I gave a quick glance, unsure if he actually had said those words and then shuffled quickly out the door making sure to take note of the store name so that I did not return. That is only one of the many encounters with Cashmerian shop keepers. For the sake of time, I will refrain telling the others.
- “Eye am Soup-air” (aka “I am super”) - Parvahti is the cook in the house where I am staying. She is a short woman who is tough as steel. She would be an amazing rugby player. Parvahti has become my absolute best friend here in India. She is in her mid-fifties (but is unsure of her age because she has never celebrated her birthday; for her, age is simply a suggestion not a solid rule). Parvahti has absolutely no English so she often speaks to me in full Tamil, believing in her heart that I understand while I reassure her with head nods and the odd kiss on the cheek. At the beginning of this trip, Parvahti's lack of English scared me to death. However, as our relationship grew, I began to learn that friendship does not have to based upon long hours of talk; rather they can be built upon simple gestures of love. Recently I taught Parvahti the appropriate response to “How are you?” which in my books is “I am super”. We exchange these words many times a day; so, to the outside observer, it may appear as if our friendship is quite superficial. But I beg to differ!
- Powder Covered Joy – Last Friday was the day before my big brother's wedding. I was quite sad because I would have to miss that joyous occasion. I had to push through every class that day and the moments seemed to be just dragging along. As I finally reached my last class of the day, I was surprised to see my Grade 7 class seated quietly. To explain, my Grade 7 class is a group of about 45 BOYS; needless to say, they are wild! So, I am sure you can understand my bewilderment when I walked into a silent class. One of my students, Richard Anthony, tapped on my shoulder as I was getting my things set up for class and showed me a box full of powder covered treats that he had made with his mother. He explained that they wanted to celebrate my brothers' wedding with me because I was unable to be with my family in Canada. This little boy's heart gave me so much joy. As we ate the sugary puffs of unknown ingredients and sang “Happy Wedding Day” (to the tune of “Happy Birthday”), I finally felt that little piece of home that I had been missing for so long.
Throughout our lives, we are faced with incredible challenges. Some are catalysts to great change while others simply place a weight on our shoulders. Throughout my time in India, I have been “thumped” many times, I have been tested, I have been pushed beyond my limits. However, every time I feel that I am about to give up, I am reminded with love. I am not yet sure if there is a moment where we are fully ready, where we have spent enough time in the oven, that we are ready to “sing” forever; however, I do know that when life gives me a day that is packed full of “thumps”, it is much easier to “thud” than to “sing”. I sincerely hope that after this adventure, I will sing. I am not yet sure what the song will sound like or if its rhythm will become the tune of my life...but I look forward to finding out.
