Karimgunj, Hindi-Kindergarten, Etc.

Enrollment takes on a whole new panache when you set up next semester’s schedule in an Internet café in Agra, India, and then scamper a few kilometers down the road to view the Taj Mahal.

I am fabulously happy to be back at AIIS in New Delhi because it is familiar and has free Internet. I was able to sit down and send off some worthwhile emails, instead of my usual rushed “I am here! I am alive! I miss you lots! Ladedadeda!” sort of blather (I never actually write ‘ladedadeda,’ of course).

Unfortunately, I fear I’ve angered the AIIS showers somehow; they are luxuriously warm until I step in, wherein they instantly become frigid. I am letting them ruminate over how much this cruel teasing has hurt me (especially considering that I will be wandering in the desert of cheap hotels and questionable bathroom situations over the next week) in hopes that the Mary/hot water ban will be lifted.

I spent the past few days in a Brahmin home in an Indian village, and the experience was surprisingly enjoyable. I pumped water from a hand pump for the first time in my life, although I was pathetic and quickly demoted.

It’s very bizarre when you’re in a poorly lit latrine, squatting over a porcelain-surrounded hole in the ground (one that is “flushed” by tossing a bucket of water down it, no less), and the thought strikes that this is really a very acceptable bathroom. You’re impressed! All the while, there’s a dead mouse in the corner that’s spent the entire day being slowly torn apart by a troop of ants. And, no, the mouse does not make you less impressed. That’s what India does to a person.

Okay, well, it does a lot of other things. Take the village, for instance. It made me temporarily love India (although that was a very off and on thing for certain circumstances that I won’t get into now). I really adored the family we stayed with. Richa, Alika, Chaundeny, Shonu, and all the other little village children tried to teach me Hindi one night; we spent a lot of time on numbers, but with my terrible retention for languages I fear I’ve forgotten just about all of them besides a select few that sound like American words. The kids would say the numbers in Hindi, and then I’d repeat them. I think we moved to the alphabet at some point, then I don’t even know what they were having me say. The kids would say something, I’d repeat it, and they’d all instantly burst into laughter. I know one of the things they’d laugh at was a word that meant “you say,” which they were trying to use to get me to count off in Hindi. I just repeated the word instead of counting, until Shonu came and was able to translate it. The other things, though, I have no idea. Later, one of the kids got their kindergarten-equivalent Hindi reader, and I must have spent hours sitting on the string cot surrounded by a flock of Indians while Richa (who was 11) and Chaundeny (14) pointed at two-letter words for me to pronounce. They were very excited that I could read Hindi, but really I was employing my limited Sanskrit knowledge since the alphabet/script is pretty much the same. I didn’t know what any of the words meant, so after I’d read a word they’d try and translate a meaning to me without us having a common language. Shonu (the Brahmin family’s oldest son who is probably around 20 or so) and his friend knew a little English, so that helped. It actually worked pretty well. I don’t remember any of the words, but I did entertain the masses.

The night before we played a marathon of Safari Rummy, and Alika (23-ish, and a BA in English and English literature, so she was able to talk with us and translate a little between her family) did a bunch of mendhi (henna) on Ros, Dean Wadley, and me. Very pretty. Also the first time that I was henna-ed by a genuine Indian.

Generally, there was lots of bonding. Richa took to me. Whenever I left the house she’d be there to come along, and she’d just stand there looking at me with this huge grin on her face. She was really adorable; I think I could stand those kind of children in small doses. You don’t really have to do anything to make them happy besides exist, and they adore you for no logical reason. It’s very cute. It is also good for the ego.

Being in the village made me wish that I actually did know Hindi, and that I could help everyone there in some way. They were all so welcoming and happy to have us around. I admit, it kind of made me want to teach English to little kinds like Richa and Chaundeny, but we’ll see how long that lasts. I’m sure some other situation like Fun & Fitness hospital volunteering will come around that will remind me how deplorable I am when dealing with those persons under 15 years of age.

Okay, well, a lot has happened, and I’m sure a lot will continue to happen. Next week Ashley, Roslyn, and I will be venturing on our own to Hardiwar (the origin of the Ganges), Bombay, Aurangabad (passage to some temple caves), and Goa (a former Portuguese settlement famous for its beaches). We’re returning to Mysore next Sunday, so I’ll be a regular presence (or as regular as I have ever been while in India) after the 19th.