Host Families and Jaipur

It’s been a while since I updated the blog. It’s because my living conditions at our new host family’s apartment are stressful and uncomfortable and consequently draining me of the energy I need to write an entry I consider interesting or coherent. The electricity regularly goes out, as does our water supply. Most of my time awake, I’m sitting where I am right now, in the dining room – a windowless, humid room with an electric ceiling fan. As construction of the floor above us and our living here are concurrent, the air is filled with dust, and the floor covered in crumbles of cement and water leaking through from the porous, incomplete roof. Not unusually, I’m sitting in the dark covered in a sticky mess of sweat, dead skin, and mosquito repellant. Unusually, I am motivated to get my computer out and type this update. But despite my complaints, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy here. Peggy and I get along much better with our new host family, who we live with in Sector 9, Faridabad. Our host mom’s name is Memta, and she has taken good care of us. We eat good food, share genuine laughs, and perhaps most importantly, she doesn’t sneakily try to take our money.

Rakish, on the other hand, had the nasty inclination to do just that. With phony smiles and annoying clichés about doing God’s work, he would pressure us to give him money or gifts. I’ll copy my complaint via e-mail to our program coordinator instead of reiterating the serious frustrations we experienced with his brash approaches of covetous greed masked by a mockery of Christian virtuosity:

“Dear Ananta,

Perhaps you have read Peggy's email by now. I wanted to follow up with my own comments on this issue.

At first, Rakish and his wife Soba made us feel welcome to their home. They provided accommodations and seemed kind enough. However, near the end of our stay with them, it became clear to me that they were asking for us to give him more of our money. The manner with which Rakish asked was inappropriate and flat out unacceptable. He did indeed pull Peggy and me aside and with feigned warmness and affected smiles told us about how little money he has and how much he gives to the school and "God's children, his children". This spiel dragged on for too long, with an obvious implication that we give him our money. Please know that I am very hesitant to accuse someone of any negative intention, as I try to judge people with the principle of "innocent until proven guilty", but I gathered enough evidence against Rakish. His intentions were impure, and both Peggy and I were very uncomfortable. In fact, we were so uncomfortable that on our last night at their home, we were concerned that Rakish or his wife may steal from us during our sleep. Discomfort to this extent should not be experienced by any of your volunteers, so do please consider my e-mail seriously.

Particularly on our last day at the Raj's, they were very cold. Even their little boy, Benjamin, was not playing with me as he had every other day I was at the home. It was as if his parents told him that we were bad people. He spit at us through the window in our room. When we entered the home, Rakish greeted us, though probably insincerely, but Soba didn't look at me, say a word to me, nor did she smile. I felt very much unwelcome.

It really is unfortunate that they treated us this way. Peggy and I were responsible and considerate guests at their home. We came home when they wanted us to, we washed our dishes, and we were quiet and unintrusive, as we were at your residence. We bought over 90 notebooks for the school children and over 80 pencils with sharpeners and erasers. This was not a small purchase for us, and we gave it to Raj with sincere warmth. Instead, he told us that these were not the notebooks that he gets the children, and that they would last just a couple days or so (a gross exaggeration - the notebooks each contained 50+ lined pages, and each student used about 5 pages at most in a day). It was a surprisingly rude response to our kind gesture.

This next section is a serious matter of concern, but I do preface it with the condition that the Raj's may have nothing to do with it:

I am missing at the least, 100 US dollars, from our traveler's pouch. Peggy locks this pouch in her backpack everywhere we go. But, she hasn't been so careful with her bag while at the Raj's. On the last night, when Rakish pulled us aside for the foregoing lecture, Soba was in our room, apparently rummaging through some things for the duration of Rakish's lecture - about 10 minutes. Peggy's bag was open, and our money pouch was visible. I am not confident that she took anything from us, but the mere fact that I doubt her intentions in our room is enough for me to write this complaint. I should not have such a concern, nor should any volunteer.

Hiro”

If you got the gist of it, you should know that I was seriously offended by the guy. And, if you got to the end, you learned that I lost $100 somehow, out of Peggy’s money purse, and I surprised even myself when I wouldn’t put that issue past the Raj’s.

So aside from our experiences with our host families, let me talk some about our weekend trips. On the weekend of July 1^st, we took a whirlwind trip to Jaipur, the “Pink City”, and on the weekend of the 8^th, pleasant Pushkar sucked us into its hippie culture and romantic lull, then we took a weekend off for an Indian wedding (Memta’s brother’s arranged marriage), and on my last Friday in India, the 22^nd, we spent a short but soul-lifting day in Amritsar.

Jaipur

Peggy and I took a “sleeper train” to Jaipur two weekends ago. A sleeper train is the cheapest and lowest class on Indian railways with sleeping berths. Some people warned us that we would not be comfortable, and various online sources warned of thieves in this class. Not so surprisingly, it turned out to be all right – much better than those reports made it out to be. I expected this because I observed a pattern: I read a horror story of some particular activity in India, I prepare for the worst, and then I get a surprisingly mild experience – my palette doesn’t get burnt and I still can taste the fresh air. Perhaps it’s not so bad to prepare for the worst, but I would hope that people do not scare themselves out of a memorable and rewarding experience – like a ride in Indian Railway’s fine sleeper class.

Our hotel in Jaipur was excellent. We stayed at a beautiful little place near the train station, owned and operated by a family who lives in the hotel – that seems to be common at least in the parts of India I have been to. At the hotel, they served us hot chai and cooled air.

We hooked up with a private cab who would take us around Jaipur from morning to night for only 400 rupees, or less than 10 US dollars. After many trials with imposters and swindlers, we were ready for the cab fare to magically double or triple. As a precaution, we firmly stated before stepping foot in this man’s car that we would not, under any circumstances, pay any more than what we agreed on in the beginning. He honestly told us that he won’t charge anymore, and frankly told us that he will, however, make commission everywhere we go. We knew about commission, but we were not well-informed on the cut the cabbie got. We followed him hesitantly to his car, and off we went for a journey through Jaipur, a city full of historical wonders inspiring the fantasy of any imaginative soul, but also the city full of tourist traps, ready to suck you dry of any remaining trust you have in Indian street merchants.

You can feel the history in Jaipur. It only takes a minute in the cab before you are at the gates of the Pink City, that is old Jaipur. This part of the town is organized with the precision and genius of a master astronomer named Jai Singh II. Jai Singh II was not only the king of Amber (the former name of Jaipur), he was also an expert in mathematics, astronomy, and architecture. You can see it in the old city, which was meticulously planned and later, in 1853, was painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales (who later become King Edward VII of the United Kingdom). He built astronomical instruments out of clay that had the measuring precision of the brass instruments created by Isaac Newton. Wow. Being unable to grasp the concepts behind his instruments, during my visit to his observatory near his City Palace, left me feeling dull-minded and imperceptive. I wondered if I spent everyday of my whole life studying astronomy and mathematics, would I ever get near his level of understanding? I’d love to see the world as transparently as he did.

After visiting city palace, Peggy and I went to Amber Fort and Dawn and Zoe went shopping at a tourist bazaar, where foreigners shop and Indian merchants get out their bag of tricks and show us what they’ve got in store in their repertoire. Let me try to explain these “tourist traps” in India. They pitch an extremely high price at first, expecting you, the tourist to haggle. Sometimes, they tell you that the price is set, which is not necessarily true. They say some phony things like, “you are not our customer, you are our guest” or “look, don’t buy”. If you are the half-witted bargainer, you take their words with a grain of salt and shoot for 10-25% off. If you are the full-witted tourist, you take their words with a pound of salt, and aim for the stars: 50-75% off. You do not look very interested in whatever you want to buy, even if you desire it with all your heart. If you convince them that you're no longer interested, they will reduce the price, but not by much. So you should tell them that you'll check other stores, which they will pretend to welcome. But as you are stepping out the door, they will stop you and get serious about compromising. This is when you have the upper hand. I'm convinced that you can take them as low as they are willing to go at this point, which I never do. Actually, I don't mind paying the "tourist price" for goods in India. Why? Because I'm a tourist, and given that I could afford a flight from America to India, the tourist price seems just about right. But, I am against being ripped off, and so I bargain until the price seems right to me, considering the income of each party in the transaction.

Amber Fort, a citadel built by the Kachhawa clan, members of the Rajput caste, blends Mughal and Hindu architecture. It looks like a building fit for gods, perched upon a mountain, lush and green during the monsoon season, with a river which runs by it for form and function. Peggy and I took a long walk through its twisting corridors, trying to find our way to the highest point allowed for visitors. We were stopped from getting to the very top, but were satisfied with the fort’s pleasant emptiness. There were many visitors, but the fort is huge. We didn’t get a tour guide so I don’t know much more about the place, but if you’re interested, then read about it on Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amber_Fort), then tell me about it.

A view of the Amber Fort garden from a window high up in the fortress

After visiting Amber Fort, we went to the Galta "Monkey" Temple, where we fed monkeys peanuts.

On my last day in Jaipur, I took a walk alone, an activity I particularly enjoy. When I’m alone, I easily occupy myself with thoughts, and, particularly when I’m walking, I tend to think very positively. On my walk, I found a small Hindu temple, I peaked my head in curiously to see whether I was welcome. I was, which filled me with delight and apparently generosity too. I bought 5 rupee flowers for 10 rupees and the flower seller politely refused my donation. It was very little, I was ready to give him more, and in review, I wish I had. I think that sometimes social conventions keep me from being as generous as I want to be. As a human, I felt some urge to not give 500% or 1000% tip even though my intellect found it to be perfectly okay, and sadly, as a human, I listened. Still, the principle of giving was met, and the flower man was smiling widely at my warm gesture. I loved that moment. That’s the story of my morning walk, socially confined altruism, and consequent good karma.

Holy mother of…. What….a…….week -Peggy

* Pictures to come. This internet cafe is restricting img uploads.

**Hiro was also just stabbed in the thigh by 1 of 12 protruding nails under his computer desk.

When friends told me that India would be a roller coaster of emotions, I half believed them, but now I understand. In the last few days, I’ve felt amazed, laughed hysterically, felt tortured, was terrified, enjoyed a serene moment, and cried like a baby. Thanks India. You’ve made me crazier.

Impromptu trip planning

Last Thursday night, Hiro and 2 of our fellow volunteers decided on an impromptu weekend to Agra to see the Taj Mahal (directly translates to palace of the crown) and other historical treasures. The only problem was that we had to leave Friday morning to have a full day for checking out all the sites. This gave us Thursday night to: pack, book a hotel, book transportation, get permission from our program coordinator who was still out partying, do laundry, charge our electronics, and oh yeah, get some sleep before our 8am Hindi lesson. After many disputes among our group about whether it was worth the several hundred rupee premium for a hotel with a pool, we finally agreed that it would be a welcome relief from the unrelenting heat.

The temperature had ranged from 93-100 degrees in the last 4 days. Our liberation from the exhausting hotness lasted only a few hours before the sun rise. In the twilight, the heat stored in the pavement and buildings was finally expelled in full. My routine at night had become spraying my body with deet (because I was eatin alive my first night….I’m talking 30 mosquito bites covering the left side of my body from neck to toe. Those bastards even got my fingers.) and splashing cold water on my head until my body finally gave in and passed out from exhaustion.

Confusion and Creepiness on the way to the Bus

Once our hotel was finally decided on, Hiro booked our trains while I took care of our laundry. Unfortunately, the wait list for any trains to Agra was nearly 20 deep. Yes, there are wait lists for trains. They recommend booking 2 weeks ahead of time to secure a seat. In fact, this wait list continued to increase well into 3am……who are all these sleepless procrastinators? Regardless, this is when we started to get hit with exhaustion and considered cancelling the trip all together. It took us another half hour or so to realize that we wouldn’t get a refund and would have to take a bus. Not the worst case scenario so we decided to get some shut eye and book the buses in the morning. Smooth sailing after that right?

When we tried to book the bus online, our credit cards were rejected. Tickets are only sold at the stop so we had 2-3 hours less than we expected. All the clothes I hand washed in the middle of the night were only half dry. Hiro had to leave his cell phone at the mobile store because we didn’t have time to pick it up (we were trying to get it unlocked for a sim card). On the train there, an older lady crammed herself into the seat I snagged and shoved her hand under my left butt cheek. I don’t know whether she was trying to make me uncomfortable so I would move and she could have the whole seat to herself or was just a creep. Either way, I was shocked and considered putting my hand under my butt and resting it on hers……does this make me a creep? It was the only thing I could come up with. After 30 long secs, she finally moved her hand. Guess she got her fill of random Chinese girl butt for the day. Meanwhile, our young white female travel buddy was surrounded by creepy older men that blatantly undressed her with their eyes. One old man was licking his lips and making lewd gestures with his wrinkled tongue. Guess I got lucky with the old lady butt fondling.

Super Hiro to the Rescue

When we finally got to the bus stop, we were directed the wrong way to get tickets. We walked 10 minutes out of our way before someone told us to go back to where we started. Then a station employee told us that tickets were sold at a bus stop behind his stall. Rather than walk all the way around the wall that separated us from the other stall, Hiro hoisted himself over it like a monkey/Rambo. Good thing he did because it was an abandoned bus station. Apparently the station employee was using “behind him” very loosely (this has been happening a lot in India. Nothing is ever as it seems). The correct stop was a 10 min walk “behind” his stall. In true action movie form, Hiro climbed back over the wall, tossed me his bags and sprinted to the bus station to get tickets before they were sold out.

Imagine an intense looking Japanese guy flying down a long, dusty street. To his left are some homeless Indian families sleeping beneath a highway bridge to escape the unrelenting heat. To his right is a wide empty lot. Following slowly behind are 3 women unsure of whether to follow him or risk being split up: a 19 year old premed student who’s been traveling alone since she was 14, a nurse & mother of 3 who is finally able to sneak in an adventure after her youngest son graduated high school, and a 25 year old Chinese girl who has salty, sweat pouring down over her frown and who’s wondering why the hell she is in this crazy country.

Line etiquette and Toilet encounters

We ladies finally caught up with Hiro at this large outdoor bus terminal and managed to hustle our way to the front of the line to get tickets (as a woman, you can cut to the front if there are all men in a line). The men did not like it, but I doubt they would have hesitated to cut in front of me in a reverse scenario. In fact, people will give you a genuine compliment and smile before stepping in front of you in a queue. Even if there is no line and you’re the only person waiting to be served, you can be sure the next person who comes up will step in front of you as you try to pay. I thought I was tough after living in New York for 3 years, but my defensive arm block (to create a barrier between strangers and my place in line) and offensive line cutting could use some improvement. I haven’t quite convinced myself that cutting in front of people is okay with me, but when in Rome, right?

Before hopping on our bus, we took a quick bathroom break and found women from the next door slum washing their laundry. There were 3 or 4 women squatting on the cement ground scrubbing away near the sinks and another 3 were in the toilet stalls taking advantage of the water spits generally used for post potty cleansing. As I squat down to pee in the one available stall, soapy water streamed in under my stall door, between my legs, and helped wash down my urine into the abyss. It was strange how normal this all felt to me and as a result how connected I felt with India. I didn’t think twice about why the women were there cleaning, and they didn’t pay any attention to the random Chinese girl wandering through their harem to take a leak.

Bus standards and bus stops

Our A/C bus turned out to be a brand new coach with fully functioning air conditioning and nice blue curtains. Somehow getting a new A/C bus that looked much like a Bolt Bus (sans the flash) was more surprising than the ladies squatted out in the ladies room scrubbing saris. The non A/C buses were much older, had people hanging out of open doors, dirty, broken windows, and questionable safety, so getting a bus that I would have expected on any trip in the states seemed completely out of place. I felt like I was riding a mansion on wheels….for $7 a seat.

At our rest stop halfway through, there were camel rides, elephants showering, monkeys dressed in children’s clothing being tickled by their trainer, horse rides, and a snake charmer. Lord. I gave in and hopped on an elephant behind this random South Korean girl. When I pet this big giant on the cheek, he slapped my head with his ear. Best 200 rupees I ever spent.

Taj Resorts

Our hotel was Fanstastic! It looked like a $200 a night US hotel and we were only paying $20 a night. We jumped straight into the pool when we got to the hotel. It was warm, salty and also neon green when the pool lights came on. Algae? Not quite sure, but those concerns passed after a couple of beers. Nothing quite like floating along in a warm pool, staring up at the stars with the water muffling the city sounds and leaving only your thoughts of appreciation. Fireworks were shooting off in the distance and a silhouette of the Taj Mahal peaked over other hotels and buildings a couple km to our west. Just amazing.

Taj Tour

We woke at 5:30 in the morning to catch the Taj Mahal before the crowds arrived. A tour guide just showed up at our hotel with the tickets that someone from the hotel was supposed to have picked up for us. Both parties knew he wasn’t requested as well as the fact that he wasn’t free, but for some reason, we didn’t discuss prices before the tour or ask the hotel where he came from. We gave each other a confused look and then just went with it. I let things pass here that would never go unquestioned in the US. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s how confident people are? Maybe it’s because things never seem to run as you’d expect them to in the US, so I just give in to the craziness? No idea. Even as I think of it again now. I have no idea.

Whatever the case, the tour was great and the Taj Mahal was as beautiful as expected. Everything seemed to go downhill from there.

Hawkers of all ages

The tour guide took us to a marble shop after we left the Taj Mahal where the salesman told us that descendants of the builders of the Taj worked at his shop, keeping their family craft alive (shaping gems and stones with a manually turned wheel and then embedding them perfectly in marble….imagine sharpening a knife with a big round stone wheel that you rotated by hand). There was even a guy sitting outside to illustrate the technique. Though the work was beautiful, the prices were in the hundreds (dollars not rupees). Hiro wanted to get something special for his dad and talked the guy down to $400 with a free marble elephant (from $600). Honestly, the salesman was pulling out all the stops to close the deal. He told us that he would be closed the next day, we couldn’t get anything like it anywhere else in India, and Hiro was getting a special morning price (what the hell does this even mean?) and it would be more if he went back to the hotel to think about it. After much pressuring from the salesman, Hiro bought the table piece.

We came out to find our 2 travel companions in a nearby store getting shoes shoved at them. They were also getting the “special morning price” story. These men were so pushy that they even blocked us from view, so we couldn’t sway their purchasing decisions. As we stood outside the shoe stall, about 10 men surrounded Hiro and I asking us where we were from, whether we needed postcards, shoving bracelets in my face, shoving little toy trinkets in Hiro’s face, and telling us to go into their stall, “just seeing! No buying!” It was chaos. Even as we pulled our friends out of the stall and walked back to the hotel, little boys followed us asking us to buy glittery snow globes for, “800 rupees! 600 rupees! 200 rupees! OK! OK! 500 rupees!”

Scams and hidden motivations

We had breakfast and decided to head off to the Red Fort where the Royal family lived before and while the Taj Mahal was built. On our way there, a rickshaw driver named Lala charmed us into taking a ride with him and his friend for $20 rupees (50 cents). They waited for us to finish our hour tour at the Fort and then said they’d take us to a bazaar. Instead, we ended up at a local emporium (later we learned that drivers get a commission on sales at any stores they bring people). When we asked them to take us to another local outdoor emporium, they lied to us and told us it was closed! They pulled us in with their friendliness and blatantly lied to us. We had a sneaking suspicion this was the case and called them out, but they responded with a guilt inducing “I’m not against you. I’m just trying to help”. At this point it was a gamble and we grew tired of arguing, so we agreed to peek in.

This is where Hiro found similar marble pieces for less than half the price he paid in the morning. They told him to go get a full refund from the first store and leave a $50 deposit to hold the marble piece he wanted. There was a voice in the back of my head screaming scam. Agra is not that big, and this store is not on a touristy street. It’s also not a popular season. I doubt that anyone was going to stop in that store and decide to drop $150 on the exact same piece he fancied. Instead we took an auto back to the first marble store to demand a refund……It was scary. Let me tell you. These guys asked us to go into the backroom and closed the door. They kept telling us to wait 5 min (I suspect so the other tourists at the front of the shop would leave). Then they sternly told Hiro it was non refundable and tried to get him to get a cheaper item (He told them that his dad was pissed that he spent $400 on a gift and demanded he get a refund). They even asked him to wait 2 days, so the payment would go through and then they could get him a refund. Are you kidding me? I’ve never experienced such blatant sneakiness. It was disgusting.

Suddenly I realized we could just cancel the payment before it went through and told the guy if he didn’t give us a refund, we’d take it. He asked what we would tell the bank, and Hiro said he’d tell them it was a mistake. I think this is when the guy realized the jig was up, but he was still acting strangely. He didn’t make eye contact. He and 2-3 other guys in the room kept looking at their phones, making calls in Hindi and circling us.

Honestly, I thought they were going to rough us up, so I left quickly and raced back to the hotel. At least I could get help if something bad happened. The whole walk back, I expected a car to drive by and snatch me off the street kicking and screaming. I did end up making it back safely and Hiro got his full refund, but I’m not sure whether it was the phone calls I asked the hotel managers to make or the salesmen coming to their senses when I ran out. Whatever the case, it was a terrifying experience.

Hotel problems

After my heart stopped racing, I was thinking that things couldn’t get any worse, and we could just get dinner somewhere and chill out. Wrong. The internet didn’t work. The pool shut down for construction (the hotel manager even had the audacity to tell us to check out the half filled pool to see whether it would be worth taking a dip…..there was 2 feet of old water in there). Our fridge never worked. Our towels had brown streaks on them. The rooms were on the basement level, so it was too damp for any of our wet clothes to dry (as a result, everything I owned smelled like mold). There was no hot water, and we found out that none of the marble pieces sold at these emporiums were real. This is also when we found out the bazaar we wanted to go to was open. Individually these things don’t seem so bad, but it feels like a punch in the face when you find out you were lied to so many times in a day. We could have saved hundreds of rupees at a cheaper hotel that didn’t have a pool, internet, towels, or fridge.

Making local friends

We were all pretty much in a foul mood at this point but decided we had to eat out and check out the bazaar. There we met a nice man who worked at a stall in the bazaar who we purchased a mosquito net from. He offered to show us a restaurant and ended up taking us for a 10-15 min walk to this smoky bar that had prices much higher than even our hotel. When we opted out, he kindly invited us to eat at his home. I was really touched. I mean people were lying to us left and right all day, and this guy that we just met was offering to take us into his home. I thought, “Oh well this is such an amazing end to a miserable day”. Wrong again. He spent half the time talking about his spiritual beliefs and the other half hitting on our friend (not blatantly, but definitely inappropriate in Indian standards. He shouldn’t be asking girls to go on walks alone or make jokes about how their not single now because they’ve met each other).

Dinner was delicious and the water and Tang he gave us didn’t end up being drugged (we read that people in Agra will drug your food and rush you to a local hospital so they can bill your insurance tons of money). Thank god. After eating, he did ask us to leave a gift for his mom as a token of our appreciation. When our friend offered to give his mom her bracelet, he asked us to step outside and told us that we should leave money, “$500-$1000 rupees, as you wish”. WTF!?! Basically, nothing is ever as it seems. Hiro later pointed out that he probably took us to the most expensive place he knew so he could make a commission off of us. (like the rickshaw drivers). Frustrated but not wanting to offend his mother, we left her money and tried to get out of there.

Not only was this guy trying to get money off of us, he was pushing every limit there was. He asked us to stay the night. There were only 2 beds and he lived there with his parents. Did he expect all 4 of us to share the bed with him? Then he rode back to the hotel with us (to help guide the driver), but I suspect he made a commission off that ride as well. When we got close to the hotel, he tried inviting himself back to the hotel with us to hang out just for another half an hour. In the end we had to stop playing nice and tell him no, straight out.

In complete and utter frustration with feeling lied to and used by everyone I met that day, I broke down in tears. It’s hard for me to be kind and open myself up to new people if I don’t trust them. I really truly wanted to see the best in everyone I met. I was pushing down that paranoid, un-trusting version of myself that always rises to the forefront when I meet someone new, and it backfired.

I still can’t make heads or tails of what happened, and I’m feeling somewhat conflicted about being here. Whatever the case, I’m trying to look at this weekend as a crash course in living in India as a foreigner, but we’ll see. My guard is back up.

Morning Star School

Monday and Tuesday, 6/27 to 6/28 ~ First two days teaching at Morning Star School in a Faridabad slum

Peggy’s and my main host family are moving this week so we were placed with another host family until this weekend. Their names are Rakish, the father, Soba, the mother, and Benjamin, their naughty little boy who makes it clear that he prefers that I play with him instead of write.

This week, I’m teaching third and fourth graders math and English, while Peggy teaches the younger classes, with Rakish supervising us. All of us work at the local slum school, which is a meager tent covering rows of desks and chairs, two blackboards, and a plastic tarp for the youngest class to sit on.

The students’ youthful spirits, obedience, and eagerness to learn, fill this poor school with zestful richness. Every morning, I am received by the children with a loud, “Good morning, sir!”, and every student entering after me asks politely with a charming little voice, “Sir! May I come in?” But despite this uplifting energy in the room, I feel a fundamental sorrow for these children each day, for I know that many will pass through undeservingly difficult lives.

6/29 ~ Wednesday at the slum school

Today I taught the children how to subtract a greater number from a lesser one. Only about half of them can do it, but that’s a big achievement for the day. The gratification of teaching a person a new skill runs deep in me; I could see myself getting hooked to teaching.

With each day, I feel myself getting more comfortable with teaching these children. I am increasingly attuned to their skill levels and needs, and answers to problems that arise during work come quicker to me than before. When working with individual children on the previous day’s homework, I have the others complete arithmetic problems on the board. When a student does poorly on one set of problems, say multiplying two two-digit integers, I sit with them and take them through the calculation step-by-step. I choose the quiet kids in class to answer on the blackboard aloud. I still have a lot of work to do, but I feel good about the progress I’ve made, especially because of the language barrier between the children and me. They know very little English, but they do understand that when I say, “classwork”, it means to do the work on the board in class, and when I say, “homework”, it means to do the work on the board before tomorrow’s class. That goes a long way in my instruction.

On my last day at Morningstar School

Agra for the Weekend

Saturday 6/25 ~ Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, and Sadar Bazaar

Early morning we arrive at the Taj Mahal. For me, it is like a dream. Early morning is much better than the day to see the Taj Mahal. Tourists do not abound in the early morning. The sun peaks through the clouds, but its heat does not scorch your skin nor do its rays pierce your eyes. The hawkers are still incessant, but not as bad as when paired with the dehydrating heat in the day.

The Taj Mahal itself is an optical illusion, adding to the surrealism of my visit. When looking at the Taj Mahal through its front gate, it appears much closer physically than it really is. After stepping through the gate and seeing more of the context, including trees, people, and walkways, you see the Taj Mahal a kilometer away, beckoning. It is different from Humayan’s Tomb. The Taj Mahal is ostentatious and welcoming. She is a palace built in the name of love. Shah Jahan, the fifth great Mughal, built it as a token of his deeply set love for his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died while delivering her 14th child. After serving 8 years in prison at Agra Fort, with view of his muse’s crown palace, Shah Jahan was given pardon by his son before his death, and was buried in the Taj Mahal too. It’s a royal love story, and one that lends itself to the palace’s warmth and hospitality.

Peggy and me at the Taj Mahal at sunrise

Sun rises over a mosque beside the Taj Mahal

Later that day, we met a shopkeeper at the oldest store in Sadar Bazar who invited us to his house for dinner. It was a kind gesture, though apparently with ulterior motives. Early on, I suspect he will ask us for money, but curious for a peak into the life of a local shopkeeper, I welcome his invitation. At his home, we quickly see that he is a Hindu zealot. He talks a lot, and listens a little. He tells me graciously and repeatedly, “guest is god”, and to this day, I cannot tell you how sincere he was.

With the merchant and his mom

Sunday 6/26 ~ Monsoon hits the north a few days early.

The first monsoon rain is supposed to bring good luck. So after a fruitless attempt to find a meditation class, we walk through the first monsoon showers in northern India. It is cold, but a relief after our strange and dramatic night with the potential swindler from Sadar Bazar.

At 3 o’clock, we leave Agra for Faridabad. Our volunteer work begins tomorrow.

Getting my hair cut by the Jaipur railway station