life: in progress

           My memory of BIRDS, Bharati Integrated Rural Development Society, sometimes is overshadowed by such dramatic experiences at Visthar and the children’s home.  But the very fact that made it blend in so well was also the reason I loved it so much.  It was India, in real life.  Well, except for our air-conditioned rooms, which were much appreciated in the transition from Bangalore (70 degrees F) to Nandyal (105 degrees F).  In the mornings at BIRDS, when I wasn’t in the bathroom trying to manually flush the toilet with a bucket of water, sometimes I would think about going up on the roof to do my  surya namaskar (sun salutation) that I learned from a crazy Indian martial arts fighter at Visthar.  When I got home I had to youtube it to make sure I was doing it right because at the time I was pretty distracted by his bare upper body and loosely fashioned dhoti.  But I do remember that after he taught us the exercise, he assured us that “if you do this 10 times every morning and

There’s a monkey in this picture somewhere, but I haven’t found it yet.   ...we all have diarrhea... I took this picture while we were driving at 80mph.  I thought I was just getting the temple until I looked again later and found these two Bollywood stars.  We got tired of smiling after the thousandth “ready to photo, sister?" Putting our heads together to stop the army of ants pouring out of a hole in the floor.  Our solution: a flood of 100% deet, Elmer’s glue, and q-tips “i wanna be in the picture toooooo!"

Before I left, the doctor told me to stay away from crowded places like train stations to avoid coming in contact with TB or any other crazy diseases.   I laughed and thought, “Obviously you haven’t been to India because everywhere you go is crowded!”   But the train really was crowded, and if I was a TB viral cell, it’s exactly where I would go to find a perfect host body.   Let me introduce you to some of the people on the train.   *The man sitting across from me: Tall and thin, roughly 30 years old, told me he was the manager of the Bank of America in Bangalore, traveling on business.   He continually teased me about falling asleep every time I picked up my book and started to read and didn’t mind me putting my feet on his seat. We shared stories of playing with our little nieces, giving me a glimpse of his desire to start a family.   He asked for my email.   He sat across from me all day and into the night, until the conductor made him move to the la

After noisily and awkwardly hoisting my embarrassingly large bag onto a shelf about 5 feet above my head, I sat down to look around.  Each “compartment” had two benches, facing each other, long enough to hold 3 people each.  R pulled me aside and took me to the space between the train cars.  Grinning, he said, “I want to show you something…just so you  know.”   He brought me into the bathroom and graciously explained how to properly lock the door, which I’m sure saved me from much embarrassment later on.  I took a quick look around.  It consisted of a hole in the floor of the train, and a bar to hold on to for dear life.  The floor was wet. I forced myself to think it was because they had just hosed it down in preparation for the next trip.  I was a little nervous about the lack of toilet paper, but later I realized that it wasn’t necessary.  The draft created by a moving train evaporates any leftover liquid without extra help from Scott’s two-ply sheets.  Back in my seat, the train be

It’s easy for me to talk about poverty from the comfort of my bedroom, propped up with a few pillows, typing on my laptop, and trying to decide whether I should play music with my phone, computer, or ipod.    It’s much harder to talk about poverty when it’s staring you directly in the face. If you’ve never experienced this, take a ride on any passenger train in India. The train station in Bangalore was about 1 hour by bus from Visthar, through the most crowded streets I have ever encountered, and I’ve been in some pretty serious traffic.   The difference is that in America, we categorize.   “Trucks only” “Cars only” “Bus lane” “HOV lane.”   But in India there are no such laws.   “Truck? Rickshaw? Camel? Bike? Feet? Whatever your mode of transportation, you are welcome here!”   One thing that you will never be in a car in India is bored, even without a built in DVD player.   On the ride M, R, and I were having a casual conversation, I believe about the US military an

I thought so. We took the bus into the city of Bangalore with our two Indian hosts.  A group of white people taking public transportation is not too common a sight, and I felt more out of place than a Yankees fan at Fenway Park.  We got off the bus underneath an overpass where an army of rickshaws was parked.  After a few eager drivers gave us a complete tour of all 4 seats in their vehicles (meanwhile assuring us that our group of 10 would fit, “noh prohbleem”), we had to tell them that we didn’t actually need a ride.  We walked a few blocks outside of town to the railroad tracks. I kept stepping over these small streams of water and could not figure out what they were or where they were coming from, until I realized that every time I saw one there was also a cow standing uphill from me, apparently very well hydrated. Crossing the railroad tracks, we met up with another guide, a local, and entered into a completely different world.   Sensory overload.   The average number of people p

At this very moment, Hurricane Irene is sweeping up the East coast, and thanks to her I’m writing this post.   In the “forced confinement” of my cozy dorm room with absolutely nowhere to go and no one to see, my time is all my own.   It’s a beautiful thing.   So without further ado, and with the help of Joshua Radin and Irene, I am attempting to begin blogging consistently.     Although my track record in the past is not outstanding, you can at least count on a post every time a hurricane hits Boston.   I wanted to write about India on this blog.   In fact, that’s the whole reason I started it.   Little did I know what an utterly impossible task that would turn out to be!   And when I say utterly impossible, I mean udderly impossible.   I have never seen so many cows in one place in my life.   I t’s not that I wasn’t expecting to see them, I just wasn’t expecting to see them using the same roads as the cars, buses, motorcycles, overloaded tractors, rickshaws, goats, ch

Turns out, I wasn't going to be in India quite as soon as I hoped to be.  After sitting on an airplane at BWI airport for a good 4 hours, my flight to Boston was cancelled, much to the dismay of the little boy behind me who wondered outloud, "Are we going to have to sleep on this plane??"  I flew into Manchester later that night, and luckily, had some very good friends who were willing to babysit and chauffeur me around for the next few days!  Because of roughly five thousand small details, I was not able to fly to Bangalore for a few days.  But thanks to a lot of people who were working to make sure I got there safely, I have a ticket for tonight, only two days after my original departure date.  On the bright side, I got to see and talk to a lot of friends that I otherwise wouldn't have!  And of course, two extra night's sleep is nothing to complain about.  But tonight I am flying to India!*  I feel like the longer I wait, the more I am going to appreciate the co

I am catching a flight to London tonight, and from there I'm going straight to Bangalore, India.  Even after reading it in print and seeing my bags stacked next to me, I can hardly believe that in two days, I will be in a foreign country. And not just any country at that, but INDIA!  I have wanted to go there for as long as I can remember, collecting wooden elephants and buying sari material to drape over my windows in my bedroom.  Now, it's finally happening.  It seems to me that everything is more extreme there: the heat, the traffic, the wealth, the poverty, even the colors seem more vibrant.  I can't wait to find out if that's true.  Goodbye USA, hello love. :)