Our mornings begin with a comment from either Jess or I about the sounds outside our window as we slowly come out of a deep sleep. One morning in particular we noticed sounds that were extra interesting. Between the loudest squawk I have ever heard in my life and a train who’s horn insists on blowing for a full two minutes (getting progressively louder as it nears), there was no need for Jess’ small travel alarm.
7am we rise and shine. Sometimes “bright eyed and bushy tailed” and sometimes…not. We take turns using our only cold water shower, brush our teeth, eat some fruit, lock our doors, and walk to school.
8:20am is the time now. The sun blazes hot even at this early hour. Some mornings it is warmer than others and I have begun to predict which will be the unbearable days.
“Oh it’s nice and cool this morning.” I said as we walked to school on Friday…of course by this I meant it was barely above 90* and with a slight breeze, when usually it's borderline 100* with the air silent as a Pennsylvania July.
8:30am and we hear the bell ring. Run fast to your places kids and teachers. They say a short and very sweet prayer in their strong Indian accents and then open their eyes, smiling and ready to sing a song. Each morning is a different song and each one succeeds in making me feel five again as I participate with the students around me.
The day goes on from there. I teach a fourth grade class and Jess handles sixth. Our students are very bright and continually put a smile on my face. I have found myself wanting to be the best teacher I can for the two girls in my class and make things fun and interesting so they will continue to be excited about their education. On Friday I made up a quick and easy craft to do before the closing bell rang because the girls had done so well that week, giving us extra time.
Though school is the main activity of our days, our afternoons are filled with other various tasks. We work in the bakery of the widows home three days out of the week and have found that our help will be much appreciated. It was surprising to find out that they needed help with cake decorating. Immediately I piped up to say I had taken all three courses in cake decorating that are offered in the Wilton Cake Decorating Course. There were times I had wondered why I had chosen to do that at age fourteen. For such a time as this, perhaps? I will never know exactly, but for now I am thankful to have that ability in the bakery.
We also have gotten involved in designing and making jewelry for the craft shop in the downstairs storefront of the widows home. "Hope Arts" sells many things from handcrafted jewelry, beautiful cards, natural peanut butter, and other souvenirs for tourists or locals. Each of these items are made by the widows in the home and when sold, the money pays for the maintenance of the program. I find myself very excited that the areas where they need assistance are in mine and Jess' areas of interest.
“Aapka naam kya hai?” I find myself staring blankly at times when someone asks a question of Jess or I. Quickly they realize we don’t know Hindi very well and although I know that phrase means “What is your name?” and I have an answer, many other things leave me confused and very frustrated at my lack of an ability to communicate. And so our last activity during weekday afternoons is Hindi lessons. On Wednesdays and Fridays we are taught by a girl named Pinky. Sweet, beautiful, and with a sense of “up-to-date Indian fashion” that I don’t yet understand, she is a great teacher. She and I were both surprised to find we are the same age of only seventeen. I may have made a friend above the age of four!
Each activity we fill our days with is fun and exciting to learn. There has only been one so far that we have both wished would simply go away…being sick. They say it’s completely normal to become ill at the beginning and/or throughout a trip to an overseas country. I never would have thought a different kind of food would have been enough to cause our bodies to react so violently, but it did. Jess and I spent a good part of last Monday curled up on the bed with stomach cramps or back and forth from the bathroom. Later we would find out that it wasn’t a simple 24hr. virus but likely a bacterial infection/ameoba which we will be on medication for until almost April’s end. I am just thankful it has not left me bedridden, but in the midst of some slight discomfort, we have been able to keep up with this busy schedule!
At week’s end, Jess and I find ourselves mostly content and satisfied as we look back on the events of the past six or seven days. We spent our Friday evening lying on our small beds side-by-side asking each other what the funniest moments have been since in India. I found myself laughing hysterically as Jess re-hashed some of those times that had so quickly been lost in my overstuffed mind.
Each day I surprise myself as we go about this "normal" routine. NORMAL. What is normal? I find myself asking this question over and over in my head until I decide that it is useless to wonder. This is my life. For the next 8 months, India is my life. The thought is scary, strange, and exciting. And then I think, will I ever truly leave it in the dust as I move on in life? Will it ever really become a thing of the past? Jess and I are slowly beginning to realize that we are now connected to India in a way that will never leave us. To go back entirely might be impossible. I have my world, my one true home. America...it is my heart country. Yet now I know this world. This crowded, hurting, and still beautiful world of India.
I do not completely understand what is to be accomplished on this year-long journey. But I know if nothing else, one thing is certain. Jess and I will no longer be able to view the world with the same eyes. We are no longer perfectly American. However, we are definately not Indian. We are lost at a point in the middle. A "third-culture mind", so to speak. And in this "lost" state, I could not be more thankful for who we are becoming...for who we will become.
Love Always,
♥Nebin
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