the details.

sorry, no pictures. I know. I'm the worst. I'll try, I promise. at an internet cafe now, and I'm not sure how things work. I will surely ask around and see what I can do for next week.

I am so grateful for all your kind comments. perhaps you have an idea of what it means to me, a million miles away, but so close to you as I read your responses to my thoughts. I am no longer in isolation. no man is an island.

on Saturday, I assigned my 6 grade civics class to write a paragraph about a community they belong to and their role in it (community = family, class, school, state, country, etc.) Rahul, a bright and beautiful boy wrote something that touched me to the core: "the community I belong to is my family. I chose my family as a community because they'll always be with me. in that community my part is that I am my mom's son. my family is not so big. in my community I have a mom, aunt, uncle and me. in my community my mom always tells me 'you're the only one that can help our family, so please study hard and get high marks in your exams.'" he is such a sweetheart. and all the children are. I feel so atttached to them.

I wish I could snapshot every one of them and tell you about their mannerisms, their jokes, their laughtre. I love grades 6,7,8,9--jr. high--who knew?! sometimes, when I feel like my heart is going to explode, I think of Christ's love. I know only a glimpse, a sliver of his perspective. but that bursting inside me at times seems like more than I can bear.

there is so much I want to write. every moment here at Shanti Bhavan is worth preserving. and it's getting harder to each day. with classes, grading, and extra curricular, I am getting busier. but it's also becoming harder with the passing of time. I am getting used to things here--which is wonderful--but I fear I am losing my sense of wonder and atonishment at it all.

I walked to breakfast this morning, and couldn't help but think this is how life should be. I love it here, although I miss home. I feel I have the best of both worlds.


those 6, 7, 8 graders. they are priceless. they admire me yet respect me. they don't know how incompetent I am, yet they still want to see my hair down, and want me to tell them the color of their eyes....brown, brown, dark brown, brown, brown.... they want to show me their drawings, every one of them, yet the don't need discipline like the 4 and 5 graders. their hearts are still young and innocent, but their minds are bright and their behavior nearly perfect--but not too perfect like the 10th graders who sit and stare at me.

everything, when I think of it, is a wonder. I want to write an essay or a blog pot on every single detail. I am afraid I will forget the water, how it tastes sweet but still refreshing. the names, perhaps if I met one or two of them in the U.S. I could get them down, but 200 at a time is overwhelming to say the least. the frogs, snakes, lizards. the crows---oh the crows. and the other various birds. their sounds wake me in the morning and lullabye in the evening. my room, the news, the smell of my bathroom, the songs the children play on the school piano (fyi: Enrique Iglesias and the love ballads from Titanic :), the soft gushy mangoes--sometimes sweet sometimes sour. the way it feels to read Life of Pi while in India. each child:

Chandra, from 5 grade, he cries and weeps and BEGS you to call on him..."please Miss! please, please, oh plee-hee-hee-hease!" I just have to bust out laughing at him.
or Vijay, his more energetic counterpart, jumping up and down waving his arms like he is a flagging down a Boeing 747.
or Bharat, the 10-year-old Indian embodiment of Barack Obama--who sits quietly in his desk, knows every answer, and is my only relief in 5 grade social studies.
then there's Sujatha and Manjula, the 8th grade Indian Bobsy twins. smart and capable, but too beautiful and bored for their own good.
leaving out Aischwurya, my brilliant and long-legged outcast who holds her own.
even againt Vijay, loud-mouthed and bright-eyed.
and Babu, quiet and skinny, ahead of the rest in the 8 grade.
and Tangaraj and Puneeth, the cutest, dimpled-est, sweetest of the mall.
Tang is quet , but got so fired up in our debate over Indian foreign policy. like a true Indian, using his hands angrily, but no harm done.
Puneeth's birthday is tomorrow. he is turning 12. he's in the 8th grade!
and lastly, ManjuKumar. he is a mixture of them all. curious about the world, he doesn't know much...but he's more than willing to grab the encyclopedia or raise his hand to ask a question.
and in fourth grade, John Joseph. sparky and smiley. schmoozing his 8-year-old-self into my heart.
along with Vishwasagar. oh. my heart. my smile. me eyes filled with tears just thinking of his big--HUGE--brown eyes. and his eyes are there, but his mind is elsewhere. I don't know where. he draws excellently and cried aloud when John Joseph threw his shoe in the dirt. so sweet!
and as soon as I say, "Oh I love those elephants you drew!" I must dazzle and gasp at Amarnath's monkeys and Crowncy's fence and Shiney's river.

I am enjoying being me here. I want to understand what it means to be amy in India. so far, I am an outsider, an American, a Mormon--all moreso than I am in America, or in Utah. there's so much more I want to say. but I have not the time to say it. I'm also afraid I have not the words to explain the way the breeze blows, or how the children's voices are constantly echoing in the halls of the open-roofed school, or how the nats surround me 24/7, or how my shower gets TOO hot because the water is heated by solar energy outside the school, or how they eat with their hands--curry up to their knuckles, or how my laundry smells after it is handwashed and dried on a big rock, or how I take my 'rubbish' to the trash area where they burn it, leaving the smell of ash and campfire ( just what I wanted!) permeating in my bedroom. I'm afraid I can't do it justice--and you'll all just have to meet me here. please.

I have been here 8 days and as is to be expected, India has changed me for good.