eastern market.

eastern market. camera = unreliable.

kailey + me.

our new DC friend, Katie, came with us to the Eastern Market, which is essentially a giant farmers market/flea market. I think I loved it the most. I love being outside with all those artists and farmers and crafters. the flea market had a few stands that I just loved including vintage linens and old maps. I really want something from both of them.

Katie and Kailey became friends with this little puppy on the right. his owner was the brother of this Indian man, Nandu. as I was talking with him I found out he was from Chennai and his wife was from Bangalore--which is about as close as it gets to where I was living in India last summer. it was so great to talk with him.

it seems almost every moment I find myself drawing parallels between India and DC. I'm not sure if it's just the traveling part, the being away from home, the city-life, or what. but I miss India more than ever and am talking about it constantly. I'm so sorry for all my Barlow Center comrades who have to hear me blab about it. Molly is going back for graduation! I'm eternally jealous. I am hoping to make it back to India soon.

Nandu was so kind and humble and talking with him put me in a funny mood--although he's been living in California for 25 years, he is still so Indian. I mean, he was Americanized in many ways, and I was only with him for maybe five minutes. but his essence was humble and warm and just looking in his eyes reminded me of how much I love Indians. he reminded me of the times I would look into the eyes of the children and feel so clearly the love of God. I was reminded last week of the line from Les Mis, "to love another person is to see the face of God." that's how I feel when I look into the eyes of Indians.

after the Eastern Market, we ate at Potbelly, a greasy-sandwich place, but apparently a DC must. it was delicious, and so greasy. after eating we did a little shopping and then went to the National Portrait Gallery and Gallery of American Art.

the museum was so amazing. I loved it. Kailey and I, both American Studies majors, just about died at the paintings and people we are so familiar with. we both regretted that we didn't remember more of it. I remember always wanting to see these paintings in person, and I just started a summer of it. some of the highlights were John Winthrop, Charles Wilson Peale, Benjamin West, John Singleton Copley, John Marshall (such a cute little guy!), Gilbert Stuart, Edgar Allen Poe, Washington Irving, George Catlin, Robert E. Lee, Joseph Smith & Brigham Young, Winslow Homer, Clover Adams, Betty Friedan, A. Phillip Randolph, Mary Church Terrell, too many to list!

I loved it. I saw Abbot Thayer's original "Angel" painting and giant print photos of Lincoln. it was breathtaking. I love it.

Manju Kumar.

look how smart my 8th graders are! (well I didn't teach them robotics, but I did read To Kill A Mockingbird with them!) this is Manju Kumar, Shanti Bhavan Children's Program

happy friday.

looking through my pictures and saw these 6th graders at SB. I miss those lighting, those walls.

photo at Shanti Bhavan by Amiran White

my heart hurts. I want to go back to Shanti Bhavan every day. I don't know why it has just hit me this week. during finals.

I am "planning" on going to Washington D.C. in the summer. but right now I just can't fathom not going back to India. it's making me ill.

my heart hurts because I was born here. and when I'm here I wish I was there. and I know when I'm there, I will desperately miss everyone sitting with me now as I type.

mary sheela.

i received an e-mail today from a SB volunteer coordinator in New York. another volunteer sent him this to pass on to me, from Mary Sheela. my darling little 4th grader. first one I ever taught bium pum pum to. I miss her so much. I miss feeling the way I felt there every day.


Dear Amy,
I miss playing, singing, and dancing burump um pum. I still have your photo. I also have the eraser and the sticker. I am so sad without you. You are in my heart. I am waiting for you to come back to Shanti Bhavan. Did you forget me? I have sad news. I was depromoted because I never studied well.
Love,
Mary

butchas.

near the beginning of my stay in India, my boss asked me in an e-mail if I wouldn't mind picking up a rock for her there. she has collected many rocks from many different places and I said I didn't mind a bit. but I have to admit I laughed because a rock from India is not unlike a rock from St. George or Provo. on my last day, though, I snatched a rock from 3rd grade Nandini, realizing there was so much life to the rocks here.

my first time at P.T. (Physical Training) 2 first grade boys were playing a game in the dirt with small stones. they drew a 4-square box in the dirt, each placing 3 rocks in corners of their choice. the boys started shifting the stones, and then would yell at each other like they were grown men in an argument over a fender-bender. waving their hands and shouting like maniacs. I don't know what they were saying because I didn't understand their accents then. I soon came to learn how to play the game and thought it quite clever. it is akin to tic-tac-toe with a little more complication. I couldn't believe these four and five-year-olds playing a game that seemed to take so much brain power. it was a mind game and I remember thinking that it is human nature to make use of what we have. for these kids, it is dirt and stones. throughout my 3 months, I learned many more games that make the best of a stone and a little South-India dirt.

playing 5-stones was not nearly as fun as learning how to play it from Shree Shakti and other 3rd grade girls. "Miss you should toss the stones, then you should take one stone, throw the stone, then pick up one and you should catch it Miss." her little voice going up and down. I could listen to those instructions every day for the rest of my life. she is so darling. my eyes were fastened on the way their hands twisted when they tossed the stones--their hands so delicate and mature. watching them, I knew they'd done this a thousand times because it looked like they'd done it a thousand times. their apparent experience made them seem like women crocheting. the stones in their hands were so natural and easy. I thought it was beautiful.

and it took me nearly the entire 3 months to learn how to play 4-block. my word! how many times I tried to get Sumathi to explain it to me. but somehow it just didn't work out until some 5th grade girls showed me the ropes. you draw 4 big squares, the way we think of 4-square (with a ball). you and your one team member each throw a "butcha" (that's what it sounds like to me--the Tamil word for "stone") to your respective first block. this is the first game. you hop on one foot, "stamping" (or stomping on) the stone, and then kicking it (still hopping) to the next block. the rules are, you have to stamp it every time it gets to a new block, the stone cannot touch the line and neither can your foot. if you become out, your only hope (the girls would say this to each other: "I became out! you are the only hope for me!") was your team member. if she moves on the next game (ridiculous rules like doing it with your eyes closed and holding your foot up by your waist), so do you--even if you didn't make it on your own. hop scotch was the same elaborate endeavor. same ridiculous rules and the like. but another game of drawing in the sand and throwing the stones.

my roommates asked me today if I learned any Indian games. I told them I learned a ton. they said I would have to teach them for Family Home Evening or something. I told them all we need is dirt and some butchas.

5 stones

Shree Shakti, 3rd grade girl

Sumathi, 3rd grade girl, playing 5-stones

thanuja.

I was just sitting there after dinner, as I usually did. I made all the children, 5th grade and below, say goodnight to me before they headed off to the dorm. one such night the 1st and 2nd graders were incessantly showing me their "shaking" teeth. (shaking = loose; broken = lost e.g. "my tooth is broken!" rather than "I lost my tooth!") Thanuja, 2nd grade, showed me her front tooth was shaking a lot and I teased her, asking if I could pull it out. she didn't say anything, she just nodded her head a little (of course it was the Indian head-bob indicating a yes). so I shook her tooth a bit, thinking it might get it a little more loose and she could pull it out tomorrow. but then, I thought it might come. I twisted it a little and my stomach dropped--but sweet Thanuja just stood there. I couldn't believe it. I decided to go for it--asking her all the while if I could. again, she just stood there. I pulled it out and this is what I saw the next day. isn't she so cute and brave?

the Indian landscape.

I am unpacked and my belongings are settled. so so so happy to be with Lene and can't wait to see Ariel and I miss Rylee. but I am not feeling exactly keen on the Provo social scene. I forgot how to live. and I forgot the anxiety I get in this town. oh to be back in that haven where 200 children automatically love you, forgive you for messing up, tell you your hair is not nice but love you and like you anyway.

I drove myself to Provo today. I was halfway to Cedar City, about 20 miles into the drive when I gasped at the fields of sunflowers beside me. they seemed to be passing me while I remained stationary, rather than the other way around. and I remembered a little bit about myself. I love Utah. I love the land and space and mountains and yellow grass (weeds) growing tall on either side of Interstate 15.

driving made me remember my first trip away from Shanti Bhavan--sitting in the back of a jeep (I can't remember what they're called in India? something with a k). I think there were about 9 of us scrunched in there. the landscape was amazing, and I remember feeling so glad that I was in rural India. I enoyed the cities during my stay, I did. but I loved that land with so much vegetation, water, trees.
more than anything I wished the kids were with me. I wished I could tell them about the Wasatch mountains, about Cove Fort, and the pioneers. I wished the 5th graders were all with me to experience freeways and highways. I spent an entire 45-minute Social Studies period trying to explain a smooth, faster road with exits. I thought of a million ways that I could have better explained this.

I rekindled my friendship with the Utah landscape today and thought of how rural India is not unlike Utah. I have never noticed how rural Utah is until today. and though socially I'm unsettled, I'm glad to see my old world in context of the Indian one. may there be many more paradigm shifts.

gardening.

Thanuja. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful picture.

I made her stand there in her cute blue dress. all the clothes SB children wear are donated and sometimes they look like they're from 1989. other times they are darling as a button.

I miss these girls.

back.

I hate America. not really. I love America. I am back in the U.S.A. and everything is too normal. 36 hours of flying by yourself is not the best way to spend the day after you leave the 200 most adorable and loving people in the world.

my last few days were incredible. so many moments at Shanti Bhavan were incredible. my last day was my birthday and it started with the choir singing For Good and I was a goner for the rest of the day. to each of my classes (I teach every grade except 11th! I was so lucky to have the schedule I did) I read "I Like You" which I fortuitously found in the SB junior library.

it was so appropriate for me to whisper to the first graders, "you know how to be silly--that's why I like you. boy are you ever silly! I never met anybody sillier than me till I met you."

and my 10th graders completely agreed when I read to them, "when I say something funny, you laugh. I think I'm funny and you think I'm funny too."

the 10th graders

my eyes teared at the thought of their generous hearts as I said "if you find two four-leaf clovers, you give me one"

and I bawled when I had to read, "if you go away, then I go away too. or if I stay home, you send me a postcard. you don't just say 'well see you around sometime, bye.' I like you a lot because of that. if I go away, I send you a postcard too."

I feel an emptiness I've never known before, and the children permeate my every thought. I miss Devraj and his innocent-but-guilty "Miss..." I wished you were on the plane seat next to me Devraj. I miss waking up every morning to the 6th and 7th grade boys trying to act cool, but cheering when I get assigned to go play basketball with them. I miss Pushpa and her diligent violin practice--every day she brought me a new piece to learn. I miss Reena. I keep dreaming of Reena. I wish she were here sweetly telling me about this time she misplaced her pencil or that time she heard someone singing happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey...

throughout my time and on my last few days, the children showered me with cards and gifts--some of which are friendship bracelets. on Friday morning when I departed from the Bengaluru airport, I had 13 bracelets on my wrist. I am so proud of them and promised each child to never remove them. inevitably they have been falling off, one at a time. I am down to 8. I hate that I am losing them. I hate that I am forgetting them and that they are me. but they are still there. they are still learning, still healthy, still living without me. and that thought makes me happy. I trust that things will go on dandily without me and subdue my selfish sadness and remember that they are adapting and I should too.

as for here and now, I don't really remember how to live. I'm not sure I can dress myself, shop for myself, cook for myself, go to work, go to school, drive. the basics. but I will remember that in a few days time. already I am becoming normal again. despite my initial disgust in LAX at the skimpy attire and my amazement at how nice everything is in my room, in my car, and on my macbook, I am living. I saw a movie today. so there. in no time at all I will be forced to remember how to live--just like riding a bike.

things are normal. as I previously said, too normal. I am so eerily used to the red cliffs outside my window, and driving came back to me with sheer ease. my mom's cooking is like I never left it--warm and delicious. I wish I were more culture shocked than I am.

what hasn't come so easily, though, has been my change. I forgot how to live like an American, but that I will remember. what I'm not sure I will remember so quickly is my purpose. I've forgotten why I live--why I live here. why don't I live in Balliganapalli? who said that's how it is supposed to be?

the last thing I want is to put this "experience" in my coin purse and save it for a testimony meeting or a first-day-of-school introduction. or a random blog post here and there. I know people are genuine and have sweet intentions when they say "what an experience!" or "I bet you had a great experience." I don't mean to be bitter--I know I have said the same thing to others and even about myself. but those 200 children are my family. they're not an experience. they're permanent. they're not tucked neatly into my pocket, ready to be pulled out of their compartment for an appropriate conversation. I love them every day. I will miss them every day.

the 6th grade girls have planted a garden! I caught them doing puja and sprinkling holy water over their new plants.

Ashwat. he is the most devilishly handsome fellow in the 7th grade. I love him.

these two are mine. Naveen and Berkmans. as I told Naveen, one of my biggest fears is being understood. and I feel like they understand me.

reading "Where the Red Fern Grows" to my 4th graders. we finished it on my 2nd to last day. unexpectedly, I cried when Billy had to bury Old Dan and Little Ann. in the book he says he feels he buried a part of his life with them.

bium pum pum.

I taught the girls the bium pum pum dance. Kate, Em, and Melissa can appreciate the meaning of bium pum pum.

Lakshmi, myself, Mercina Divya, Vijaylakshmi, Hannah Mercy.

Viji and me.

Shilpa and me.

Ruby Joy and me. I love this girl--about 2 months ago she started calling me "ames" without any coaching.

Maheshwari's question.

I leave in 4 days. on August 20--my 20th birthday. how everything will turn out I don't know. at this moment, I feel like my life has a big question mark attached to it. and most of the questions are coming from the kids. why didn't we have dance class yesterday? why are you leaving? when are you coming back?

when are you coming back. not are you coming back. of course, as anyone knows, I have to answer honestly that I don't know if I will be back. but each time I watched them in assembly, or took a snapshot of their little faces this week, my breath became short and I realized that I have to come back. but again--question mark. money? time? career? family?

as I told my 10th graders, if I leave here the same person I was 3 months ago, I will have failed. but Maheshwari, smart and beautiful with a natural cynicism that makes you question everything, asked "Amy, what are you going to change?"

I have no idea. I'm a good person. I was an ok person before I came here. but really, what am I going to do when I get back? in 4 days. I miss them already. I wish each of you reading now could understand how it feels when their tiny hands come and touch yours, barely fitting around your two fingers. or how it feels when they hand you a card that has a giant rabbit standing on 2 legs, holding a pet dog and some butterflies. it reads "Dear Amy, we love you? I miss you. your dance class were nice. come back whenever you can. love, Thanu." I want you to know how I feel when they beckon me over with a downturned hand, pulling me down to sit by them and eat my birthday cake made of the red, southern India dirt ("mud" as the kids call it). I want you to understand me when I tell you how proud I was of Pushpa for playing the violin to the Tamil song, and how I look in Stella's eyes and see remarkable beauty that stings because I know a portion of what's inside her--pain, happiness, curiosity, loneliness.

how can I tell you of these things? how can I tell you how painful it is for me to leave this place, this haven of peace? I miss my family tremendously. I missed Kate's graduation. a day I wouldn't have missed for the world. but I did. I missed it for India. congratulations Kate. I look up to you in every way and know you will be the best nurse in the world. I wish for the day when you join me in coming back here. but don't get me wrong. I am going to have slice of pizza, a glass of root beer and a bag of peanut m&m's the moment I'm back on the mainland. I am going to get a pedicure with meg, see Harry Potter 6, and catch up on Gilmore Girls reruns. I'm going to be a TA again! I'm going to be with my roommates. I love my roommates! I miss them! I'm going to be back at BYU--one of my favorite places in the world. I'm going to be taking great classes and seeing old friends and making new ones. (p.s. the guy next to me's phone just rang. his ringer was "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely")

it's just that I have entered myself into a world which I previously didn't know existed. and I have to give it up a few moments after I fell completely and irrevocably in love with it. it doesn't seem fair.

it is customary for volunteers to give a little speech at assembly at the end of their stay at Shanti Bhavan. Allegra said it beautifully: it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Tony, the first volunteer to leave when I arrived, taught the kids a great American saying, one in a million. in America, we use the saying to reference a small and miraculous chance. Tony made the kids do a little math saying, how many people are in India? around 1.1 billion. how many of those people are in poverty? about half, so about 500 million. now let's just say, that 200 million of those people are children. how many kids are there at Shanti Bhavan? 200. each of these kids has been given a literal one in a million chance.

I've been thinking, of course, about what words I can share with the kids when I go. I will tell them how wonderful they are of course. and I will tell them that I will miss them tremendously. but I want to tell them my 2 wishes for them. first, I hope they get as rich as they ever wanted. I hope the vision of Shanti Bhavan is a miraculous reality. I hope that they make millions of dollars, bring their families and villages out of poverty, and that they build 10 more Shanti Bhavans--just as everybody hopes for. but second, I hope they gain what I have gained from them--riches the world doesn't understand.

so to answer your question Mahesh, I don't know who I'll be when I return home. I know I will have an appreciation for Indian culture, and that will be different. on a lighter note, I do not trust myself to go shopping for a few weeks. I have forgetten what's "cute" and "fashionable" and will only be able to pick you out a nice sari or dupatha and maybe some matching bangles. 3-week volunteers (volunteers that come for 3 weeks, how many of them I've seen come and go) have been telling me I've been in India way too long. I don't taste the masala on my almonds anymore. I don't hesitate when I cross the street. I say "telling" instead of "saying." I bob my head. yes. I bob my head. and I don't even notice it anymore. but other than that, I don't know how I'll be different. there's a question mark there.

despite the thousands of Rupees I spent on silks and bangles and toy elephants, I know that I am coming home a rich girl.

hello August.

hello August, month of my birth. and the births of my eldest sister Melissa and my mother. happy birthday Carly. August: the month in which I will leave Shanti Bhavan. I'm reluctant to speak the words I have 3 weeks left here. that statement feels like a lie. on Monday, I was feeling trunky. I was desperate to call home and talk to my family. some time between Monday and today I feel panicked. I can not leave. 3 weeks is not enough time left. I feel sick about it. here's why:

Sunday:
taking weekend trips like the one to Mysore are exhausting. they're physically and mentally draining. India is a sensory feast and my senses are sensitive. it always feels so good to be home and I wished that I'd never left. it is strange how many emotions I am going through here. I don't remember being this unstable or easily affected in the past. I don't ever remember being so tired! this is why volunteer-based efforts are so hard to get accomplished--it's wildly exhausting and hardly accommodating. it makes sense because it's not about you--it has to be about someone else or it's not service.

Sunday night
Summer & Allegra (2 volunteer sisters--I love them so much. they are just so normal and very easy to talk to. not to mention they are both professional musicians. Allegra plays piano and Summer plays cello) put on a SB choir production. it was a great night and the choir sang one of my favorites Getting to Know You from the King and I, but I love that song because of James Taylor singing and whistling it on my childhood favorite For Our Children cassette tape. they sang the song once, sang it twice and performed a marvelous handshake with partners. the third time, they all came into the audience and grabbed new partners. Sumith from 5th grade came to take me, I handed off Summer's camera to Mani (12th grade boy), and I was tugged me all the way to the stage where I was a horrible partner but couldn't help smiling. of course.

Tuesday
today was Amarnath's birthday (4th grade boy, turning 9 years old). a few days before, he got hit with a cricket bat and had to wear a bandage on his left eyebrow. on Monday, Mary Sheela told me he was feeling shy about wearing it on his birthday. luckily, he was able to go bandage-free on his big day. the kids don't get a lot of celebration for their birthdays--just a special outfit for about 15 minutes at snack time, where they get sung to and can hand out chocolates (candy--every kind of candy in India is a chocolate) to the staff and volunteers. Amarnath is uber talented. I've never seen a kid with potential so thick and so visible. he is a brilliant dancer in dance class, he completes his social studies work perfectly, and his athleticism is impressive--winning lightning every other time against the 5th graders. he is the kid to be around. I've never seen him get down or sensitive or become sad over small things, or anything for that matter. but on Tuesday, during P.T. I noticed him not playing basketball with the rest of the boys. I made him come sit by me. he is not usually the boy to grab my hand or give me a hug, but he came right into my lap and started crying. he didn't tell me what the reason was but I got the feeling it was for no reason at all. I always cry on my birthday. it's never what it should be and I imagine he was feeling the tiniest bit homesick. I must admit I know how he feels.

I really am emotional. I wish I was more cheerful. actually, I wish I was more of a lot of things. i wish I was more compassionate. more fun. a better friend to the kids. more flexible. longer suffering. I really feel that I need to work specifically on becoming a better, more personal person. my interpersonal skills are not what they should be. I wish I were more genuine. Robbie, a most loved and zealous volunteer left on Tuesday. I thought the kids might die of sadness. every kid was crying. I don't know but on Tuesday I wasn't sure about my place at Shanti Bhavan. I want to be loved. I am never going to be as popular as Robbie, but I hoped that one kid will be as sad that I am leaving, as they all are that Robbie has gone. thinking, how can I be more like Robbie? I've been listening to a lot of complaining among adults (mainly in my own head) and I started to conclude that some of the volunteers I've met have come to serve their own purpose. and I realized that I was one of them. how selfish it is to wish for a child to be sad on my account. I am working and thinking so hard in order to fulfill me own needs--I should be thinking about the kids' needs.

Thursday
a day to win all days. 10 British teachers from an organization called Leaders Quest came to visit Shanti Bhavan to see, in their words, what they could learn from us. I've never seen so much hullabaloo in my life. the kids were dressed in their nicest saris and the boys wore shirts and ties. they looked so beautiful! 4 of the 12th graders challenged 4 of the teachers with a debate on the topic "The world will be a less stable, less secure, less prosperous place 25 years from now." I've never seen a better debate. Viji is incredible. I'm sure he is one of the smartest 17 year old boys I've ever met--if not the smartest. he commands a room with his wit and articulation. Rajini quoted Macbeth beautifully and faced his opposition fearlessly. Mala's eloquent speech on technology affecting the poor filled me with pride. and Pushpa is the strongest, most independent young woman I've ever met. she is brilliant and her words on climate change were solid and powerful.

the volunteers also had a private meeting with the British people. we talked for a short 30 minutes about our experience here--and what it is the school really needs. Shanti Bhavan's message is simple: first, the kids are from the poorest of the poor. second, look what they've done. third, look who they are. they are polished, well-mannered, and tomorrow's leaders who are going to break out of the cycle of poverty. fourth, as volunteers, we've been here and we know that a dollar given is a dollar well-spent. it will not be wasted.

after the debate, the choir sang the most beautiful song I've ever heard. I vaguely know what it means (it is in Tamil), but each time I hear it I cry. the best part of Thursday was seeing Pushpa accompany the choir on the violin. she is a brilliant violin player, despite her not having a teacher for 2 years. she has never performed in public before and her playing was beautiful. I am still bursting with pride for her accomplishments. she is a testament to how inadequate I am. she has SO much potential as a violinist (among other things), but I am not enough to teach her what she needs to know.

the whole point of the Tamil song was to set up 5 vignettes put on by the 11th and 12th graders. the vignettes or role plays were meant to be an illustration of what the kids' lives are like when they are not at Shanti Bhavan. if you were there you would not have believed the sheer talent and confidence with which they acted out these real experiences. it was a shocking juxtaposition to see them acting so brilliant a scene so real and so tragic. many times at Shanti Bhavan, I have cried. the kids are always asking me "Miss, why did you cry?"

Friday
after the role plays, the British teachers were crying. some of them uncontrollably. I wanted to explain to the kids why they were crying. I discussed it on a whim in 8th grade and in 10th grade I was shocked when I had their full full attention, something that almost never happens. I'll never forget the attention Keshavan gave me. his eyes were looking at me, waiting for an explanation with genuineness. I asked them why they thought the British (disclaimer: I am sorry for constantly referring to human beings according to their nationality. they were really nice people and more than just British people. but that is what I am referring to them as now) people were crying. they gave me a right answer: they were touched.

I explained to them the concept of a Sunday School answer--that there are some times when we answer a question with whatever we think the person asking the question wants to hear instead of giving a real answer. they understood that when you give a Sunday School answer, you're not really thinking about the question and you're not thinking about how you feel about the answer. you're not thinking about the significance.

finally, I told them the reason I thought those people were crying, the reason people cry, the reason I cry, is because of the juxtapositions that exist in Shanti Bhavan. the combination of how beautiful and brilliant they are and that the scenes they are acting are real to them. and not even real. "real" is a word that is so over-dramatic and overused. to them, it's not real, it's normal. the reason why those British people are crying is because it is shocking that these kids come from villages were female infanticide is normal, and where their uncle wants to sell them into prostitution because their parents are both dead. and it is unbelievable that the kids playing Fantasy Impromptu on the piano have come from homes where the dad is alcoholic and abusive. that the 17 year old Indian boys have nicknamed one of their friends Gomez because he has a light mustache (they can make you laugh hysterically at the drop of a hat) come from homes where girls can't go to school after 8th grade. their families can't use the village well because they are of the "untouchable" caste. that is unbelievable because here they are singing For Good from Wicked.

I continued to tell the 10th graders that one reason why people are so "touched" is because when they meet them, they feel the need to change. if I leave them the same person I was when I came, I will have failed myself.

am missing you all and will see you very soon. until then, I will feel anxious about leaving my family of 200 kids with soft hands and smiling faces.

haircuts.

Aunty Katherine brushing the hair off of Harish. all the boys call her mom. it's the sweetest thing.

John-Joseph.
a classic Rajesh (3rd grade) face.

all the 4th grade boys. they're SO cute.

the boys got haircuts a few weeks ago. it was one of the cutest things I've ever seen.

a weekend in Mysore.

Courtney, my new roommate, and I spent the weekend in Mysore. on Saturday morning, I woke up on the hard mattress at Vyshak International Hotelbefore Courtney. I ventured outside and up towards the roof to see the sun rise and the city skyline. for breakfast, I had a Mysore special. the name--I don't remember. but it was orange and delicious.


the two of us headed for the zoo on Saturday morning. in planning the trip, we were both hesitant to tell the other that we wanted to go to the zoo. turned out it was on the top of each of our lists. the zoo was incredible. I don't think I've been to a zoo for 5 or 6 years. I love animals. why don't I ever go to the zoo? the highlights were the giraffes, elephants, Bengal tigers, flamingos, and a harmless Indian man with a pink shawl who, without permission, tagged along with us the entire tour of the zoo. I was especially awestruck at the baboons. there were 5 of them in varying heights--the largest was a very Rafiki-ish figure. and the smallest (the kids would say "he's soooooo puny Miss!") was more of a Curious George type. I felt a connection or an attachment to the baboons but moved on after a few minutes.

"if you fall, animals could eat you and that might make them sick."

after stopping by a 5-story supermarket called Big Bazaar, we planned to go to Maharaja's Palace--the primary sight to see in Mysore. our driver had something else in mind. we ended up on our way to Chamundi Hill. after bribing some government officials to let us through, we were making our way up a tall mountain, where there was a temple and a view of the city. on our way up, we were ambushed by a group of Indian adults. they surrounded us and started taking our pictures. that was the first of numerous people gawking at us and asking to take their photo with us. I'm going to attribute it to Courtney, who is blonde and blue-eyed. the woman above was part of that group. isn't she stunning?

our driver, Srinivas

at Chamundi Hill, we went into a Hindu temple. taking our shoes off-6 Rupees for 6 shoes--and getting these religious, orangey-red bracelets tied on us, we went through the rituals. we were with our driver--which was nice because he knew what to do and took us under his wing. when Courtney's bracelet was tied to tight, he retied it for her outside the temple.


again, on our way to the palace, we ended up at Parklane, a tourist-geared restaurant. not excellent, but not bad either. after lunch, our driver was nowhere to be found. we were suddenly ambushed by men selling fans, flutes, boxes, snakes, you name it. all of which I look at and say "made in China!" an auto-rickshaw driver, came to us and told us he would take us somewhere for just 20 rupees. we decided we would just go for a walk and the rickshaw driver followed us. finally, settling on a round in the rickshaw for 5 rupees (Courtney hadn't ridden in one yet), we headed out on one of the best adventures.

the driver whose name we learned was Asif, took us to Old Mysore. the streets weren't paved and the people weren't jumping at us trying to sell us stuff, although they were definitely staring. he took us to an oil and scents shop where we saw this woman making incense. soon we were ushered into the owner's office. he ripped us off for a few essential oils, but the experience was worth it. it is times like these that I am constantly thinking, is this for real?

Asif took us a few more places, ultimately ending up at an emporium of silk pashminas, clothes, bags, and jewelry. I fell in love with a $100 (Rs. 4500) pashmina. I bargained it down to Rs. 1500 but told them I wouldn't take it until it was Rs. 1000. I thought I would get them by walking out the door, but they let me go. and that pashmina will go to someone else. oh well. for what was originally a Rs. 5 trip turned into a Rs. 50--surprising to swee Asif. he was so humble and sweet and really characterized the people we met in Mysore.

we went back to Parklane to see if our driver was there and ah, he was. off to the palace. but....no palace. we went to Brindavan Gardens to see the musical lights. a very Belagio-esque show was nice, but the best part was Asma, a 13-year-old girl visiting Mysore from Mumbai who made friends with us while fulfilling her mom's urging to practice her English. she came up to us after we met her and gave us a kiss on the cheek. she was darling.

we went to dinner at Dynasty with the driver. he was uncomfortable but we were uncomfortable having him eat separately from us all that time. he is still with us now.

this morning, we got up early to check out of the hotel. alas, our driver was not waiting for us. we walked around, attempting to avoid the many wooden snakes and cheap watches coming our way via persistent Indian men. we called Asif, but he couldn't make it for 20 minutes, so we hitched a ride to the fruit and vegetable market. it was a million times better than any hipster farmer's market I've ever seen. I wished all of you were there to see the bright-colored powders and the old, wrinkly women tending heaps of eggplant.

we finally made it to the palace. the architecture, the wood-carving, the golden doors, and the paintings were phenomenal. unfortunately, no cameras allowed. but like the baboons at the zoo, I was really drawn to an old photograph of some Indian children in the palace. the photo was as old as they come, but the people were real. it was the only photo in the place, the rest were paintings. like a cliche, their eyes followed me as I walked.

Mysore was quiet but sufficient and much more charming than any other place I've been in India. it was a delight.

I am feeling good about things. Mysore was about a 4-hour drive from Shanti Bhavan, and traveling the windy roads up against mountains and through trees made me forget I was in India. I've been thinking of home. I'm doing all right without Melissa. I miss having someone who shares my brainwave but am coping. I love all of you.

I can't remmber who taught me the Mission Impossible them secret knock. no doubt it was someone hilarious and dear to me. but I can't, for the life of me, remember. was it my class-clown of a best friend Megan? or was it here husband Blake? was it my funny friend Carly? or could it have been Meredith or someone we both knew? maybe it was my brother, or my brother-in-law? I can't remember if it was my roommate's boyfriend, or some student I had in American Heritage. please, someone help me. when I think of this, I wish so badly I was just a text mesage away instead of half a world.

thoughts.

eye check-ups this week

Thangaraj. 8th grade

Vijay Kumar. 8th Grade.

beautiful Sindhu. she's my writer in 12th grade.

basketball game this week. girls against boys. draw your own conclusions.

to my dear aquaintances:

I am writing today with not much to say. I feel full—but empty at the same time. Melissa has gone. I talked to her on the phone this morning. what a strange phenomenon, to be in the exact same place I was satnding with her, 2 days ago, while talking to her on the phone, half a world away. I miss her tremendously. but being with the kids—who offer their adoration in exchange for a strawberry-shaped eraser—makes it easy to forget my own troubles.

I’ve been thinking about writing lately. teaching writing 8 times a week, reading as much as I possibly can afford, and writing even more, my thoughts are turned to the old pen-to-paper business. reading Jacob 4:2, “but whatsoever things we write upon save it be upon plates must perish and vanish away; but we can write a few words on plates, which will give to our children, and also our beloved brethren, a small degree of knowledge concerning us, or concerning their fathers—now in this thing we do rejoice; and we labor diligently to engrave these words upon plates, hoping that our beloved brethren and our children will receive them with thankful hearts.” (this is from Jacob, a prophet in the Book of Mormon, who labored diligently to write the things of Christ).

I read these words and think how we learn ourselves and then teach our children about the great invention of paper. how ingenious it was. indeed it was, but I have not thought much about its permanence. paper doesn’t last forever. but these words were originally written on a surface that does.

it means so much to me to be able to write in a journal every day. nothing can replace my pen-to-paper habits. I am constantly returning to a scene in the movie Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2. (random movie, and actually a disappointment to me compared to the first) A scene in that movie where Bridget is studying archeology. her professor tells her about the ancient people they were uncovering—they tried to leave themselves on every surface they could find she said. I’ve thought about that a lot, wondering which surfaces I will leave myself on?

are the surfaces I write on long-lasting? I love writing on paper. it won’t last forever, but it’s a need I must fulfill. what about, I think, the cyber world? perhaps the digital interfaces are longer-lasting. publishing things here seems quite permanent, barring your blog doesn’t get erased. the internet is a blessing to me. (what are your thoughts technology-gurus?) also, I have a friend who told me once he feels the record of his life is in the people he meets, knows, loves. I thought that was a beautiful thought. leaving yourself in people rather than in a notebook or a web site.

I had the neatest day yesterday. Saturdays are half-days of school for the kids, so in the afternoon, I went into the school music room to play the violin--just for fun. Miss Ruth is the music teacher there and she is about 60 years old. I wish I could send you a picture of her, or even better copy and paste our entire conversation here. She is a picture of India to me. She is wearing a tight, gray-haired bun, and according to Kavitha and Prathiba (my 9th grade drama queens) she wears her saris in an old-fashioned way. She is missing some teeth, but her smile is enchanting as the brown skin around her eyes wrinkles. She has had a story of a life--married to a man who was abusive to her 3 children, had 2 wives besides her, all due to his alcoholism. Her life has not been a life of tragedy, but one of miracles. She has so much faith and she talked to me for 2 hours about her belief in God.

wish I had more time. wish I could post every picture I've taken. I love you all. may God bless you.