Dear Anastasia,
This weekend our group traveled to a place called Santiniketan, a school, university, and living philosophy founded by India's revered poet Rabiindranath Tagore. It is impossible to write about Santiniketan without writing about Tagore's philosophy a little first. As you are a poet, you understand that poetry is a way of seeing the whole world, not just art, but learning, family, nature; everything.
Tagore envisioned a place "where the world makes its home in a single nest", where learning happens at the student's pace and in a natural environment. He believed that a school that included Indians, British, Bengalis, Punjabis, would knit the world together, so too did he feel the importance of including all religions, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Buddihism and others.
The feeling one gets when setting foot on campus at Santinketan is peace, deep and whole. This might be a campus that encourages free speech and inquiry, but it is pursued with the utmost respect for all. Students mainly study outdoors, under trees, in smaller groups than most of the classes I've seen in India. They seemed absorbed in their studies, paying little attention to the group of American teachers snapping pictures and making comments.
I have to admit, most of us where entranced by the outdoor classrooms, the serenity of teacher and student as learning seemed to take place with ease and comfort. Our guides at the school explained that students call their teacher 'sister' and 'brother' as Tagore also believed that learning is an exchange between equal partners. Students may still practice rising when the teacher "enters" the classroom, but the formality is much more subtle. Unlike other schools in India, students at Santiniketan are encouraged to seek their teachers out, discussing their ideas, asking questions, and learning constantly.
Students live on campus in dormitories and examples of student art pieces pepper the campus in unexpected places. The air at Santiniketan makes one want to sit under a tree and learn and it is not hard to see why this university has produced some of India's most famous thinkers.
Down the road, four kilometers from Santiniketan there is another school called Sriniketan, developed in conjunction with Tagore's rural reconstruction project. Tagore wanted to maintain and preserve village life in India, at the same time, giving villagers access to an education that would improve their lives and promote prosperity. If Santiniketan was a school for wealthy students who wanted to study humanities and arts, Sriniketan was the school for peasants who needed access to more practical skills like agriculture and craft work. Herein resides Tagore's contradiction. He makes a case for blending the world together at Santiniketan, but acknowledges that the peasant has no part of that world and belongs at Sriniketan.
It is elitist no doubt, but Tagore was part of a wealthy landowning family, known for their philosophy, art and poetry. His school was merely a continuation of the world he grew up in, a place where people knew their place. Tagore was pragmatic enough to realize that wealthy Brahmin parents would not send their children to study with peasants, so the creation of two schools is really not surprising.
My visit to Santiniketan reaffirmed my belief that education can happen in a variety of circumstances, using a variety of methods. The students studying at Santiniketan do not merely sit under trees and contemplate their navel. They become scientists, mathematicians, national leaders, and teachers. Yet they study the arts and humanities. We put so much emphasis on STEM subjects both in India and the US, it is easy to forget that humanities play a role in our understanding of those subjects as well.
Learning is universal, but teaching, it seems, beyond the student and the teacher is not.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
On the Importance of Difference
Dear Camille and Ivy,
Last week Mrs. Nandi invited me to give a presentation about Simms High School to the girls of St. Johns. I gave that presentation today, and the enthusiastic responses of the girls afterwards reminds me of how important difference is. We crave new experiences, a chance to interact with what is "other" because we really get to know ourselves. For the girls today they had a picture of a school in a country that they think of as rich and thrilling. America is a place where dreams come true and school is about studies and having fun; playing sports, dressing up, eating in a cafeteria, and being a part of clubs that travel and really do a lot.
We in turn, take everything our school has to offer for granted. We say there's nothing to do, or it's boring, or there's not enough time. We don't really appreciate what we have until we can see what others don't. It's human nature. It's what makes us progress and work harder. I think that's why India works so hard. They see what we have, and it's become a goal to aspire to have what so many in America take for granted. Who do we aspire to be? What vision can we create for ourselves, to reach out towards? Material wealth? Not if it's at the expense of others. What about intellectual wealth? Perhaps, but that is a danger too; it can lead to all sorts of bizarre ideas about hierarchy, class, nationalism. So what? What do we want to become as a people? As a country?
Coming to India has helped me see the importance of studies, and innocence, of manners and respect, and it has taught me that everyone needs to be included in a country's destiny, not just the fortunate.
I hope you both have the opportunity to travel abroad someday, to experience the feeling of "otherness" as there is no better way to see yourself.
Last week Mrs. Nandi invited me to give a presentation about Simms High School to the girls of St. Johns. I gave that presentation today, and the enthusiastic responses of the girls afterwards reminds me of how important difference is. We crave new experiences, a chance to interact with what is "other" because we really get to know ourselves. For the girls today they had a picture of a school in a country that they think of as rich and thrilling. America is a place where dreams come true and school is about studies and having fun; playing sports, dressing up, eating in a cafeteria, and being a part of clubs that travel and really do a lot.
We in turn, take everything our school has to offer for granted. We say there's nothing to do, or it's boring, or there's not enough time. We don't really appreciate what we have until we can see what others don't. It's human nature. It's what makes us progress and work harder. I think that's why India works so hard. They see what we have, and it's become a goal to aspire to have what so many in America take for granted. Who do we aspire to be? What vision can we create for ourselves, to reach out towards? Material wealth? Not if it's at the expense of others. What about intellectual wealth? Perhaps, but that is a danger too; it can lead to all sorts of bizarre ideas about hierarchy, class, nationalism. So what? What do we want to become as a people? As a country?
Coming to India has helped me see the importance of studies, and innocence, of manners and respect, and it has taught me that everyone needs to be included in a country's destiny, not just the fortunate.
I hope you both have the opportunity to travel abroad someday, to experience the feeling of "otherness" as there is no better way to see yourself.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
My First Visit to an Indian Home
Dear Katlyn,
I hope your writer's block has ended and you are back to writing vampire and werewolf filled short stories as the summer progresses.Yesterday afternoon I visited a student who shares a similar love of vampire and werewolf fiction, and she made me think of you.
It was my first visit to an Indian home and the hospitality was almost overwhelming. "Doll" lives in a cozy north Kolkata flat with her mother, aunt, and a maternal great-uncle. It is a small Indian family, but very close and full of love. Doll isn't actually one of my students, I met her one day when I was late for school. She was late too and we stood outside the school gate for ten minutes or so, talking about life in India and America. She asked me to come visit her home with such enthusiasm that I couldn't resist. I'm glad I visited, and was surprised by both her home and neighborhood.
I tend to think of Kolkata streets as noisy, crowded, with overwhelming smells and unexpected surprises. I was a little relieved to discover how quiet the residential streets are, filled with trees and houses hidden behind gates and terraces, a typical Kolkata neighborhood is a bit like one in San Francisco, the houses are built right next to one another, with gated doors and windows, in a modern style. There are neighborhood convenience stores and little shops tucked into first floors, much like the Bay Area.
Dolly's flat is tiny by American standards, but again, similar to an apartment you might find in San Francisco. The floors are bare tile and cool and the walls heavily decorated with pictures of family, celebrities and gods and goddesses.
Every Hindu house has a idol that usually sits in a small box in a prominent part of the living room. There is also a TV, and I asked Doll how long India has had cable. Her mother thought about ten or twelve years. I think there are about thirty channels or so.
Doll and her family are very curious about America, and I did my best to answer questions. There is so much contrast to India, I'm staying in a five-star luxury hotel where my every need is taken care of, and yet I see incredible poverty: beggars on the street, elderly and disabled people who have no safety net, the differences are hard to comprehend sometimes.
Even a middle-class family like Doll's does not have the same standards as an American one. The kitchen is simple, the most modern appliance is a microwave, other than that, cooking is do on a gas two-burner. There is no computer, Doll takes computer classes at school, but does not have a Facebook. They have one cell phone for the entire family.
But oh, are they hospitable. Doll's mother and aunt cook me a meal of roti (a flat bread), potatoes and lentils, also another vegetable that reminded me of squash, covered in cheese curd. It was simple, but very satisfying. It is the custom in India to feed guests first and separately, so I ate alone, while the family gathered around the table with me. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but I did my best to remember that this was their custom. I imagine what they must think of the American custom of a loud, boisterous dinner table with an abundance of food and conversation.
Next, Doll and her mother took me on a tour of the neighborhood, including the dairy where milk is brought to be pasteurized, and the neighborhood temple with the statues of Kali and Hanuman. They took me to visit the local merchants whose "shops" are really displays covered by a tin or tar paper roof. I saw the barber, the laundryman, the sweet shop, the vegetable stalls, and the chicken buther, bust chopping up meat while lives chickens sat placidly in a covered straw basket. We also visited a shop that sold beauty products and cheap ornaments, everyone curious to meet me, Doll and her mother explaining who I was in rapid Bengali. Doll, being a Kolkatans, was blunt and eager to explain to me the character of her neighborhood, from the cruelty of neighborhood boys who tortured stray animals, to the laziness of her driver. At times she would translate the comments of passersby, insisting that in Kolkata I was a celebrity.
When it was time to go, Doll and her mother accompanied me to the nearest metro, and I had my first ride in a bicycle rickshaw. Perched on a narrow seat I tried my best to hang on and not to move, as I did not want to upset the driver's balance and cause a spill. Doll's mother sat regally in her rickshaw, comfortable and at ease in her neighborhood.
What an amazing place India is, the people, the food, the sights never cease to amaze me. A part of my heart is Indian now, and I will remember this visit always.
I hope your writer's block has ended and you are back to writing vampire and werewolf filled short stories as the summer progresses.Yesterday afternoon I visited a student who shares a similar love of vampire and werewolf fiction, and she made me think of you.
It was my first visit to an Indian home and the hospitality was almost overwhelming. "Doll" lives in a cozy north Kolkata flat with her mother, aunt, and a maternal great-uncle. It is a small Indian family, but very close and full of love. Doll isn't actually one of my students, I met her one day when I was late for school. She was late too and we stood outside the school gate for ten minutes or so, talking about life in India and America. She asked me to come visit her home with such enthusiasm that I couldn't resist. I'm glad I visited, and was surprised by both her home and neighborhood.
I tend to think of Kolkata streets as noisy, crowded, with overwhelming smells and unexpected surprises. I was a little relieved to discover how quiet the residential streets are, filled with trees and houses hidden behind gates and terraces, a typical Kolkata neighborhood is a bit like one in San Francisco, the houses are built right next to one another, with gated doors and windows, in a modern style. There are neighborhood convenience stores and little shops tucked into first floors, much like the Bay Area.
Dolly's flat is tiny by American standards, but again, similar to an apartment you might find in San Francisco. The floors are bare tile and cool and the walls heavily decorated with pictures of family, celebrities and gods and goddesses.
Every Hindu house has a idol that usually sits in a small box in a prominent part of the living room. There is also a TV, and I asked Doll how long India has had cable. Her mother thought about ten or twelve years. I think there are about thirty channels or so.
Doll and her family are very curious about America, and I did my best to answer questions. There is so much contrast to India, I'm staying in a five-star luxury hotel where my every need is taken care of, and yet I see incredible poverty: beggars on the street, elderly and disabled people who have no safety net, the differences are hard to comprehend sometimes.
Even a middle-class family like Doll's does not have the same standards as an American one. The kitchen is simple, the most modern appliance is a microwave, other than that, cooking is do on a gas two-burner. There is no computer, Doll takes computer classes at school, but does not have a Facebook. They have one cell phone for the entire family.
But oh, are they hospitable. Doll's mother and aunt cook me a meal of roti (a flat bread), potatoes and lentils, also another vegetable that reminded me of squash, covered in cheese curd. It was simple, but very satisfying. It is the custom in India to feed guests first and separately, so I ate alone, while the family gathered around the table with me. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but I did my best to remember that this was their custom. I imagine what they must think of the American custom of a loud, boisterous dinner table with an abundance of food and conversation.
Next, Doll and her mother took me on a tour of the neighborhood, including the dairy where milk is brought to be pasteurized, and the neighborhood temple with the statues of Kali and Hanuman. They took me to visit the local merchants whose "shops" are really displays covered by a tin or tar paper roof. I saw the barber, the laundryman, the sweet shop, the vegetable stalls, and the chicken buther, bust chopping up meat while lives chickens sat placidly in a covered straw basket. We also visited a shop that sold beauty products and cheap ornaments, everyone curious to meet me, Doll and her mother explaining who I was in rapid Bengali. Doll, being a Kolkatans, was blunt and eager to explain to me the character of her neighborhood, from the cruelty of neighborhood boys who tortured stray animals, to the laziness of her driver. At times she would translate the comments of passersby, insisting that in Kolkata I was a celebrity.
When it was time to go, Doll and her mother accompanied me to the nearest metro, and I had my first ride in a bicycle rickshaw. Perched on a narrow seat I tried my best to hang on and not to move, as I did not want to upset the driver's balance and cause a spill. Doll's mother sat regally in her rickshaw, comfortable and at ease in her neighborhood.
What an amazing place India is, the people, the food, the sights never cease to amaze me. A part of my heart is Indian now, and I will remember this visit always.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Yellow Death Cabs of Fun and Other Adventures of the Day
Dear Erik, Dace, Jake, Ryan and Logan,
Traffic in Kolkata seems to operate at times as though there are no rules. There are rules of course, there must be, but to an American who is used to signs everywhere and clear lanes of traffic, it seems like chaos. This morning I had a young cabbie, most seem to be around forty or older, amazing for a profession that keeps the blood pumping and requires lightning reflexs. But my cabbie this morning is younger, and apparently lost as he seems to ask directions immeadiately after leaving the hotel. My typical route is down Chowringhee St., then on to an over pass, and a few turns then on to Sarat Bose. It's simple. I could do it. If I were insane enough to drive in this traffic. Which I'm not.
As we came off the overpass, oncoming traffic seemed to veer into our lane, but my cabbie continued to drive. There was a large red bus looming ahead like so e great plodding elephant, still he moved forward. Finally, in this Indian game of chicken my drive gave in, or rather he stopped. Right there. In the middle of six lanes of traffic.
I didn't see what happened next because, frankly, when the bus was less than fifty yards away I covered my eyes. I only opened them when the cab stopped, and as there was no grating crunch of steel, no scream of agony from the cabbie, I was a bit perplexed. There was the cab and the bus. Stopped in the middle of a Kolkata street. My cabbie seemed to remember then that in the world of vehicular domination, he was small potatoes, bright yellow paint job or not. He deftly backed the cab up a few feet, jerked the wheel around and sped off. Mind you this all happened in less than thirty seconds. Of course I think about three years were shaved off my life in that time.
We like to pride ourselves in Montana and say we can drive anywhere. We conquer mountains just to buy groceries, and a blizzard is good weather for a Sunday drive. But I guarantee you that any sane Montanan would think a highway cattle drive is better organized and safer than the streets of Kolkata.
I say this in jest, of course. I am an outsider, and of course I don't know the rules. There appears to be a language in the honking horns and swerving moves of the thousands of cars on the road. To me it's all gibberish. To Kolkatans it's simply another day.
Traffic in Kolkata seems to operate at times as though there are no rules. There are rules of course, there must be, but to an American who is used to signs everywhere and clear lanes of traffic, it seems like chaos. This morning I had a young cabbie, most seem to be around forty or older, amazing for a profession that keeps the blood pumping and requires lightning reflexs. But my cabbie this morning is younger, and apparently lost as he seems to ask directions immeadiately after leaving the hotel. My typical route is down Chowringhee St., then on to an over pass, and a few turns then on to Sarat Bose. It's simple. I could do it. If I were insane enough to drive in this traffic. Which I'm not.
As we came off the overpass, oncoming traffic seemed to veer into our lane, but my cabbie continued to drive. There was a large red bus looming ahead like so e great plodding elephant, still he moved forward. Finally, in this Indian game of chicken my drive gave in, or rather he stopped. Right there. In the middle of six lanes of traffic.
I didn't see what happened next because, frankly, when the bus was less than fifty yards away I covered my eyes. I only opened them when the cab stopped, and as there was no grating crunch of steel, no scream of agony from the cabbie, I was a bit perplexed. There was the cab and the bus. Stopped in the middle of a Kolkata street. My cabbie seemed to remember then that in the world of vehicular domination, he was small potatoes, bright yellow paint job or not. He deftly backed the cab up a few feet, jerked the wheel around and sped off. Mind you this all happened in less than thirty seconds. Of course I think about three years were shaved off my life in that time.
We like to pride ourselves in Montana and say we can drive anywhere. We conquer mountains just to buy groceries, and a blizzard is good weather for a Sunday drive. But I guarantee you that any sane Montanan would think a highway cattle drive is better organized and safer than the streets of Kolkata.
I say this in jest, of course. I am an outsider, and of course I don't know the rules. There appears to be a language in the honking horns and swerving moves of the thousands of cars on the road. To me it's all gibberish. To Kolkatans it's simply another day.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
On Getting Fitted for a Sari and Another Aspect of Indian Life
Dear Emily Rhoads,
You would love India, in fact, the first opportunity you get, you should travel here. Yesterday, a year X student and her father took me to get fitted for a sari and to find some Indian pop music.
The first stop, getting fitted for a sari, was unexpected and a bit overwhelming. The merchant laid one beautiful fabric after the other in front of me, and I marveled at the cool softness and the brilliant colors. As I oohed and aahed, my student's father started to negotiated the terms of delivery. I guess I didn't understand, but saris do not come prefitted, the fabric is cut and fitted to the measurements of the wearer, which means I guess I won't be bringing any saris back for other friends. The material for the blouse and the petticoat are built into the fabric and cut out accordingly. As it is getting close to the time of Eid, sair makers in Kolkata are a bit busy right now. My student's father was able to negotiate a pretty quick turn around, by next Wednesday, I'll be wearing my sari.
After the fitting we went to his shop, a small kitchen appliance store that he and his brothers took over for his grandfather. The shop is almost as old as independent India, and it is obvious that my guide is very proud of it. At the same time, it is his inheritance, and he told me how important it is for his children to pursue their dreams and study what they want, live where they want. This is not a stereotypical Muslim Indian family, where daughters are told what to do and how to act. Instead, my student's family represents a changing attitude in India. Parents here see the opportunities for social mobility and they want their children to take the chances they didn't.
I wonder if this is a product of democracy? We chant high ideals, and write them into constitutions, and then, I think, perhaps they are internalized, stored away for the right moment when economics and customs are right, and suddenly liberality. Of course what that looks like to an American is still conservative and different, but I would argue that India is in many ways more liberal than the US. There certainly are a lot of women in politics here, and class mobility, thanks to many government programs geared toward higher education, seems a lot more feasible.
More than anything, I sense a common vision among people here, from my student and her father, to my favorite cabby in Kolkata, whose son is studying engineering thanks to a 20,000 rupee grant from the government. The central vision is a better quality of life for the next generation. More education, a better job. I feel that this vision is lost here in the US. Are we too educated? Where are we going in the US? Our leaders can't seem to tell us that very clearly, and I think it's because we do not know I our hearts.
You would love India, in fact, the first opportunity you get, you should travel here. Yesterday, a year X student and her father took me to get fitted for a sari and to find some Indian pop music.
The first stop, getting fitted for a sari, was unexpected and a bit overwhelming. The merchant laid one beautiful fabric after the other in front of me, and I marveled at the cool softness and the brilliant colors. As I oohed and aahed, my student's father started to negotiated the terms of delivery. I guess I didn't understand, but saris do not come prefitted, the fabric is cut and fitted to the measurements of the wearer, which means I guess I won't be bringing any saris back for other friends. The material for the blouse and the petticoat are built into the fabric and cut out accordingly. As it is getting close to the time of Eid, sair makers in Kolkata are a bit busy right now. My student's father was able to negotiate a pretty quick turn around, by next Wednesday, I'll be wearing my sari.
After the fitting we went to his shop, a small kitchen appliance store that he and his brothers took over for his grandfather. The shop is almost as old as independent India, and it is obvious that my guide is very proud of it. At the same time, it is his inheritance, and he told me how important it is for his children to pursue their dreams and study what they want, live where they want. This is not a stereotypical Muslim Indian family, where daughters are told what to do and how to act. Instead, my student's family represents a changing attitude in India. Parents here see the opportunities for social mobility and they want their children to take the chances they didn't.
I wonder if this is a product of democracy? We chant high ideals, and write them into constitutions, and then, I think, perhaps they are internalized, stored away for the right moment when economics and customs are right, and suddenly liberality. Of course what that looks like to an American is still conservative and different, but I would argue that India is in many ways more liberal than the US. There certainly are a lot of women in politics here, and class mobility, thanks to many government programs geared toward higher education, seems a lot more feasible.
More than anything, I sense a common vision among people here, from my student and her father, to my favorite cabby in Kolkata, whose son is studying engineering thanks to a 20,000 rupee grant from the government. The central vision is a better quality of life for the next generation. More education, a better job. I feel that this vision is lost here in the US. Are we too educated? Where are we going in the US? Our leaders can't seem to tell us that very clearly, and I think it's because we do not know I our hearts.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
New Light
Dear Roxie,
I couldn't help but think of the first short story you wrote in my class, about a street child in India finding a baby and deciding to take care of that baby no matter what. It really is in our nature to take care of each other, it seems that often we let other concerns get in the way of that instinctive drive
Yesterday afternoon I met a woman who has followed her instinct to take care of others and started an organization called New Light (www.newlightindia.org) in one of Calcutta's oldest red light districts near the temple of Kali.
Urmi Basu began reaching out to the children of Kalighat when a group of boys asked her to help fund their football match. Urmi saw the remarkable need to educate these children and help them rise up from a life that promised poverty and crime.
So New Light began with 10,000 rupees ($100 USD) and a lot of ambition, and most importantly support from the women themselves, who like all mothers, wanted more for their children.
When we visited about 70 children came into the multipurpose room that serves as a classroom, workshop for mothers who recycle old sarees into scarves or other clothing, and homework spot. The children sang India's national anthem and then sat for meditation for about ten minutes, yawning and a little bit squirmy, they nonetheless tried their best to relax and focus as they had been taught.
With a staff of around thirty-four, Urmi is able to keep New Light open twenty-four hours a day. Children come to the center to eat, for tutoring, and if they would like to sleep as well. And staff are everywhere, a mix of women and men who teach and nurture the children. Raju, a teacher who met us at the Kalighat police station and guided us to New Light, told me he had been working there since Urmi started in 2000.
It's not hard to see why staff stick around, after meditation, the children laid mats on the floor and pulled out their homework. They attend regular government run schools or even private schools, funded completely by New Light, and come to the center for remedial help. I watched Raju sit cross-legged I front of a small group of four students, and begin to give a lesson on geography. I. A country where classrooms can be as large as seventy of eighty children, having a private tutor is essential to educational success.
It was Ruma, however, who captured my attention. She begged me to sit next to her, and then pulled out a primary English workbook. For the next forty-five minutes, Ruma took me through a wide variety of lessons, showing off her English skills and insisting I teach her more. With her determination and sparkle, I could easily see Ruma working on the staff of the Oberoi or some other hotel that caters to Westerners. At eight or nine, she can see the importance of learning English.
New Light is not without volunteers or support, but it can always use more. At home we are often bombarded with pleas to give to charitable organizations in third world countries, and I am skeptical about what happens to that money. At New Light I could see charity happening before my eyes.
I couldn't help but think of the first short story you wrote in my class, about a street child in India finding a baby and deciding to take care of that baby no matter what. It really is in our nature to take care of each other, it seems that often we let other concerns get in the way of that instinctive drive
Yesterday afternoon I met a woman who has followed her instinct to take care of others and started an organization called New Light (www.newlightindia.org) in one of Calcutta's oldest red light districts near the temple of Kali.
Urmi Basu began reaching out to the children of Kalighat when a group of boys asked her to help fund their football match. Urmi saw the remarkable need to educate these children and help them rise up from a life that promised poverty and crime.
So New Light began with 10,000 rupees ($100 USD) and a lot of ambition, and most importantly support from the women themselves, who like all mothers, wanted more for their children.
When we visited about 70 children came into the multipurpose room that serves as a classroom, workshop for mothers who recycle old sarees into scarves or other clothing, and homework spot. The children sang India's national anthem and then sat for meditation for about ten minutes, yawning and a little bit squirmy, they nonetheless tried their best to relax and focus as they had been taught.
With a staff of around thirty-four, Urmi is able to keep New Light open twenty-four hours a day. Children come to the center to eat, for tutoring, and if they would like to sleep as well. And staff are everywhere, a mix of women and men who teach and nurture the children. Raju, a teacher who met us at the Kalighat police station and guided us to New Light, told me he had been working there since Urmi started in 2000.
It's not hard to see why staff stick around, after meditation, the children laid mats on the floor and pulled out their homework. They attend regular government run schools or even private schools, funded completely by New Light, and come to the center for remedial help. I watched Raju sit cross-legged I front of a small group of four students, and begin to give a lesson on geography. I. A country where classrooms can be as large as seventy of eighty children, having a private tutor is essential to educational success.
It was Ruma, however, who captured my attention. She begged me to sit next to her, and then pulled out a primary English workbook. For the next forty-five minutes, Ruma took me through a wide variety of lessons, showing off her English skills and insisting I teach her more. With her determination and sparkle, I could easily see Ruma working on the staff of the Oberoi or some other hotel that caters to Westerners. At eight or nine, she can see the importance of learning English.
New Light is not without volunteers or support, but it can always use more. At home we are often bombarded with pleas to give to charitable organizations in third world countries, and I am skeptical about what happens to that money. At New Light I could see charity happening before my eyes.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Reading Heather Cahoon & Victor Charlo in Calcutta
Dear Nicole, Megan & Luke,
Yesterday, students in Class X and Class XII read "Frog Creek Circle" by Victor Charlo and "Elk Thirst" by Heather Cahoon. Reading these poems with students halfway around the world from Montana made me really appreciate how our sense of a place helps us build meaning. I knew that students here in Calcutta would not know what an elk was or, understand right away why Charlo writes, "Mountains so close we are relatives." I downloaded pictures of elk and the mountains near Frog Creek and brought them with me on the iPad.
In Class X we read the Charlo poem and they were amazed more with the smallness of the town then the looming proximity of the mountains. The line made more of an impact once they could see the landscape and relate it to Charlo's words. They were at first confused, then amused by Charlo's reference to "Indian mint" at the end of the poem. Why are we only now correcting a geography mistake made by 16th century European cartographers?
This lesson taught me the power of landscape on the imagination, and how poetry truly can transmute deeper cultural ideas. Charlo's assertion of "circles" that we return to and are a part of resonated with the students. Perhaps living on a great circle does that, or simply it is our humanness. When you write your poetry, which I hope you haven't stopped, think of circles, and think in circles. Future Calcutta students will appreciate that you have.
Class XII students next read "Elk Thirst" and were immediately struck by the power of landscape in the poem. Unlike Wordsworth who feeds readers the landscape through his all powerful "I" perspective, Cahoon steps back and lets the landscape come to life in surprising and moving ways. The elk of corse dominates the land as elk often do when you come across them in the wild, and if anything writing about Montana wildlife is sure to build an audience.
Teaching students about Montana through the lens of poetry was a highly rewarding experience, and I encourage you to look more closely at your surroundings, to observe what happens in daily life, in nature, and to write about it so people on the other side of the world might have a cool taste of Montana.
Yesterday, students in Class X and Class XII read "Frog Creek Circle" by Victor Charlo and "Elk Thirst" by Heather Cahoon. Reading these poems with students halfway around the world from Montana made me really appreciate how our sense of a place helps us build meaning. I knew that students here in Calcutta would not know what an elk was or, understand right away why Charlo writes, "Mountains so close we are relatives." I downloaded pictures of elk and the mountains near Frog Creek and brought them with me on the iPad.
In Class X we read the Charlo poem and they were amazed more with the smallness of the town then the looming proximity of the mountains. The line made more of an impact once they could see the landscape and relate it to Charlo's words. They were at first confused, then amused by Charlo's reference to "Indian mint" at the end of the poem. Why are we only now correcting a geography mistake made by 16th century European cartographers?
This lesson taught me the power of landscape on the imagination, and how poetry truly can transmute deeper cultural ideas. Charlo's assertion of "circles" that we return to and are a part of resonated with the students. Perhaps living on a great circle does that, or simply it is our humanness. When you write your poetry, which I hope you haven't stopped, think of circles, and think in circles. Future Calcutta students will appreciate that you have.
Class XII students next read "Elk Thirst" and were immediately struck by the power of landscape in the poem. Unlike Wordsworth who feeds readers the landscape through his all powerful "I" perspective, Cahoon steps back and lets the landscape come to life in surprising and moving ways. The elk of corse dominates the land as elk often do when you come across them in the wild, and if anything writing about Montana wildlife is sure to build an audience.
Teaching students about Montana through the lens of poetry was a highly rewarding experience, and I encourage you to look more closely at your surroundings, to observe what happens in daily life, in nature, and to write about it so people on the other side of the world might have a cool taste of Montana.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Maslow was Wrong: Love Comes Before Food or Shelter
Dear Students Who are Afraid,
Life in Kolkata is not easy. Sure India has the largest democracy in the world, the largest middle-class in the world, a fast growing economy and more talent than anywhere except maybe the US. But India also has poverty unlike any developed nation. In sixty years it has come far, but it still has a long way to go.
Today I saw another aspect of India that blew me away. Pride. As in The Kolkata pride parade, the oldest in India, it started in 1999 with fifteen people and a flag. Today there must have been a thousand people and a float, and a flag that stretched a hundred feet down one side of a street in Kolkata and marched for several blocks. I saw Indian people who had little but were willing to risk it all because love is the more important than a roof over their head or food in their stomach. They were laughing and posing and throwing their arms around each other in a swirling, vibrant energy that made me dance down the street with them. I never thought to put Kolkata's pride parade on my bucket list, but you should, oh you should. Then you can see what pride and bravery and love look like.
By the way, being LGBT in India is not easy. The Supreme Court of India just decriminalized homosexuality, and there are certain groups in India that would like to see it criminalizes again. Parents are slowly starting to support their children, and ironically, it is The American Center in Kolkata that provides a lot of support.
Love is human. And today I saw that love is most important of all.
Life in Kolkata is not easy. Sure India has the largest democracy in the world, the largest middle-class in the world, a fast growing economy and more talent than anywhere except maybe the US. But India also has poverty unlike any developed nation. In sixty years it has come far, but it still has a long way to go.
Today I saw another aspect of India that blew me away. Pride. As in The Kolkata pride parade, the oldest in India, it started in 1999 with fifteen people and a flag. Today there must have been a thousand people and a float, and a flag that stretched a hundred feet down one side of a street in Kolkata and marched for several blocks. I saw Indian people who had little but were willing to risk it all because love is the more important than a roof over their head or food in their stomach. They were laughing and posing and throwing their arms around each other in a swirling, vibrant energy that made me dance down the street with them. I never thought to put Kolkata's pride parade on my bucket list, but you should, oh you should. Then you can see what pride and bravery and love look like.
By the way, being LGBT in India is not easy. The Supreme Court of India just decriminalized homosexuality, and there are certain groups in India that would like to see it criminalizes again. Parents are slowly starting to support their children, and ironically, it is The American Center in Kolkata that provides a lot of support.
Love is human. And today I saw that love is most important of all.
Schools
Dear Thad and Dave,
Today marks one week since I've arrived in India, and three days of teaching in an Indian classroom. During this time I've had a chance to talk to nine different US teachers who represent the gamut of US education from BIA schools to upscale urbanrivate schools. We all share a passion for excellence in teaching, but I'm discovering that that passion takes many forms, from the science teacher who strives to work with her schools English department to the English teacher who brings global education directly into his curriculum.
What I'm beginning to realize is that another component to our teaching are colleagues and administrators who give us the space and support to be excellent teachers. Instead of pushing agends our administrators allow us the opportunity to take risks, and recognize our professionalism and commitment to excellence. There is no perfect school anywhere in the US or in any other country I've visited. Each school faces its own difficulties from budget shortfalls to curriculum expectations, there numerous areas to gripe about or feel frustrated about when it comes to our schools, but what we should focus on are the areas where we can make a difference.
I continue to hear about women in Calcutta who have taken on huge tasks like educating street children or running orphanages in red light districts. These women start their day knowing the odds are against them, that they have few resources to work with and that they will never complete their task. Yet they get up and do their job anyway, and with a passion and grace that is legendary.
I will spend the rest of this month teaching in a classroom without air conditioning and with only a chalkboard. My classes will range from twenty to forty students, yet I know that I will have a positive impact, that I will make a lasting contribution. How do I know this? Because I demand it from myself and not my surroundings.
I will return to Simms in the fall a stronger teacher because I have pushed myself to improvise, to succeed. Teaching happens because teachers and administrators make it happen. Not parents or state legislators or even the federal government. We can bemoan budget cuts and bewail lack of support, but what we most need to succeed comes from the basics, our skills as teachers. Give me a piece of chalk and I believe I can change the world.
Today marks one week since I've arrived in India, and three days of teaching in an Indian classroom. During this time I've had a chance to talk to nine different US teachers who represent the gamut of US education from BIA schools to upscale urbanrivate schools. We all share a passion for excellence in teaching, but I'm discovering that that passion takes many forms, from the science teacher who strives to work with her schools English department to the English teacher who brings global education directly into his curriculum.
What I'm beginning to realize is that another component to our teaching are colleagues and administrators who give us the space and support to be excellent teachers. Instead of pushing agends our administrators allow us the opportunity to take risks, and recognize our professionalism and commitment to excellence. There is no perfect school anywhere in the US or in any other country I've visited. Each school faces its own difficulties from budget shortfalls to curriculum expectations, there numerous areas to gripe about or feel frustrated about when it comes to our schools, but what we should focus on are the areas where we can make a difference.
I continue to hear about women in Calcutta who have taken on huge tasks like educating street children or running orphanages in red light districts. These women start their day knowing the odds are against them, that they have few resources to work with and that they will never complete their task. Yet they get up and do their job anyway, and with a passion and grace that is legendary.
I will spend the rest of this month teaching in a classroom without air conditioning and with only a chalkboard. My classes will range from twenty to forty students, yet I know that I will have a positive impact, that I will make a lasting contribution. How do I know this? Because I demand it from myself and not my surroundings.
I will return to Simms in the fall a stronger teacher because I have pushed myself to improvise, to succeed. Teaching happens because teachers and administrators make it happen. Not parents or state legislators or even the federal government. We can bemoan budget cuts and bewail lack of support, but what we most need to succeed comes from the basics, our skills as teachers. Give me a piece of chalk and I believe I can change the world.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Sick Day
Dear Deb,
Today wasn't exactly a sick day, more of a don't get sick day. Kolkata has a lot of air pollution and it seems that my chest isn't adapting to the humidity as well as it should. I felt tired and congested most of the morning and finally decided to take a steam bath around noon. The are some lovely advantages to staying at a five star hotel.
The steam bath made me feel better, but I still ended up sleeping a good portion,of the afternoon. At some point hunger overcame my need for sleep,and I ventured out of the hotel on my own. It's a little scary walking around Kolkata by myself, even if it's only a block or two.
The streets are densely crowded with pedestrians and cars vying for the same space. Each move must be quick and deliberate or you run the risk of being run over.
At the same time, merchants walk alongside you trying to convince you to come visit their store or buy their goods. About a half block from the restaurant I w as walking to, a merchant came out to convince me to look at his purses. I told him I wasn't shopping, just out to eat, and he walked with me the rest of the way to the restaurant, as though he was making sure I arrived properly.
I sat alone at a table and ordered, only to be told I ordered too much food and have my order amended by the waiter. Half way through my meal a woman loaded with bags sat down in front of me, unloaded her shopping bags in an adjacent chair and promptly ordered fish fried rice. We sat opposite each other the rest of the meal. Strangers, yet occupying the same space.
And this is India, personal space is different here, boundaries are not the same at all. It is very common to see young men walking down the street, their arms flung round each other in a kind of half embrace.
When people come to talk to me they stand rather close, sometimes even touching me. It is an uncomfortable experience, yet I understand that I am beyond comfort, that I left comfort in the US along with deep understanding and summer vacation.
This job, teaching in a non-air conditioned classroom in July pushes me to ask "why a classroom?" "why one teacher?"
Why does this system continue to work as it has for thousands of years. It seems this is the way human beings learn, but why this way?
I don't know. I would be curious to see a different model, if such a thing exists. Where there is no classroom or teacher, yet it is still a centralized place of learning.
What might that look like, and where might I see it?
Today wasn't exactly a sick day, more of a don't get sick day. Kolkata has a lot of air pollution and it seems that my chest isn't adapting to the humidity as well as it should. I felt tired and congested most of the morning and finally decided to take a steam bath around noon. The are some lovely advantages to staying at a five star hotel.
The steam bath made me feel better, but I still ended up sleeping a good portion,of the afternoon. At some point hunger overcame my need for sleep,and I ventured out of the hotel on my own. It's a little scary walking around Kolkata by myself, even if it's only a block or two.
The streets are densely crowded with pedestrians and cars vying for the same space. Each move must be quick and deliberate or you run the risk of being run over.
At the same time, merchants walk alongside you trying to convince you to come visit their store or buy their goods. About a half block from the restaurant I w as walking to, a merchant came out to convince me to look at his purses. I told him I wasn't shopping, just out to eat, and he walked with me the rest of the way to the restaurant, as though he was making sure I arrived properly.
I sat alone at a table and ordered, only to be told I ordered too much food and have my order amended by the waiter. Half way through my meal a woman loaded with bags sat down in front of me, unloaded her shopping bags in an adjacent chair and promptly ordered fish fried rice. We sat opposite each other the rest of the meal. Strangers, yet occupying the same space.
And this is India, personal space is different here, boundaries are not the same at all. It is very common to see young men walking down the street, their arms flung round each other in a kind of half embrace.
When people come to talk to me they stand rather close, sometimes even touching me. It is an uncomfortable experience, yet I understand that I am beyond comfort, that I left comfort in the US along with deep understanding and summer vacation.
This job, teaching in a non-air conditioned classroom in July pushes me to ask "why a classroom?" "why one teacher?"
Why does this system continue to work as it has for thousands of years. It seems this is the way human beings learn, but why this way?
I don't know. I would be curious to see a different model, if such a thing exists. Where there is no classroom or teacher, yet it is still a centralized place of learning.
What might that look like, and where might I see it?
Friday, July 13, 2012
Tolerance
Dear Tim,
Today I had a chancce to talk with my eleventh year students about life in Kolkata. One big aspect of Kolkata life is the Durga Puja, a huge seven day festival that transforms Kolkata in October. The statues I saw in Kumar Tuli yesterday were being created for Durga Puja, and will be awarded prizes. This festival celebrates the Hndu goddess Durga and comprises seven different offerings made to here during the festival.
You will be surprised to find out that second to Durga Puja, Christmas is another big holiday celebrated in Kolkata. The girls described the cakes and decorations, including Christmas trees that mark this Christian holiday. What also surprises me is that though I am teaching at a Christian school where the Lord's Prayer is said everymorning and the school song is a hymn, not all of the girls who attend are Christian. In fact, quite a few are Muslim and Hindu.
This brings me to a baffling realtiy of India, religion is seen as an extension of daily life from the shrines on the street to the statues of gods and goddesses in taxi cabs. But religion is not exclusive to daily life at all. In fact, Indians seem to embrace every religion at once. It is assumed that you have some belief and accept that everyone else does as well. The result is a kind of blurring of boundaries and an acceptance of constant spirituality. It is a shocking and refreshing experience for my Western sensibilities that say I must define myself as one denomination over another and not bother to learn or celebrate any other faiths or beliefs.
I think these students at St. Johns have a deeper respect for one another's faiths and beliefs than I have ever seen anywhere. That Christians, Hindus and Muslims can go to school together side by side, learning and appreciating one another is a refreshing experience, and a practice we should all learn to follow.
Today I had a chancce to talk with my eleventh year students about life in Kolkata. One big aspect of Kolkata life is the Durga Puja, a huge seven day festival that transforms Kolkata in October. The statues I saw in Kumar Tuli yesterday were being created for Durga Puja, and will be awarded prizes. This festival celebrates the Hndu goddess Durga and comprises seven different offerings made to here during the festival.
You will be surprised to find out that second to Durga Puja, Christmas is another big holiday celebrated in Kolkata. The girls described the cakes and decorations, including Christmas trees that mark this Christian holiday. What also surprises me is that though I am teaching at a Christian school where the Lord's Prayer is said everymorning and the school song is a hymn, not all of the girls who attend are Christian. In fact, quite a few are Muslim and Hindu.
This brings me to a baffling realtiy of India, religion is seen as an extension of daily life from the shrines on the street to the statues of gods and goddesses in taxi cabs. But religion is not exclusive to daily life at all. In fact, Indians seem to embrace every religion at once. It is assumed that you have some belief and accept that everyone else does as well. The result is a kind of blurring of boundaries and an acceptance of constant spirituality. It is a shocking and refreshing experience for my Western sensibilities that say I must define myself as one denomination over another and not bother to learn or celebrate any other faiths or beliefs.
I think these students at St. Johns have a deeper respect for one another's faiths and beliefs than I have ever seen anywhere. That Christians, Hindus and Muslims can go to school together side by side, learning and appreciating one another is a refreshing experience, and a practice we should all learn to follow.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Kumar Tuli: the Potters Enclave
Dear Teresa,
Kolkata's energy is exhausting. The constant moving, hurly burly, crazy traffic, pedestrians dodging cars, taxis an inch apart.
Today I met my last class, the class 10s, a lively bunch of girls who were shy and curious all at the same time. Classes were a little shorter today so the students could attend clubs. Subha and themothe other language teachers advise a literary club, a group of girls who give speeches, discuss books and take ridiculously hard vocabulary quizzes. After club, I stepped outside to try to find a cab. Thankfully, about three or four girls stepped out with me and thanks to one very tenacious girl I was able to get a cab back to the hotel.
Breanna and Kyle spotted me in the lobby, they were headed to north Kolkata to visit a famous potters enclave called Kumar Tuli. The trouble is, Kumar Tuli isn't on any maps. It simply exists. The hotel could only give us so many directions and then we were on our own, relying on the help of friendly Kolkatans. It was about a ten minute walk from the subway when we saw our first statues. Sculptors in Kumar Tuli are preparing for a huge festival in October when thousands of their brightly painted creations, repressing gods and goddesses are paraded through the streets and tossed into the river.
I think my pictures best describe Kumar Tuli and I promise to post them as soon as I wake up tomorrow.
Kolkata's energy is exhausting. The constant moving, hurly burly, crazy traffic, pedestrians dodging cars, taxis an inch apart.
Today I met my last class, the class 10s, a lively bunch of girls who were shy and curious all at the same time. Classes were a little shorter today so the students could attend clubs. Subha and themothe other language teachers advise a literary club, a group of girls who give speeches, discuss books and take ridiculously hard vocabulary quizzes. After club, I stepped outside to try to find a cab. Thankfully, about three or four girls stepped out with me and thanks to one very tenacious girl I was able to get a cab back to the hotel.
Breanna and Kyle spotted me in the lobby, they were headed to north Kolkata to visit a famous potters enclave called Kumar Tuli. The trouble is, Kumar Tuli isn't on any maps. It simply exists. The hotel could only give us so many directions and then we were on our own, relying on the help of friendly Kolkatans. It was about a ten minute walk from the subway when we saw our first statues. Sculptors in Kumar Tuli are preparing for a huge festival in October when thousands of their brightly painted creations, repressing gods and goddesses are paraded through the streets and tossed into the river.
I think my pictures best describe Kumar Tuli and I promise to post them as soon as I wake up tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
First Day of School
Dear Paul,
Can you believe this fall I will begin my fifth year of teaching? I remember my first day of teaching at Frazer, truthfully, I only remember the first lesson, with the eighth graders, who will graduate this year. This morning mirrored some of that nervousness and panic, and somehow ended with awe.
First thing, my mentor teacher (I doubt I will ever out grow the need for mentors) sent me a text "Mrs. Kajori Biswas will pick you up in the lobby at 8:45". I readied myself and promptly at 8:45 Mrs. Biswas picked me up in the school car. A short, exciting (every car ride in Kolkata is exciting)car ride later, we arrived at a lime green school building that, for some reasons evoked comparisons to Savannah or Charleston. The school is behind a high wall that muffles the chaos of the street.
Three girls in standard blue and white uniform were there to greet me, as well as Subhalakshmi. They placed a heavy, fragrant garland of tube roses around my neck and formally welcomed me to the school. I was briefly introduced to the head teacher, and then Subha gave me a tour of the school.
The oldest buildings on the grounds were built in the 1850s and the school has been added on to ever since. Right now, they are in the process of adding elevators to the tallest buildings.
Next, we went to meet the director of the pre-primary school. There I learned that girls enter St. Johns as early as 3, many of them having spent a year prior to that in Montessori school. One the observations that the headmistress made was that when parents pushed their children to begin writing at two or three, the child's penmanship suffered later on. Here is a perfect example of why developmentally appropriate instruction is crucial in the early years.
Middle class parents in India really seem to push their children when it comes to getting an education. It is seen as a primary path to success, so exams and tests are exceptionally important. This week is mid-term exam week at St. John's which means students are in exams from 8 until 12. These exams are not as important as finals, but parents and students treat them with a rigor that is unseen in any US class I've been in.
Subha takes me next to the faculty lounge where teachers keep their things and gather to grade an chat between classes or on breaks. At St. Johns the students stay in the classrooms and the teachers move around instructing. I chat with three teachers for a bit while Subha teaches a class, then it's fourth period and I'm on!
The eleventh grade girls are all patiently waiting for Subha and I when we arrive in a narrow crowded room. There are about 18 girls, a very small class for an Indian school, but about average for me. There is only a chalk board hanging at the front of the class, and a small chair and desk. I have about twelve or fourteen feet at the front of the class in which to move about, and there is no air conditioning. That's ok though. Standing in front of a class of teenagers is my natural calling.
After Subha introduces me she leaves and the girls and I begin to ge to know one another.
I'm so busy telling the girls about life in America and answering their questions that I only get to the assignment in the last five minutes of class. I tell the girls to have the assignment prepared the next time I see them and then dismiss them for break. They don't leave. We stand there talking some more, then I tell them again that they should go for their break. They still continue to stand around as if waiting for something. Finally I begin to move through the girls to the door and they all move with me.
The next period after our lunch break, is twelfth grade and a double period. This time I am able to move through introductions and assign the essay.
The girls write about their names telling me it's meaning, who named them, and whether they think their name defines them well. I give them about twenty five minutes to write, and they do a good job of finishing the assignment.
We end class with a discussion of essay organization, and then a very short Q & A about America. It's pouring outside, a noisy penetrating rain that seems to smother and distract me as I monitor class. One of the girls offers me her umbrellla and this time when the bell rings, I know I'm supposed to move outside right away.
I head back to the teacher's lounge when I spend the final period grading the essays the class wrote.
Subha takes me back to the hotel, and I arrive back at the Oberoi elated and tired.
There is more, much more to say about my first day at St. John's, but later. More than anything right now, I am grateful to all of the mentor teachers I've had.
Can you believe this fall I will begin my fifth year of teaching? I remember my first day of teaching at Frazer, truthfully, I only remember the first lesson, with the eighth graders, who will graduate this year. This morning mirrored some of that nervousness and panic, and somehow ended with awe.
First thing, my mentor teacher (I doubt I will ever out grow the need for mentors) sent me a text "Mrs. Kajori Biswas will pick you up in the lobby at 8:45". I readied myself and promptly at 8:45 Mrs. Biswas picked me up in the school car. A short, exciting (every car ride in Kolkata is exciting)car ride later, we arrived at a lime green school building that, for some reasons evoked comparisons to Savannah or Charleston. The school is behind a high wall that muffles the chaos of the street.
Three girls in standard blue and white uniform were there to greet me, as well as Subhalakshmi. They placed a heavy, fragrant garland of tube roses around my neck and formally welcomed me to the school. I was briefly introduced to the head teacher, and then Subha gave me a tour of the school.
The oldest buildings on the grounds were built in the 1850s and the school has been added on to ever since. Right now, they are in the process of adding elevators to the tallest buildings.
Next, we went to meet the director of the pre-primary school. There I learned that girls enter St. Johns as early as 3, many of them having spent a year prior to that in Montessori school. One the observations that the headmistress made was that when parents pushed their children to begin writing at two or three, the child's penmanship suffered later on. Here is a perfect example of why developmentally appropriate instruction is crucial in the early years.
Middle class parents in India really seem to push their children when it comes to getting an education. It is seen as a primary path to success, so exams and tests are exceptionally important. This week is mid-term exam week at St. John's which means students are in exams from 8 until 12. These exams are not as important as finals, but parents and students treat them with a rigor that is unseen in any US class I've been in.
Subha takes me next to the faculty lounge where teachers keep their things and gather to grade an chat between classes or on breaks. At St. Johns the students stay in the classrooms and the teachers move around instructing. I chat with three teachers for a bit while Subha teaches a class, then it's fourth period and I'm on!
The eleventh grade girls are all patiently waiting for Subha and I when we arrive in a narrow crowded room. There are about 18 girls, a very small class for an Indian school, but about average for me. There is only a chalk board hanging at the front of the class, and a small chair and desk. I have about twelve or fourteen feet at the front of the class in which to move about, and there is no air conditioning. That's ok though. Standing in front of a class of teenagers is my natural calling.
After Subha introduces me she leaves and the girls and I begin to ge to know one another.
I'm so busy telling the girls about life in America and answering their questions that I only get to the assignment in the last five minutes of class. I tell the girls to have the assignment prepared the next time I see them and then dismiss them for break. They don't leave. We stand there talking some more, then I tell them again that they should go for their break. They still continue to stand around as if waiting for something. Finally I begin to move through the girls to the door and they all move with me.
The next period after our lunch break, is twelfth grade and a double period. This time I am able to move through introductions and assign the essay.
The girls write about their names telling me it's meaning, who named them, and whether they think their name defines them well. I give them about twenty five minutes to write, and they do a good job of finishing the assignment.
We end class with a discussion of essay organization, and then a very short Q & A about America. It's pouring outside, a noisy penetrating rain that seems to smother and distract me as I monitor class. One of the girls offers me her umbrellla and this time when the bell rings, I know I'm supposed to move outside right away.
I head back to the teacher's lounge when I spend the final period grading the essays the class wrote.
Subha takes me back to the hotel, and I arrive back at the Oberoi elated and tired.
There is more, much more to say about my first day at St. John's, but later. More than anything right now, I am grateful to all of the mentor teachers I've had.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Shopping in Kolkata
Dear Ciara, Victoria, Dannie, & Reena,
Today I braved the streets of Kolkata to visit New Market, a large shopping district near The Oberoi, where we are staying. Because Kolkata is so hectic, and because many of the merchants only speak Bengla, the hotel sent a guide, the lovely Rupa, to help us negotiate the maze of shops and stalls that is New Market.
Rupa leads us out into the 90 degree heat dressed in a black pant suit. The rest of us follow in light cotton tees, skirts or jeans. During the entire three hour shopping trip she never once breaks a sweat, a feat that amazes me. We start by looking at Kirtis, basically a cotton tunic, often hand embroidered with flowers or abstract designs. The first stall we go to has several cheap looking Kirtis that I'm not in love with. Rupa tries to negotiate for 150 rupees, but the merchants won't budge for less than 190. At 50 rupees to the dollar the difference is less than fifty cents, but there is something about the way they talk to Rupa that I dislike, so we move on to the next stalls. There I find a beautiful black embroidered Kirti, in striking reds, golds and greens. At 650 rupees, it's much more expensive than the previous stall, but it's also of a higher quality. I'm sold. Two stalls down I by a simple long sleeve red and black Kirti from a shy seller. It's quality is not as high as the other one, but it seems perfect for school, and it's three dollars. A bargain.
I should stop and explain here that shopping in Kolkata is not like shopping anywhere else. Merchants come out of their stalls and walk alongside you, talking to you as you walk down the street. They often stand and watch you as you shop, then continue to try to persuade you into their stall. When you are inside a stall, the merchant behi d the counter lays item after item in front of you, praising its value and beauty until you either find something you can't live without, or feel you are about to cave from the pressure. Being tall and fair skinned, I'm often mistaken for British, and singled out of the group as an obvious mark. I constantly have to remind myself that Kolkata is not a place to be trusted.
Meanwhile, Kyle, another participant is causing quite a stir as he searches for the perfect men's version of a Kirti. He moves between two different stalls and several men stand outside the stall watching him examine the different fabrics. What seems like ages, but is really only about half an hour Kyle has finally found a garment that fits and we stop to get some lunch. I enjoy a delicious bowl of Veg Birayati, a rice and vegetable dish that hides a icy potato at the center. The meal is simple and filling, and at 68 rupees, less than two dollars.
Rupa leads us to another part of New Market, underground, and Bre, our resident director and I cool off in some of the tiny, air-conditioned jewelry stores. While some participants shop for shoes or tops, it's nice to be able to take a break and look at beautiful, hand carved marble elephants or silver rings or earrings.
Three hours of shopping and I return to the Oberoi having spent about 25 dollars on three tops, lunch, and a pair of sandals. I remind myself that I will be here for a month, and that many shopping trips await.
Today I braved the streets of Kolkata to visit New Market, a large shopping district near The Oberoi, where we are staying. Because Kolkata is so hectic, and because many of the merchants only speak Bengla, the hotel sent a guide, the lovely Rupa, to help us negotiate the maze of shops and stalls that is New Market.
Rupa leads us out into the 90 degree heat dressed in a black pant suit. The rest of us follow in light cotton tees, skirts or jeans. During the entire three hour shopping trip she never once breaks a sweat, a feat that amazes me. We start by looking at Kirtis, basically a cotton tunic, often hand embroidered with flowers or abstract designs. The first stall we go to has several cheap looking Kirtis that I'm not in love with. Rupa tries to negotiate for 150 rupees, but the merchants won't budge for less than 190. At 50 rupees to the dollar the difference is less than fifty cents, but there is something about the way they talk to Rupa that I dislike, so we move on to the next stalls. There I find a beautiful black embroidered Kirti, in striking reds, golds and greens. At 650 rupees, it's much more expensive than the previous stall, but it's also of a higher quality. I'm sold. Two stalls down I by a simple long sleeve red and black Kirti from a shy seller. It's quality is not as high as the other one, but it seems perfect for school, and it's three dollars. A bargain.
I should stop and explain here that shopping in Kolkata is not like shopping anywhere else. Merchants come out of their stalls and walk alongside you, talking to you as you walk down the street. They often stand and watch you as you shop, then continue to try to persuade you into their stall. When you are inside a stall, the merchant behi d the counter lays item after item in front of you, praising its value and beauty until you either find something you can't live without, or feel you are about to cave from the pressure. Being tall and fair skinned, I'm often mistaken for British, and singled out of the group as an obvious mark. I constantly have to remind myself that Kolkata is not a place to be trusted.
Meanwhile, Kyle, another participant is causing quite a stir as he searches for the perfect men's version of a Kirti. He moves between two different stalls and several men stand outside the stall watching him examine the different fabrics. What seems like ages, but is really only about half an hour Kyle has finally found a garment that fits and we stop to get some lunch. I enjoy a delicious bowl of Veg Birayati, a rice and vegetable dish that hides a icy potato at the center. The meal is simple and filling, and at 68 rupees, less than two dollars.
Rupa leads us to another part of New Market, underground, and Bre, our resident director and I cool off in some of the tiny, air-conditioned jewelry stores. While some participants shop for shoes or tops, it's nice to be able to take a break and look at beautiful, hand carved marble elephants or silver rings or earrings.
Three hours of shopping and I return to the Oberoi having spent about 25 dollars on three tops, lunch, and a pair of sandals. I remind myself that I will be here for a month, and that many shopping trips await.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Indian Education
Dear Landon, Lyn, and Lydia,
This afternoon we had our orientation to Indian education and learned a little more about what is expected of us in the classroom. My mentor teacher was a presenter at the meeting and I am excited to work with her, she is very knowledgable and passionate about teaching. One of the many things I learned this afternoon was the challenges facing Indian teachers are similar to those in the US. India, I was told many times, is a diverse country, both culturally and economically. Some families here might live on less than one US dollar a day while others can afford to pay full tuition at top US universities.
In 2009, parliament passed The Right To Education Act, making schooling free and compulsory for all children up to age 14. This is a huge program to implement and teachers are feeling much of the burden. With class sizes of 30 to 100 students Indian teachers must balance the need to educate all children with the quality of the education. These teachers are aware of the different learning styles (multiple intelligences) as well as the loss of quality and individual attention when class sizes become very large.
At the same time, schools use multiple assessment from state and central government to determine student's progress and to place them in specific 11 and 12 year classes. Students here seem very dedicated to learning, and many of them want to go to college, the very best hope to go to the US or Singapore to study. However, teachers realize that their content must share some kind of link to contemporary life, that the study of Wordsworth and Shelley cannot give students enough, and that there must be some kind of value-based education included in the curriculum. Doesn't this all sound familiar?
At dinner Subhalakshmi and I continued the discussion, joined by another teacher and a higher education coordinator who works out of the Consulate General here in Kolkata. I asked them what they thought of so many of India's best and brightest students leaving to pursue higher education in the US. Subhalakshmi told me that thirty years ago this phenomena was considered a "brain drain", but today it's more of a "brain exchange". The best and the brightest of India's students no longer stay in the US after graduation, but come back to India to work and contribute to the growing middle class. I can see how this is mutually good for both the US and India. Our research universities benefit from bright, motivated students who contribute to research projects for several years before they leave and take their knowledge with them back home.
Indian teachers face a huge paradigm shift, both with the challenge of teaching a vast and diverse population, and with their own changing careers that demand a different kind if teaching. I sense a lot of hopes amidst all of the change, a sense that India is moving Ina dynamic and positive place.
Walking home tonight, the chaos and noise of Kolkata overloading my senses, I only wished we had the same hope back home in the US
This afternoon we had our orientation to Indian education and learned a little more about what is expected of us in the classroom. My mentor teacher was a presenter at the meeting and I am excited to work with her, she is very knowledgable and passionate about teaching. One of the many things I learned this afternoon was the challenges facing Indian teachers are similar to those in the US. India, I was told many times, is a diverse country, both culturally and economically. Some families here might live on less than one US dollar a day while others can afford to pay full tuition at top US universities.
In 2009, parliament passed The Right To Education Act, making schooling free and compulsory for all children up to age 14. This is a huge program to implement and teachers are feeling much of the burden. With class sizes of 30 to 100 students Indian teachers must balance the need to educate all children with the quality of the education. These teachers are aware of the different learning styles (multiple intelligences) as well as the loss of quality and individual attention when class sizes become very large.
At the same time, schools use multiple assessment from state and central government to determine student's progress and to place them in specific 11 and 12 year classes. Students here seem very dedicated to learning, and many of them want to go to college, the very best hope to go to the US or Singapore to study. However, teachers realize that their content must share some kind of link to contemporary life, that the study of Wordsworth and Shelley cannot give students enough, and that there must be some kind of value-based education included in the curriculum. Doesn't this all sound familiar?
At dinner Subhalakshmi and I continued the discussion, joined by another teacher and a higher education coordinator who works out of the Consulate General here in Kolkata. I asked them what they thought of so many of India's best and brightest students leaving to pursue higher education in the US. Subhalakshmi told me that thirty years ago this phenomena was considered a "brain drain", but today it's more of a "brain exchange". The best and the brightest of India's students no longer stay in the US after graduation, but come back to India to work and contribute to the growing middle class. I can see how this is mutually good for both the US and India. Our research universities benefit from bright, motivated students who contribute to research projects for several years before they leave and take their knowledge with them back home.
Indian teachers face a huge paradigm shift, both with the challenge of teaching a vast and diverse population, and with their own changing careers that demand a different kind if teaching. I sense a lot of hopes amidst all of the change, a sense that India is moving Ina dynamic and positive place.
Walking home tonight, the chaos and noise of Kolkata overloading my senses, I only wished we had the same hope back home in the US
Sunday, July 8, 2012
America = Indviduality
Dear Lyn,
It's about 4:30 a.m. right now, and I'm wide awake, just Skyped with my father, and was able to show him my beautiful room. It's amazing that I can travel half way around the world and still look at friends and family back home.
Obvisously jet lag is kicking my butt right now, we arrived at the hotel at about 10 a.m. yesterday after an adventrous overnight stay in the Delhi airport. The hotel kept the breakfast room open so we could eat then, we all headed up to our rooms for a much needed shower and refreshment, imagine what twenty-four hours in airports and on airplanes feels like.
My room is gorgeous (I promise to post pictures soon) and my every need looked after.
We had a brief intfroduction from the USIEF team that is coordinating our stay here in Kolkata and works with our host schools. Tomorrow we meet our mentor teachers and get some more insight into the Indian education system.
For now all I can share with you are some of my reflections about our American education system. First, how often do you tell parents how average their child is, or point out how much like the other kids Johnny seems to be acting. We don't do that at parent-teacher conferences, instead we tell parents how much their child shines in class, how unique they are, what special gifts and talents they have. At least that's what I do. I try to focus on the postitives right way, and I don't think it would be wise to start off a parent teacher conference with, "You daughter is completely average." In America, it seems that some of the highest complements we can pay people is to acknowledge the unique gifts each indvidual has. I remember marveling at the conference in Bozeman when one of the speakers said, "I tell my students, I promise to treat each and every one of you differently." Yeah, right on.
It's not that Americans are vain and need constant preening (maybe we do), it's sinmply that we value indviduality and diversity so much. Think of the times when kids get upset because someone chose the same topic as them to write about, or they are upsset because they wanted to write about a topic but someone else already picked it. We think we are special cases, and we expect certain exceptions for our talents, and for our weaknesses. It's what makes Special Ed. a unique concept to the rest of the world.
I'm not sure exactly what to think of our pursuit of individuality, except that it places a high burden on us as teachers to differentiate and to treat every student individualy. I am going to a school where class sizes will run around 40-45 students, and that is considered small. Some classes at schools here could be upwards of 70.
I hope you are having a realxing ad rich summer break. I look forward to the coming school year.
It's about 4:30 a.m. right now, and I'm wide awake, just Skyped with my father, and was able to show him my beautiful room. It's amazing that I can travel half way around the world and still look at friends and family back home.
Obvisously jet lag is kicking my butt right now, we arrived at the hotel at about 10 a.m. yesterday after an adventrous overnight stay in the Delhi airport. The hotel kept the breakfast room open so we could eat then, we all headed up to our rooms for a much needed shower and refreshment, imagine what twenty-four hours in airports and on airplanes feels like.
My room is gorgeous (I promise to post pictures soon) and my every need looked after.
We had a brief intfroduction from the USIEF team that is coordinating our stay here in Kolkata and works with our host schools. Tomorrow we meet our mentor teachers and get some more insight into the Indian education system.
For now all I can share with you are some of my reflections about our American education system. First, how often do you tell parents how average their child is, or point out how much like the other kids Johnny seems to be acting. We don't do that at parent-teacher conferences, instead we tell parents how much their child shines in class, how unique they are, what special gifts and talents they have. At least that's what I do. I try to focus on the postitives right way, and I don't think it would be wise to start off a parent teacher conference with, "You daughter is completely average." In America, it seems that some of the highest complements we can pay people is to acknowledge the unique gifts each indvidual has. I remember marveling at the conference in Bozeman when one of the speakers said, "I tell my students, I promise to treat each and every one of you differently." Yeah, right on.
It's not that Americans are vain and need constant preening (maybe we do), it's sinmply that we value indviduality and diversity so much. Think of the times when kids get upset because someone chose the same topic as them to write about, or they are upsset because they wanted to write about a topic but someone else already picked it. We think we are special cases, and we expect certain exceptions for our talents, and for our weaknesses. It's what makes Special Ed. a unique concept to the rest of the world.
I'm not sure exactly what to think of our pursuit of individuality, except that it places a high burden on us as teachers to differentiate and to treat every student individualy. I am going to a school where class sizes will run around 40-45 students, and that is considered small. Some classes at schools here could be upwards of 70.
I hope you are having a realxing ad rich summer break. I look forward to the coming school year.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Anatomy of a Journey
Dear Camille,
For some reasons airports put Bob Dylan's song "Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again". Perhaps it's the ludicrous things I see sometimes. Harried parents traveling with too tired kids who spin in circles saying "no" to the ground; a young man asleep like it's three in the morning when it's ten a.m. The song isn't about airports at all, but the ridiculousness of our culture, we look around us and think, "why do we do this?", and there is no explanation sometimes, we just do.
My recent trip to Wichita was a satisfying reminder of how much I've changed since I left in 2004. A concrete ending to my adolescence, and a satisfying reaquaintance with a past I was a little afraid to confront. There is a whole genre of coming home literature, like Leslie Marmon Silko's "Ceremony", the story of a WWII vet returning to his reservation, unprepared for civilian life and alienated from his own culture. Throughout the story he's trying to grasp why he does what he does, where the emotion comes from, and how he can return to the place/person he was before the war.
A true journey is full circle, arriving at a destination different from the beginning, and aware of the process.
For some reasons airports put Bob Dylan's song "Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again". Perhaps it's the ludicrous things I see sometimes. Harried parents traveling with too tired kids who spin in circles saying "no" to the ground; a young man asleep like it's three in the morning when it's ten a.m. The song isn't about airports at all, but the ridiculousness of our culture, we look around us and think, "why do we do this?", and there is no explanation sometimes, we just do.
My recent trip to Wichita was a satisfying reminder of how much I've changed since I left in 2004. A concrete ending to my adolescence, and a satisfying reaquaintance with a past I was a little afraid to confront. There is a whole genre of coming home literature, like Leslie Marmon Silko's "Ceremony", the story of a WWII vet returning to his reservation, unprepared for civilian life and alienated from his own culture. Throughout the story he's trying to grasp why he does what he does, where the emotion comes from, and how he can return to the place/person he was before the war.
A true journey is full circle, arriving at a destination different from the beginning, and aware of the process.
DC to Frankfurt
Dear Pat, Dave, Cody, Shane & Nathan,
On the flight from Washington DC to Frankfurt, I sat next to a young man who lives in Charlotte, NC. When I asked him where he was from he told me, he was Persian. Now you may remember from the movie "300" that the Persians were led by Darius, and came from somewhere east of Greece. That somewhere is basically present day Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran. But many Westernized Iranians identify themselves as Persian. I told the young man, whose name was Milad, that he was the second Persian I'd ever met, the first being a second grade boy I tutored in an after-school program in San Francisco.
Milad has been in the US for two years, before that he lived in Vienna, Austria, and before that, Iran. He came to the US with a competency in English from the schools he attended in Iran, and from watching American TV. Before he would even tell me what country he came from, he described America as a hospitable place, and he mentioned several times how free the country is. Free. Not something I consciously think about when I think about living in Montana, or any other state I've lived in. But for this young man, freedom was the singular feature of American life that stood out to him. Back in Iran his family is not allowed to openly practice their religion, Bahai, a rather new movement, 160 years old, that advocates world peace and tolerance of all faiths. Instead the government orders all people to attend mosque at least once a week. If he or any of the other followers of Bahai were to speak out about their faith or the government, they would risk being put in jail, people must meet in secret.
Milan told me now that he has acquired adequate English skills for school he is going to get a nursing degree at the local community college in Charlotte and hopes he can convince his parents and younger sister to immigrate to the US. He loves the freedom so much in the US he doesn't want to leave, and he spoke several times of the kindness of people in the US. He has a job at a grocery store and has managed to find an affordable place to rent while he goes to class. He was worried about asking for time off from work to go see his family, afraid he would lose his job, he planned to negotiate time with his boss. Instead, he told me his boss said not to worry, his job would be waiting for him when he came back. He tells me he had very little when he first came to the US and now he feels like he has accomplished a lot, and can see his goal.
I read about the glum jobs report, only 80,000 jobs added in June, far less than what is needed to continue economic recovery. I read that most jobs are going to people 55 and older, that there are 2 million young people age 20 to 24 in this country who cannot find work and possibly have student loans to cover. I read also that younger college graduates with little work history have to settle for jobs outside their field of training, jobs most likely with lower pay than they were expecting. It seems like it would be very frustrating to be young right now, just starting out, having to postpone your dreams or abandon them altogether; but meeting someone like Milad reminds me that for those who want to work hard and sacrifice, America is still the land of opportunity. Perhaps success comes at a cost, a minimum wage job, long hours, an extra year of school, student loan debt. Perhaps like Milad and others you need to move away, forgo seeing your family for a long period of time, but after a few years the hard work pays off. You have a good job, a career, you are able to do more of what you want to do.
Milad told me of his cousin living in Manhattan, he is a year younger than him, but because he was born in the US has the advantage of knowing English. Milad confessed he was envious of his cousin's success in banking, his ability to live in Manhattan and pay exorbitant rent, "but that is the advantage of being born in the US, and knowing English", he told me.
Be patient as you work the next few years to establish yourselves as adults. Think of the advantages you have: freedom, a good education, family living close by. Think how much harder your life would be if you had to start with less than nothing.
On the flight from Washington DC to Frankfurt, I sat next to a young man who lives in Charlotte, NC. When I asked him where he was from he told me, he was Persian. Now you may remember from the movie "300" that the Persians were led by Darius, and came from somewhere east of Greece. That somewhere is basically present day Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran. But many Westernized Iranians identify themselves as Persian. I told the young man, whose name was Milad, that he was the second Persian I'd ever met, the first being a second grade boy I tutored in an after-school program in San Francisco.
Milad has been in the US for two years, before that he lived in Vienna, Austria, and before that, Iran. He came to the US with a competency in English from the schools he attended in Iran, and from watching American TV. Before he would even tell me what country he came from, he described America as a hospitable place, and he mentioned several times how free the country is. Free. Not something I consciously think about when I think about living in Montana, or any other state I've lived in. But for this young man, freedom was the singular feature of American life that stood out to him. Back in Iran his family is not allowed to openly practice their religion, Bahai, a rather new movement, 160 years old, that advocates world peace and tolerance of all faiths. Instead the government orders all people to attend mosque at least once a week. If he or any of the other followers of Bahai were to speak out about their faith or the government, they would risk being put in jail, people must meet in secret.
Milan told me now that he has acquired adequate English skills for school he is going to get a nursing degree at the local community college in Charlotte and hopes he can convince his parents and younger sister to immigrate to the US. He loves the freedom so much in the US he doesn't want to leave, and he spoke several times of the kindness of people in the US. He has a job at a grocery store and has managed to find an affordable place to rent while he goes to class. He was worried about asking for time off from work to go see his family, afraid he would lose his job, he planned to negotiate time with his boss. Instead, he told me his boss said not to worry, his job would be waiting for him when he came back. He tells me he had very little when he first came to the US and now he feels like he has accomplished a lot, and can see his goal.
I read about the glum jobs report, only 80,000 jobs added in June, far less than what is needed to continue economic recovery. I read that most jobs are going to people 55 and older, that there are 2 million young people age 20 to 24 in this country who cannot find work and possibly have student loans to cover. I read also that younger college graduates with little work history have to settle for jobs outside their field of training, jobs most likely with lower pay than they were expecting. It seems like it would be very frustrating to be young right now, just starting out, having to postpone your dreams or abandon them altogether; but meeting someone like Milad reminds me that for those who want to work hard and sacrifice, America is still the land of opportunity. Perhaps success comes at a cost, a minimum wage job, long hours, an extra year of school, student loan debt. Perhaps like Milad and others you need to move away, forgo seeing your family for a long period of time, but after a few years the hard work pays off. You have a good job, a career, you are able to do more of what you want to do.
Milad told me of his cousin living in Manhattan, he is a year younger than him, but because he was born in the US has the advantage of knowing English. Milad confessed he was envious of his cousin's success in banking, his ability to live in Manhattan and pay exorbitant rent, "but that is the advantage of being born in the US, and knowing English", he told me.
Be patient as you work the next few years to establish yourselves as adults. Think of the advantages you have: freedom, a good education, family living close by. Think how much harder your life would be if you had to start with less than nothing.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Predeparture-Am I Ready for This?
Dear Dani,
It is no small thing to leave one's country; I am aware of this every time I travel over seas. The rules will be different, culture and customs strange and new. Yet I am eager to travel,to experience new places and interact with new people in an exotic locale. However, there is often a tinge of anxiety a wondering, "Am I ready for this?"
I think part of my anxiety springs from a consciousness of my own cultural ineptness, knowing I will not be able to anticipate others' reactions, or fully understanding all that I am seeing. Once again I will be likes child, relying on others for an explanation of "what just happened." But this is one of the joys of traveling, one of the reasons I keep going abroad. How often do we get to return to a childlike state of confusion where our reaction times have slowed and our observations increase?
I have several goals for this trip to Kolkata: 1)to learn about Indian education; 2) to continue to develop The Peace Project; 3) to learn about mothers and children in a different culture. These are wonderful goals and with each I have a set if questions I will share in future posts. I know that outside of my "comfort zone" I will be slightly disoriented and likely to observe and draw my attention toward completely different questions then the ones I have previously formed.
I remember the weeks before we left for our trip to Europe, how I confided to you that I was a little scared to travel. Toward the end of our trip, we had just visited Notre Dame and were sitting, yet again, at a sidewalk cafe; I remember telling you how I wasn't afraid to travel anymore, that my experiences had taught me how similar we humans all are, and how I enjoyed that discovery.
Now I begin each trip as a mental exercise, a conscious realignment of my perceptions with my surroundings, and like a superstitious baseball player, perform a series of pre-departure rituals like asking myself "Am I ready?"
Yes, I am.
Cheers,
Caitlin
It is no small thing to leave one's country; I am aware of this every time I travel over seas. The rules will be different, culture and customs strange and new. Yet I am eager to travel,to experience new places and interact with new people in an exotic locale. However, there is often a tinge of anxiety a wondering, "Am I ready for this?"
I think part of my anxiety springs from a consciousness of my own cultural ineptness, knowing I will not be able to anticipate others' reactions, or fully understanding all that I am seeing. Once again I will be likes child, relying on others for an explanation of "what just happened." But this is one of the joys of traveling, one of the reasons I keep going abroad. How often do we get to return to a childlike state of confusion where our reaction times have slowed and our observations increase?
I have several goals for this trip to Kolkata: 1)to learn about Indian education; 2) to continue to develop The Peace Project; 3) to learn about mothers and children in a different culture. These are wonderful goals and with each I have a set if questions I will share in future posts. I know that outside of my "comfort zone" I will be slightly disoriented and likely to observe and draw my attention toward completely different questions then the ones I have previously formed.
I remember the weeks before we left for our trip to Europe, how I confided to you that I was a little scared to travel. Toward the end of our trip, we had just visited Notre Dame and were sitting, yet again, at a sidewalk cafe; I remember telling you how I wasn't afraid to travel anymore, that my experiences had taught me how similar we humans all are, and how I enjoyed that discovery.
Now I begin each trip as a mental exercise, a conscious realignment of my perceptions with my surroundings, and like a superstitious baseball player, perform a series of pre-departure rituals like asking myself "Am I ready?"
Yes, I am.
Cheers,
Caitlin
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