in!Genius

I believe in the power of stories to create change.

But when I was asked to share my story, I was initially skeptical  that people would want to hear what I had to say. 

A wise person in my life likes to tell me that I will not be able to empower others if I don't first empower myself, so I began digging around in my life for a story worth telling, a story that might create change. 

On September 25th, a night of free thinkers and free stuff that we at the College of Charleston like to call "in!Genius," I had the incredible opportunity to share my story with a theatre full of students, faculty, community members, and my dearest friends. Now that it has been told, I'd like to pack it away for awhile and work on creating some new stories. But for those of you who missed it, here it is. Grab some popcorn and enjoy!

From India to America: Who Needs Feminism?

The end of any journey usually falls prey to the hectic, frenzied drive to do ALL the things. My last week in India, I was delirious with a fever (and telling myself jokes I didn't understand as I napped away precious hours), but I managed to revisit some of my favorite places, spend a little extra time with my host family, complete my final project for class (a collection of short stories about the women I met), and feel panicked about returning home. A month later, I'm a little more removed from my life there, and, as Sara Marie Chilson told me, CLS doesn't feel real anymore. The deep effects my two months in India have had on my life, however, feel very real. Every single day.

People ask me the questions: How was India? How's your Hindi now? Weren't you there on a mission trip? Do you want to go back? Your questions are all wrong. Take them back please.

I once asserted, in a casual conversation, that it would take 300 lifetimes to understand everything I experienced. How true that feels today...so I am working through piece by piece. And I want to start with a piece that is less-than-pleasant, but a piece that has been eerily relevant to me back here, at home in the brick sidewalks of the College of Charleston campus. It starts with this picture:

Here I stand, putting on my dupatta, which always gave my trouble, as I wait with three of my peers to go into Albert Hall on one of our Saturday excursions. The art exhibited inside was phenomenal, although I only took pictures of the pigeons that perched amid the gorgeous architecture. I gaped in fascination in the rooms of ancient weaponry and stroked my fingers along the glass cases that held calendar art. I made a friend in a pre-teen boy who was surprisingly unperplexed that I spoke Hindi and who kept bringing his friends to meet me. This is the truth of my day, but it is missing a very routine piece that shaped everyday life for me. Here's the bigger picture:

It's the same concept--me putting on my dupatta and talking with my friends. Now, though, observe why my back is turned. I didn't know about this picture, and I don't think the woman who took it was trying to make a statement, but there it is: the reality underlying many of my experiences, the small herd of men staring. Sometimes they had cameras. Sometimes they called out to us (I kept a record of some of the funnier comments I heard). Sometimes they approached us. Infrequently they would make a move on one of my friends. 

The euphemism used in India is "eve teasing," but let's call it what it is: sexual harassment. Foreign women face it everyday. So do Indian women. And don't get me wrong, for every herd of rude men, there were ten other men who averted their eyes--the respectable thing to do in Jaipur--and who were willing to shoo those men away from the rickshaw where we waited while the rickshawala asked directions. 

At first, I was afraid to walk alone, but I learned how to walk with purpose. No one bothered me if I gave off the vibe that I was not a stranger to those parts, that I knew where I was going. 

Then, I was enraged when my friends faced more overt harassment than the random catcalls. 

A few times, I was proud when my friends took action, calling the police, creating a scene, making the men delete pictures of us from their phones. 

Eventually, I grew accustomed to the situation, accepted that every time I would walk to my favorite coffee shop, I would be hassled or stared at. It was as habitual as brushing my teeth. I ignored it all. I lived my life as I wanted to, careful always but no longer afraid. 

A friend back home in the States messaged me one day telling me the story of how she had been sexually assaulted the weekend before...yes, in the States...while she was with her friends. And there I was in a major city in India, perfectly protected as far as I was concerned. Perhaps that should have prepared me for transition back into American society. It didn't.

The worst culture shock I have ever experienced in all my traveling was coming back to the United States after my two months in India. I burst into tears the first time I walked down Calhoun St. because 1) there were just so many women (most public spaces in Jaipur were male-dominated) and 2) I realized how much the day-to-day harassment had indeed impacted me. I walked with my eyes down, moving quickly. But there were no men paying me any attention at all. Oh no, the harassment of women here in America tends to be much more subtle, hiding in the subliminal messages of media and in the expectations of how we look, disguised in jokes (which, when I interrupt, are explained to be "just jokes, come on, Elizabeth!") and in the statistics (women continue to make 77 cents to every dollar a man makes...and this is 2013). The culture shock was so extreme, not because I realized how terrible of a place India was for women, but because I realized how similar Charleston, SC can be to Jaipur, India. That hurts me deeply.

I'll admit it. I'm a feminist. I was a feminist before I went to India, and guess what...I still think women's rights are important simply because they are not yet equal to men's rights. And the entire time I have been writing this, I have been thinking, Maybe this is too harsh. Maybe I should convey more optimism, less pain. This is my reality, has been my reality for a few months now. It has affected me, my relationships, my future plans. I'm okay with it changing me. I am not okay with sexual harassment continuing and I will interrupt it when I see it. 

I write this to maintain my integrity because I can talk all day about my time in India but it remains incomplete if I do not include this. I write this so that you can hear it and be aware that this happens in India and in America. I write this because it is part of my story and because I want to open doors to conversations about this not-so-pleasant but oh-so-real subject. 

Ask your questions. Challenge my words. Tell me your stories. 

They Don't Call It Barefoot College Because You Have to Take Your ShoesOff (Even Though You Do)

I have grown to dislike urban India--the blaring traffic, the excessive shopping, the lack of natural green spaces. This is a problem because I am living in Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan and an important city for history and culture. I know there are pros and cons. I know that urban India offers me European-style toilets, access to Oreos and coffee, (mostly) paved roads, a more progressive look at many relevant social issues... But I feel so much more alive when I escape the city streets and find myself in smaller towns and villages.

On Saturday, I field tripped it with the rest of the CLS students to Tilonia, by way of Pushkar. Tolonia is the most rural place I've visited here so far, but it is home to Barefoot College, a truly remarkable organization. We spent the day exploring the two campuses of Barefoot College, surrounded by fields, trees, mountains, and even a small concrete platform where three men were randomly working out. (The are always surprises.) Some of the other students were not so thrilled, made comments about "poverty tourism," or just grumbled about having to stomp through the rain and mud to get from building to building. At first, the cynic in me searched for problems with this organization, things that were not on the up and up or were damaging the community. But I managed to turn the cynical voice off and just be amazed by this inspirational place. I'm sure there are faults, there are better ways to do what they're doing, but I wasn't there to diagnose or change. I was there to learn and let myself be changed.

Barefoot College was started in this rural village as a place for people from rural communities as a place that provides basic services and sustainable solutions. It was founded by the "poor" and is fully run by the "poor." I didn't see a single foreigner there other than the other students and a few interns from NGOs nearby who were taking the week to learn from Barefoot College. Everyone there is from a rural village or community. 

Okay, so I lied a little. I did see foreigners, but not in the way one normally sees foreigners at an international NGO. Typically foreigners are there running programs and making decisions (usually to please foreign funders).  On the first campus we visited, there was a building where groups of women were learning to build solar powered lights. I first noticed the Tibetan prayer flags strung near the ceiling on one end of the long, rectangular room...then I realized the women were clearly not all Indian. Some were from Tibet, Myanmar, Panama (Yes! Spanish! Unfortunately all my Spanish is disappearing into my Hindi...), Sudan, and other places that escape me right now. According to one of the men who teaches there, these women come from their villages, stay at the College while they learn this skill, and then return home, bringing knowledge about solar powered lights back with them. In one of my cynical   moments, I scanned every face, searching for a sign that something was amiss, but I found nothing...

There was another room where people turned old materials into new useful products: journals, toys, bags. There was weaving happening in an old church left behind from British rule and clusters of mirrored ovens calibrated to follow the sun. At the other campus, we saw the women's development center the College runs, a building where women were making sanitary napkins (that aren't exported or sold but given to nearby hostels and clinics for use in educating women), and a health center complete with a "barefoot dentist," several acupuncturists, and a homeopathic pharmacy. The grand finale was a room lined with stringed instruments and an assortment of puppets. It was the communications department, naturally. Apparently theater has a huge influence when it comes to informing the public here, and so the people in the communications department use their creative skills to ensure that nearby villagers know about information, such as their right to a living wage. Our time in that room may have jumped the shark a bit when we sang a bilingual version of "We Shall Overcome." But still, it was a beautiful moment.

The entire tour was in Hindi, except for the man who works in the women's development center and who got a little carried away with English as he was talking with us. And much to my surprise, I actually understood almost everything, not because it was especially easy Hindi but because I was interested in what they were saying and managed to outsmart my ever-shortening attention span. I am completely inspired by how non-condescending their model is, the way people learn from one another and then go back and teach their villages. Barefoot College emphasizes the fact that formal education is not necessary for people to make a decent living, which is an idea that wouldn't stand up well in the States, but in Tolonia, it seems very effective, empowering, revolutionary. I left feeling so energized. It seemed like such a dignifying place, maintaining the Gandhian spirit of service...

The only thing I was left wanting was a conversation with someone other than the leaders we met. I would have loved to employ my Hindi skills and talk to one of the women sitting on a stool in the long room creating a panel for a solar powered light with tools I'd never seen before. I would have loved to hear their stories from them. But that's what I always want: Story.

In classic Alternative Break form, I feel it is necessary to ask, "Now what?" What do I do with this experience, this space, the inspiration? I don't know yet. I have a few thoughts...but they are very incomplete. As I am working on my proposal for a Fulbright research grant, I'm now seriously considering applying to research women's roles in NGO work. I talked with the man leading us around and he explained to me that about 40% of the fieldworkers are women, but very few women are actually in a leadership role. He says they are trying to raise up women leaders in the community, so that decisions about their development actually rests in their hands. 

Still thinking, hey, this girl is nuts...there's no way that place is making a real difference because it was started by uneducated people with no experience running an NGO...? Watch this TEDtalk and please suspend your cynicism and disbelief. Let yourself be inspired to act as I have been. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qqqVwM6bMM&sns=em

A Day Out of Jaipur

Sunday adventures strike again!

I got up early and caught a rickshaw and then a bus with Coco, Sara, Catherine, Liz, and one of my host sisters, Aastha, to a small town about 100km from Jaipur. The bus ride itself was quite the experience because it was crowded, not air-conditioned, and quite bumpy. With my knees jammed into the seat in front of me, I stared out the window for the entire hour and a half, watching as city became countryside when we went through a tunnel cutting into a mountain. My eyes picked out of the green fields women working and wearing orange scarves. When we got off the bus, I breathed in the cleanest air I'd breathed in almost a month, which isn't saying much really. A nearby shopkeeper gave us directions to the Mehandipur Balaji Mandir, the exorcism temple dedicated to Hanuman which was our intended destination, and we began the 3-4km walk. It was my first time out of Jaipur, and I was a little surprised at how much more attention we attracted in this rural area than we do in the city, which is saying a lot because a group of foreign women turn a lot of heads even in the big city. 

After getting some water and exploring the main street of the city, we got in line to enter the temple, and I couldn't resist comparing it to waiting in line at Carowinds. I was covered in sweat as we packed into a lane divided by metal fencing and the overhead fans oscillated so quickly they threatened to spin out of control. I let my hand wander along the pieces of thread and padlocks people waiting in line before me had attached to the fence. Within the first fifteen minutes, the atmosphere of the line shifted from calm and casual to aggressive and surging. I lost touch with the fence, and found myself surrounded by people--a writer's dream come true! There was so much to see and overhear. I noticed for the first time how much "visual" diversity there is here among the people. Chanting broke out frequently ("जय बालाजी!") and the two hours that we spent in line were almost more eventful than our actual experience in the temple. It was so intriguing to be part of the crowd, although as a distinctly non-Indian, I will never be truly part of the crowd it seems. At one point, one of the women in my group got overheated and almost passed out, swaying slightly as she tried to maintain her ground in the river of people. We got her cooled down and seated for a bit, but people around us frantically told us to go ahead into the temple, thinking that she was possibly possessed. It was an exorcism temple after all. 

Inside, the temple was smokey and fairly dark. Now, it all feels like a blur--the unexpected hallways, the dust on my feet, the dizziness I felt because of the smoke filling the space around my brain, the murti that was (to my surprise) painted with silver and yellow wiggling stripes, the coconuts brought as puja piled up behind the fences that contained the visitors, people stooping to touch their foreheads to the ground along the way. The crowd ushered us through a hallway and back outside where we climbed some stairs to enter a large room. Inside the large room, a couple exorcisms were taking place, and I was overwhelmingly curious about the women who were screaming and gently tapping their heads against the floor, supposedly spirit possessed. People sat on the floor around them either watching or participating. I wish I knew more, could have lingered in each moment for longer...but suddenly I was back in the sun waiting for the rest of my group. As I waited, I watched goats eat rice and a little girl carefully imitate her mother's kneeling outside the large room. I don't possess the language to accurately talk about all that I experienced, but it was definitely thought-provoking and memorable. 

After the mandir, we got some rocking food from a street vendor with a sweet face and a little girl helping her. For what felt like the hundreth time that day, we drew a crowd. Other street vendors teased the woman who was making our food, saying how it must be her lucky day and asking if she was running a five-star hotel now. It's so interesting to be a foreigner here but also be able to understand a lot of what people say about and around me. 

Reenergized and overly full, we got a rickshaw. The rickshawala took us about 10m and told us that we had reached the bus stop. Nope. We hadn't. It became a rather vicious argument, yet again drawing the crowds. But we walked away and found a better, more respectable rickshawala to take us to the actual bus stop. From there, we got a bus and had a peaceful ride home. I couldn't tell if it was the overwhelming amount of newness in my experience or the overbearing sun that made me sweat through so many layers of clothes, but I was more exhausted than I've been in a long, long time when I finally made it back to my room. I was also dirt-encrusted. We weren't supposed to bring our shoes back but leave them at the temple. Probably needless to say, we still wore our shoes home. And so, as my teacher explained to me, we brought back twelve spirits. One shoe, one spirit. Ek joot, ek bhoot.

Leave your shoes on the stairs

To enter into the auspicious air.

My feet bare find flowers crushed in the dust.

The locks left on the fence now sealed forever by rust

Ward off the spirits and entice my wondering fingers.

Chants push the crowds forward, closer, and singers

Catch nasally melodies with their smokey voices. I fend

Off nasty men while the surging devotees send

Puja sweets to the image, wave smoke over their heads.

I feel connected to the screaming women by the threads

Tied onto the gates and the piles of rice dumped in the streets

For the goats while children nearby beg for something to eat.

On the stairs, leave your shoes

Or bring the spirits back with you.

Maintaining a Sense of Self in Jaipur

One challenge about learning a new language in another country with 33 other students I just met 4 weeks ago is that I have been stripped of myself in so many ways. I don't have the vocabulary yet to talk about much more than daily happenings, food, shopping, Bollywood movies, and religion. This is definitely more of a range than when I arrived in Jaipur at the American Institute of Indian Studies, but it's still frustrating. I'm experiencing so much in the classroom and out in the city that I want to have in depth conversations about, but I feel limited by the fact that I'm supposed to be speaking Hindi or that the people around me haven't known me for long and have very different interests. 

I had one small success today, though! In my weekly literature class we always discuss a Hindi short story that is usually absurdly difficult for my group to comprehend. For the past couple weeks, our conversations have been purely about the plot and the characters. And I have felt like a complete idiot because my contributions have been so limited. I spent two years at College of Charleston studying English literature, so naturally I have a lot more to say about the Hindi pieces than I can actually articulate in Hindi. But today my classmates and I (I have the best group ever) went above and beyond our adhyapak's questions, reaching into the depths of the relationship between American bosses and Indian employees, the generation gap and how it fits into the cultural expectation of respecting one's parents, and the exoticism of India by Westerners. We also dipped some into our English vocabulary, but I was nevertheless excited and proud to be having a meaningful conversation mostly in this language that I still struggle to get my tongue around sometimes. Our teacher wasn't quite as impressed, and at one point, after we diverged off into our world of themes and symbols, he stopped us to repeat his question, "But what does the mom do?" I laughed because laughter is the first answer to language frustration and cultural awkwardness. 

I am feeling trapped by my limited vocabulary, by being a foreign woman in Jaipur, by the program rules and schedules. But it seems okay as long as I can hold onto conversations like the one in my literature class today and as long as I can return to my business of asking questions and challenging ideas. 

Also, I found dark chocolate and a park to read and write and think in, so I feel much more myself again.

He who by virtue of his rank, his actions,

And qualities, effects no useful purpose

Is like a chance-invented word; his birth

Is useless, for he merely bears a name.

--Indian wisdom

Three Videshis Walk Into a Mosque...

Sunday has become my day of independence. In this world I have entered, everything is planned for me. I'm told when and what to eat, how to study Hindi best, how many hours a day I should spend on the Internet, what clothes I should wear, not to take autorickshaws (that's a joke)...I crave independence.

This past Sunday, I ventured into the old city with a few friends (Coco, Luke, Katie, and Kate...although Katie and Kate didn't stick around for the full adventure) with the goal of finding a mosque, a mundir, and an authentic restaurant (perhaps even one with meat...scandalous, right?). We wandered into the chaos and found a shopkeeper who could direct us to the Jama Masjid. He quickly pointed out the white towers straight ahead of us that we should walk toward and then tried to get us to come into his jewelry store. Traveler's advice: gem scams are common in Jaipur..just say no. 

When we got to the mosque, it was fairly deserted and under renovations, but almost immediately, an English speaking shopkeeper appeared to show us around, make sure the fans and lights were on for us, and even have the caretaker take us up to the locked up roof so we could have a view of the city. It was a moment of undeniable white privilege, but I was glad for the cultural exchange and to finally see the inside of a mosque after two weeks of looking at closed doors in Morocco. I hope our interest came across as genuine and that we were able to break away from the stereotype of loud, ignorant Americans. It was beautiful and I was grateful for their hospitality. I hope to return on a Friday or during an adhan (call to prayer). 

Afterwards we wandered for awhile looking for a particular mundir only to discover it closed at noon. I am not sure why but we moved on and discovered an empty mundir for Kalki (another name for Krishna) that was 350 years old. Another random shopkeeper gave us a tour and then took us to his shop where he tried to convince us to buy kurtas, naturally. This is how it goes in India. You just say you'll tell your friends about his store and then quickly leave. Anyway, back at the mundir....the only other people there were the family that lives there. We met a woman and her two sons who were, curiously to me, just living out their lives in the shadow of this beautiful stone mundir. At the mundir they often have yoga and free classes for people in the community. It was a great find, tucked away off the street and wonderfully desolate. 

Hunger struck and we made our way to the Ganesh Restaurant, which Coco had read about online. Our directions were vague and promising: it was located between two tailor shops on the city wall near the New Gate and up a hidden staircase. Miraculously, we actually found it. And it was amazing! We ate such authentic food and it was so refreshing to not be around other videshis. After we ate, we sat on the roof of the city wall and watched the pigeons across the street, enjoying the quiet. It seems so improbable to find a haven of peace in the bustling city where every shopkeeper calls out to me, "Come inside, madam. Come looking. Beautiful kurtas. Best prices. Madam, excuse me!" The sun wasn't unbearably hot and it was a moment of pure relief. Essentially, my favorite moments here are when I find quiet peace. I was sad to dive back into the chaos and attempt to find a rickshawala who wouldn't try to rip us off, but we did anyway. And we were pretty successful, which always feels so good. Just ask for the Indian price in Hindi...that helps a bit. 

Exhaustion struck like the dust storms that precede rain here--unexpected and overwhelming, leaving your eyelids heavy and burning. And I got the best nap ever. 

Happy Sunday to me. 

Week Two: Volunteering (Finding My Niche in Jaipur)

Unlike the first week, this past week flew by! I can't believe it's already Somwaar (that's “Monday" for you non-Hindi speakers). My transition to India has been a strange one, an unexpected one. I spent the first week feeling displaced and uncomfortable and the second week, like clockwork, began with me falling into routine. I woke up Monday morning for class and just accepted that this is my life for the next two months. I think I expected a slightly delusional, lovesick phase where I adored all things Indian and pranced around the surging streets wearing a bindi and brightly colored sarees singing Bollywood songs in a trilling voice. Maybe it's for the best that I avoided that phase...it feels somewhat "othering" as I watch other students in my program exoticize Jaipur.

So just like I would in Charleston, I went to class, did some homework, took some naps, explored, volunteered, looked at cat pictures, ran in a park, and ate bananas with peanut butter (God bless Jiff Extra Crunchy). I felt very directionless upon starting this past week, but I am now feeling a bit more like I belong here. Even if my lactose intolerance is making eating very, very tricky...

Volunteering was the highlight of my week. I went with three other students to a women's center to teach English to the women there for an hour and a half. It was so refreshing! The women there have been in abusive situations and are at this short stay home until a new situation can be worked out. I met about ten women and two children in my first day there, and I got to work really closely with three of them who are about the same age as me. My inner English teacher kicked in right away and it felt so natural to sit there talking with them, letting them teach me just as much as I was teaching them. I used more Hindi trying to explain the seasons, days of the week, and family terms to them than I have in any other situation I've found myself in while here so far. Their faces were so open and ready to smile. They wanted to know all about me and when I first introduced myself, one of the women thought I said my name was "All is well," which stuck for the rest of our time together. It made me smile. 

Language exchange can be a beautiful thing. I only knew a little Hindi and they only knew a little English, but we were learning quickly from one another because we wanted to be able to communicate and get to know one another. It wa a little chaotic because there were four of us Americans sitting at one table all working independently with different women. About halfway through our time there, one of the women was summoned to leave for Pushkar where she was going to a "new situation." She told us in Hindi that she wouldn't be coming back and a couple of the women teared up, sad to see her go. For all the harassment women here face (it's different for videshi and Indian women...अलग-अलग), there seems to be a beautiful community of women, a sisterhood similar to the one I experienced in Morocco. I hope that her new situation is better. The most unsettling part of my time there was when one of the women I was talking with grabbed the Hindi-English dictionary from the table to look up "गाली" which means "abuse." I hope that learning English will be encouraging for them and possibly even a skill they will be able to use in their lives. Mostly I just hope that our friendship is meaningful for them as well as me. 

I am off to go be studious now and learn me some Hindi. More about my adventures will come sooner rather than later, I promise.

All is well out.

Good News from Jaipur: You Can't Get Pancreatitis from Riding in a Rickshaw

This is the hottest I have been in my entire week in India. Even though the sun has gone down and I have two fans blowing on me, heat is emanating from everything--the floor, my clothes, the walls, my bottle of water, the water from the faucet. Everyone who heard I was going to be in Jaipur during June and July immediately warned me about the heat, but I was not as mentally prepared as I should have been. Even my eyeballs are overheated. It's fine.

Last summer I worked at a summer camp and experienced more intense forms of hunger, heat, exhaustion, and Chaco tanlines than I thought I would ever feel again. I was wrong. It's all coming back to me now...

I have been overwhelmed by exhaustion, exploration, traveling, emotions, linguistic breakdown, silly delirium, trying new foods followed by trips to the bathroom--everything I begged of India until I was here living it. Don't get me wrong...I am loving it here! The first few days were disorienting and I spent most of them in a variety of hotels, airplanes, and buses, participating in what the CLS program called "pre-departure and in-country orientation." It provided me with valuable information and a chance to overcome jetlag, but it was mostly an exercise in waiting around. By the time Tuesday rolled around (almost a week after I departed for this intensive language program), I finally went to AIIS for the first time to take my language placement test. I didn't feel like I'd experienced India at all, but people kept asking me (in Hindi, no less) how I was liking India and where in Jaipur I had gone so far. The test we took was so difficult and wiped me completely out. Yet, I was so relieved to finally get out in the city that afternoon! We (some of the other students and I) trekked around Jaipur in the monsoon rain. We found Hindi-English dictionaries at a bookstore and successfully crossed Jaipur streets and roundabouts (not advisable), which was an adrenaline rush to say the least. We also wandered through Raja Park and bought a few kurtas so that we could suffer the heat in brightly printed cotton blends that make us look the tiniest bit more like we belong here. 

It has been a hard week marked by feelings of loneliness at times, happiness at times, and exhaustion always. Learning Hindi at AIIS is indeed intense, but it has been so much fun so far, thanks to my teachers who have us reading dialogues like melodramatic Bollywood actors and a flock of fellow students who are an assortment of characters. People in my class are so much better at speaking Hindi that I am, so it has been humbling. I am here to learn the language, yes, but I also long to talk with the people, learn more about the culture, write fantastic poetry/stories, contemplate deep and meaningful things. I don't ask much of this country or myself...haha. Also, in my time in the classroom so far, I've learned more about the art of embodying language learning than about how to properly use obliques Hindi or the sanskritized word for "excellent." Improving in a language necessitates laughter and courage. The moments when I have no Hindi in my head but attempt to speak anyway without hesitation have been the best. People laugh at me, but it's okay. I just laugh too and accept the fact that I can successfully communicate without being completely correct. The grammar nazi in me is not ready to accept this fact ("NO HINDI FOR YOU!"). 

My favorite moments from this past week haven't taken place in the classroom. One was sitting and talking with my host sisters who are 21 and 23 and were wonderful in openly sharing about their lives. I can't imagine being a 21 year old woman in Jaipur, but I appreciate the complexity and honesty of their stories. I look forward to more! I also loved venturing out to a nearby temple with some of the other students after class on Thursday. The Birla Mundir is an intricate white building surrounded by gardens and overlooking several streets nears my neighborhood. We walked barefoot around the mundir clockwise and took in the carved images and names of various Hindu gods and goddesses. I laughed when we encountered a number of surprising faces engraved alongside the Hindu deities': Socrates, Moses, St. Paul, the Madonna, and Jesus. I never know what to expect, never see it coming when my host mother starts quoting the Lord's Prayer that she learned going to a missionary school growing up. This is why I love this place--it always catches me by surprise. At the temple, I was also scolded by a woman who clapped loudly at me and gestured for me to cover my head. Strangely, I was the only one in my group of friends who were all sporting uncovered heads to get scolded by her. I did the only thing you can do in that moment: bow my head, respectfully say "ji," and cover my head while maintaining a sense of humor. Because nothing is more meaningful than a photo to cherish the sweat stains and squinted smiles, we had a random man take a picture of all of our group in front of the mundir. Good times.

I am hopeful for what next week holds (mostly hoping that it holds either monsoon rains or functioning AC to cool me off). I also have audacious goals of running at a nearby park in a salwar camiz suit and tennis shoes, picking up AbRipperX again, learning to make chapatti, speaking to lots of people in Hindi, seeing Man of Steel dubbed in Hindi, and finding a place to volunteer. You can probably figure out which of these will actually happen. Smiles come from small successes, cups of black coffee (I've only had one in the past week!), and long naps. The next seven weeks are going to be full. But that's why I came to India. 

One last thing, please enjoy the following Punjabi music video I experienced yesterday: http://youtu.be/CI8QZMU6aTM

Until next time, namaste y'all! (What? It's kitschy and ironic. And I like both of those things.)

Things to Do Before Leaving the Country for 8 Weeks

One last day in America...

So naturally, I act like a complete health nut and go for a 4 mile run to the Lincoln Memorial and then eat a pint of blueberries. But I'm realizing these are two things I will not be able to do in the next two months while I'm in Jaipur.  I spent my entire run giving the runners' nod to everyone I passed. Apparently people around here haven't heard of that little courtesy before, so when I at last got one person to not only nod back but also move to the side of the sidewalk so I had room, I practically cheered out loud. Thanks, random guy in a suit, for the reminder that this country is still my home. 

I am about to head to a diner a few blocks away from my hotel for a brunch that will include bacon because it's unlikely I'll get any of that in the next months either. 

It's also unlikely that I'll blog this frequently in the next eight weeks, but hey, I figured everyone would want to know my recommendations for one last day in the States: go for a run to some great American monument, eat excessive amounts of blueberries, and find some good old fashioned bacon in a city where people eat breakfast at cafes with fancy coffees.

See you on the flip side, USA. 

I'm going to India!

I am going to India! Most everyone who knows me is thinking Well, duh right about now... Yes, this post is long overdue. I've known since mid-February that I was a finalist for the Department of State's Critical Language Program to study Hindi in Jaipur, India for the summer. But the process has been so full of false starts and daunting deadlines that, until yesterday when I arrived at the Dulles airport in DC for orientation, it hasn't felt real. 

My transcript was delayed, my visa application was bafflingly intense, a stipend check never arrived, I wandered all over the US's noble capital city in search of my hotel wanting so desperately to give up and go home...but as I sat in a room tonight with the 30ish other people selected to study Hindi at the American Institute of Indian Studies (AIIS, as I have learned to call it) and listened to Assistant Secretary of State Ann Stock talk about challenges, getting out of your comfort zone, and not going to Starbucks, I found myself snuggling into the reality of my summer. 

On Friday, June 14th, I will fly from Dulles to Delhi (via a quick stop in Frankfort, Germany). The travel will take hours upon hours and it will technically be the 16th by the time I am actually on the ground in India. There, I will meet my teachers, take a language placement exam, and continue preparing to embrace both the language and culture of a land I have loved at a distance for two years now. After another orientation in Delhi, we will take a bus to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, where I will primarily be for the rest of the summer. I'll meet my host family and begin life in India. The program lasts 8 weeks and will involve intense Hindi language classes every morning and various other activities (tutoring with a local language partner, cultural excursions, the possible Bollywood dance class) in the afternoons and on weekends. 

Why am I doing this? The real question is how can anyone pass up a free trip to India??? Well, it's been a long journey...I started learning Hindi and about the culture/religions of India two years ago when my mind started to crave a new language. I fell in love with the diversity, the paradoxes, the colors, the smells, the way I felt both surprised and at ease in all that I was learning. I applied for this same scholarship program a year ago and made it to the second round only to be turned down. I wasn't ready. I thought I was, which may be exactly the reason I wasn't. Now, I feel ridiculously unprepared. In the future, I think know I could live in India for awhile or at the very least work with Indian nationals in a different setting. And with the way that my views on service have been changing (shifting away from a "helping" mindset that puts one person at an advantage over another), really learning the language instead of expecting people to meet me where I am...the obnoxious American monoglot. I'm especially interested in working with people who have been marginalized by society, such as women in the sex trade, and I know that to be able to relate to people who have been it in that situation, it is important to know the language. So I'm setting off on a whirlwind adventure of learning and trying new things.

A lot of factors have complicated this summer for me, and it's been more difficult than I could have ever imagined to convince myself that this is what I'm supposed to do this summer. In fact, just a few hours after arriving in DC, I found myself in the bathroom of my hotel room giving myself yet another teary-eyed pep talk. But now that I have met some of my fellow travelers/students/housemates/future friends and the trip to India is starting to solidify in my mind, I feel good. This trip feels good. And in the words of former president George W. Bush, "if it feels good, do it; if it's wrong, blame somebody else."

So I will attempt to keep updating my blog...I make no promises, though. 

India, here I come.