We are Young, Sheesha to Tikka We Stand...

1. As Acting Educational Ambassador to 9C...

School is turning out to be quite a wonderful experience, but remains a somewhat bizarre one. I feel as though I have been named Educational Ambassador; people are still treating me like a dignitary of some sort, rushing to grab my hand in the hall or bring me a chair. In the staff lounge, several of the teachers tell me that they want to sit in on one of my classes to learn about American Education.

Now, I've never represented myself as anything other than I am. I don't pretend to be an educational expert or someone of means or importance. But it seems that my mere appearance has quite a strong meaning without my input.

I ask the normal teacher of class 9C if I can sit in on one of her lessons, in order to learn more about the Indian Educational System. I'm sad to say that it was quite disappointing; the teacher made quite a few grammatical mistakes during the English lesson, and has trouble injecting time phrases and qualifiers correctly into written language. One of her written examples was “Have you consulted some doctor? -My father promised to take me today to some.” When she asks me what I think, I compliment her, but add a quick (and gentile) afterword about “how we say it in America.”

Despite my rigidity in the English classroom, I'm growing more comfortable with Hinglish. It's quite common for people to use English key-words, and if I listen closely enough I can often discern the topic of conversation, sometimes even understanding enough to catch a joke and surprise people by laughing.

Communication on the whole is beginning to get much better for me, to a level that I hadn't really imagined was possible. I've spent enough time with the kids of the catch-up program to be able to read some of their cues, even understand the meaning behind the Hindi (which still sounds like a musical, but nonsensical, dance of the tongue to me). I know when they feel comfortable with an assignment I've given them, or when they want me to scoop more daal into their bowls. It seems that some of them are comforted by our growing nonverbal communication, because now a few of the smaller ones seem to forget my language barriers and come up to me asking something in Hindi. Sushma smiles at me when one of the littlest girls squeaks something in my direction. “She wants to go play, but promises her homework will be done.”

Sushma is turning out to be quite a surprising woman; adorable and sweet-tempered, today she picked up a stick and began smacking the older boys on the back with it. Now, this is technically not allowed, but as far as I can tell it's not a punishment of any kind. The boys were actually sitting in straight rows on the dusty ground, actually almost silent (which is quite amazing and a bit weird), when she comes and lightly smacks each one. The boys are smiling at this, and I just have no idea what's going on. I've seen the kids hit each other with rule-of-thumb-worthy sticks before, but I assumed that this was just misbehavior that Urmil was simply ignoring. I may be getting better at communication, but I have no idea what's going on. There was certainly no stick when the boys captured a pigeon and (as I later learned) left it in one of their backpacks for the entire program. Although, that's actually quite a useful skill.

Dhanurasana

As an added bonus to my growing Hinglish skills, I successfully haggled down my rickshaw price for the first time today, which was really quite a feat. After school, I took this cycle-rick down to sector 21 for yoga (my feet are quite blistered), where I descended and traveled through an almost entirely Sikh neighborhood (almost all of the name plates announced the home of a Singh family, a name taken by Sikh males) and past a gorgeous Shiva Mandir (temple).

Yoga, in the meanwhile, is getting more difficult. It's a welcome challenge, although I'm not sure I would want to relive the thirty seconds that Neesha (the instructor) took trying to get me into Dhanurasana. Om, Shanti (peace). After a particularly difficult series, Neesha chants to us as we lie in Shavasana (dead man's pose), as if to apologize to our bodies. 

2. This Might Be the Closest I'm Ever Going to Get to an Opium Den

...so I'm certainly going to enjoy it. 

Virali and I decide to go out for sheesha (hookah, flavored tobacco) with Auntie's son (I have a choice between calling our hostess Auntie or Baby, her nickname), Rishabh. He's a friendly fellow, who drives a bit like a maniac and has tastes that are quite Western and modern. We wind (race?) through the city until we arrive at Smog, a sheesha bar. Judging by the distance we've traveled, it appears that sheesha is a bit less popular here than it is in Columbus, but it seems like a terribly good idea to try it somewhere in the East. It's all very oriental, right? 

Don't tell anyone I said that.  

The club most definitely resembles the opium dens of the American imagination; lush, dark, "oriental." Like a Japanese bar, each seating area is enclosed in it's own little space, so we've got a little room to ourselves, closed off with beaded curtains and a canvas roof. Our small little enclave is filed with lounge-couches, and although already quite dim has a switch with which one can darken it. We have two sheeshas: salsa (no, nothing to do with Central America or Spain) and mango-strawberry. It's all terribly relaxing and a terribly good time.  

Being out in Chandigarh at night is an entirely different experience, but an incredibly rich one for the senses. Fires burn on almost every street, and whether they're roasting nuts or simply burning something aromatic, they leave the air fragrant and thick. Most nights I've been out, I see a firework or two off in the distance, whether for some unknown celebration or simply for the hell of it, I don't know. Every so often, whether from a car, restaurant, club, or sheesha bar, Indian music comes wafting over, bringing with it a rhythm that you cannot help but be uplifted by.

We forgo Kumal's (the house servant's) excellent cooking for the night and eat out, butter paneer masala, daal, and naan, all the while arguing over who gets to pay the bill (Rishabh beats us to it, insisting that the Birthday Boy treats his friends). We stop so that I may try paan, a sweet filled betel leaf cone. It has a strong taste, but is really quite good. But alas, it's a school night, and it's getting late.

I've adopted a bit of a leaf-in-the-wind (fish-in-the-stream?) philosophy for India. I came here to experience, to learn, and for once in my life I don't have to take charge. When I don't fight it, I find, life comes to me. Trust the current and float.