Red lights and grapefruit concentrate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHUQht1HRmY&feature=PlayList&p=EE44B22B10AF8653&index=0

Best song ever, seriously.

Okay, this entry might be a bit chaotic.
I think I make that disclaimer every time I post.

I leave Kolkata in two weeks, and I'm having difficulty not thinking about returning to the States. Not because I want to leave, but because I'm so conflicted about it. I'm so excited to see my friends and family in America, but really, you all are the only part of America that I miss. If everyone close to me in America were to come to India, I don't think I'd have a reason ever go back to the States.

Tonight, I went out to dinner with a bunch of Americans, and it was weird. They're really sweet people, and I like them a lot. It was just...being around so much AMERICA was overwhelming. And the American accent annoys me. I'm so used to India - I feel home here. America feels disconcertingly foreign.

Okay, enough of that.

I went to the Red Light District on Tuesday.
It was awful.
The street itself looked like any other slightly out-of-the-way Kolkata street. There were children running around everywhere. Streetside restaurants. Little shops selling water and biscuits and chips. The only difference was the women. There were loads of them, maybe fifty. They waited just outside of the buildings - the younger ones (my age and a little younger) wearing spandex-y skirts in day-glo colours and tight tops, the older ones (30, 40) in saris. The older ones sitting on barrels, boxes, the sidewalk itself. The younger ones literally posing in groups together, arms crossed, seductively staring into nothingness.

The younger girls are hidden inside the brothels. The women are only allowed outside when they've been there for awhile, been beaten, raped, broken in. Inside the brothel are the girls, as young as seven, who have been sold, trafficked from Nepal and smaller Indian villages with the promise of work and money.

We got out of the cab and walked through part of the district.

Looked the women straight in the eyes - namaste, di. They smiled.

What to do? I have no idea.

In the cab on the way back, I asked Sraboni what would happen if we just swiped a girl by cab from the street and took her somewhere else. She said the girl would think we were trying to traffic her to be a prostitute in a different city. It takes years to earn trust, which is why Apne Aap's self-help groups are so committed to work with the same women for so long.

I finally found out why I'm teaching English to my specific group of girls. At their age, they're about to get married. Many of them will be tricked into becoming prostitutes in the name of marriage. So instead of being sold (dowry) into an arranged marriage, their families will accidentally pay a pimp and they'll be relocated to the red-light district.

I'm teaching them English because, if they get trapped, girls with job skills are more motivated to break free and find different work.

This is such a mess.
I hate sex trafficking.

While walking through the district, I talked with Mimi, our guide. I met her back in January on my first day at Apne Aap. That was the day I sat in a room full of women who I didn't realize were prostitutes, and didn't understand anything they said 'cause it was all in Bangla. I hadn't seen her since that day. On Tuesday, Mimi and I spoke. In Bangla. About her family, and the area through which we were walking. Yeah, my grammar sucks, but I still understood a little and could speak a little. Enough that when she asked me in Bangla if I had children (tumi chelemeye ache?), I responded quickly with "ami chelemeye bhalo lagke, kintu ekhon na." I would like children, but not now. Wow. I didn't know a word of that the last time I saw her.

I've been having a few full circle moments like that one. Yesterday, I bought a skirt near New Market. There are a bunch of guys who sell skirts on racks outside the market, big flowy skirts, the kind I like. My second day in Kolkata, I was looking through the skirts, and ended up having a skirt shoved at me and I didn't know what to do so I paid 250 rupees and walked away. And at the time, I tried to speak Bangla, but didn't know what I was doing...it was bad. Thus, I promised myself that I would buy a few skirts before I left, but not buy any until the last two weeks.

Yesterday, I looked through every skirt stall. Weirdly, there were only a few skirts that I wanted to buy. I remember looking through the stalls a few months ago and wanting all of them. This means my sense of clothing has completely morphed without me noticing. And the skirt is orange and purple and pink. Hmmm. Anyway, I settled on one skirt. Bartered it down to 75 rupees, in Bangla. I said no in Bangla. I asked for colours and smaller sizes in Bangla. I said "stop, I know what I'm doing" in Bangla. Everything in Bangla.

And it was so much fun.
Amar ke bangla khub bhalo lagge.
I like Bangla a lot.

Awesome moment at Kalighat earlier this week. There's this woman named Chanda who, a few weeks back, another volunteer told me was "dramatic" and "faking for attention." I believe her. Chanda asks for bedpans when she can walk just fine, and then cries the entire time on the way to and in the bathroom. Argh. Thus, I haven't spent much time with her.

A few days ago, there were a ton of volunteers, so I sat down and massaged Chanda's feet for awhile. I didn't know what else to do, so I asked one of the Sisters. She pointed at Chanda and said "this one needs a lot of love." Wow. The one the other volunteers said to avoid, Sister says needs love. So I massaged her hands, back, legs, feet, for...an hour? A long panda time. And we didn't talk. And when it was tea time, Chanda just stared at me. And I touched her forehead to mine, 'cause that's a blessing. And that was all.

Apne Aap. My girls are amazing. I adore them. In an effort to figure out how well they can distinguish English sounds, I gave them a dictation test. "Industrial engineering" and "grapefruit concentrate." Man, that was a mess. I've decided to ditch the white board and teach them everything via speech.

Uh, Kohinoor is adopting a kid. She's 17, Kohinoor. And she mentioned something about her son, and I was like what? And then she told me that he's six years old, and is learning to read, and his mother is very poor, so she's adopting him. And she's SO EXCITED about it. I asked her if she wanted to get married, and she said no. Gosh. Kohinoor's adopting a kid eleven years younger than her.

I saw a naked baby sleeping on a mat on the sidewalk. His mouth was encrusted with dirt, his stomach was super-bloated and he was covered in flies. I didn't know what to do, so I took a photo.

This + red light district = I'm just starting to understand the ridiculous suffering in Kolkata.

I'm going to try to go to Sonagachi tomorrow. Largest red-light district in India. Place Born Into Brothels was filmed. I've heard there are children dressed in make-up and tight clothes everywhere. Please pray for them.

Okay, this was long.

I'm gonna go back to Paragon now.

Love and three-months-late culture shock,
Stephanie