Slumdog Millionaire

Last night, my friend Jeff and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire at the local theatre.

Before I discuss the film, I think it's important to describe the context in which I watched it.

Jeff and I walked from the Metro to the theatre, around 8:30 at night. Past the vendors lining the streets, the men muttering "looks nice" and "hello" in my general direction, around the garbage and human waste cluttering the gutters, past the barter-at-will market that inevitably swallows me up and tosses me into some sort of directionless, infinite sensory overload every time I enter, and into the strangely air-conditioned building that houses a Domino's, KFC, Barista, and movie theatre. The seats are assigned, like an actual theatre, and there are four prices - 40, 60, 80, and 120 rupees, based on balcony location (there are two levels and the floor) and proximity to the screen. You can openly bring food into the theatre, rather than smuggle it under your coat like my mom taught me. You can talk throughout the movie. It's normal to clap and yell things at the screen. There's a seemingly randomly-placed intermission, during which men walk through the aisles, over feet and knees, selling plastic-packaged popcorn and styrofoam-cupped coffee. And, just like everywhere else in Kolkata, the women are mostly wearing sarees. Which, in juxtaposition with the Western-influenced movie theatre and GIANT screen, causes the idea that we're really just a bunch of Indians in America to somehow creep into my mind. We brought vegetable rolls (not like spring rolls - like the Indian version of a burrito) and garlic bread from Domino's (a splurge) into the movie. We got there two minutes late (...still early for me...), but still in time for the previews, which were for Western movies that are long gone to DVD in the States.

...and then Slumdog Millionaire began.

OH. MY. GOSH.

First of all, if you haven't seen this movie, go see it. Now. Ignore your schedule and take a trip to Blockbuster. Also, don't finish reading this post until you see the movie. Sorry. It's necessary.

If you have seen it, and have had any questions about what living in Kolkata looks like - it looks like that. Just like that. No changes. None. Yes, Kolkata is a different city than Mumbai, but seriously, this movie, especially the first scene, looked just as if I stepped out of Apne Aap or Kalighat or, uh, the back of my hostel. And what really blew my mind within the first ten minutes is this: two months ago, the setting of this movie would have looked like...a movie. I would have admired the cinematography and said "oooooh that looks fun." Probably would have laughed at the dogs, and seen the movie as a nicely-imagined not-reality. And now...it's just plain accurate. Interesting, but in a "oh hey, I live there" way. Not in a "wow, what's that?" way.

I'm living in a place that I would have seen as fictional two months ago.

But there really is that much garbage. There really are dogs everywhere. There really are adorable, dirty kids holding screaming babies who appear out of nowhere at your car windows and ask for money whenever traffic stops. Remember the scenes with the overhead shots of the traffic? With the funny little golf-cart looking things? Those are auto-rickshaws. And that's exactly what the traffic looks like. Always. And that little head-tilt that Jamal did throughout the movie, to mean yes and no and maybe? HEAD WOBBLE. And remember the garlands of yellow flowers on the photos in the police station? Those garlands hang on photos everywhere here. Same with the random slabs of meat hanging in shops. There's a street on the way to the Motherhouse that has approximately twenty butcher shops, all containing numerous huge slabs of dead animal hanging in the open, and occasionally a full skinned pig.

The only components that are inaccurate are the women's clothing (there is not even close to that much Western influence in Kolkata - but I haven't been to Mumbai), the accents (not prominent enough, but I'm sure that was a Western-film choice), the copious amounts of spoken English (most of the movie should have been in Hindi), the PDA (kissing at a train station = not okay) and the depiction of the kid as the god Rama, who was definitely dressed as Shiva. That was weird.

So...there's one part of the movie that...hm. Kept me awake all night. There's this one flashback where this guy swipes a bunch of kids and teaches them how to sing. At this point, I looked at Jeff wide-eyed and mouthed "no. no. no. no. no." There's an old, blind man who lives and begs on Sudder street. He has the most beautiful voice I've heard in a long time. He walks around with a younger man who guides him, and all the blind man does is walk and sing. And that's how he begs. And he's one of the only beggars to whom I'll give money, because he sings, rather than just asking for money and holding a crying baby. And honestly, every time I see him I realize that there are some beggars here who actually aren't lying, and somehow, in some strange way, that makes me feel awkwardly hopeful. But Jeff noticed a few weeks ago that he cries when he sings. He's not the only crying, blind, singing beggar. They're all over Kolkata. And it's odd, as Jeff recently noted, that there are so many blind people in Kolkata who are so good at singing. ...then we saw Slumdog Millionaire.

And now I can't help but picture all of these old, singing, blind men as kids, getting their eyes burned out with acid and being sent into the streets to beg for money.

I've tried to find out whether that really is exactly how these men all became blind and learned to sing, but Google searching has proven inconclusive. As awful as it is...the rest of the movie was so accurate, that I find it difficult to believe this part was manufactured. Especially when it's such a probable explanation for an over-abundance of blind, singing men.

And then...I wonder about the blind orphans at Daya Dan, and my stomach turns.

...

Okay, that's all.

Except...the random dancing and singing at the end of the movie? Pure Bollywood. Hooray!

Love,
Stephanie

P.S. I'm hennaed. I'll post pictures when I can.
P.P.S. I adore Apne Aap. Teaching is difficult, but coming up with creative ways to get my girls to learn is a lot of fun. My translators have been gone for about two weeks. I'm on my own, teaching for two and a half hours Monday through Friday. Prayer would be very much appreciated. Also, I still haven't figured out whether my gorgeous, 17-to-22-year-old friends/students are prostitutes. I might ask one of the directors soon.
P.P.P.S. There are five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-year-old kids at Apne Aap who ask me for paper and pens the exact same way kids on the street ask for money - with a head wobble and a smile and an "Auntie, please, Auntie, please." I worry about what they do after school.
P.P.P.P.S. Despite the sadness in this place, I'm completely in love with India.

Love, love, love - part two. And some other stuff.

After posting yesterday, I thought for awhile about what I wrote...and realized that I needed to add a little to it.

So here's the addition.

:-)

In regards to loving with actions...I had a quick question for all y'all. When I'm in Kalighat, loving with actions seems fairly straightforward, especially when I don't speak Bangla very well. But with you all, my friends and family, I'm a little more confused. Especially when you're *Google search* 8000 miles away. Wow that's far. It seems like, considering distance, the only way I can show you all that I love you is through words. Blog posts. Emails. Phone calls. Well, that and prayer. Hmmmmmmmm. So...how do I love-with-actions people who are 8000 miles away??? Aaaah!

And I'd like to clarify something super-fast. Even though God's trying to teach me to love with actions, I don't really feel like I've learned how yet. Kalighat, yes. Outside of Kalighat...not so much. So if that last post sounded like "look what I'm learning!", that's not what I meant to communicate. I meant more so "look what God's trying to teach me!", because He's definitely trying, and I'm definitely...trying to figure out how to learn.

Okay.

That's all.

But while I'm writing...

Something ridiculous happened today.

Yesterday, after teaching, Zareen asked me to come to Apne Aap around 11:30 today. And didn't tell me why. When I asked, she said one of the directors wanted to meet with me. Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Thus, from then until this morning, approximately twelve different ideas bounced around my brain. They were angry with me for being a half-hour late every day (vaguely likely). They thought I was teaching inappropriately and they wanted me to be more structured (likely). They wanted to tell me that the drama group wasn't going to work (likely). They wanted to kick me out of Apne Aap altogether (not too likely, but frightening). And when I got there, I was completely surprised by something totally different.

They wanted me to write a grant proposal.

Subachani (I think that's her name; I still can't remember it) opened an outline on her computer, and proceeded to explain to me their plan for creating a recovery and reintegration program for women in prostitution, based in a hostel. Full financial support for the first six months (phase one), counseling and therapy, community living - in six phases. Three years long. With eventual job placement and complete self-sufficiency. I'm not going to explain all the details, because it's waaaaaaaaay too complex, but it sounds like an extremely effective, and possibly very expensive program.

So...I wrote it. In four hours. With lunch, an exorbitant amount of chai, and a bathroom break. The whole thing, almost. I copied and pasted the what-Apne-Aap-does section from a different proposal, Subachani had given me an outline of the program, and I still have to write the "what next" section detailing the future. But it still ended up being thirteen pages. It'll be fourteen in between now and Friday, when I finish the "what next" section.

This is ridiculous. Two months ago, I wrote a research paper about Apne Aap. Today, I wrote a grant proposal for them. Because they asked me to.

OMIGOSH I WROTE A GRANT PROPOSAL FOR AN ANTI-SEX TRAFFICKING NGO.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the girls were sitting in a larger room right next to where I was, and we kept waving at each other and laughing while I was type-type-typing, and they waited for me after their class, and we walked out together, and I adore them. And I love that we're the same age. And it's wonderful.

OH! And they changed my schedule. Now I'm teaching my usual twenty girls Monday-Thursday from 12:00-13:00, and then the class splits into ten-girl study groups from 13:00-14:00, Monday/Wednesday and Tuesday/Thursday. And I'm doing individual work with two girls from 14:00-14:30. Which is SO MUCH better. Because now I can teach group lessons every day, and spend the M/W and T/R time focusing more on individual, smaller, writing work. Or maybe the opposite. I need to think about it and plan my time. And ask you all for advice. Advice please?

AND! Friday afternoon = drama group...which we've been trying to start for a few weeks, but festivals and bus strikes and stuff have caused it to not happen. Boo.

This schedule is FANTASTIC. Because the afternoon shift at Kalighat is from 15:00-17:30, and now I can go to the whole shift every day, rather than being an hour late. Because I've been teaching from 13:30-15:30.

HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Schedule:
Monday-Wednesday - AA noon-2:30pm, Kalighat 3:00 - 5:30pm.
Thursday - AA noon-2:30pm. Missionaries of Charity Day of Rest.
Friday - Kalighat 8:00 - noon, AA 1:30-4:30pm (They told me to be there at 1:30, but didn't really explain why. Something about sitting with the girls.)
Saturday / Sunday - Kalighat 8:00 - noon, and/or 3:00 - 5:30.

Also, Mass is at 6:00AM, and Adoration is 6:00 / 6:30 PM, depending on the day. And I'm a big fan of Adoration, because it's pretty much an hour of silent prayer / meditation at the Mother House.

Wow.

This is awesome.

And I just realized that I'm oddly doing exactly what my Mom does...teaching and taking care of sick people.

Hi Mom!

Also, credit to my Dad for the lesson I taught yesterday - it's based off of the M&MD Hebrew Fruit Salad Night from when I was, like, ten. Thanks. :-)

Okay, this was way longer than I meant it to be. And I have been staring at a computer screen for approximately five hours today, which is icky.

Time for dinner. Nom.

Love and I WROTE A GRANT PROPOSAL,
Stephanie

Love, love, love.

My class. Normally, when they take pictures, they all try to look serious. But one of the girls moved and they all started laughing - and I caught this picture. And honestly, we all laugh through class anyway, so this is much more accurate.


Proof that I'm there too. But aaaaaaaah why don't they smile?!


Three from the right - Zareen, my lovely sometimes-translator. Three from the left (with the braids), one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen.


Queen Victoria Memorial. Pretty. :-)

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything." - 1 John 3:16-20

When I first sat down to write this post, I had no clue how to tie together everything that I've experienced in the past week. I've taught a bunch of classes and worked at Kalighat. Though both are difficult and emotionally trying, I've been very...calm. Comfortable. I've had experiences that have been completely new and a little shocking, but through it all, I've been...peaceful? Thus, trying to figure out what to write has been difficult. Teaching - amazing. Kalighat - amazing. But what to write about them?

And then I remembered the quote I read on a chalkboard in the Motherhouse yesterday, after Adoration (which was also amazing): "real love cannot be explained using words, only actions" and then some other stuff. I don't remember the whole thing. But it got me thinking - I've always been a big fan of 1 John 3:18 (oh hey Sam Toeller!). So much, in fact, that it's one of my "theme verses" for my time in India. Loving with actions, rather than words. I think that we often try to explain love as if it's an emotion, or a sentiment. We tell people we love them. But without the actions to back it up, what does that mean? Since I've been here, I've been extremely convicted to make sure that my view of love is not emotion-based, but action-based. Friendship love. Brotherly / sisterly love. Romantic love. Love of all people. Love of God. If I don't show people that I love them, through time, service, support, etc., how will they know? If I don't show God that I love Him, do my emotions really make a difference? I can say that I love God, but if I'm not giving my life to actively serve Him, I don't think saying it every so often really counts. Relationships take time, not just statements.

I've been at Kalighat for a week now. And I've found that the more I'm there, the more I love it, and the more I love it, the more I want to be there. A few days ago, a woman named Kamala came in. Her first day, she had two volunteers with her nearly the whole time, so I was with other women. Her second day, I somehow ended up next to her. She was thin, barely moving, wheezing when she breathed, quite old (maybe, it's difficult to judge age here), with long, tangled, silver hair. There was a bowl next to her bed into which she coughed blood and phlegm. Super. So I sat there, and stroked her hair and held her hand and rubbed her back and watched for her chest to convulse so I could put the bowl in front of her. And listened to her talk about...something. I'm not sure what. When the women talk for long amounts of time, and are clearly trying to tell me something different than "blanket" or "food," I imagine what they're saying as they're saying it. I have entire stories made up for the women to whom I've listened, about husbands, children, mothers, and once, I swear a woman told me a recipe for curry.

And as I got to know Kamala, I realized that I really just wanted to sit there with her. I often sit and talk with Holu, Asha, Laila and a few other women, but, for the last three days, I've mainly been with Kamala. Two days ago, a doctor listened to her breathe with a stethoscope, and diagnosed a collapsed lung and congestive heart failure, and added "she's not well at all." She didn't tell me how long she'd have to live, and I didn't ask. So I combed her hair and French braided it, so the Sisters wouldn't have to cut it off. I figured Kamala probably wouldn't be a fan of someone cutting her hair. It was quite long. And right after I finished, she twisted it up into a bun. I didn't think her hands would be that dexterous, nor her arms that strong. She had difficulty sitting up.

Since I've been with her, she's recognized me when I walk in, and she's been more comfortable with me. The first day, she was kind of distant, but the past two days, when I held her, she leaned against me and talked with me. I imagine she told me about the family that should have been there with her. Usually, the sisters encourage us to interact with all of the women...but they didn't get angry with me for being with Kamala. And I think Kamala and I both appreciated that.

I was going to go to Kalighat this morning, but I had forgotten to plan for Apne Aap today. So I slept in (10:30 - whoa), and bought candy for my students (pictured at the top!!), because I taught a lesson today on numbers and requesting things. What would you like, I would like, how many, do you have, I have, this, that, these, those, all, some, many, none. I placed all the candy (three different types) in the middle of the circle, and asked each girl which one they would like, and how many, and then separated the candy into three piles and asked them which ones they would like. They had to answer with something like "one of that, two of these, and one of this," using "this" for singular, close objects, "that" for singular, far objects, "these" for plural, close objects, and "those" for plural, far objects. And today, I had no translator. It was awesome. The girls and I had so much fun - they somehow picked up the word "enjoy," so they said "I enjoy class" over and over, and one girl said "I enjoy you." Hehe. Whenever I have them write sentences (often), they always work in something about me. When we studied "what do you like?" a bunch wrote "I like Ani." And who-what-where-when-why-how turned into "who is your favourite teacher?" I promise this isn't why I love teaching. But it's really nice to have such an encouraging group of girls, who openly express enjoyment of my two-hour-long class, joyously teach me Bengali and passionately complete the homework I assign. I feel extremely blessed to have such an amazing group for my first class. Oh...and they're probably the same age as me. I think most are eighteen.

Anyway, I got to Kalighat around four today (rather than three), because for the past two days, my taxi drivers have placed me in spots that are definitely not Kalighat. I walked to Kamala's bed, and she wasn't there. The volunteer next to her kinda half-smiled and shook her head, beckoned me over, and said "she died this morning." Oh. I walked into the common room for a few seconds, hugged my friend Jeff, and walked back in. Because there are lots of other patients. Holu was crying and clutching her stomach, and no one was with her - so I asked her kaemon achen? (how are you) and kothay? (where), and she pointed, and it was probably ovarian, she's young, so it could have even been menstrual pain - so I gave her a foot massage, and she calmed down. And then I helped distribute food, cleaned after dinner, washed dishes, joked with some Australians about the height of kangaroos, butchered some French with two volunteers from France, and went up to the roof for tea with the rest of the volunteers. A few volunteers asked me how I was, and honestly, I'm fine. Completely fine. Kamala was in a lot of pain, and looked very much at peace when she was sleeping before she died. She was old, I think. And I had prayed for her for awhile yesterday. So, nope, I feel fine. There are lots of other women at Kalighat to love. ...but I still swiped her name card before the Sisters could throw it away, which means her death affected me enough to cause me to steal from nuns. Uh...

Anyway, I'm learning that love isn't about how someone makes you feel, or even the inexplicable connection or chemistry between two people. It's about support, service, and doing everything you can to meet that person's needs. And needs are not the same as wants. Some women in Kalighat want two blankets - no. They get one. But when they're in pain - we're there. They need someone there, to give them a massage, a shoulder to lean on, a hug, some water - because otherwise they'd be dying on the streets. And please know that I'm aware that I need to take care of myself too. I'm not skin to skin touching the women with scabies. I promise. But I'm learning a lot about being who these women need me to be, for a few hours a day.

I don't think this post was anywhere near as focused as I wanted it to be.
But now it's 9:35, which means it's 9:05 in the States - OBAMA TIME.

Love and i-would-like-five-candies,
Stephanie

Update panda.

Amy said something poignant last night.

Sometimes, God puts us in situations we think we can't handle, in order to make us into people who can.

She didn't say it exactly like that, but that's the general idea.

The last few days have been a blob of unexpected change. When I started at Daya Dan, I thought I'd be there for a long time. Kids with mental disabilities? I can fit there. But then I got sick for a week (last week), and I haven't gone back to Daya Dan. It's something I prayed about for a loooong time. On Saturday, I ran into Jill on her way to Kalighat, and decided to go with her. Kalighat is the home for the destitute and the dying. It's right next to the Kali Temple, a Hindu temple that honors the god of destruction. Working at Kalighat is the one volunteer option that, before I came to India, I "knew" I was going to avoid. It's pretty much a giant, crowded, hospice. IVs everywhere. Cleaning bedpans. Changing dressings. Washing dishes. A lot of icky wounds, a lot of people dying. Right next to a huge mass of people celebrating the god of death and destruction. Not a place I thought I'd be of help - actually, I didn't think I'd be able to handle it at all.

Then I went anyway.
And it was wonderful.

I know enough Bangla now to have basic conversations, and joke about how little Bangla I know. Coup coum.Also, I'm a very touch-communication type person. Thus, hanging out with old women who want hugs and people to listen and smile and nod? I can do that. Yes, there are other volunteers giving injections all around me, but I've learned to avert my eyes, and focus entirely on the woman who's trying to tell me (in Bangla) about her children, her past, and where she got her silver bracelet.

I've moved from somewhere I thought I could be of help (Daya Dan) to somewhere I thought I couldn't even stand to be (Kalighat) - and I actually feel more helpful at Kalighat. This is craziness.

Also, I taught English to ten-year-olds today (hence the picture). And it was AWESOME. No translator. By myself. And I suddenly realized that I know enough Bangla to comfortably teach kids. I'm still desperately trying to learn more, but today showed me that my attempts are actually working. I can't communicate with adults very effectively, but kids - definitely. I can say "good" and "very" and "little" and "go" and "stop" and "yes" and "it's okay" and "beautiful" and "my name is Ani" and "what is your name" and "what" and "where" and "who" and "why" and "when" and "how are you" and "i am fine" and "i like it" and a bunch of other phrases and words. And I used all of them. Hooray! And I drew stars on their papers, and they thought that was the coolest thing ever.

Okay, time for dinner.

India amazes me. God amazes me. I am here. Teaching English to kids and young women, changing bedpans, and loving dying women. Not what I expected. But wonderful.

Love and Apne Aap,
Ani

TEFL, next lesson, and little notebooks.

Drumrollllllll...

I've discovered something that I'm nearly sure I want to do with my life.

Ready?!

Get TEFL certified.

It's a month-long, $1500ish program that gets me certified to teach English abroad, as a foreign language. Which means that I'd be guaranteed jobs pretty much anywhere in the world. Job = money. Money = ability to live somewhere. Teaching = helping people. Teaching English = utter glee. World-traveling = more utter glee. Hurray!

So, um...does anyone know anyone who has been through TEFL certification? There are a gazillion and a half programs out there, and I don't want to choose one that's a scam. Also, I have to figure out when I want to do this. Not any time soon. Maybe the May Term post-graduation?

Mmmkay, that's all for now about TEFL.

And! I figured out what I'm doing for class on Monday. I made little charts with faces and words like "happy" and "sad" and "tired" and "sick" and some other ones. And I'll teach question words, like "why" and "who." And "because." And I made a chart so I can teach all six present-tense conjugations of "to be," including the pronouns that go with them. So theoretically, by the end of class, they'll be able to have this conversation:

"What is your name?"
"My name is Ani."
"What is his name?"
"His name is Raul."
"How are you?"
"I am tired."
"Why? Are you sick?"
"Yes. But I am happy. I am in India!"
"We are sad because you are sick, but we are happy because you are happy."
"We are happy."
"Tik ache."
*head-wobbles*

Ambitious? Yes. But they're smart. And they want to learn. So I'm gonna push them. If it's too much, we'll split it into two days. Sam, thanks for the suggestion about taking the walk! I modified it and made little faces on paper to use for remembering adjectives. ...and I colour-coded them, 'cause I'm a nerd. Yay visual connections! :-)

Also, I'm going to New Market to buy a bunch of little notebooks and pens for my class. And Kalim will help me, so I won't spend a lot of money.

...and I caved and bought a Newsweek today. 60 rupees. Worth it.

Love and teacher-ness,
Stephanie

Learning, changing, let's teach a class!

Two days ago, I taught English at Apne Aap for the first time. When I first spoke with Mahua Sur Ray (...the woman about whom I recently wrote an entire research paper...omigosh she actually exists...), I thought I would be helping with a class that already existed. She said that they had English classes on Monday and Tuesday, and that I could help with them if I liked. Not a big deal. Right?

Wrong.

I got to the Topsia center, and waited for about an hour (as usual, everything in India (with the exception of the Missionaries of Charity) seems to run an hour late, thank God I'm so Type B), and was then sent to the sewing lab with around seven young women. And two older Indian women, who would serve as my translators. This is when I first started feeling like something was a little strange. I don't speak Bangla. Zareen speaks English and Bangla. The young women speak Bangla. Why doesn't Zareen teach them English? I don't know. I'll get to that later.

So we sat down in a clump, and everyone looked at me. And I looked at Zareen for a moment, and said something like, "wait, am I teaching?" And she gave me the Indian-head-wobble, which means either yes, no, maybe, later, or anything in between. In this case, it meant "yes." Uhhhhhokay. So I asked her to translate for me, and spoke directly to the girls / young women (I think ages 16-22, maybe), and said "amar naam Ani." My name is Ani. Bangla. Step one. And they all smiled. And then I said, in English, "just as you are learning English, I am learning Bangla. So I know how it feels to learn something new. Please be patient with me as I learn." And *click*, connection panda. Awesome. So then I motioned for them to make a circle. Step two. Sit in a circle instead of a clump. Some of this memory is a little muddled, because I had to think very quickly, so I apologize if I write inaccurately. I grabbed a notebook and a bunch of pens from my bag, tore out paper, handed a piece of paper and a pen to everyone, and wrote my name in big, red crayon on a piece of notebook paper. In Bangla. And English. Ani. Once I figure out how to upload Bangla here, I'll do that. Promise. I asked them if they knew the English alphabet, and they all did. They'd learned it when they were little. So they all wrote their names, and we pronounced them back and forth.

Then I tore out another piece of paper, and asked them, with Zareen's help, if they knew any English. The group head-wobbled at me, this time meaning "no" or "maybe, but we're embarassed to try." I went with the latter. I think I'm getting better at head-wobble-speak. Then I smiled, and asked again if they knew any English words at all. Anything. This time, they threw out words seemingly at random. Car, bus, pen, water, cat, dog, lion, etc. We made animal noises for the animals to communicate understand beyond smiles and wobbles. That was fun. They reminded me a lot of me learning Spanish - words picked up from the street, from children, words that are fun to say, but really mean nothing useful - yo tengo una gato de fuego en mi corazon. I have a firecat in my heart. I water the lion bus.

I told them this was good, they knew a lot of English. And they all knew the alphabet. You are smart! You know much. I asked Zareen how much time we had left. Head-wobble. No idea what that meant. So I turned to the girls and said "let's learn something useful. Repeat after me." Zareen translated. Then "Bangla - kamon acho?" Repeated. "English - how are you?" Understanding. Further - "Bangla - ami bhalo achee." Repeated, certainty. They know this. "English - I am fine." Repeated, Indian tongues and teeth pronouncing English syllables. They copy my accent - the halfway between theirs and my real dialect, which has been lost somewhere on Sudder Street. I had them write both down - the Bangla in Bangla, the English in English, and I did the same. I explained, without Zareen's help now, which words matched up to which. Made sure they knew which letters matched with which. They knew that, shakily. Thank God I only have to reinforce the alphabet, rather than teach it from nothing. Then I asked them all, as a group, "kamon acho?" And they responded "ami bhalo achee" and giggled. Then, "how are you?" "I am fine." Applause. Then, with Zareen's help, I explained that we would, individually, turn the the woman to our right, and complete the exchange, in Bangla and English. I turned to Zareen. "Kamon acho?" "ami bhalo achee." "How are you?" "I am fine." And then Zareen to the next girl, and so on. And we went all the way around the circle, all of us in English and Bangla, practicing pronounciation. They learned quickly. Most had good pronounciation. My pronounciation. I had a few speak louder.

Somewhere in the midst of this, Zareen told me the girls had decided to call me "didi." Big sister. :-)

Then nine other girls came in, late, but on time if you're in India. So I introduced myself, checked how much English they knew, whether they knew the alphabet (they did!), had them write their names in Bangla and English, and ran them quickly through what I had just taught, while the other girls practiced writing "how are you" and "I am fine." Then I asked all the new girls to sit between the girls who had been there, so we alternated newer / older. And we went around the circle and did Bangla / English "how are you" again. By the same Bangla-English repeat, write, around-the-circle method, I taught "what is your name?" (apnar naam ki?) "my name is..." (amar naam...). And it went really, really well. And Zareen barely had to speak. And then I taught no (neh-hey) and yes (ha). And asked them at random what their names were and how they were. In English. And they responded, in English. Occasionally, they responded with "I am fine" to "what is your name," but not often.

After all of this (45 minutes? an hour? i don't know) I asked Zareen when we were finished. Head-wobble. Meaning "now, but take your time." Can I give them homework? Sure. Homework: decorate a namecard, using your name in English. Bring it with so I can learn your names. Also, collect five English words that you hear or see, from anywhere. Write them down. Know how to pronounce them. Know what they mean. Bring them with, and be ready to introduce them to the class. This should be easy, because you all know the alphabet, and there's English all over the city. Tik ache? Tik ache. Giggles, at the American casually using Bangla phrases at random. It's okay.

I decided that next week, I will teach them "it's okay," "where is the...," and some other phrases yet to be determined. I have until Monday to decide.

In the taxi on the way home, I exhaled. Something ridiculous had just happened. Originally, I was told I could help with the English class, if I liked. Then, I got thrown into a room of twenty young women who have clearly never taken an English class, and two older translators, who could clearly teach English if they wanted to. And then, teach.

Have I taught English before? Yes. ...English as a second language? Not even slightly. Did I say I wanted to help with the English class? ...yes. And honestly? That class went well. Really, really well. And it's not because I know how to teach English as a foreign language. I had no freaking idea what I was doing. Our God is an awesome God, and He was pretty specific about telling me to go teach English...so I'm just going to plan as much as I can for the next lesson, ask for advice, and go go go.

Also, class number two is in four days. And I'm gonna know a ton more Bangla by then. If any of you have advice on teaching a language, or on teaching in general, or on following God when I have no idea what I'm doing...yeah, that'd be appreciated.

Tik ache? Tik ache.

(Also, I ate Domino's pizza for dinner. Tomato, green pepper (called "capricum" here), corn. And Coke. Best. Comfort food. Ever.)

Meera naam Ani.

I have never been more in love in my life.

Everything here is beautiful. Everything here is fascinating. Everything here is difficult, and requires thought, and pure human interaction.

Today, I went to Apne Aap.
Today, I went to Apne Aap.

Today, I. Went. To. Apne Aap.

This past summer, God decided to be AWESOME and put Michelle Sobon as my co-counselor at Timber-lee. Michelle let me know that there are currently waaay too many people in the world being sold into slavery. 12-year-old girls being sold as sex slaves to 45-year-old foreigners, mothers whoring themselves out daily, behind curtains, while their children wash the dishes. It's a mess. It's awful. It's what happens when a society is so deeply impoverished that the only thing there is to sell is a body, and time. Anyway, through her books, orange shirts, posters, and passionate soliloquies, Michelle informed me of all of this. And subsequently, I ended up researchingresearchingresearching, because that's how I function. And thus, for my Human Rights final this past semester, I wrote a zillion-page paper on Apne Aap, a local NGO that swipes women from the streets, and teaches them to be independent.

And now I'm working for them. Well, volunteering. Whatever. Here, I don't feel the difference.

This morning, I took a private car to Kidderpur, where I met a woman whose name I still don't know. She said Mahua had told her I'd be arriving, and sent me with Zareen to the Topsia location. Zareen might be the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She was wearing a bright magenta salwaar, and had henna on her hands and arms. At Topsia, I was toured around the center, shown classrooms, sewing labs, etc. I bought a bag that was too expensive, because it was made by the women at the center, and the money goes entirely to them. I sat in the office for a few hours, getting to know the women, and learning Hindi. Toom hara naam kyah heh? Meera naam Ani. Me drama si kaani ayi hoo. I am here for drama.

They know I'm not a drama therapist. They know I'm a student at a university, and that my major is English Education. Nonetheless, they want me to teach drama to women ages 14-20. Once a week. Omigosh. Oh, P.S., this needs to be in Hindi, so they're getting me a translator. I met some of the girls today. I saw Asha, Rose, Abby in them. I can't believe this. I'm not prepared to teach drama. Yes, I am. Am I? It doesn't matter. God knows theatre. God knows me. God knows these girls and women. Everything will be wonderful.

Here's my Apne Aap schedule, partially for my own reminder, and mostly for prayer - thank you. :-)

Monday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Tuesday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Wednesday - 2:30 - 4:30pm, teach drama class, ages 14-20 @ Kidderpur
Thursday - 2:00 - 4:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Kidderpur
Friday - 3:00 - 5:00pm, observe drama class, ages 20-40 @ Topsia
(every other) Saturday - 2:00 - 3:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Topsia

I start Thursday.
Oh, and I'm still doing mornings, 8:30 - 12:00ish, at Daya Dan.
At Daya Dan, I'm going to be playing guitar for meditation, teaching Mongol piano, and I'll be assigned to one specific kid. I haven't received my assignment yet.

Quick summary: every day, until April 7th, I will be in India teaching English, creative writing, drama, piano, and basic math etc., playing guitar, playing with developmentally disabled kids, and sitting in on group therapy for adolescent girls who are recovering from sex trafficking.

I have no clue what I did to deserve this.
I cannot think of anything I would rather do.
Actually, Apne Aap doesn't know I can play guitar.
This could only be better if they wanted me to teach the girls guitar.
Otherwise, this is absolutely, ridiculously perfect.

I'm going to be very tired. But my days end early. So maybe I'll learn to get to bed before midnight. Like, maybe at 11:00pm. Or 10:00pm.

This is amazing.

This requires a lot of money for taxis. 60 rupees to Topsia, 80 to Kidderpur. Twice a day. This means 120 three times a week, 160 twice a week - 360 plus 320...680 rupees per week on taxis. That's...doable. I can do that. Yes. That's possible.

Okay, time to go to dinner. Tonight is Matt's last night here. Weird. Then it'll be me, and God, and whoever God wants to put in my life.

Thank you for your prayers, comments, thoughts, time, funding, and everything else you've given me to support me while I'm here. I am very, very, very thankful. Donnobad. :-)

Love and kyehsi hoe?,
Stephanie