Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Brightness That Beckons

Tim was feeling uncomfortable. Our kind neighbors made us feel so welcome and special at the Independence day celebration—Tim did not want to be an honored guest or a distraction tonight. Was it the chance to be part of another neighborhood experience or just wondering how the Indian culture would merge with a Catholic celebration or the junior high humor about the " Tingling Boys Cross" that made me convince Tim to come with me?
Sign Tim and I saw on the corner of our street.
 Tim and I set out down our road in a light rain.  Today was one of the first days the monsoon season presented itself in full.  It rained steadily all day.  Some roads were almost flooded when Tim came home from the middle school/high school campus.  He saw women holding up their saris as they waded through puddles. Laborers with heavy loads on their heads were going right through the puddles carrying on as usual.  We avoid puddles and water rushing down the street.  “Where is all that gray water coming from?”  I wonder.

We pass tiny crowded shops with tin roofs, turn down the narrow alley that leads to an area called the Christian Colony behind our apartment complex.  Stalls selling fresh cauliflower, green beans, tomatoes, and okra line the alley.  On our right is the neighborhood source of water—a faucet over a concrete slab. An older woman in a deep maroon sari is crouched scrubbing pots and pans. She is crouched so low and is so tiny she looks like a small child.

We reach a spot in the road where a sign is slung across the alley that says: “Welcome.”  Ten feet behind the welcome sign, a long piece of wood, blocking the road, is held up on chairs.  The sign states: NO ENTRY. The left side of the wood has a white arrow that points to the left and says “motorcycles.” The arrow on the right side of the sign directs people to another small alley.  We head to the right.  The alley is, with luck, 5 or 6 feet wide.  Tim is holding the umbrella, but I need to walk behind him. There is not room for us to walk side by side. The houses are continuous, like a child’s blocks lined up side by side. They have no space between them, but there are plants and greenery everywhere. This little alley is a small piece of calm. We turn and see tiny white and green lights, and brightness that beckons. Tim and I enter what appears to be a large hall. The alley that is blocked off has been covered and now has a gold honey comb ceiling.  Across the houses white sheets, garlands of red and white roses, and tiny lights make walls for this celebration hall. White plastic chairs are lined up in rows. It is magical. In this mega city of horns blasting, never ending traffic noise, and loud piped-in music, a chapel has been created in a narrow alley.




The alley turned into a celebration hall.
Tim and I are waved towards the shrine by a smiling man. The cross and Mary remind me of trees in Michigan after a snowfall. But instead of snow, they are covered with flowers. The man tells that this shrine was erected twenty-five years ago. “Twenty-five years!” he says with pride. I recall the Mumbai riots of 1992. Twenty-five years and this shrine, this neighborhood are still standing. The man invites us to stay for mass. Tim says that we are not Catholic and the man's face opens wide with a warm smile. "We all worship the same God!" he says.  We all worship the same God... Oh that this smiling, peaceful man in this tiny enclave could head our governments. Conservative, Liberal, Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Catholic, Protestant. We all serve the same God.
The cross and shrine


Tim and I sit in a row of the plastic chairs for a few moments.  I am not ready to to leave this holy place. In my mind I am singing the song we sing in our Children's Worship Center: “Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.”  Men walk by us carrying large metal containers in cloth slings.  Tim whispers, “They’re bringing food.” We giggle.  People all over the world love a potluck!
A different, nearby shrine we saw on our way home.
We walk back home through the winding alleys.  Doors and windows are open. Walking down the narrow path is like walking down a hallway. We can’t help but take quick glances into the homes. We see beds next to front doors, pictures of Christ with a thorn crown, bright curtains, men without shirts sitting on chairs.   People smile at us as we navigate the narrow passages. I like this neighborhood with its intimacy. I like this community.  I like this brightness that beckons.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

History and Culture

Nancy and I are really enjoying exploring the extremely varied culture and history of Mumbai.  I don't think we were aware how rich and complex the story of this city is.  Yesterday we had another good day delving into some of that history.
We began with coffee at Karen's house.  Karen is an art teacher, originally from Australia, who has been teaching internationally for a couple of decades and consequently has traveled extensively, especially here in Asia.  After coffee, we headed down to the ChurchGate / High Court area around the former Prince of Wales Museum (now known as Chhatrapati Shivahi Maharaj Vasto Sangrahalaya - though most still call it the Prince of Wales Museum) where there are a number of art galleries and other cultural and historic sites.  We had actually been down to this museum last weekend and enjoyed it's Indian inspired architecture, artifacts, sculptures, and miniature paintings.  This weekend we had planned to be on the prowl for more contemporary Indian art.
We started with a small photographic gallery that Karen had heard about that was exhibiting the work of several of the better photographers. Good stuff. Then we stopped by another gallery where the work was, to be kind, fairly elementary. (Please keep your day job, professor!)  Happily, lunch at a small cafe hidden in a back alley was much more enjoyable, and we walked by an old synagogue.

After lunch, we wandered a little more and stood across the street from the David Sassoon Library and Reading Room.  Founded in 1847 by a group of mechanics and dockyard workers, it still functions as a both a repository of books and a quiet place where members and sit and read or work.  Great atmosphere and architecture. The high-ceilinged main room, lined with glass enclosed book cases reaching up twelve or fifteen feet and furnished with solid wood tables and sturdy caned bottomed chairs took us back years into the past.
By Vaikoovery (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Finally, we wandered down the street to the Bombay High Court, where there was a historical exhibition celebrating the 150th anniversary of the court.  Another great building with both architectural and historical significance.  It was humbling to walk up the worn stairs, realizing how many people, famous and unknown had done the same.  Among other things, on display within the exhibition was both Ghandhi's application letter where he requested admission to the bar as an advocate from the 1890's before he went to South Africa, and the letter signed by all the high court judges some twenty plus years later , removing him from practice because of his arrests for political activities. 
The [[w:Bombay High Court|Bombay High Court]] in [[Mumbai]].

Image taken by  [[User:Nichalp|Nichalp]] via Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Typical weekday evening in Mumbai

Over the quiet drone of the air conditioner, we hear the street traffic below. Ours is not too busy a street: which means that the horn beeps are not constant - usually only three or four a minute, and the engine noise of the passing rickshaws, sounding so much to Midwestern ears like a lawnmower engine, can be individually distinguished.
We've both had supper, and are sitting side by side on the couch with laptops perched on our knees.  I think I click louder than Nancy does, but maybe it's just that my keyboard is closer to my ears.  Speaking of supper, I think I cooked about three times in the four weeks we've been here: a couple of omelets and a spaghetti pie  one weekend. Of course the spaghetti pie was made with homemade sauce that Cecilia made for us, so there wasn't really much cooking involved.
Cecilia is our housekeeper/ house maid / cook. We connected with her through my predecessor who highly recommended here for good reason.  We feel amazingly spoiled when we come home from work to a clean house, laundry done, supper waiting in the kitchen, and a cute note asking what she should cook for us next. I think she's a little frustrated with us because we of course can't make up our minds about what we might possibly want the following night so we ask her to choose one of her favorites. So far, we haven't gone wrong.
So we've had supper and now we're checking our email, prepping for school tomorrow, catching up on logistical things like online banking and trying to remember if we've forgotten anything.  The living room doesn't really have much in it yet except a couch, a TV in a recycled entertainment center, and a nice coffee table we bought down at Harry's. Sometimes we feel like we're living back in a 1970's dorm room.  ( I say 1970's because dorms were pretty sparse then - now its seems kids have all kinds of cool things in their dorm rooms - don't I sound like an old fogey ?)
Our shipment should  arrive within another couple of weeks and then we trust the place will look a little spiffier and we'll have some company over.
In the meantime, we like our peaceful, productive weeknights. They're really not much different than our weeknights were in Michigan - except for the household chores. ;-)

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Setting up my classroom in Mumbai

People are working 24/7 for the school to be ready.
(I wrote this August 9)

It is 7:00 p.m. I left school at 4:30. Tim and I swam laps at the pool of the club we recently joined, came back to our apartment, and had a beer. I look out our window.  I can see the American School of Bombay. Just like at 8:00 this morning, men are working furiously to finish the school in time for the first day.  Men carry bricks on their heads, men lay bricks in the monsoon soaked mud, men flatten walls to make a smooth surface.

My mind reviews the day.  It is 8:05 a.m. My phone is ringing.  It is Kiran. Kiran is an Indian woman who has taught in three countries. She has a dignified way of holding herself and long black hair held back by a clip. She is a teaching assistant. Kiran noticed I am not at the first meeting of the day and is concerned about me.  I am on the fourth floor of our building where the schedule says we will meet. Kiran and the rest of the staff is on the second floor where the meeting is taking place.
Kiran is a woman in charge!


I go to my classroom. It is consumed by boxes packed by the previous third grade teacher.  The cabinets in the room are dusty and dirty. Kiran and Gemma (another assistant) immediately begin to wash the cupboards of all the third grade teachers. At about 10:00 Gemma excuses herself to attend a funeral of the husband of a fellow worker.  The husband was only 40 years old and leaves a wife and a one year old child.

Kiran and I begin to tackle the Herculean task of setting up my new classroom. Kiran is an organizer who speaks Hindi. Kiran directs a man working on our floor to begin breaking down boxes, others to bring chairs and then desks to the open area between our classes, another man is told to cut open the many boxes in my room.  A man is standing on counters cleaning the insides of the windows.  Another man is whisking away at the area behind the counters with an Indian broom. For a few hours I am left with this army of workers while I sort out the unknown contents of my boxes.  Remnants of another class, another teacher, another building—now the beginnings of a new class, a new teacher, a new building.

Kiran pops her head into my class. It is time for lunch. “Come eat lunch with us,” she invites. We head down to lunch, load up our plates with rice, paneer, and chicken.  We sit with a kindergarten teacher and her partner.  Gemma joins us.  She looks tired.  We wait as Gemma finishes her lunch and trudge up the stairs to the third grade.

Gemma is a gracious, hard worker.


Kiran heads over to help another third grade teacher.  Gemma stays with me.  Gemma is a wise woman with years of experience and organizational skills. She wears her silver grey hair clipped short and has a small, athletic frame. She hears my plan for the cupboards and starts to work. As we unpack boxes, we realize that many items are grimy and need washing.  Gemma sees men who seem to be interested in helping.  In Hindi, she sets one man washing clipboards.  He squats by our bucket of soapy water and begins carefully to scrub the clipboards. Gemma shows another man how to check the calculators to see if they work.  She speaks with patience and kindness.  I turn from my task and see another man sitting, one leg folded in front of him, another leg bent in an upside down V.  He is sorting geometric shapes.  All of these men are shoeless.  They have been instructed to leave their shoes near the stairs of our third floor. They are wearing clothes that are paint, plaster, or mud spattered. They have a childlike wonder in this land of bright colored educational materials.  I can tell these men have never seen anything like the items we are storing away in cupboards to use at another time. I say “shoe-kree-ah”— thank you in Hindi, but either my Hindi is unrecognizable or these men speak Marathi.  Only my folded hands and smile seems to connect.

Two of the men recruited to help us in my class.


It is 3:00.  Gemma looks tired.  I ask if she is ready to go home. Gemma tells me the bus leaves at 4:00.  She says, let’s keep working. I say that funerals are exhausting.  Gemma tells me her sister passed away last year. We talk about how our sisters were (are) our best friends. We have connected.  We both recognize loss, the beauty of sisterhood, and a budding friendship.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Indian Independence Day

Happy Independence Day to all!
Indian Flag with flowers around the base

Today is the day the peoples of India celebrate their independence from Britain after many years of mostly non-violent struggle.  We enjoyed a delightful morning of celebration with our neighbors and new friends within the Kohinoor City Phase One Housing Association where we live. The compound includes about 12 apartment buildings with parking, several play areas for children, good security, etc., and a very interesting mix of upper middle class people.  
Dancing troupe posing for pictures after their performance
Nancy chatting with the dancers
Festivities began with a flag ceremony and the national anthem.  The Indian flag raising tradition differs from ours: when the flag is unfurled, flower petals that have been placed inside the carefully folded flag spill out around the flag pole area.
While we wandered around watching the kids participate in games and races, many of our neighbors came up and introduced themselves to us.  Many of both kids and adults were dressed up for the occasion and a group of the little girls came and presented a dance to much enjoyment. We also took part in group word scramble game which our building won !
Musical Chairs for the Ladies

Handing out prizes to winning artists

Nancy was almost a semi-finalist in the Ladies musical chairs game and I served as a judge for the children's drawing contest (both I think  because I was "impartial" in that I didn't know any of the kids, but perhaps also the prestige of having a "European" judge ?) We even were served a little box snack with a juice box and a savoury puff pastry.  Great way to celebrate.  We're heading out later this afternoon to explore town a little more and go out to eat in Bandra.  Happy Independence Day, India (and Happy Birthday big sister!)
Meeting the neighbors - taken by Amy Garrett from her apartment

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Bandra exploration

Nancy and I have spent some of our free time during the last couple of days exploring Bandra, "The Queen of Suburbs". 
In addition to being the area where many of our colleagues from the school live, it's has an intersting history, having been under control of the Portuguese for over two hundred years, followed by the British for another two hundred years. It's now a hot social scene as well, quite cosmopolitan, with Bollywood movie stars, Europeans, wealthy business folks, and young urbanites mixing at coffee houses, restaurants and night clubs.
We began our exploration Friday evening after a long week of work and well-earned TGIF get together with our colleagues at a fashionable new "watering hole" on Linking Road.  While there, several of our friends reminded us that the day was a Hindu festival day known locally as Gokulashtami - Lord Krishna's Birthday
The highlight of this particular celebration is the people who form human pyramids to try and reach a clay pot suspended high in the air.  I've embedded a youtube video below - here's the link in case the embed doesn't work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2o_w0kPRdM:



The following day we went back to Bandra to explore some more, starting with Mount Mary's Church, wandering through the gardens at lands end, where the ruins of an old Portuguese fort remain aomng the couples gazing into each other's eyes and walking along the beach on Carter Road.  Finally, we walked by the shops and stalls along Linking Road, one of the major shopping areas. Bandra, like much of Mumbai and Kohinoor city, has such a mix of Christian, Hindu, and Muslim people and history.
Mount Mary's Church

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Rakish, our driver and friend

Tim tries his first street food (roasted corn) with Rakish, our new Any Time Driver and friend.


(Last Friday we hired a driver, Rakish (emphasis on the first syllable.) Rakish worked for Tim’s predecessor in the middle school/high school library.

Rakish drives 1 hour 45 minutes for our interview. He enters our apartment, takes off his shoes, and sits at our dining room table.  I notice he has a thick tilak on his forehead and three red thread bracelets. Today is Raksha Bandhan.  It is the day a sister ties a band of red thread around the wrist of her brother.  It is an act of love.  She pledges her love for her brother and he promises to love and protect his sister. Two bracelets are intertwined with gold, one bracelet is all thread with swastika designs woven through the threads. (In the Hindu culture, the swastika is a symbol for good luck.) I ask about his bracelets. Rakish has three sisters.  They are a distance apart, so he met one sister early this morning and his sister tied all three bracelets on his wrist. I am sad and a little bit jealous. I wish I had a brother that I could say loved me and would protect me.

We cover the contract areas suggested by the school and learn that Rakish is available seven days a week.  We learn that the last family that hired Rakish called him “ATD - Any Time Driver” We learn that Rakish will keep his car here, in our apartment building parking spot, and take a one and a half hour train and bus ride here to drive us where ever we want to go.

Rakish offers to take us for a drive in his 2001 Toyota. Rakish has been driving for American School teachers for 13 years. He was the driver for one family for seven years.  When they left, they sold him the Toyota that he drives today. Rakish takes us on a drive by Tim’s campus of our school and then towards a “posh” area of Mumbai called Bandra. I understand the geography now.  Tim’s campus is located in Bandra Kurla Complex which is between Bandra and where we live, Kurla. Bandra Kurla is a planned, commercial area with new high high rise buildings for companies such as Dow Chemical, Citi Bank, and National Stock Exchange. It is on reclaimed land. The land used to be polluted low-lying land.  On our way to Tim’s school we go through a Muslim area where the skeletons of rusted cars, trucks, and SUVs line both sides of the narrow road. These vehicles are stripped and the parts are sold.  Rakish tells us the vehicles are abandoned or stolen and the area is really illegal. We see women covered from head to toe picking up wood and metal scraps to sell. We see fruit and vegetable stands selling gorgeous produce.  Rakish tells us those stands are on the main road because of Ramadan.  They will be gone after Ramadan. 

We reach the lovely area of Bandra. Bandra is an older neighborhood but is called the “queen of the suburbs.”  It is quite cosmopolitan. On our way home, as we drive back from Bandra to Kurla the people change dramatically.  In Bandra, the women are dressed very modern. As we drive towards Kurla we see women in black from head to toe.  Some women cover all but their eyes, some women are in black but their faces are open, some women wear the traditional saris but cover their heads.

We reach the area of Kurla where my elementary school is located and where we live.  We still see many women in black. Our area is more diverse, about half Hindu and half Muslim with a small community of Christians.  I am glad that our superintendent let us know that we are the first foreigners to live in this area. I have a new understanding of the importance of my sensitivity to this culture. This knowledge makes me want to cover my arms and wear longer skirts.   I am pleased that Rakish helped us introduce ourselves to Arif, the kind security guard on the ground floor of our apartment building. I’m pleased that Arif introduced us to the gate guard. I am pleased that Tim and I are becoming a part of this neighborhood and country that is welcoming us with bigger, warmer smiles as the week progresses.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Community and Social Responsibility


One of the things that our school is intentional about is being aware of, involved in, and a positive presence to our community.  Two staff members are hired to lead the school in community and social responsibility. Part of our growth and learning as individuals, both staff and students, is to be aware of how privileged we are and to be aware of those around us who are not as privileged.  In a country like India there is such an incredible range of socio-economic situations.  On Sunday we went for brunch at a Luxury hotel nearby - The Leela Mumbai. The place was incredible - huge gardens and pools, marble and gold decor everywhere, great service and delicious food.  Opulent and elegant.  
Today we visited an Indian school that ASB partners with for both community service and professional development. The school is similar to a charter school in the states - partly funded by the Indian government and run by an NGO (Non Governmental Organization). The majority of the students are from 2 extended, interrelated families (about 80% of the kids share 2 common surnames) that have been street cleaners for 5 generations.  It currently has students from PreK to 6th grade and is adding a grade per year as the first cohort of kids age.  Instruction is in English, and the teachers we met were dedicated, caring professionals, most with masters degrees, eager to interact with us and learn together.
Reflections on the experience:

  • Dang these kids are cute!
  • There is so much hope and potential in the world.
  • Education is so important and can make such a difference in people's lives.
  • Kids are kids the world over - excited and eager to learn and playful and shy.
  • Teachers are teachers the world over - caring and dedicated and eager to share and wanting the best for their students.
We are planning to continue our connection with these good people over the year, with some staff development activities with the teaching staff and additional visits in both directions.








Thursday, August 2, 2012

Saturday Night Fever

It’s Saturday night. We are tired and hungry. It's been a long day, so we are ready to relax. We heard a rumor that liquor is available at the local Reliable grocery store. We walk to the nearest grocery store.  No booze—it’s like being in Hudsonville or Zeeland only with men in turbans and women in sarees.  We heard that a larger grocery store about a mile away had a glassed in area with beer, wine, and liquor, so Tim and I headed to the Phoenix Mall and Reliant Grocery Store.

By now it’s 9:00.  The streets are crowded. Dogs lounging, women in black from head to toe, women in jewel colored saris, men in turbans, men in crocheted skull caps for Ramadan, men and women with bright red hair to show that they have been on the Hajj, street vendors with mangoes, apples, and cantelopes. Horns honking. Traffic buzzing by. In some areas, garbage is piled high. The side walks are narrow, uneven, muddy in spots from the monsoon rains. It’s hard to keep up with Tim. I am used to walking on the right.  Tim reminds me that this country is like Ireland.  I need to walk like the people drive, on the left. The hot air is thick with humidity. The plastic shopping bag I carry over my shoulder is sticking to me.   

We reach the mall.  I walk through the lady’s security and Tim walks through the men’s security. The ladies searching my shopping bag say, “Thank you, maam.”  The mall music is uncomfortably loud. We walk straight to the grocery store.  In the very back is an area that is glassed in. The sign says that you must be 25 to enter. The area is filled with young men buying 2 or three cans of beer and snacks. There is a section of Indian wine, a section of international wine, a section with beer sold by the can or bottle.  No spirits.  Tim and I look over the Indian wine because it is more reasonably priced.  We decide on three bottles. We look at the cans of Kingfisher (the national beer) and decide on 4 cans. The total cost is $40. As we are making our purchase I look up, outside the glass, two men in turbans are staring at me.  “This could be the beginning of an AA program for me,” I muse.

After making our purchase, we decide to look for a place to eat.  All the restaurants that had been recommended were “coming soon.” We keep looking.  A food court is on the next floor.  It is every adult without children’s worse nightmare. Loud music, a play area where children are screaming, KFC, McDonald’s, Subway. My headache is starting to pound. Dear God get me out of here!

We find a place with biriani (rice with veggies) and chicken tikaa for $6, walk home through the streets with the constant honking noise.  Dodge buses, trucks, taxis, walk past a brightly lit plastic box (3’ x 2’) shrine to Ganesh and another god I don’t recognize. Ganesh is a bright plastic elephant covered with leas of bright flowers. We arrive home.  The biriani is spicy, the wine is like vinegar, but the music (Bach) is lovely, the air conditioning cool, and our toast to new adventures filled with hope.