Thursday, August 1, 2013

Last thoughts


 Flowers are always appropriate, but on my last night finding a set of four flower stands like this felt particularly so.  The wreathes of marigolds and white flowers are for honoring the gods, and people put them on statues or small sculptures.  They also put incense sticks and pictures in these shrines.  They're scattered everywhere and remind me of fairy houses somehow.  

I wandered some in new neighborhoods tonight- from Hindustan Park to Khalighat 

It felt like goodbye, and I was struck by the low key density.  In the past couple days, I've been less tolerant of the honking, of the aggressive motorcyclists, of the guys sidling up next to me to try and chat me up before making the pitch for their shop (this never happens in real neighborhoods- only in this one by the hotel).  I've stared down some cars that expected me to jump out of the way despite the basic assumption that anyone who has a vehicle has priority over anyone walking. It's a sign of my transition back home, clearly.  But I also admired the tiny stalls of people selling rice, tea, chai, or offering tailoring, grain milling, or cell phone repair. 

I also came across this street where all the typists offer their services under a ubiquitous blue tarp.  I recall an office like this in Marrakesh where the illiterate could get letters typed or forms filled out.  In a legalistic, bureaucratic place like India, this must be an essential service for many.  Yet juxtaposed to a large population w/ smart phones, the contrast feels jarring. Still, most of them had customers tonight. 


Goodbyes


Warning- cute kids here.  These are my two 6th grade sections on our final day.  While the goodbyes were heartfelt ones all around, twelve year olds really feel things like that close to the surface.  In one class I finished reading The Animal Family by Randall Jarrell, a story I'd started a while ago.  In the other we wrote haikus- a form that makes students at home roll their eyes, but the exercise of counting syllables and making meaning in 17 of them was a novel challenge here.  Of course, there are some universals.  One boy wanted to write one about an AK47.  I said, "A poem about a machine gun?" and he didn't understand my dismay.  I reminded him that the name alone was 6 syllables thinking that might end it.  He solved the problem by writing about an AK46.  I received many sweet hand made cards, pictures, and little gifts.  All of noted that such appreciation never happens at home, although I think I recall Pape Diop, another Fulbright teacher, got the high school version of such appreciation when he left SPA and returned to Senegal.  

As usual and apt, I'm ready to come home after these five weeks.  First, it will be very nice to see family and friends again.  I'm also pretty excited to escape the humidity here.  If there was any hint of exoticism associated with monsoon season, it's certainly lost on me.  Constant sweating is straight up unpleasant. Bring on the 50 degree mornings.  I'll gladly exchange the cappucino delivered to my room for a regular coffee on the porch.