Sentiments of Departing Nabadeep

As I near the end of my summer journey to India I've had time for some reflections, some melancholic some cheerful. Over the space of the last three months I have been delighted, awed, shocked, pleased, interested, exasperated, pissed off and, importantly, informed. Any of you who know me in person will soon learn what it means to have an iron stomach; while I adjusted my innards to dietary  changes you will have to don a similarly iron gastric lining in order to endure persistent unwitting cliches. While I have harbored little sympathy for those refined sob stories narrated daily on the streets of Dublin by people my own age littered across Grafton and Westmoreland Street and my heart of stone rarely spared a thought for the homeless on O'Connell Bridge or Temple Bar, I am undeniably opposed to the exploitation of the victims of circumstance I have seen in Kolkata and, I hope, have been softened to equally worthy causes on the streets of my own home city. My characteristically stoneniness should, at the very least, be critically assessed which, to date, it has never been. If I am to be so unmoved in my relentless dismissal of the human beings whom have made the streets their abode then it is my duty to know why I deem it to be so. And if, in my search for a reason, I find my logic to be failing and the scenarios here and at home to be worthy of similar virtue and care, then I will make amends.

This trip has been unflinching. India is an incredible country, Kolkata is a shocking city. Daily you are repeatedly exposed to events I have taken to titling "a conversation worthy daily event". Everyday the taxi driver will try to rip you off, the sales assistant in a stall will make warm hearted conversation with you, the supermarket staff will find your groceries worthy of uproarious laughter and the kindness of strangers will overwhelm you.

Today was, in essence, no different to any other day in Kolkata, but I feel my fluctuating mood caught the details in grand relief, standing out as silhouettes decorating the backdrop of my imminent return home which, despite my best efforts, I have found hard to prevent my thoughts from fleeing from the present to. Today I woke up about 9am. My teaching partner was calling me to come shopping; we had told our teachers that today we would, in some modicum, return their favor of feeding us all summer long. We walked from our door and jumped into an auto-rickshaw, which took us ten minutes down the road to the market. Or use of autos for this journey is fairly lazy and has become cause for remark amongst the drivers, who chortle every once in a while at our unwillingness to walk. Collecting some veg from the wooden stalls that line the street, enough to feed 5 people for 3 euro, my teaching partner returned to the house to prepare the potatoes while I headed down the road to the supermarket to get the chicken. When we offered to cook a meal for the teachers it wasn't long before we realized how limited we were in terms of meat. India is known for not eating beef, no Hindu seems to eat it. Muslims will not eat pork for religious reasons also, but neither will the Hindus. Pigs are rarely farmed animals in India and their flesh in considered to be parasite infested and unclean. Mutton is actually goat, not sheep and lamb is not popular. That leaves us with chicken or fish, and seeing as I do not know the fish by their names I have not ventured to buy any of the street hawkers. Instead I stuck with reliable, if a little boring, chicken.The chicken was fried, the potato was mashed, and mayo was added to veg to make a creamy addition to the dinner. Whether or not my teachers meant it when they said they loved it, I don't know, but I sure as hell have missed buttery mashed potatoes.

Throughout eating I caught glances of my students making faces at me as I ate my food. Tongues were stuck out and grins pulled. One girl darted her head from one side of a pillar to another from across the room. Simple childishness can really be enough to cheer an exhausted me up. That being said, my energy levels were much higher this morning than they were over the last few weeks, thankfully. The kids received about half an hours teaching without protestation today; after that we were resigned to games of hide and seek and dancing for the next two hours. The end of our afternoon coaching was greeted with demands for "five more games, no uncle ten more games!", which it broke my heart to refuse. The children repeatedly told us that we were not to go home this weekend and to come back on Monday. Initially when starting our placement I felt that one of my biggest issues this summer would be bonding with the children and I put a lot of thought into making my company as fun as possible for them. As much as being a good teacher, I wanted to be a good friend. The preemptive goodbyes today definitely make me feel I was successful in that regard at least.

We went for an omelette and tea for lunch before heading on to the evening coaching center. A side route between two houses leads us down behind the audi service station near our school and out the back of the evening centre. A narrow bumpy path has been across a man made body of water, exposed only due to the high temperatures and low rainfall levels, led to the back of the centre, a small stone shack far from suited to the numbers that cram into it every day. This coaching center has received mixed feelings from me. On the one hand the beauty of the area overwhelms me everyday. The man-made bodies of water litter a simplistic village. Rugged tar mac is outside our door, running onto a narrow concrete path. To the side of the path a pair of simple backless stone bneches border one of the ponds. A little further along the path a wife and husband sell fried foods from a stall outide their home. In one of the ponds, along a dirt path between tall grass a pond, more symmetrical than the others men often wash and bathe on the brick steps into the water. Our teacher told me it is clean rainwater and regularly used to swim in. It is about 50 meters long and as wide. Today, when the sun began to set I rested my feet in the water. The crescent moon hung in a cloudless sky above. Bats whirled above and my serenity was shattered by a snake at my feet in the water. The men washing nearby laughed at my start. I headed back towards the training center, got some fry with my partner. Gathering up my stuff and leaving I am again struck poignantly that we do not get the same warm goodbyes from as many students in this center as we do in the other. Climbing into the car is a poignant act, and my mood is low when I get in the door at home.

I meant it with every fiber of my being when I told my teachers I will sorely miss my time in India. I believe it has given me so much. I may not be 100% but I am significantly more sure about the direction I wish to leave my life, about the directions I should be applying my thoughts, ethical and practical, and I certainly have a stronger desire to do than before I left. My sense of fairness is more refined and a desire to do by others has certainly been sharpened. Above all I have grown as a person, loved the experience, loved the children, been passionate about performances and projects I would never have anticipated been a part of and made close friends with people I would have never met otherwise in my life. It has been an exceptional experience. It has been exhausting and painful and times, but nearly always interesting, delightful and rewarding. The trials were the heat, the exhaustion, the roads, and the children. The rewards were other volunteers, my team, the GP, the children, the children and the children. I would not trade this journey for the lost phone, lost wallet, the broken electronics, the parties missed at home, all regrettable but this has been the greatest experience of my very pleasant 22 years of this planet. Right now though, I miss home and I want my bed. I may tear up on Friday when I say goodbye, but I will probably also tear up in Dublin airport. Kolkata, it's been incredible, I hope to see you again soon!

In the Sundarbans, Day Three

This one will be brief.

My second nights sleep in the Sundarbans was less fantastic than the first nights. I had been savaged by the mosquitoes and my bites itched all night long. I woke up at least three times, every couple of hours. Despite this I felt well rested and prepared for the day, if a little scratchy. We woke up about 8 to head down to the Ganges and enjoy a boat journey up the river delta, away from the sea. I had stocked up on fruit the night before, but I forgot to bring it with me so my breakfast consisted of a not so pleasant packet of biscuits that tasted like toast that had been buttered two hours ago and left to harden, yuck! I munched on them all the way to river, through the village and my conversation and China with the Indian student I mentioned in my previous post, across the muddy river ridges, and down the red stone slope leading to the boat dock. Climbing onto the boat, I claimed a seat and finished my last one. I was definitely looking forward to the lunch on the boat we had been told was on the way later.

After everyone climbed on, managing to not slip and fall in, the boat revved up and started to move. Spinning to it tail it looked like we were stuck, at first. The Sundarbans team told us about their last boat trip, the boat had gotten stuck in mud and no amount of shoving managed to release it until time had decided to let go of its hull. Fortunately for us, the boat didn't remain stuck and we cruised out into the middle of the river. Unlike the Sundarbans the team the week before, we wouldn't be on the boat for quite the same trip they had. They had spent the entire day on the river, getting off at intervals to walk amongst the mangroves and into the wildlife reservation. We simply didn't have the time for that trip today, but we would be spending the next couple of hours seeing some beautiful natural scenes on one of the globes most iconic and famous rivers. As the boat drifted upstream and the river grew wider we sat to the front of the boat, facing the oncoming merging of two deltas. Music and easeful conversation fed the peaceful atmosphere. Unlike the other groups trip the week before, the sky was overcast but, thankfully, no more than a drizzle passed our way. A beaming sun could have either been beautiful of horrendous, with us being exposed for a number of consecutive hours so we definitively got the safest of bets in terms of the weather.

Conversation rolled around teaching schools, home, inappropriate jokes and food. I supposed it's extremely unlikely to stick a bunch of Irish lads on a boat and not expect the conversation at some point to turn to food, we just miss our beef too much! A couple of hours upstream we are gifted with lunch on the boat, curry, prawn, mango chutney(jelly), chicken and rice is our fantastic fare for the day, and we are happy out. Munching away, tea follows the food and a rotation of pretentious stances on the fore of the boat adds some fantasticly posey sensations to the afternoon. A couple of hours sees us returning upstream again,but not before jokes of a log, mistaken for a crocodile create roars of laughter on the boat. On returning, we clambered back out and up the red brick dock. Back to the Sundarbans accommodation and to pack for our trip back to Kolkata, some fond farewells left us leaving a fantastic weekend and a fantastic group of people until GP Week.

Delayed Blog post on GP week to come!

A View From a Bengali Rooftop

A pensive mood descends as I gaze from a Kolkata rooftop into the distance. Clutched in my hand rests a comforting heat of a soothing cup of brew. Despite the non-Kenyan origins of the tea, it still has a homely, welcomed, aspect I find extremely relaxing. My other hand rests on the knee of my left knee. The foot is pressed, bare, against the rough concrete wall circuiting the rooftop, which rises to my seated shoulder. It leaves my perspective clear to the distance with a plentiful view of Kolkatan urban sprawl.Sprawl is thoroughly the most appropriate word for the disarrayed, mismatched collage of living spaces, so far removed from the uniformity of suburban neighborhood in Ireland. "A City of Contrasts", as it was dubbed by a good man I recently had a few conversations with, is title which expresses many of the elements of life in this particular concrete jungle, and the architecture is simply one area where this is quote is proven. In fact, it is simply the tip of the iceberg, below which looms the continued, and far more expansive trend of diversity for which India is renowned.

At this height, it is note-able that no two buildings resemble their neighbors, outside of their need to expand upwards, rather than outwards, atypical of such condensed city living environments. The need for greater living space in a smaller area stimulates the growth of three, four and five storey accommodations. Our own building looms four floors up, not including the rooftop, however I do believe that our landlord is close to unique in owning the entirety of the building. Architecturally, there is very little outward similarity in the edifices, not even the location of the windows or relief designs. While certain designs may resemble each other, or be similarly located, it is rare and even rarer that they would be both similar and similarly located, nor do the balconies and frontal structural designs share and commonalities. The size and shape of the buildings themselves lend the idea of mismatched jig saw pieces, not fitting in in size or shape.

The differences lay open the truth to the Indian inequality, which permeates all areas of life here. The condition of the building, a perfectly kept, yet gaudy purple, building stands proudly opposite of me, its neighbor is in disrepair, flaking yellow paint and streaked with mould. This may be indicative, but on its own would not lay indication of the true depth of the inequality in urban India. To understand that, you need to walk the streets and experience the sights and smells, observe the living quarters of those who own little more than a few garments and a shack of wood, from which they sell fruit or sweets. These shacks operate as stalls, and at night the erection of a mosquito net makes them a bed. Even these are wealthier than those with no livelihood but salvaging, whose children rum in the streets, delightedly, in the nip, from their shouting mothers, or the children who carry their younger siblings in their arms to tempt guilty feeling into a few rupees.

Contrasting this knowledge against the view in my horizon, rising over a dusty barrier which seems to separate any level of Kolkatan life from its economic superior, loom the flashing lights of a trio of skyscrapers, perhaps close in spectacle and display amongst similar glass structures in New York. The dusty horizon, to me, represents the stark divide of the lives of the rich from the lives of the many in Kolkata. The skyward bound monuments and their less, but still substantial, powerful brethren, flanking either side, climb to heights in a city where basic human rights are denied to the common people. The divide, physical and metaphorical, is conjured up as a chasm, insurpassable by the mundane tools allotted to the average citizen, and forbids the overlapping of societies dependent on each other or, more truly, on itself.

The Sound of the Monsoon

The Sound of the Monsoon
This morning the sun beams outside my window. It isn’t as hot as it has been for some of the last couple of weeks. Sometimes I could almost imagine myself burning in the shade. The morning sun, at 9.20am is a bearable 32 degrees, and a substantially lower humidity than usual means I didn’t sweat during my ten seconds outside. The cooler temperament today can only have been caused by yesterday’s weather.

Since hearing initially about the weather conditions during summertime India, the scorching heat and humidity have been the primary topic (generally considered to be a singular topic). Close on its heels, topic number two has been the relief brought about by the rains. Over the course of the last few weeks we have seen a few instances of rain, and heavy rain at that, but the thunder storm yesterday was unique in it’s particulars, perhaps not meteorologically, but, for me at least, metaphorically and emotively. It, coupled against the weather of the days either side of it, embodied one element of the extreme contrasts that are experienced during a stay in Kolkata and, I’m sure, India itself. For me, this thunderstorm was melancholic and beautiful. At times, its power was terrifying and humbling. But it was also delightful and inviting. This is my diary entry from that rainy morning:


Thursday, June 20^th, 2013. Kolkata, West Bengal, India.

This morning, a thunderstorm roars outside. I attempted to take a video of it, but I wasn't able to quite capture the audio and video quality sufficient to do the spectacle the justice it deserved. I’m unsure why this downpour is more important than the last, but it seems to carry weight. The window to my right brightens in flashes, nine or ten times a minute, and thunder follows with a grand roar. The rain that cascades would fit in comfortably in an Irish April. Travelling to school in this feels a bit daunting, but the rain, on the other hand, does hold a level of attraction. I would be lying if I said I didn't walk out, onto the balcony, into it, earlier. The temperature relief is palpable. Less welcome, however, is the sensation of rain drops on my back as I lie on my bed, my window must be leaking a tad.

I’m well prepared for my classes this morning, due to the fact that I alternate classes daily, I will be repeating yesterdays classes, which went very well, with another group, so I have ground to hope it will go very today too. As a result, I have allowed myself to relax and lie in this morning. It’s been nice to at ease, and the rain has given my easeful morning some atmosphere. On a side-note, I've been hunting for the possibility of finding a swimming pool somewhere, I’m craving a swim!

The thunder outside sounds like artillery! Occasionally, the lightning so powerful, it exceeds the usual sheet illumination in the distance and brightens my field of vision and the resulting thunder sounds like an explosion in our near vicinity. The visual is followed by, in a split second, remarkable aural effects. It feels like a real-life cinema, sounds like the monsoon to me.

Initial Sentiments of Teaching in Nabadeep

When Yesterday, Monday the 10th, rolled around, I have to admit the nerves had kicked in. I had told myself over and over that I was used to teaching kids, I knew English, and I had a total grasp on this, but the nerves niggled away nonetheless. After the weekend I was starting to feel like I was getting a grasp on Kolkata itself, but I was here to be put out my comfort zone, and to work, not to establish a level of relaxation and ease in a city on the other side of the world. So, waiting for the car to arrive to bring myself and my teaching partner to Nabadeep Coaching Center, I settled on a level of nerves and determination, not dissimilar to the sensations of anticipating the exam paper you have done very little to prepare for. My internal dialogue had no pity for my nerves, and sounded something along the lines of "suck it up", and I entered the car with a level of calm, tinged with colorful flourishes of nerves and excitements.

The car pulled away from the side street where our accommodation loomed, buildings much like Jervis apartment blocks, come Aladdin, and down the long narrow street, no wider than my own road at home. I, since my arrival here on Thursday, have been endlessly baffled by the lack of vehicle related deaths on this street. The swerving of taxis, auto-rickshaws, bicycles, bicycle rickshaws, and heavy vehicles, all amongst nonchalant pedestrians almost being skimmed by headlights, would warrant absolute shock in Irish traffic. When Dr. Collins warned me traffic accidents were more likely to cause me physical harm than illness, I didn't believe him, but I do now. We emerged from the stall and shack lined allies in this jeep onto the Rash Behari Avenue Connector, a main road similar to the Navan Road, where doing a U-Bend  and breaking red lights at high speeds is accepted fairly complacently. The Round-A-Junction at Ruby Hospital, above which a sign declared the temperature a mild 32 degrees thanks to the rain, brought us onto the dusty EM bypass. Out of the dust more tall buildings of Kokata's sporadic spread loom in the distance. We soon take a turn off  on the left, down a gravel side road and turn left, keeping the running water to our right hand side. A right hand turn takes us over a small concrete bridge, and one of the teachers, who escorts us, points proudly to a yellow building with a red slate roof, facing the water, released a storm of toddler shaped blue uniforms. "Another of our schools" she states. To the left of the road there is a twin of the building, but no children. The taxi marches on, turns right, and takes us under the overhanging bypass and up a concrete road. To our right, shacks made of black plastic and brown wood, stand almost uniform, black plastic taking the place of brick red on these streets. A left hand turn leads us up an industrial street, and I catch a glimpse of a Hyundai sign on a workers t-shirt as he lolls at the back door of one of the factories, ahead Nabadeep training centre stands a green three story building at the end of the field. We hop out early as a heavy machinery vehicle sits in the road, and walk for a few minutes.

Inside, we recognize one of the teachers, and are introduced to two others, all of whom kindly feed us. Under the impression we were running late, we were a bit at a loss as to how the class was operating, but one of teachers soon explains that not all the children arrive til after half one and that the rain that day would have some of them absent. She also tells us how we will split the classes, myself taking class V and VI on alternate days, but both for today. The alternating days eased a lot of my fears that I would be incapable of juggling abilities across two classes, even if they were only small classes. The reason for the split is to allow the children some variety in their coaching center hours, rather than studying English solely. I learn that the children who come to the coaching center in the afternoon, have been in school since 7am and come to the center for extra help. The children in the coaching center I move to after this session have been in school 10-4 and come for extra work also. After lunch with the teachers, mango sauce, banana, and veg fried in mustard seed oil, we meet our students and I glean some names. We are with them for two hours, roughly, and soon work out that the crux of the work they have been given in school is tenses, so I work on their reading and attempt to explain the concepts of past, present and future and some verb conjugations. I was really charmed and the name all children calling male volunteers, Uncle, was enthusiastic and heartwarming. I left the first coaching center feeling elated.

The walk to the second center brief, about five minutes, but rainy and as we turn down the path and a small blue concrete hut sitting under a tree comes into view, a football pitch and bodies of still water surrounding, my shows are quickly becoming sodden. I leave them outside, as is standard in India. The hut is even smaller on the inside, crammed with children, about 30, in a space built for about 10 people, at a push. For today, I was asked to take classes IV and V here, IV only being of one student. Here, juggling material between the two groups became a challenge. The smaller space was a tough deal too, and I left with my energy low, my joints sore and my moral a little low. Arriving back at the accommodation, it was safe to say I descended to a little grumpy, but a few chats with the gang perked me up.

Day 2, Today, went much easier. Again, we arrived early despite being panicky about being late due to delays in Gariahat, the market center, whilst trying to get our phones and internet up and running (I'm still bumming the Mbs of one of the coordinators, as I type this) and enjoyed lunch with the teachers. Today it was mango, peas and potato in an unknown, but delicious, sauce, a bizarre looking fruit resembling a rotten banana, which tasted far better than it looked, a grey lump which reminded me of my mother apple sponge. The meal was a thorough reminder not to judge food by appearances. Class started and the three two girls I had were an absolute pleasure. Towards the end of the class I simply got them to use some markers to draw pictures and write a few sentences out of. The use of colored pens made them very excited to write out their pronoun sentences, and made the class that bit more enjoyable. I also got my name written in Bengali on my copy for me. Class 2, again didn't go as well as class 1, but it still went better than Day 1. At one point the lack of facilities in the building resulted in one of the boys of my class leading me by the hand across a narrow path between the still water beds to use his family toilet. A surreal experience, as "Uncle, slow" led me onto more solid ground, what I can only surmise to be his sisters, grandmother and mother were there to show me to the toilet. The end of the class had me in a better mood than the day before, the class was entirely class VII and my energy was much higher, so as I type this I am exhausted but hugely optimistic about the coming ten weeks. Signing off for some coffee!

Namashkar.

Dr. Shovelhands.