let it be known:

i hate continental airlines with the fire of a thousand suns.

'home' is such an illusive term...

i'm back in denver. my luggage is lost somewhere between delhi and newark. please pray it comes in soon, as it's my only bag, with all of my stuff in it.

to bed, though i'm not tired. to dream of places that are not home.

i'm in delhi...

... want any coldcuts? that one's for you, jon crawford. :) we miss you already!

jon left for the airport at 4.30 this am. we leave at 7 this pm. i'm going to not blog on forever and ever as i've come to learn recently that no one really does read them anyway (j-craw recently admitted to not really reading much of what i've emailed about any of my trips, ever. maybe a slight exaggeration, but my blog is for me as much as it is for anyone else who might be interested, and i don't have much to say today!)

we went to the taj mahal yesterday. all i can say, really, is wow. photos, words... even poetry. nothing does it justice.

i can't believe that once again, i'm leaving this place i love so deeply behind and to return to my responsibilities, community and life in denver. as usual, i'm having a hard time with thinking about that. i mean, i know the reasons why it's necessary, but it's an entirely different thing to know something in your head than to know it in your heart. as i've said before, sometimes i just want to junk it all and stay here.

maybe next time. ugh. i've got a 15 hour flight and 2 3 hour flights in the next 48 hours. i'm excited, though, because i'll also get a few hours with 'juice naana', or, the big bad harley (royal entfield?) dad in the airport in chicago... something good DID come of my stupidity in leaving myself a 5 hour layover when i won't really need it. (customs? what? hey, i was tired.)

onwards and westwards.

cows and beggars and tourists, oh my!

we made it to delhi safely, and only two hours late this time (a vast improvement from the 10 hour delay into varanasi!) our hotel isn't as sketchy as it could have been (thanks for the prayers, everyone, and thanks for manning this mission, jonanna!). we're in a touristy area of the city called paharganj, right on main bazaar road. this means we don't have to walk far for our last minute gifts (plate-face i've been having SO MUCH FUN shopping for you these days!) or for food. we're down the road from a fabulous café with excellent coffee and tapestries (everything in india is so much more interesting than the US. seriously, i think i go home a little sad because i'm so freaking under-stimulated), a german bakery (great thai food. i know, i know. german bakery india with good thai food. i know.), and more than just a few pot-shops (please note, this is NOT one of the highlights of this list, rather just something we're down the road from.)

horray for hippies. remind me to tell ya'll sometime about my grandma and her pot smoking adventures.

as the area where we're staying in is really touristy, there are a lot of interesting things on our street that we haven't seen elsewhere- a mendhiwalla; lots of rip-off western clothes that were made here and black-marketed before making it to the gap, old navy or aeropostale, soundtracks; israelis and chileans and french and italians and russians and germans and dutch people; and fortune tellers. and pot shops.

speaking of fortune tellers, mom and i met one on our shopping adventures yesterday- a big ol' sikh man with a long white beard to match his big white sikh turban. he looked at me rather dramatically and said something to the effect of, 'you're a smart girl. you have a good head on your shoulders, but you are slightly insane. you have too much going on inside your head.' i looked at him, laughed and said, 'you're right. i must be insane because i'm [on this street, in this country].' i walked away after refusing his fortune telling skills, thinking about the deep, weathered lines on his face and his massive turban (i have this strange affinity for sadarjis, which i can't really explain), and wishing i had taken his photo. i went back later with my camera to "get a snap" and he had vanished into the bustling street.

tomorrow we go to the taj mahal. tuesday we go to the airport. i can't believe this trip is almost over. in some ways, i'm looking forward to returning to ordinary life in colorado, and to learning to do that well. i miss lancepants, shellypants (who is going to berkley law in less than a month, what the heck) and tylerpants. of course there's girl's night, sunday night dinner and our cute little house, the autonomy of having a car and a neighborhood that i know well and can function as a normal human being again, but really. if i could transplant a few things to india (girls? pants? wanna come?), i'd so much rather just stay here and figure out how to do life in this place. some day my friends. some day i won't be returning.

and also, you should all know (if you haven't already guessed) that mom and i like posing for cheesy tourist photos to send to dad. hope you all like them as much as he does. :)

clay cups and burning ghats

caste is alive and well here in north india. there are different cups for different castes (upper caste glass cups for upper caste lips, smashable clay cups for untouchables), different ghats to burn on, different ways of speaking the same language... here, the size of your wallet ultimately determines the success of your cremation (and thereby determines whether or not you're released from the cycle of death and re-birth.)

varanasi is a city which celebrates death like birth and marriage. we saw two different dead people paraded through the streets today on their way to the burning ghats. and this morning, in the span of about ten minutes, we watched 3 different bodies cremated atop burning funeral pyres.

we took a boat tour of the ghats before sunrise. we hired a boatman (who we found our boatman by bringing a photo of him to assi ghat, which we're staying about 10-15 minutes' walk from. the rest of the boatmen told us he was out, so we settled with his brother instead.) he rowed us along the hundreds of ghats, past temples, holy men, children learning to be holy men and boats full of other white people watching life on the ghats. (sometimes here, i forget the color of my own skin... just for a split second, i forget that i, too, am one of the white people who simultaneously elicit such strong feelings of desire and utter hatred.)

the faithful of varanasi rise before the sun and perform puja on the banks of the holy ganga. alongside buffaloes and cows, dead bodies (those who couldn't afford the high cost of the wood for the pyres, or those considered "pure"- mothers with child, holy men and children, or lepers- whose diseases would spread if they were burned. (true? not true? i have no idea.)) and buildings swamped and gasping for breath with their noses barely above the waterline of the flooded, swollen river. the holy pray, they bathe, they sing, they swing buckets of water i the air and they meditate, all in the pink early-morning sky. if the sun were out, i bet this place would be hauntingly, orange and pink beautiful.

the river is up about 30 feet right now. i can't imagine what kinds of things would wash up on shore if the water levels were normal.

after our river tour had finished we went up on the roof of an "old people's home" to watch burning bodies smolder and turn to ash on manikarnika ghat. my heart was wrenched out of my body to see elderly people sleeping on polished floors inside the home (there was no furniture. none.), waiting for their turn to lie lifeless on a pile of expensive wood and burn their way to freedom (from the suffering of life and the pain and tediousness of the punishment of rebirth.) too tired, old and frail to even brush away flies, one man lied in a corner and coughed to let us know he was still alive... a few brahmins somehow found it in their upper caste brahmin hearts to raise money to buy wood for the elderly poor, who come to these homes with nothing to their names (where is their family? who loves these people? surely there's someone, somewhere, with some compassion left in their hearts for these people to keep them from coming to this place!). elderly gramas and grampas raising money for their own fiery deaths by the "grace" of some brahmin wanting to do his karma well...

so, world, there you have it. there there are my first impressions of a day spent in varanasi. unedited, as i'd rather go catch the international coffee shop and a chocolate muffin than troll through my grammar and spelling mistakes. tomorrow evening we head for delhi and the last bit of our trip. i'm so glad we made it to this place, as haunting and disturbing as it is. i'm glad i could stand on the roof of the home, watch the bodies burn and feel my stomach turn over. i'm thankful for the opportunity to travel here and see this, to have these experiences, and to believe what i do about my own life, birth and death with even more conviction.

and the rain rain rain came down down down

if cities were colors, varanasi would be saffron. and rain colored.

we arrived this morning at 7.30 in the midst of a downpour that lasted for hours- i guess varanasi isn't waiting for the monsoons like nandyal and bapatla are! we found our way to the vidyashram southpoint school/ NIRMAN center in nagwa (through ravi das gate and straight and then more straight and then it's on the right. keep driving, please, autowalla, i promise it's there.) where we'll be staying until friday at 6pm, where we'll catch our last train to our last (ish) destination- delhi.

NIRMAN is a school/ art center where childrens' studies are art focused, and creativity is encouraged. it's a refreshing change from the normal red flower green stem kind of education everyone else is subject to here- maybe that's my western artist bias, but i'm a product of my culture. it seems like a cool place- not sure how much time we'll have to spend there, but our time in the north is short.

so we're staying at NIRMAN and the first thing we did after bringing our bags in through the downpour this morning was meet a boy named stephen. from spring arbor michigan. who knows my dear friend andrea. (what?!) (it's a small world after all.) we'll be hanging out with him for the next few days as he's had some time here to get acquainted with the place. it's nice to have someone around who speaks english and understands how we think. (it's funny how a common language, a common experience, can bond people to each other so quickly in this place. all of us, wandering around, wanting to be challenged and to learn and experience life, but still clinging to some sense of familiarity, some semblance of home, something to remind us of who we are under familiar circumstances.)

32 hours on a train. seriously. we were told we'd get in at midnight. midnight to midnight, vijayawada to varanasi. and then we were told at 11pm last night that we'd be delayed until 6.30. and then at 5 this morning we were told we'd be delayed until 8 am. we made it, but i think every single samosawalla all along the gangakaveri express line were on strike or something yesterday. we waited ALL day for one to come by, and none came. none at all. (the thing about eating on trains in india is that the vendors come to you. they walk up and down the aisles announcing their goods at all hours of the day- and night. and early, ugly morning. and yesterday, not a single samosawalla came our way. j-craw and i even wandered aimlessly through 7 train cars attempting to find the much desired potato-lentil-filled goodness, and to no avail. no samosawallas and only one water bottlewalla in 32 hours. we certainly were NOT on a fatty express! alas... as if i needed another reason to fall in love with mother india!)

leaving bapatla was rough. it's always rough. i was emailing a friend about it and i thought, briefly, that it might be better for us not to go at all. i mean, we go, we hug the kids and love on them and learn their names and some telugu vocabulary (english meaning: dog. telugu meaning: koo-KAH!) and then we leave them. like everyone else in their lives. deep down, i know that's not really the truth, because our lives are better because they are in them, and i'm sure that somehow (or at least i'd like to believe this is true) their lives are better because we were in them, even if only for a short time.

those kids, they are so precious. there were a few that cried, some that laughed, and all of them hugged and hugged and hugged us, trying to extract promises that we'd come back soon (next year, sister? please? you come back?) and reminding us to write them ('you to america going, uhhmmm... you don't forget my name. when you to your village, don't forget letter writing'.) i still can't believe how big they've all grown, how much their english has improved, and how beautiful they all have become. seriously! ugh. my heart is in bapatla, let it be known. and i think it'll remain there for quite some time.

they keep asking me (hepsy, johnson and babu uncle) to stay. i don't think they know how serious i am about wanting to. mom says they know, and that's why they keep asking.

i've been reading the god of small things recently, for approximately the 21345th time, so if my writing seems disjointed that's because it is, and arundhati roy's book is to blame. (and it's excellent, so you should all stop reading my blog right now and go and read the book.)

tomorrow morning, the famed 'sunrise river tour' of varanasi's famed ghats.

nicknames and dirt tans

last night i overheard a conversation between babu uncle and a sweet teen-aged girl named revathi. the actual substance of the conversation is not what struck me, but how it was all communicated. these kids love babu uncle and hepsy auntie more than anything. i want to say they love them like their father and mother, but what i saw between revathi and uncle in their interaction was even deeper than that. i was floored by the depth, too, of babu's love for revathy in his response to her. it's like i saw into the depth of jesus' character in that short little conversation last night, and it was absolutely beautiful. these kids are in good hands here in this sacred place. and in this place more than any other i'm reminded that my life is forever ruined for the ordinary.

i wouldn't have it any other way.

one of the cute little things that babu does with the kids that communicates his love to them is giving them nicknames. the names are sometimes earned, and are sometimes "gifted" to them based on the kids' particular/ peculiar characteristics. the latest nickname floating around here is one that no one wants to take ownership of- it's 'vasco de gama.' not as in 'one who resembles the famous man who once sailed the high seas in the mid 1400s', but 'one who has bad gas'- the name vasco de gama sounds similar to the telugu words for that very thing. some of the kids are really funny about it- one little girl named bindu (above left), who uncle says is the official holder of the nickname, crinkled her nose up and shook her head and whispered, 'vasco de gama' in the middle of a movie when someone in the audience gave her reason to believe they should be called that. other nicknames, though, are more endearing. one of the girls is called 'tiger' because uncle thinks she's fierce (in a good way!). another, smaller and more wiry, is called 'grasshopper' because she's always on the move (and is all legs and arms, i think!) other names are just funny- babu dubbed two girls 'africa' because they're so dark, and one boy is called 'japan' because he 'looks very unique for an indian- he is looking more japanese.' there's also 'dance koothi' (dance monkey) and 'big cheeks.'

and lastly, there's one little boy whose name is 'yesu babu', or 'yesbob' for short. he's a freaking riot, that kid- always yelling a mouthful of telugu at us and expecting us to understand (i think he's only about 5 or 6- the age where he hasn't quite realized that we speak an entirely different language and can't understand his.) yesterday dear little yesbob was supposed to be taking a shower when he got in the stall and realized he forgot his bucket. he streaked the entire orphanage buck naked looking for it- babu looked on and shook his head, the children laughed, and we blushed a little. he's a riot, i tell you. :)

on a different note, i've been trying to work on my chaco tan while i'm here in india. during the day i'll wear my chacos and try to keep my feet in the sun (it's a cran hill ranch thing), only to come home at night, get super excited about my tan lines and realize they're only spots where my feet are less dirty and disgusting than the parts that look 'tan'. all of my efforts to indianize, it seems, are in vain.

tomorrow evening we start our long haul northward to varanasi. we'll be there for a few days before heading to delhi, agra and then the US. thanks for reading, and again i'm not sure what our internet situation will look like but i'll update as often as i'm able.

stories and secrets

"widows and orphans, they will always have a home here. the door is always open for them."
that's how we do life here at bapatla, according to sweet, sweet babu uncle. (how am i so blessed to know so many amazing people in my life? seriously??)
i wanted to share stories of 5 kids from 3 families with all of you residing in cyberspace. williams and adams are two precious little boys who live here at bapatla (and don't like it when you forget the 's' on the end of their names.) williams, 9 years old, has been here for at least a year or two, and adams, 7, is a new admission. for most of their young lives, their mother would go out at night and "make some money" and then sleep during the day, leaving adams to his own devices (williams was either in school or already living here). very upset by his wife's "profession by night", the boys' father murdered their mother (fairly brutally, from what i can gather) a few years ago. the little boys witnessed the whole thing. while they were on holiday recently the police came to their door and arrested their father, bringing him to jail for life.
ready for another? naomi and norah have a similar story. their father came home raging drunk one night (which, as babu says, is sort of the custom around these parts and was certainly common in this family) and drowned their mother in the village well. he died of jaundice (probably alcohol poisoning, hepatitis or something similar) not long after. the girls, now orphans, were sent to live with their grandmother, who "works the line" (prostitution ring) in bombay.

and third is little hennah, who isn't so little anymore. babu uncle and hepsy auntie found newborn hennah crawling on the beach near the home with cigarette burns all over her body. they somehow pieced together her story, learning that her biological mother died while giving birth to her. her father, upset that she was a girl and that she had killed her mother, never really loved her or forgave her for what she had done. he remarried, and his new wife despised this precious girl. together her parents sold her to a local fisherman (a smoker without a heart) for about 1$. hennah is "officially" a child of babu uncle and hepsy auntie now. they've done that for a few other children who have no family- they've taken the kids on as their own.
it's an understatement to say that i'm so thankful these five kids, and all 200 kids, are here in this home. i'm so thankful for babu uncle and hepsy auntie's ministry and their seemingly unending love for these kids. i'm so thankful to be here to see all of this, to meet and love on all of them for however short a time, and to learn more about love and Jesus and selflessness and joy from them than any one place has ever taught me before. they have witnessed so much tragedy in their lives, it's a wonder they can still love so deeply- and love deeply they do. ("the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.")
and another, slightly less serious note: i love being privy to some of india's little-known secrets. in hyderabad, between the hours of 4 and 6 am, the city's 20-something population gets up before the sun and they run. blue soap for laundry, green for hand washing. lemons for henna and lemonade alike. stones for laundry and wires for drying. buckets for bathing and for washing. oh, this place.
and even less seriously: i hit a ball- while playing cricket. a few more tries and i'm trying out for the national team!

quick update from juice akka

we've arrived in bapatla at the children's home! YAY! my heart is SO HAPPY here! i can't even believe how much these kids have grown in the 2 years i've been away! i'm so happy to see old friends and meet new ones, and i love how surprised these kids are that i remember their names- as if i could forget the kids who define selfless love in my life! i stood in a group of my little girls this morning, lost in a sea of brown faces and brown eyes. as many of them that could touch me had their little hands on me- my arms, around my waist... all i could do was stand among them and smile. i have no words for that moment, really.

it's good to have jonanna here, too. i think that out of anyone i could introduce to these kids, he would be the one to Make Things Happen- whether that be coming back again (he's already talking about it), loving these kids well, playing with them at every waking moment or even praying for them when he gets home. i'm glad he gets to join the ranks of those who came, saw and fell in love.

backtracking a little bit: we were able to see pipe village and NCL banda while still in hyderabad. it was really, really good to be there again- to remember why the work i'm doing at DFN is so important though at times it seems like a never-ending stack of data entry.

while on our way here (2-tier a/c! lap of luxury!) we almost got off at the wrong station. meaning, we did get off at the wrong station, and it was only because some random train conductor was walking along the platform that we were able to hop back on the train (by which time it had actually picked up some speed), loads of luggage in hand, and ride the additional 20 minutes down the tracks to bapatla (sir! madam! bapatla next stop! get on train!!!). never a dull moment here in india.

and also, can i just state for the record that as weird as i feel about having a dhobi (washerman/ woman, who washes everything by hand) here, i love having a tailor. i mean, really- i took my thai fisherman pants with me here on a whim and i'm SO glad i did. mom and i both bought material at the shop the other day and we're having a pair handmade in the next town over. woo! ... even though it makes me feel a little bit spoiled-bratty.

and now, i should be going. lots of kids to hug! (i'm SO excited to be here. hepsy auntie and babu uncle and even johnson anna keep asking me if i'm staying here. i keep telling them that if i were to stay anywhere, it would be here... oh, bapatla. i'm amazed i'm somehow able to keep coming and keep leaving. one day i will come and not leave. one day.)

... off to play with the children whose giggles are floating up to my window on the monsoon breeze.

richard and mary

richard and mary are american "mission*aries" who are involved in the work going on around here, but who also have a mission of hospitality. we had dinner (fried chicken, green beans, sweet tea and chocolate cake) with them at their apartment last night.

i think i want to do what they do. i'm not sure if this is God's idea or if it's mine, but it was wonderful to spend a few hours with them last night.

today we'll be visiting ncl banda, a muslim village that is the first to get toilets and showers constructed with the money donated to pipe village toilet project. i'm excited- annamma said that the construction of the facilities has inspired people to build nicer homes and take more pride in their village, all because they have a greater sense of pride and a deeper sense of ownership in where they live. awesome.

and tomorrow, it's art projects in pipe village. we head out from hyderabad tomorrow afternoon for the orphanage at bapatla, and i'm not sure what our internet access situation will look like. fret not, though, for there will be lots of hugging of small children, and consumption of massive amounts of delicious mangoes and prawn curry. :)

sammy and blog comments

hey friends,
just a quick note to let you all know that i really, really appreciate all of the thoughtful comments you have been leaving on here. i'm sorry i haven't had a chance to respond to each of them individually, but please know that i appreciate them, and that they do my heart good. please, please keep it up! (you can also email, btw. :))
and also, i had the incredible blessing of meeting marcus and annamma's son sammy tonight. he's autistic and is incredibly musically talented. he has perfect pitch and plays everything by ear. he writes songs from scripture and sings from his heart. he has a tough time communicating unless it's in a song... his parents want someone who's well versed in music to come over here and spend some time with him- anyone interested? ;)
all for now. :)
wish i could post photos of charminar but alas, alack! you'll have to google it (i think google should pay me commission for all of the people i've directed to their site. seriously.) just know that there were lots and lots and LOTS of ninjas there, and i was a happy camper. :)

hyderabad, secunderabad, cyberabad

ok, so i'm not quite sure, really, what cyberabad is, but all of the police signs tell me we're sort of here? ... i needed another 'abad' city name.

anyway, we're on the base here in secunderabad (hyderabad's twin city, across the river.) we're spending lots of time with the DFN "chips" (Cultural Immersion Program Participants) who have been here for about 3 weeks now. yesterday we went to general bazaar with two of them- cameron and maggie (nicknamed 'maggie noodles'.) we shopped first at a store that somehow manages to snag stuff from expensive stores (gap, gucci, ann taylor, etc.) and sell them for super cheap. then it was flip flops (chappals here) for mom and on to the bazaar! general bazaar is kind of a chaotic place, but that's exactly why i love it. we took an hour to wander through the streets, shopping for bangles, toe rings, scarves for our salwaars (and just our necks) and silver anklets. and, as it turns out, old friends.

another 'i can't believe this is possible here in india' moment. last year while we were here, our friend dennis bought some material from a tiny little shop to make pants and dress shirts. the people we bought the material from brought us to this even tinier little back alley tailoring shop which is nearly impossible to find. we took a photo of ashok the tailor and his father after they had finished making den's stuff. we sort of made friends with them- as much as we could when they only speak hindi and we only speak english. i was able to understand enough of his hindi to communicate with him and he enough of my english to communicate with us. we thought it would be fun to try and find these guys at the bazaar yesterday, as we had printed the photo we took last summer and framed it for them. i tried asking a few shop keepers where his little tailoring place was, much to no avail (it's literally one of perhaps hundreds in one of the most densely packed streets i've ever spent time on). mom had a great idea to show the other shopkeepers the photo of ashok and his dad, and lo and behold, they recognized the photo! we only had to show one guy their photo and he took us right to the tailoring shop- eden tailors in tabacco bazaar, secunderabad. amazing! we gave them the photo, took another one, sat for a few minutes surprised at how we were able to find them, and we were off back to the main street of the bazaar.

the main street yesterday was quite crowded. i have no idea what festival it was, but there was certainly a festival in the streets. (let me take a few moments to say at this point that the street there isn't really wide enough for a car to fit through. that is, if there were no people and no stuff on the streets, it would be maybe just big enough... but those of you who know india know that neither of those things- no cars and no crap on the streets- is possible.) anyway, there was a big ol' festival going on yesterday, where some men had taken a god from the local temple and put it on a cart and were "wheeling" it through the streets. not just wheeling it through the streets, mind you, but heaving and hoeing it down the streets with a set of stairs on wheels for the devout to come and do 'puja', or prayers. and a band. a big ol' sikh band with lots of instruments, drums, horns, clarinets and red costumes with little turbans with what look like folded paper fans sticking out the side of them. we got stuck behind the procession twice, and only with sheer determination, an angry 'india face' and a few shoves were we able to navigate our way past the party.

speaking of parties, after we got back to the base (which was a relatively un-eventful task, surprisingly and thankfully!), we had a little 4th of july shin-dig. we bought fireworks at the bazaar and brought them up to the roof after it had stopped raining last night. the 3 girl chips dressed as the flag (red, white and blue. with stripes.) and we all trooped up to throw a party under the stars. we had alarmingly large sparklers and what i believe were flower pots (whatever they were, they were quite explosive? pretty? bright? yes, all of the above.). of course we wrote our names with the sparklers- the funny part was when we all broke out into every "american" song we could think of- from shania twain (who's canadian, btw) to the star spangled banner to america the beautiful. it was funny, ridiculous and fun- and we were the only ones around to witness it, amazingly enough! (and thankfully enough, as apart from the fireworks it really was quite ridiculous.)

so, there you have it. happy birthday america, and happy parade festival to secunderabad's hindus.

today we are going to charminar (google) and the ninja, ahem i mean muslim, part of town. i like ninjas. and muslims, too.

on monkeys, driving, laundry, kabaddi and why i'm a brat.

"koothi champu!" little did i know that this seemingly useless telugu phrase would actually come in handy!

today ashok took us to visit ahobilam temples. one of them was up the mountains out from BIRDS and the other was nearer to the farm. the first had a few monkeys strolling around, but they mostly kept to themselves. (people at this temple were more afraid of the naxalites in the forest than the monkeys.) the second temple, however, had a few more. these were more used to having people around, and more daring at attempting to get what they want. while we were in the second temple, talking with the priest (who was telling us that there's a similar temple in NYC), two monkeys got into the bolero and started harassing habib (arabic for 'beloved' or 'loved one'), our driver, and making lots of ruckus. they rummaged through mom's purse and took out her water bottle- ashok says they targeted hers because it was different from the usual plastic bottle. they picked it up and BIT holes into it! then, after learning that it really wasn't as interesting as they had hoped, they left it to sit on the seat and leak all over the place, through the different teeth marks. jerks! at last, though, i could use my telugu phrase. i looked at ashok and habib and said, 'koothi champu!' (kill the monkey!!!) at which point they both started laughing aloud. so, although i had a wet bum and mom was down a water bottle, at least we all had a good laugh about it. :)

thoughts on driving with habib: habib is a young-to-middle-aged muslim man who is our driver here at BIRDS. habib drives like a man on a mission. nothing, i repeat, nothing can get in the way of this man and his destination, be it buffaloes, goats, autorickshaws, bullock carts or small children. i'm surprised we haven't hit and killed anyone or anything yet- habib drives about 3 times faster than i would dare to down these narrow roads wide enough for 1.5 cars on a good day. if something is in his way he honks and honks, nicely at first and then lays on the horn to get his message across. and his message is clear, 'MOVE or BE MOVED!' he drives unhesitatingly at his target ahem, i mean, in the direction he wants to go, swerving only at the very last second and pulling half the car off the road to pass whatever it is in his way. it sounds dangerous, but it's actually quite comical. i managed to snap a few photos of the things in habib's path today- the most interesting of which was a house. yes, that's right. a house. as houses don't move, the autorickshaw that was barreling down the street had to slam on it's brakes and reverse directions, as habib was not about to admit defeat and reverse the car he was driving. beware, inhabitants of muthyalapadu. this man is armed and dangerous!

notes on laundry: in india you're a lucky man if you own a washing machine. most people use dhobis, or washermen, to get their clothes clean. as i'm cheap and not entirely sure that i like the thought of someone else having to beat my dirty clothes on a rock, i do them myself. i soak my clothes in a bucket overnight before talking myself into actually doing the washing. basically, to get my clothes remotely clean, i have to re-create the action of a washing machine. in a bucket. with wet, dirty clothes. i take each thing and rub it with my bar of blue rin soap, then rub it together with gusto. i then move it to the sink, until i've finished the whole bucket full. then, i fill the bucket up again and put everything back into it. i then get my ab workout- i take each thing and rinse it, dipping it into the water and then pulling it out. this takes some serious upward momentum (and is also why i have to talk myself into laundry day!). i take a shirt by the bottom hem in each hand and move from crouched over the bucket to standing up, rinsing it out. each piece. rinse and repeat. then, each piece gets rung out super well, otherwise it won't dry overnight and will get that 'sat wet in a dryer all day' smell. except there's no dryer. there's 6 white shoelaces, tied together and strung across my room, that act as my clothesline. i hang each piece after ringing it out, careful not to let things overlap- again so they'll dry faster. each laundry episode lasts about 2 full days, from soaking to drying, and results in my entire india wardrobe hanging from various pieces of furniture all across my room. life in india. :)

a quick note on kabaddi, the national sport of india: i think, after trying to read directions in english, i finally understand! not from my reading, but from actually playing it. the girls at BIRDS attempted to explain to me the rules in a mix of telugu and english, and i think i finally got it right. victory over the language barrier!

and lastly, why i'm a brat: power here is hydroelectric. for all my bummed out, 'i can't get on the internet' pout faces, my distress at not sleeping with a/c (when did i get so high maintenance???) when the current fades out and is lost, and my fear at walking across this compound, rumored to have cobras, in the pitch black, i'd like to apologize. to those of you, if there are any of you, who read this, but also just as an open apology- i'm sorry for being a brat. i'm sorry, dear, generous muthyalpadu, that you haven't had enough rain to water your crops or fill the dam which runs your hydroelectric power. i'm sorry there's a fuel strike so you can't get diesel to run the generator. and i'm sorry i'm a brat!

i'm learning that there's so, so much more here to life and everything than that meets the eye.