Workout By Jimmy (a bit of silliness really)

It’s quite common for husbands of teachers who are on Fulbright Teaching Exchanges in foreign countries to, shall I say, “add a few more love handles” while sitting around making sorry attempts at learning the local language, eating imported processed food and basically consuming more calories than culture. It is for this imperative and most desperate reason that I have developed a cutting-edge, or rather “cutting-bulge,” workout program I hope to share with other pounds-prone husbands of brilliant women.

Follow this plan and you too will be able to maintain a svelte, handsome figure even foreign dignitaries will envy.

Phase I - Cardiovascular (i.e. breathing hard while sweating profusely)
We have the fortune of living next to a park complete with swings, monkey bars and around 400 meters of circular sidewalk fun. This has become our running track as exercising on the road would more closely resemble playing dodgeball with rickshaws than actual jogging. It’s important to run at night so as to avoid the humidity, high temperatures and scores of locals staring curiously at your sweating American self-conscious self. Although you may be tempted to lowly chant “U…S…A… ….U…S…A…” as you zoom past the speed-walking-70-year-old-turban-wearing-man, avoid all thoughts of Olympic delusions and remember to run on the LEFT of opposing foot traffic. 30 minutes on the track and you’ll be a fit, healthy, dehydrated husband in no time.

Here I can barely be seen rounding the corner in most excellent form. The camera was lucky to catch me.


Phase II – Strength training (i.e. fighting gravity like a champ)
As our apartment didn’t come with a Nautilus machine, complete Bowflex Body Shaping System or that Chuck Norris contraption, I’ve developed a revolutionary new strength training program by which I use ONLY MY BODY WEIGHT to maintain and build muscle mass. Push-ups, tricep chair dips, crunches, and, finally what I like to call, PORCH-UPS (known in gyms as pull-ups) are muscle maximizers you can do almost anywhere.

Here I can be seen completing a set of 100 PORCH-UPS, give or take 90.


Phase III – Flexibility and Toning (i.e. be the porch monkey)
You may have tried yoga like I did – once – only to gain torn ligaments and bruised ribs (see blog entry “On Turning 32…”). I have discovered a far more user-friendly stretching and toning exercise right on my back porch. No, not barbequing in a hammock but TRAVERSING. Since you probably packed your climbing shoes like I did, go ahead and pull them out, cram your feet into those cruel little shoes and begin traversing the wall on your back porch with Spider-Man finesse. Oops, careful…don’t touch the ground or else Doc Oc will grab you! (The use of delusions of grandeur are acceptable here, although not when company is present.) Challenge yourself by limiting the number of blocks that can be used and speed at which you climb. You’ll have forearms like Popeye and the flexibility of Gumby in no time.

Here I can be seen either intently pulling off a 5.14d boulder problem or pretending to be Peter Parker. I can’t remember.


Phase IV – Protein Power-Up (i.e. chow down)
Trimming down that gut and building up those muscles require a balanced mixture of exercise and eating the right foods. It’s good to eat foods that may resemble the same color as muscle fibers – something in the pink range. Strawberry ice cream is pink, which makes it a perfect candidate for a post-workout protein power-up. Remember to drink plenty of water and pink lemonade if possible.

Here I can be seen eating a well-earned portion of pink protein goodness.


Though you may have had your doubts, husbands of Fulbright Exchange Teachers can indeed stay fit while their wives are busy being cultural ambassadors at school by simply adopting this proven regiment. Perhaps you too could have this conversation as I have time and time again:
“Hey honey, how did teaching at a foreign school go today?”
“Great. Hey, nice abs!”

Jimmy

A Slight Departure

I know this blog is dedicated to providing each of you with as close an account of our experiences here in India, but today I'm going to take a break. I'll keep the departures to a minimum in the future, but this is just too exciting not to share with all of you. I'd like introduce you to another adventurer on a sojourn in a strange land and the best TV show you're not watching.

When we learned last spring that Fulbright was sending us to India, my friend (and our school librarian) Cathy Belben also made a decision to move from quiet Northwest Washington to a foreign locale: Hollywood. It may not sound as exotic as India, but I'm pretty sure Cathy got the bigger jolt of culture shock. She was quite content to live the life she'd carved out for herself at home, but she took a chance when an old friend (who happened to be the creator and executive producer of a UPN show called Veronica Mars) invited her to come and write for his TV show.



Like us, Cathy had no TV so she hadn't even seen the show. But we quickly devoured the DVD's the producer sent her way. She ultimately found the courage to venture into this unknown, just like we had to take a chance in agreeing to come here. So tonight (that's 9/27)--since I can't--please tune into the Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson on CBS where my friend Cathy will be funny and amazing (and possibly wearing way too much makeup). She'll recount her unlikely journey from being the world's strongest librarian (sorry, Jason V, but she'd take you down quick) to script writer for a high school mystery series. And tomorrow night, you can start following her story in a slightly different form as the second season of the critically acclaimed, highly addictive creation that is Veronica Mars premieres. Just don't tell me what happens--I'm hoping to catch up via DVD someday.

Jen

PS: Check your local listings. I've always wanted to say that . . .

Sowing and Reaping

On seed farming, our trip to the hills, karma and grace.


For the past 35 years, Mr. Mahajan and his family have carved terraces in the steep, lush hill country of Solan to grow crops. These stepped gardens give life to mounds of cucumbers, nearly a ton of yearly kiwi, strawberries, chilies, beautiful flowers, and a host of other fruits and vegetables. The switchback trails wove around the fertile tiers like cucumber vines twisting round the kiwi trees – seemingly random but quite purposeful.



Cool breezes brought to us the sounds of waterfalls, crickets and birds as we walked along the path, often stopping to marvel at a cactus, flower or vegetable we never knew existed. All organic and hand cultivated, Durga Seed Farm, Floriculture, and Plantation was a haven for a guy like me that reads food labels and Wendell Berry with the same agrarian passion. This family with a couple of cucumber seeds 35 years ago has blossomed into a worldwide seed distributor and we were fortunate to experience what their love and labor has produced.



As we drank our tea on the veranda and chatted with our hosts, I looked out and noticed the men weeding in the terrace below - busily yanking out that which they did not plant. Our conversation drifted towards religion and Mrs. Bajwa (our host and vice-principal of the school where Jen teaches) asked me whether Christians believe in reincarnation or not. It was kind of ironic that I was wearing a t-shirt which said YOU HAVE ONE LIFE – DO SOMETHING (from World Vision) as I attempted to answer her question. Rebirth seems to be a theme within most all religions and I did my best to explain the process of spiritual rebirth as Jesus described it. As she alluded to the judgment and rewards intrinsic in the concept of karma, I thought of the U2 song “Grace” and the idea of not actually having to reap everything you sow - especially the bad things - because someone else chooses to do it for you. It was easy to imagine Jesus hanging out at a place like that and casually talking about sowing seeds, vineyard management, plant care and harvesting while actually meaning something deeper.

Though I'm no expert on seed farming or faith, I'm pretty sure both take much longer to cultivate than we'd like them to and the weeding's impossible to do alone.

Jimmy

"Can I help you?"

I’ve been putting this blog off for a while, trying to figure out ways to make it funny or engaging enough to rival my husband’s recent comment-soliciting posts. Clearly, moving halfway around the world sets everything topsy-turvy—suddenly Jimmy’s the funny one and I’m the one who’s gone all soulful. While I realize I run the risk of revealing myself as a total geek with the following statement, the truth cannot be denied. So here goes. The Indian economy is fascinating.

India suffers from rampant unemployment, but some locals suggest its not because of a scarcity of work. I’ve had students and adults alike praise the American sensibility they dub “the dignity of labor,” while simultaneously bemoaning the lack of this quality in a large portion of their countrymen. Apparently, a lot of the local unemployment is voluntary—stemming from folks feeling too proud to engage in more menial tasks. I suspect the generalization is just that, but there must be some truth in it somewhere. Oddly enough, my husband—perhaps the most dignified of all laborers—is forbidden to work by his tourist visa lest he fill a job a resident might.




From what we’ve seen, there would be a lot of options. While the States seems obsessed with efficiency and low overheads, India is prioritizing providing work for as many as they can at once. So what if at home I was waited on by maybe three people at the Gap when I’d go to buy a pair of jeans (the one who would dig out my size from the giant piles in the back, the dressing room attendant, and the cashier—all of whom had been students of mine at one time, all of whom were chatting happily away on their fancy headsets and wondering what Bradbury was doing in their store). To be honest, anti-social, clothing-phobic me often felt smothered by all the attention. But in my first few adventures to FabIndia—a local clothing store franchise—I was waited on no fewer than 10 people. One to open the door, another to refold the items I pulled from the shelves with a military precision, one to help me find a matching dupatta, another to usher me to a dressing room. And this was just on the sales floor. The real action was at the checkout where one guy pulled the prices from my items, another entered them into the register, one pulled the printed receipt out of the old daisy wheel printer while two ace folders stood behind to package my garments. Then another person took my parcel to another counter where three more people processed it in different ways—including stapling another copy of the receipt to the top of the bag. Finally they waited for me to turn around and collect the bag by presenting my copy of the receipt, all the while acting as if I were collecting my car from a valet parking service (note that I’ve never actually done this). And this was a busy day—with countless other teams of employees assisting other customers.

Such specialization is a major ingredient of the employment and economy. You see it at all levels—the fact that the students at all the schools decide their career paths after the tenth grade board exams attests to this. In our neighborhood, we have a man who rides around every morning selling milk from his motorcycle, giant metal cans like industrial sized udders strapped to the sides. We have another who comes and fetches our clothes to be ironed. He takes the garments in the morning, returns them that evening and collects 2 Rupees per item.




But what really took some getting used to was the idea that a housekeeper had been hired to look after our three room apartment. Inderpreet let us know that this would probably happen and that the majority of middle class families had part time if not live-in help, but we always assumed we’d politely decline when we arrived. In point of fact, cleaning is more intense an affair than my occasional sweeping sessions and “gee, I don’t think the bathtub had that pink ring around the rim last month . . .” attitude back home. India is an exceptionally dusty place, clothes are washed by hand and hung to dry, and the brooms have very, very short handles. So even though Jimmy could easily do the dishes himself, we save them so Sudama, the class 11 student from a local government school, has something to do every day from 4 to 6. Jimmy pretends to mourn the surrender of his post as human dishwasher, but I’m not convinced.

But while our can-do American spirits sometime bristle at the thought of hiring an electrician to merely replace a fuse, we also realize that participating in the local economy here is something akin to backcountry camping. We want our impact to be as small and as positive as possible. That means haggling with rickshaw drivers to avoid overpaying to ensure that prices don’t rise for locals. Or letting a guy come and fix the toilet (yes it’s working now!) for 50 Rupee instead of Jimmy buying a wrench and doing the job himself. Maybe that’s why he’s the funny one now—he has the time. ☺

(Special thanks to Amanda, Kyle, and Christy as I suspect you’re the only ones econ-nerdy enough to make it all the way to the end of this post).

Tidbits about Mother India and Her Children

In case you were wondering, or even if you weren’t, here’s some information about India and its people that I thought you should know.

The population in India is over 1 billion (compared to 295 million in the U.S.). This makes it the world’s largest democracy. It’s poised to surpass China in 10-20 years as the most populated country.

It covers 2.4% of the earth’s surface with 16.7% of the planet’s people.

Surface area is 1,269,338 sq miles – a little over one-third the size of America.

National bird – PEACOCK

National flower - LOTUS (pictured below)



Literacy rate 60%

Life expectancy - 64 years old

$1 US = 44 Rupees In 1999, minimum wage was raised to 45 rupees a day.

There are 29 states and 6 union territories (like Washington, D.C.) and they sing each state’s name in the National Anthem.

India gained independence from Britain on August 15, 1947.

In our current state, Haryana, the ratio of women to men is 842 to 1000

India has over 80,000 students studying in U.S. universities, the most foreign students from any country in the world.

Over 37% of U.S. physicians are Indian born.

India holds world records for:
* Invention of trigonometry (2 B.C.)
* The most film extras – 300,000 in the 1982 epic Ghandi
* Man with the longest fingernail – 20 feet long!
* Earliest recorded decimal system (A.D. 6)
* Longest balancer on one foot – 2 days 17 hours 50 minutes
* Highest cricket pitch in Chail at 10,682 feet
* Fastest belcher clocked at 92 bpm (that’s burps per minute)

Hot water heaters are called “geysers”

The Hindus worship over 330 million gods and goddesses. The one in the picture is of Ganesh - the elephant faced god who rides a rat.

Yes, they do drive on the left hand side of the road and use their horns A LOT.

A 10 oz jar of all-natural black cherry jelly cost more than 12 pieces of cut chicken. No, we haven’t been eating chicken on our toast quite yet.

There are 18 national languages with Hindi being the official language of the Indian Republic.

India (Bollywood) produces more movies per year than any other country.

All the students call Jennifer Ma’am.
And everyone calls me James.

I got most of my info from our Lonely Planet INDIA book as well as the CIA website.
http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/in.html
http://www.lonelyplanet.com

Stalkers Beware - Constables Aware!

If there was any concern for our safety after our recent encounters with stalkers, you can now rest easy - THE POLICE KNOW WE'RE HERE. Last week as I was going to the market, I was pulled over by Daljit, one of our local sector Constables. Actually it was more like "motioned over" to talk to him as I was walking and he was reclining in the shade of a tree. He introduced himself and told me my name was James, that I lived in 1428 34-C and kept reassuring me that "we have your documents at the station." His uniform and name plate quelled my fears of him being a super-informed stalker. We chatted for a bit and then said goodbye.

So last night after our evening run we get a buzz at our door. Uh oh - cops. Two men in uniform came up the stairs and walked unhindered into our apartment. I'd like to say they began interrogating me, but actually, they simply asked how we were settling in and liking India. It was Head Constable Charanjit and Constable Daljit paying us a friendly neighborhood visit.


I think I made Daljit's day by showing him that I had already added his name to my expanding IMPORTANT LOCAL PEOPLE list by the door. We swapped a few Hindi and English words, took some photos, got their phone numbers, and said our goodbyes. It's a comforting thought to know that the local policemen not only know about us, but care enough to stop by and kindly offer their services. Stalkers don't have a chance...

Jimmy
PS Jen is actually more of a comments junkie than me.

Field Trip!

I wrote my application essay for the Fulbright program around the theme of field trips. I reached back in time and dredged up my first field trip to Mrs. Witherspoon’s farm in preschool. That magical day—when we left the classroom and learned so much—set a sort of pattern for my life. Besides the fact that I broke out in hives and had to get a really big shot (also a pattern that has been oft repeated), I look to that experience as an example of how I learn best. Since then, I’ve come to realize that many of the significant events in my story—going to England, working at camp, the bike trip with Jimmy, moving to Washington—are all field trips of a sort. Moving out of the normal and into something challenging and rewarding where I’m primed for learning and growth is unique to this kind of endeavor. This was the approach I promised to bring to this program. And it’s held up so far.

So when the school arranged for us to accompany my 11 Arts class on a field trip to Kasuali—a hill station founded by the British about 70 miles north of Chandigarh—my mountain-loving husband and I were thrilled. The excitement and my romanticized outlook on the whole affair was tempered a bit by the crowded bus ride through even more crowded villages and the tail end of the receding monsoon (it sounds way cooler to say “receding monsoon” instead of well, “rain”) but it was still a day to remember. Jimmy even brought his trekking poles, only to learn later that the entire trail was paved.

Our destination was Monkey Point, a shrine inside a military cantonment. Monkey Point is so named because legend holds that Hanuman—the monkey-faced god who’d been flying long before anyone every heard of the Wizard of Oz—touched down on the top of this small mountain in the foothills of the Himalaya. Some even say that the mountaintop still bears his step. Sadly, since the shrine is inside the military area, no photography was permitted. This was strictly enforced, so much so that a student who tried to take a photo just outside the gates was struck and his camera broken by an overzealous guard. But that low moment aside, the day was really pleasant. Even the rain didn’t dampen our spirits too much, instead shrouding the hills in fantastic mist. The kids sang and even broke into choreagraphed routines at times (apparently life does imitate Bollywood art in India) and generally acted like teenagers. I even felt quite at home when I heard them swearing (vocabulary I’m assured is not part of the formal instruction at the Bhavan).



And the scenery—well see for yourself. The pictures never do it justice, but they give you enough of an idea. And yes, true to its name, there were plenty of camera-snatching, food begging monkeys hanging around. Even Mrs. Witherspoon’s farm couldn’t top that.

Talkin' and Stalkin': A Vignette

Scene 1: Three weeks ago in Delhi. US State Department agent briefs US teachers and scholars about potential security risks while living and traveling in India. He uses words like "red alert, yellow alert, hostage renditions, altering daily schedules". His audience listens with bemusement mixed with paranoia.

Scene 2: Two days ago. Jimmy finds himself chatting with two 8th grade boys on a bicycle as he walks to the market. The boys enjoy following Jimmy around to every shop, eventually giving him a phone number and insisting he visits sometime. Jimmy insists the boys go home. Eventually they do.

Scene 3: Yesterday. Jimmy discovers one of the same boys trailing him (quite closely) as he once again walks to the market and shops. Jimmy enjoys ducking in and out of storefronts and eventually shakes his follower by observing advice of US State Dept. agent by altering walking path back to apartment. Meanwhile Jen is approached at her school by a man who has no job, claims to be a teacher and asks for help in getting him to the US to become an online tutor. Jen can't help.

Scene 4: Today. Jimmy decides to again "mix it up a little" by going a different way home. Jimmy never sees boys but is stopped by a man on a bicycle. Man claims to be Mechanical Engineer and that "Jennifer" was going to help him get to the States. Jimmy makes connection. Jimmy talks to man and assures the man that he has no women friends in the states who would want to marry him so he could move to America. Man looks dejected. Jimmy says goodbye and walks away. Man stalks Jimmy. Though man is sneakier than boy, Jimmy is sneakier than man. Jimmy again shakes tail and makes it home unseen. Jimmy proceeds to write about himself in third person.

The End

Actually, it's not as bad as it sounds. I quite enjoy talking to random strangers and practicing my very limited Hindi vocabulary on them, as well as my evasion tactics. The truth is, I'm just as curious about them, although I haven't tried following them home yet...

PS Jen told Jimmy to write that Jimmy loves receiving comments.

Rock and Roll

On Sunday afternoon, we visited Chandigarh's most treasured attraction--the Nek Chand Rock Garden. Nek was a city employee bored with his work who took to secretly creating whimsical art in a deserted stand of trees on the outskirts of the city. For years, he used whatever he could find--old lighting fixtures, broken dishes, bits of glass, old burlap bags--and transformed them into a fairy tale village. When the city found out about it, he was actually jailed for a short time before they realized what a treasure trove he was creating, and then released him and lent support in his efforts. He's become something of a national hero for his one-man quest, and many are praying for him now as he lies ill in a Delhi hospital.

We spent two hours wandering through tiny arched stone doorways, canyons made of cement filled burlap bags, past silent armies clad in china-plate mosaic armor, through a waterfall topped by imposing twisted figures of Hindu deities, and into an open amphitheater complete with giant swings, camel rides and dancing. In that journey, I came to realize that this garden is a monument to India. India if filled with people like Nek Chand. They have an inspiring ability to find and embrace the beauty in the messes of every day life. To me, the Rock Garden is a glorious reminder that in order to fully experience the world, I have to see with an eye for possibility and beauty. I hope someday you'll get a chance to see it and understand what I mean. Enjoy the photos!
Jen

The Top Ten Ways Living Abroad Means Regressing to Childhood

10. I have no idea what the grown ups are talking about. Must learn Hindi . . .
9. I get driven everywhere. Sadly, I rarely get to sit in the front seat.
8. I take naps. Due to the fact that the evening meal usually isn't served until 9:30 or 10 (my bedtime), a little sleepy time right after school is oh-so-important.
7. I ask more questions than the average four year old.
6. I want to wear shorts every day to school but I'm not allowed.
5. I'm not allowed to go shopping by myself.
4. I'm constantly accused of not eating enough.
3. The toilet is once again a frightengly cantankerous contraption. Jimmy actually high-fived me the other day when I flushed on the first try.
2. I miss my mommies.
1. I'm wide-eyed and amazed every morning at the new things I'm seeing and learning.
Jen

Even Jimmy's going back in time! Here he is swinging at the Rock Garden, Chandigarh's most famous attraction.

On turning 32 in India…

I had the fortune of celebrating yet one more year of breathing this past September 10th. My initial plans were to find out how they celebrate birthdays in India and really do it up right. Come to find out, it’s just like the states. Kids get all the fun while adults get a few congratulations and a couple of jokes about growing old.

One of my favorite songwriters, David Wilcox, has a song called “Down Inside Yourself” about a middle-aged man in the middle of his mid-life crisis that seeks out an Eastern guru in India for direction and answers to his life. When the wise man is consulted, he simply gives this timeless advice, “Get some sleep, eat some broccoli, run a mile, take a shower.”

So to avoid any old-age moss growing on me, I actually found myself performing a slightly altered version of this wisdom on my birthday.

Sleep? Got it.
Broccoli? Ate a cucumber instead.
Run a mile? Pushups, pull-ups and a walk to the market.
Take a shower? Had to.

Now the funny thing is that I had borrowed the Physical Education book from Rakesh, the PE teacher at Jen’s school, to study up on the rules of Cricket and happened to see a section on Yoga stretches. Being an adventurous and fairly flexible sort of chap, I thought I’d give them a go. I made the mistake of trying to start with PADMASANA, the lotus pose. After nearly dislocating my ankle, I moved onto the other ones. I managed to successfully complete 8 1/2 out of 12 yoga stretches.

The position of which I can only claim half complete is the gravity-defying MAYURASANA pose. The following are the books pictures and my intructions.

Step 1 - Begin kneeling and place hands on ground.


Step 2 - Lean over and begin placing body weight on elbows resting on chest. Experience partial enlightenment (notice light.)


Step 3 - Balance the body in the horizontal position with the arms resting on the ground. Ram elbows into chest cavity, bruise ribs and make a mockering of gravity. Experience complete elightenment and squeal in pain.


To be fair, I did feel much more relaxed after stretching. It turned out to be a great birthday as I was able to talk to family and friends on the phone for the first time and enjoyed many birthday e-mails. Our neighbors also took us to a local craft fair, onto dinner and even bought me a frozen dessert - with which I was very tempted to ice one of my newly bruised ribs. And in case you were wondering, I personally don't recommend trying the MAYURASANA unless you're either underwater or at least under 30.

Jimmy

Headline: "Janifer Bradbry Dodges Tough Questions"

My host school is understandably excited about the exchange, and we are all keen to spread the word about the Fulbright program and its goals to increase mutual understanding across cultures. Today's paper has a goofy picture of my and spells my name a myriad of ways. The version above is my favorite. So as I endured another round of interviews with local media outlets today, I kept telling myself that this was for the good of the school and the program. But it didn't keep me from feeling very tired at the end of the day.

Part of my exhaustion stems from the fact that I spent so much energy pushing back the words the reporters seemed keen to put in my mouth. That may sound a bit extreme, but some of the journalists are in line with public sentiment that India puts too much pressure on its students to perform. I find it a little odd that they saw fit to ask me, a teacher whose experience in the system is built upon all of five days, but I suppose they're just doing their jobs. So without knowing what's going to come out in the paper tomorrow, I thought I'd try and speak my peace now.

To be fair, students here do face pressures that their counterparts in the US don't on a wide scale. At the end of Grade 10, these student take a National exam. Their performance on that exam dictates what career paths will then be open to them. In the two final years of high school, students are placed in a stream--much like a major in college--in preparation for the challenges they'll face at University. At the end of Grade 12, the students take another national exam, this one deciding which schools will be open to them. The kids do acknowledge that its stressful, and the teachers--because the exams are so important--must carefully follow the nationally mandated curriculum. Also, a school like the Bhavan attracts Chandigarh's best and brightest. (It's important to note, however, that the Bhavan admirably maintains a special cell for students with disablities and a school for students living in poverty).

So when my students here have the impression that American high schools are easier, they're partially right. But to understand why, you have to look even deeper. In the US, all students are mixed into a public school classroom. In my school in Washington, I have genius level IQ's, mixed in with students who speak little to no English to students with learning disabilities (sometimes all three combined in one child). That means US teachers are to a certain degree teaching to a standard somewhere in the middle. But I tell the kids here that that doesn't mean there's no stress on our students to perform. High stakes tests at various grade levels throughout the country have some kids seeking therapy as early as fourth grade. Seriously. And when students in the states are fortunate enough to be admitted to college, there is the problem of paying for it. Here in India, if they are admitted, its almost completely paid for.

Just as there are pressures in both places, there are also strengths. Its impossible to say that the one way is better because they're both so different in the costs they are willing to bear. The US may not have as deep an upper echelon of students and learners as India, but we've chosen to forgo that in favor of a greater number of the population with a basic education and the ability to learn. But when I look at the school in which I find myself now, the system is clearly working well for these students. They are as bright and articulate as any I've ever worked with at home.


So as the newspapers are looking for controversy, I'm starting to realize that the point of this exchange is more than building understanding. Its about creating a community of teachers committed to finding the best ways to educate students. I've found the teachers here to be very eager to hear about what we're doing in the US, and I'm learning so much from them and my students about how I can teach better now and when I return. As different as the two systems are, some things are clearly universal. We all know we've got room to grow. We all want to teach our students more effectively. We're passionate about our content areas. But most important, we all love students.

And that's the real scoop.

School Days

While Jimmy holds down the fort, I spend my days trying to find my place in my new school. Here are a few of the images that await me each day at the Bhavan.

The school seal greets all who enter the building. Go Bhavanites!


Teachers often have to sub in other classes, so these fifth graders spent their Hindi lesson teaching me. Despite the chaos in the picture, I had them under control for a little while. Honest.


Here's one of my classes of 11th Grade English. And yes, they're as sweet as they appear . . . so far.


Even the school buses look different here!



An after-school escape vehicle--also known as an overcrowded auto-rickshaw.

Top Ten Ways Jimmy Spends His Days

After meeting many of our neighbors, we discovered that our block is mainly inhabited by retired military personnel. House placards hail names beginning with Major, Colonel, Captain and the like. What this really means is that I've joined the ranks of men that basically sit around all day and reminisce about the glory days. As there's no one to reminisce with, I've had to find other ways to occupy my time at
N 30 deg 42.957'
E 076 deg 45.608'


10. One word - SUDOKU.
9. Build up resistance to heat by NOT turning the air conditioner on. Sweat profusely even in the shower.
8. Walk to the market and buy packaged food that in my previous life would have chastised others for eating.
7. Read. The Bible, Bhagavad Gita, Ghandi's writings and a children's pictorial history of India.
6. Walk to the market again. I drank all the yummy juice in my sweat conditioning.
5. Check the e-mail and blog site every 17 minutes to see if anyone has written anything to us. Not that I'm desperate or anything.
4. Think up names for our 2 pigeons. "Ethel and Wilbur...Patsy and Rufus...Stupid bird #1 and Stupid bird #2..."
3. Take photos and video footage of our neighborhood for the upcoming blockbuster hit "A Day In Sector 34-C" Avoid any actual editing and conceptualize. Yeah...conceptualize.
2. Help Indiana Jones find all the ancient artifacts in his hunt for the Emperor's Tomb on our computer game. Avoid Nazis at all cost.
1. Rack my brain about good blog ideas. Fail. Settle for top 10 list.

Actually I'm quite engaged all day long. Between keeping the apartment tidy, fixing Jen's lunch, figuring out ways to volunteer, playing guitar and the rest, it's a good life in Sector 34-C.

Jimmy

Listen

At my school in the states, this is the first day of actual classes. That means Inderpreet is now dealing with that same apprehension I was feeling two days ago when I first assumed responsibility for my two classes. But if our experiences parallel each other at all, I’m sure she’s going to have an amazing experience. I’m so glad to finally be teaching. I’ve got so much to say about the students, the staff and the school (all positive, by the way!) but I need some more time to figure out how to break it into small pieces for all of you. Give me a couple more days.

Right now, I’m feeling the need to write small. In a place as overwhelming and as beautifully chaotic as India, I feel a real need to zoom in on one thing and share that with you. I think now I want to tell you what India sounds like. Sadly, my technology skills and this blog limit my ability to actually allow you to hear this place, but I’ll do my best to describe it.



As the sun sets over the City Beautiful, small noises come to me from every side. The fan whirs overhead, cars honk in the street behind and below us. A little girl who lives two buildings over circles our block on her bicycle, the bell trilling each time she passes. Somewhere, someone is watching a Bollywood movie with the volume way up (I’m pretty sure the same lady sings all the songs in those films). Right now, one of the vendors pushing his cart around our block wails out in Hindi, tempting with a limeade drink that I’m betting isn’t made with filtered water. Moments later, the newspaper man pedals past, shouting out another Hindi word in low, strong tones.



Below me, the iron gate on our apartment swings open, creaking and clanging when it comes back home. And a dog—one of the many strays populating Chandigarh—growls, perhaps warding off someone who has come to peek at the pups she’s been hiding beneath our neighbors overgrown hedge. An apple vendor, not shouting as vigourously as the other hawkers, sounds so sad in his cry that I almost want to go and buy a few.



Now, the balloon man races past. Behind him trail bouquets of balloons and the kind of toys I used to beg my mother to buy me from the grocery store, tethered to the back of his beaten bicycle like the tail of a kite. The bleating of some weird kazoo he keeps fixed in his mouth begs children to spend a few Rupee on one of his treasures.



Its almost indescribable how the air crackles with sound here. I don’t think I’ve known a quiet moment since we arrived. Even at school, the open windows, chatter of the students, scraping of the metal chair legs on the slab floor, and the most terrifying dismissal bell I’ve ever heard all speak of an India that is always in motion. It’s a place that teems with life. In ways it seems chaotic, all this noise. But I find that if I pay attention, something more rhythmic and orchestrated emerges from these sounds. I’m just learning to listen, but I can already hear snatches of the song.