My Namesake: the Averill Legacy

Introducing myself is sometimes a struggle. In fact in fitting rooms, or at restaurants, when they ask for my name, I say my mother's name, "Mary." Because it's a whole lot less complicated.

"I'm Averill"
          "April?"
                    "Arielle?"
             "Avril? Ooo! like Avril Lavigne?" (people always think they're very clever with that one)
                              "Ariel?"
         A few times I've gotten, "Arwall?"
"Averill. Like the month, April, but with a 'V'"

"Oh!" Eventually, when they get it, I will often hear "well, that's a pretty name."
I think so too. It's worth struggling through countless spellings and mispronunciations because I love my name.
But I don't love it for it's phonetic appeal. I love the legacy it represents. I really cannot begin to do it justice, but here's my small attempt:

Averill is my mother's maiden name, and there is not a group of people in this world cooler than the Averill clan. Truly the most sophisticated bunch of people you'll ever meet. Between my grandparents and their direct children they collectively have over 50 years of higher education. Princeton, Harvard, Yale, BU, Tufts, Columbia among them. (this isn't including any of my cousins--all of whom are also incredible). They're the top of their fields, in all their various fields. Art, medicine, business, history. But with all of that education, they are also so humble and easy to be around.

I'm convinced nothing in this world is more fun than sitting around a table with the Averills doing a crossword puzzle collectively. They know every author and every title and every character of every obscure novel; every battle in every war in every time period around the world; every river and every capital and every political leader or movement in every country; every opera and every shakespeare plot. Truly one of my proudest moments in life was contributing one word to the puzzle being crushed by Averills.

When they're not discussing the latest political, economic, cultural, medical, historical information, they are laughing. Whether over charades, cribbage, card games, or conversation, a night never passes without rolling laughter.

"We use our phones to transfer information; we speak into a screen which transfers our words into text; then the person on the other end presses a button to have that text read out loud by a computer--tell me why the system has changed? Why don't we just call each other?"

"You looked like you had a deep thought"
"I might have. They come and go so quickly."

"So what the heck am I doing standing in this dark closet?"

"I enjoyed seeing my eggplant" (in reference to a painting)
"Well, that was a non-sequitor..."
laughter. (that might be a had-to-be-there moment. but I am sure glad I was there)

Trying to get back to my cousin's house after a walk, three sisters were discussing their methods of finding their way back in general.
Ginny: "I look for familiar landmarks..."
Leigh: "I try and go back exactly the way I came..."
Mary: "I picture a string going back on the road..."
everyone looked at me, curious how I find my way back if I'm lost
I said sheepishly... "I just... use my phone..." Laughter.

At my brother's wedding, there was a reunion in Salt Lake. We wanted to surprise my aunt Libby with a party celebrating her newly acquired doctorate degree.  All the Averills shuffled into two elevators heading upstairs to the 23rd floor (where Libby was), my Aunt Ginny called out for a race. Someone in my elevator accidentally pressed up against the button panel, and lit a few extra floors on the way. We groaned and chuckled about how the other elevator is going to beat us. Our doors opened on the 14th floor, and just as they were closing, the other elevator full of Averills opened--they had done the same thing! We reached the 23rd floor at the same time, and all spilled out of the elevators in a fit of laughter.

They're not like normal siblings, fighting over the remote control. They fight over who gets to read the latest biography, or history about the beginning of WWI, for example. "I'm sorry, Len. Mary called it. You can't have it until she's done"

"I've got a new book for you"
"I've already read it. Leigh got to me first!"
"Oh no!"
"She gave me a great one the other day---Laurence in Arabia"
"Wait! I gave that to HER! She stole my recommendation!"

This past weekend I had the pleasure of a small Averill family reunion. I went to visit my grandmother, Louise Averill, who is no longer in perfect health and now unfortunately struggles with her memory. She's lived in Pennsylvania, and I've lived in the west, so we haven't had a lot of time to be together lately. But this weekend it was so lovely to spend some time with her. She's a spunky 94-year-old woman. Try to get her to eat her dinner, and she'll poke her fork at you, or slowly try to pawn off pieces of her meal to her neighbors' plates. But she needs no help or convincing whatsoever to finish every last bite of chocolate ice cream.

"Grammy, I must have got my sweet tooth from you!"

took a very long time to understand that we were taking a picture. worth it. 

"oh, you like chocolate?" 
"Oh yes!" 
"Yup! that's definitely from me!" 
I also get my love of making funny faces from her, apparently. We had a lively conversation with our scrunched noses across the dinner table.

When I saw her first, she asked me who I was at least three times over the space of ten minutes.
"I'm your granddaughter, Mary's daughter, Averill" 
Every time it was really fun to see her light up with recognition, "Averill?"
"Ya! That's right! I'm named after you!"  

...Once she said, "Well aren't you pretty!"
"Thanks, Grammy. You know, I take after YOU. You're the one who started being pretty!"
"Oh, I may be pretty on the outside, but on the inside I'm sinister. Watch out!" 
I thought, "I must have gotten that from you too!" :) 

Three generations

A sophisticated lady (like all the Averill women) she wouldn't leave her apartment without her earrings and her nose powdered. As she was getting ready, I saw some old pictures of her wedding, "Grammy, how did you meet your husband?"
My mom started in with the story, "You remember, mom. You were serving tea to a group of army officers, and you saw a very handsome officer, right? He was so handsome, you dropped the tea! you fell in love right then!"
"I didn't fall in love... I collapsed in love!"

Lenny joined in, "My father, in his old age, couldn't find words in English; but he could speak Greek and Latin, and he beat us all at cards every time."

We went downstairs and found a piano so I could give her a little concert. I played and sang a few broadway show tunes to a very small audience (Grammy, my mom, and my uncle). But it felt like the most important audience I'd ever sung for; I think I've never sung with more heart. All of my cousins are intimidatingly impressive (much like their parents); and while I'll never compete with them in Ivy league educations (or just general awesomeness), I was so happy to contribute to the family what I could. This little moment of music. A little piece of me felt like all my training and experience had been for this time, this moment; to share with my family, my grandmother.

My Uncle Lenny convinced me to relocate these
balloons from the lobby. She loved them.

Someone heard my playing from another room and walked in to listen. He asked who I was. My Grammy answered, "That is my granddaughter. Isn't she wonderful?"  She went from not recognizing me/remembering me at all to being very proud to introduce me as hers.  (Contributing to the crossword puzzle as a close second) it was one of the greatest moments of my life.

For three lovely days I got to re-meet my grandmother. She is so full of love and life, even in her frail physical state. I'm not sure I'll get another chance to see her in this lifetime but I am so grateful for the little time I got to spend with her at all. And grateful for the influence she's had on her incredible family.

As we were talking about her other children and grandchildren, she exclaimed "I'm beginning to think I produced very well!" My mother replied, "Ya, you did, mom."

Her legacy is one I am extremely honored to be counted among.
To all the Averills: thank you for your examples, your support, your friendship, and your love.

Love to all the Averills,

Averill.

The India Chronicles: Wrap Up

So, It's been over six months since I got back from India, but I wanted to add some last minute thoughts, and categorize some random journal entries:

• People are beautiful. No matter where you go, there's something enchanting about humanity. Universally, it's also messy, awkward, difficult, and awful. But there's something magical about the very fact that you can connect with someone in a completely different world, on a level that is not really understandable or describable.  
• Women are Incredible. Overall, the women that I met in India have sacrificed so much. For their families, for their communities, for their guests. We were near perfect strangers, and every woman we met went out of their way for us. An excerpt from my journal: Indian women are awesome. They're sharp, curt. not a lot of warm fluffy validation. they're sassy and quick,  hardworking and nurturing. It's a different kind o nurture than in the states--it's very official. almost business-like. constantly making sure everyone is alright. Always cooking, offering, worrying about food and whether we all have enough of it. They're so genuine and sincere, without the sweet frosting fluff of an appearance of caring. I like that approach. 
• Life is hard; and oh my goodness I am blessed. Naturally the living conditions I experienced and saw, or the extreme struggle of poverty. The rest of my blog posts all basically point out the many reasons I feel so blessed, but I found one more little story I wanted to share to illustrate that point: sitting on a rocky train, vendors coming up and down the isles every few seconds shouting the same one or two muddled syllables of the name of what they're selling. Their shouts are loud and nasal, stinging and abrasive. 'ignore them, averill. don't make eye contact. otherwise they'll stop and try to make you buy whatever their selling'. Then I made the mistake of looking down, curious what aroma I was experiencing. It was a masala chickpea concoction with fresh onions and lime. The vendor caught my glance and held out her basket. "No" I quickly shook my head, carefully trying not to buy into this system which I found so annoying. and looked away trying to get her to pass by. But she held up a small spoonful of a sample. it was delicious. I finally nodded and she smiled. She pointed to various items in her basket. saying with her eyes, "would you like freshly cut onions?" I nodded, "how about lime juice sprinkled?" Yes. "and two spoons?  so you can share?" Thank you. Only 10 rupees. about 12 cents. She smiled. a warm, genuine smile as if to say, "I glad you enjoy these! have a good trip!" I was suddenly struck by how rude I'd been to her. She and all the other vendors were just trying to make a living. an honest, hard working job, trekking train cart to train cart hoping to get 10 rupees at a time. Who am I to be annoyed at their methods that are just culturally different? I truly admire their bravery. I will never have to fight for a living that way. 
• Down further on that same page of my journal I wrote this: I wonder if when I'm back in the states, I'll miss the noise. I wonder if the quite I once missed will feel empty. (When I first came back, it really did. Everything was too quiet; eerily quiet. and too clean; sterile. inhuman. I had more of a culture shock returning to the states than I did arriving in India.)
• I don't like traveling, I like living. 
• I like roots, even if they're short ones. I wouldn't have liked India if I'd just traveled here. But I like it; I like having lived here, having ridden their buses, been in their hospitals. I like india. I don't like being a white, blonde foreigner in India, but I like India. 
• I want to go into my world travels not with the mindset, 'what experience does this place have to offer me?' but 'what can I learn here?' or 'how can I serve?' I'd rather have a life that is small and deep than one that is wide, large, expansive, but shallow. 

• International development is difficult. The beauty in the system of HELP international is that we tried to work with Local NGOs: people who know their own people and know how to help them. Because we frankly didn't know. When people talk about "voluntourism" or "humanitarian aid as a hobby" it makes me a little bit upset. At least the people that are going around the world are trying. They're putting in effort to change the world, even if we don't totally know how. yet. 
• My frustration with going abroad and trying to help, was that I really didn't know exactly how to do so. I didn't know the language or the culture. I didn't fully understand the problems I was trying to solve. 

So here's my big take away:

Lift where you stand (listen to this talk if you haven't)

Serve in a place where you know how to serve; the people whose culture, language, communication style, and problems you understand. Not everyone gets the chance to fly across the world and work in the slums of India. But you don't need to to make a difference. There are so many things that we can do here; so many things that everyone can do right where they are. Right where YOU are.

The India Chronicles: Mumbai, Letter #11

When my mother was my age, she lived in Bombay, India for a while. She went to find God. Living on bananas and Chai tea and came back barely over 100 lbs, and while she ended up finding God later in life somewhere else, in India she found more of herself.

My first week in India I told her about the chaos. The noise, the heat, the trash, the dirt, the language barriers. She said she'd felt the same way: very overwhelmed by a very different world. In her frustration and wandering she stumbled into a western hotel. it was clean and quiet. it had AC. She bought a coke and just soaked in this unexpected sanctuary. She said that lobby was a momentary haven and that a drink had never tasted better. 

We both got acclimated pretty quickly to the chaos and even learned to love it. but I loved that story. 

So once upon a time, Ann and I decided to go to Mumbai (Bombay), India. We wanted to see another piece of India before I left this magical place, and for sentimental reasons I wanted to be in the same place my mother was.

So here we sat, shaking with excitement in our airplane seats in going to the economic capital of India. As we descended, huge, gorgeous high rises come into view. Stunning wealth obviously present in the city. The closer we got to the ground however, the scenery changed. Suddenly, for miles across, blue-tarped roofs appeared. A giant stretch of shanty towns spread between us and the airport. They seemed endless. We'd been working in the slums of Hyderabad, but these were far worse than any community we'd been in.

My stomach dropped. we were speechless. This was a problem so much out of our reach of solving.

We arrived and were dropped off by our taxi on a pretty random street corner and had to navigate our way to my good friend and host's house. Neil (our host) was surprised we'd found the place. I was too, frankly.

Maybe we were trying to reconcile our idealistic view of the world, development, and the human spirit, with the reality of a problem far beyond our control to even make a dent in. We were discouraged and disheartened and frankly a little ill. We were trying to be good company, but neither of us was in a party mood. Neil took us out to see the best and the brightest upper-class yuppies of mumbai. Another night, it would have been a blast, but I think we were a little... deflated. 

Neil was such a kind host and didn't ask questions or judge. 

Side note:
Let me tell you about Neil for a second. He's truly incredible. Not only is he friendly and caring, the glue to his world-wide social network, but he's brilliant.
He has an answer to everything, he knew more current world affairs, literature, poetry, politics, cultures, religion, history than anyone I'd ever met in my life. He'd whip out the most incredible dates and titles in their original languages, etc. The cliche, "A walking encyclopedia" never applied to anyone I'd met thus far in my life.

The next night, he and I stayed up very late just talking. The conversation turned to religion; namely my religion... It's hard to combat reason with faith. There's no logic. you can't argue for a metaphysical other world very easily. because that's the point of faith, right? there's no proof. And it's hard to try to explain what "knowing God exists" feels like.He was genuinely curious, and sincerely respectful, but I hope I didn't offend him when I said, "Neil, talking to you is... exhausting!"
I desperately wanted him to know that I didn't have faith in God out of naiveté, but out of a personal, thought-out choice.

Our second day in Mumbai, I woke up anxious. There was something gnawing at my inner soul. When we presented the idea of the trip, our team was really unenthusiastic to say the least. We were met with a lot of opposition actually. Ann and I went against the warnings and concerns of our group, because we had felt good about the trip, and were a little stubborn. I woke up with the fear that they'd been right, that we shouldn't have come. Or maybe it was a guilt for being so privileged compared to what we saw flying in. Whatever the cause, I was not very good company. Not having a plan for the day was really stressing me out. Normally I can go with the flow. But for some reason, I was panicked by the lack of structure.

We wandered around old town (which was beautiful and interesting--so much history) and we decided to get on a boat for a day tour to Elephante Island. I desperately needed some solid plan, and so I jumped on that one.
When we got there, a persistent little Indian Man, Chandra Kahn, stole our hearts and convinced us to let him be our tour guide. He showed us incredible caves, taught us some very interesting things. He was charming company, even brought us to his own home and offered us homemade tea. At the end of the tour when he dropped us off, he just gave us a big hug and started walking away--he'd completely forgotten about being paid, he just wanted to show us his island! When we called him back to give him some money for the tour, he shouted with the largest, most contagious grin, "This will buy me beer!"

When we landed back in the mainland, I felt refreshed. My faith in humanity had been boosted. Then our phones didn't work. we couldn't get ahold of Neil. Every plan we made fell through. We bounced around internet cafes trying to find something to do, but we ran out of money. we lost our phone. we panicked. we found it, but it wasn't working. we ended up getting dinner take out of this local dive restaurant that felt authentic. We couldn't find a place to sit that wasn't another restaurant, and we didn't really want to eat on the back-streets of Mumbai as it was getting darker, so we crawled our way up behind a shoe cobbler's office to a hostel lobby where there was an empty reception desk. We sat on a padded bench and unwrapped our now extremely appetizing food. We were homeless, exhausted, frustrated that every single one of our plans had fallen through, and starving. Then the front desk man came back, and told us that we couldn't sit there and eat. But we had no where else to go...

So we pretended like we didn't understand what he was saying.

Perfect solution, right? I'm embarrassed to this day, but I couldn't see another way to finish our dinner besides pretending we didn't speak English. Eventually he sort of gave up. and we hurriedly ate our dinner (with our fingers).  I'd never felt so out of place. So homeless, and so hopeless (at least for the night). We walked out of the hostel, and discovered the streets were dark. Understandably afraid, we shuffled to the pier: lit, lots of people. Then found the famous, 5-star Taj Mahal hotel.

Turns out the food--we'd had so much trouble sitting down to eat-- made us sick. We finally got in touch with Neil, whom we asked for the key to his apartment so we could call it a night. Sick to our stomaches, tired, and dejected by this rough trip, we just wanted to go to sleep. We took a taxi to see him, and for some RANDOM reason, the taxi that took us to meet Neil, waited for us and took us back to the Taj Mahal Hotel. We thought we'd pop in just for a minute and get a coke, and get a different taxi home.

When we walked into the lobby, an darling cute old gentleman was tearing up the piano keys with soft jazz. I recognized the song he was playing, and without thinking twice, I stood beside the piano, and sang from the bridge to the end with him. Delighted, he insisted we continue. Brilliant pianist, he knew every song we could think of; we had a blast pouring through his fake books and making up harmonies. Also a fervent Catholic, the man was spouting praises and thanks to God, when we looked through some of his original songs of worship as well.

(To watch a video click HERE )

Ann and I sang beside him for the next two hours, gathering a very small audience in the lobby. I thought people might be confused why these disheveled white girls were singing in this lobby, but no one seemed to question, everyone just seemed to be enjoying the music.
This was a little piece of heaven for us to be able to sing with this incredible man.

(Turns out, THIS was the exact same hotel my mother had stumbled into, and experienced as a haven, almost 40 years ago! Isn't that poetic?)

Two nice young men in our lobby audience (who claimed to be our biggest fans) offered to see us safely home. On the way, Sheersh and Ankit took us to go see the queen's necklace, the famous, beautiful shore line of Mumbai. They bought us fresh-sqeezed juice in the train station, and put us safely in a cab back.

I can't really do the sight or the feeling justice. I think it would be impossible to describe; I can't say it any other way besides night had turned to magic.

We snuck out of Neil's early the next morning. Headed back to the states, I knew that was my last Indian adventure, but what a lovely adventure it was. 

The India Chronicles: The Wizard of Aurangabad; Letter #10

My desperate desire was to do something of value, something that only I could have brought, something utilizing my skill set and passion that would be worthwhile to give.

So I wrote a show. Because it’s the only thing I know how to do.  I didn’t know if it actually would be worthwhile to give, but it was at least an idea.

Now, my heart is so full. This week has been an incredible way to end a trip to India.

If you read my last blog post, last Tuesday we got rained out. We were going away for the weekend to visit the home of one of our partner’s sister’s house. A nine-hour train ride to Aurungabad where we were going to see the historical caves and forts with her family. (which were incredible. pics below)

Because I wrote it with the whole team in mind, we needed the whole team there to do it, and the subtle lack of enthusiasm/general skepticism about the success from them was less than encouraging. So because of the trip, I thought if we didn’t do the show on Tuesday, it would never be performed. And when the hour-late train (and later the torrential downpour of rain) caused the show to be cancelled, I had resigned myself to defeat. This country had defeated me. I was to go home, having learned a bucket-load of patience, and accomplished nothing. 

But then Dr. Meera (our partner here) asked us to do something for the school we’re visiting in Aurungabad—her sister’s school—present something or just say hello. We asked if we could do our presentation about substance abuse and our short skit about getting to college. She said, “ok” with the Indian head bobble.

When we arrived at the school, they treated us like Ambassadors. An army of children—literally marching in lines—shouted their national anthem with gusto—came down the stairs seated boys on one side and girls on the other. A few select children introduced us and one by one hung beautiful floral lays around our heads. We shook a lot of hands of administrators and local newsmen. All before we even said anything.

(Side note: the undeserved celebrity here is ridiculous. It is cultural to treat your guests like gods, they are such gracious hosts, so we always feel slightly uncomfortable at being waited on. And our white faces make us someone really interesting, though I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve their attention. I figure if posing for this picture with this person handing me a pamphlet I can’t read cause it’s in some local tribal language, gets them donors because they have support of an International NGO, or whatever, it’s maybe not a terrible thing. Leverage my white face for some sort of good—even if it’s just to smile at a little girl who’s star struck and try and make her day.)

After the crazy welcome, we gave our presentation: Anti-drug and alcohol/goal setting/helping your friends avoid substances. Then we awkwardly, hastily set up for the show. We were expecting about 100 kids, and over 500 were there. So we had to re-arrange a little bit.

 Then we did the show. It was messy and disjointed. Music cues were difficult to hear. Remembering where we stand, and what lines we added only the night before were forgotten or stumbled through. Our costumes were minimal and silly—the scarecrow was wearing an old curtain, for example—and the parts I had scripted in to be interactive were sort of lost in translation. But they LOVED it.

Dr. Meera loved it. She told us that the teachers loved it, and the school children loved it. They were absolutely enraptured. She told us they recorded it so they could reproduce it for the younger kids who couldn’t come. That made my heart smile.

In India, creativity is not particularly encouraged in their schools. It’s not discouraged; it’s just not cultivated. If a child draws a picture, he or she often grabs another picture to copy. They don’t know many songs besides the national anthem. I wanted to show them that if they can hold up their hands, with imagination they can be a field of poppy flowers. Or if they moved their arms in a monkey-like dance, they had the capability to be become for the moment mischievous monkeys. My hope was to give them a small sense of wonder, a small spark of the magic in creativity, and it felt like a success. Who knows if it actually was, but it felt like one. I could not have paid for a better reception.

In our version, the Wicked Witch is not actually wicked, she’s just lonely. Laxmi (Dorothy)(me) helps the Witch find her lost friends, her only friends, the monkeys (the audience), and Laxmi reaches out in friendship, the Witch becomes nice. Cheesy? Absolutely. Ridiculous? Certainly. But for this arts-deprived community, Dr. Meera claimed it was brilliance.

My best friend, Ann, both in the show and in India. Wicked Witch and Laxmi!

Some of the feedback we received included a teacher saying that she now had the courage to confront her husband about his alcohol abuse. Another teacher said that sometimes we view those who use tobacco and alcohol as below us, but learning from the Wicked Witch’s story, He said that we are all the same and you can only change people with love. That was really neat moment, hearing that he got that out of our show.

When we did the show back in Hyderabad the next week, a little boy not more than 3 feet tall said, “I learned that we should try to be friends with our enemies, and what it takes is understanding. Sometimes enemies are friends.” Another little boy said, “We need to share what god has given you. Use each other’s talents to reach your goals. And find the self-confidence to share that.” Maybe they are just really well trained to say the right things, but it felt like they really gleaned something beautiful and important, even though it was just a silly little show. The whole experience has renewed my faith in the arts, especially theater, as a tool for teaching.

We gave to our incredibly gracious host (and principle of the school) our face paint crayons, in case they did end up reproducing the show. Or if the kids just wanted to play with them. She was choking back tears when she said, “You are so kind.” Truly she had been so kind to us, it was even another moment of gratitude wherein we were able to give her something so simple but meant so much to her.

Sometimes you just need to start. You need to have courage and faith in your own idea and abilities. Sometimes you don’t produce something in order to fill a need, but a need is filled after you produce something that you didn’t know existed. Create even through the noise of things telling you not to. You need to be able to take the adversity that you will no-doubt face; even if that adversity is simply apathy from others. Apathy can produce doubt as quickly as antagonism, maybe even quicker.

 When we got back to Hyderabad, we had another meeting with Dr. Meera about all of our projects, and she again cooed about how wonderful the show was—how coupled with the substance abuse class, it inspired ambition, courage, and friendship. She wanted to do it at every possible venue she could fit it into. She wanted to talk to as many schools as would have us. Dr. Meera is one of the most incredible woman I’ve ever met in my life; she’s dedicated her life to hard development, and brought thousands of people out of the depths of abject poverty, and here she was, so passionate and excited about a silly little show I wrote.

Total, we did the show four times in three days, for approximately 860 students. It was a thrill to be so positively validated and encouraged to do something that I love so much. And it was an incredible privilege to (hopefully) bring a little bit of magic or wonder into these children's lives. 

"Munchkins" giving Laxmi a friendship bracelet

Tiger (not a lion) :)

"mischievous monkeys" doing the monkey dance

the cast in character. Dr. Meera filled in for our good witch!

India Chronicles. Not a letter, just a thought on a rainy day

July 15th, 2014

I’ve mentioned India in the sun. There’s another side of India: the one in the rain.

An eventful day of non-events: we were our way to the bridge camp (the school for labor-rescued girls) to perform an original, thirty-minute, Indian version of the Wizard of Oz, (put together in a mad dash of two days), bags of costumes and props in hand. The bus was late. And then the train was late. Not just late, an hour late. So we were two hours behind initial schedule and our translator couldn’t wait for us any longer at the school, so we had to cancel the show, get off the train, and turn around.

Then it started to rain. POURING RAIN.

We walked to our new stop in the torrential downpour. Costumes and props and bags (and dreams of today’s show) drenched.

In our various hours of waiting along the way, I finished the book 1984. For those of you who have read it—the ending is a terrible, horrible, wretched vision of the future of humanity.

Our whole day having fallen through, my paradigms on humanity questioned, as we were waiting for the train home I felt utterly…deflated.

I decided to get out from under the partial covering and just stand in the Indian showers. As if I don’t get enough looks being blonde and white, I was standing in the rain in a Dorothy costume, my braided pigtails dripping with water. I would have broken into a rendition of “Singing in the Rain” but there was a wall full of Indian people laughing and pointing already, I figured I’d maintain some semblance of dignity (even if my sanity was shot for the day).

We continued to walk through the rain for another 10 minutes to get on our bus; whose windows were open and whose roof was leaking. There was no escaping the rain.

I’m issuing a challenge: picture your typical rainy days—hot chocolate, soup, a good book, warm blankets. I love rainy days. I know many people do, in part because we have the luxury of staying dry. Every day here I am reminded of how much I have, the conveniences I never thought twice about that come with the first world wealth (running water, clean water, temperature-controlled clean running water, public trash cans, waste disposal systems, public-center cleaning, microwaves, stoves, to name a few).

Even the life of a poor college student is incredibly comfortable in comparison to everyone we work with here, and the majority of the world.

But in this moment, getting soaked beneath the covered roof of a public vehicle, I was struck with the privilege it is to stay dry on a rainy day. I thought, most of the rest of the world lives wet days in rickety, leaky buses. Soon I’m going to go back to my fun, privileged rainy days. 

My bus-riding companion and very wise member of my team, Kennerley, asked me, “So what are you going to do with your privilege?”

What am I going to do with my privilege?

What are you going to do with your privilege?

The India Chronicles: Our day-to-day. Letter #9

We do go on all sorts of crazy adventures here, especially on weekends. But the whole purpose of my trip to India is to serve, and help where I can. I get a lot of questions about day-to-day activities. Quite frankly a lot of it is being flexible and changing plans last minute because of the nature of volunteer work, and general communication differences in India, but our team is always up for the challenge.

An example of one of our projects is the Bridge Camp. We work with a school for girls who were previously in child labor situations. They are so sweet and so adorable and so loving. Every time we walk through the doors they greet us with ginormous smiles, and that outrageously darling head bobble. "sista! sista!" Now they remember my name, "A!" bobble "A" It's the cutest thing in the world. 

We've been starting a program where on Tuesdays we teach them a little bit of English, and then do a dance. They are fabulous dancers. Truly one of the most fun moments/days of my life.

That next Thursday when we arrived at the camp, we got swarmed with a hundred smiling faces all saying, "Hello sisters! Dance! Dance! Dance!" and they put hands together and moved their heads back and forth like we did in the dance we taught them, “Dance? Dance?” It was so adorable.

On Thursday, were there to teach a lesson on women’s health and empowerment. The four girls in our team split the lesson up, while using our rockstar translator, Nivruthi. We taught for about an hour a campaign entitled “proud to be a girl.” About goal setting, basic menstruation facts and health, and just a general women empowerment conversation. Another really fulfilling moment. It was great to collaborate as a team, and use our teaching experience to share a really worthwhile message. The Indian people are very modest, in every sense of the word. They're very aware of even their conversation, which I greatly respect. It was cool that we, as foreigners, could bring up the sometimes uncomfortable topic of women's health that those girls might not have gotten so directly. 

We also get the chance to teach women at a night shelter English so they could get a job. We went to the shelter the other day, and no one was there. The worker said, "They're all gone. They've all gotten jobs." So that was wonderful! It was sad that we won't be able to teach them anymore, we'd developed some friendships, but I'm so proud and happy for them that they now have work. 

We're on a few other projects for publicity about child marriage and child labor, and awareness for unnecessary surgeries, etc. We have really incredible local partners from whom I'm learning so much by the chance to work with them. 

Things change daily, projects are dropped and picked up all the time. But we're always looking for more opportunities to work and serve and help out among these incredible communities. 

Also, As I was writing this, a sweet little girl found me and my Nutella in a back corner during sunday school. She was thrilled by the chocolate and the pictures, so we indulged in both. :)

The India Chronicles: Golden Triangle Trip, Letter #8

July 7^th,  2014

This past weekend we did the tourist thing. “The Golden Triangle” or Jaipur, Agra, and Delhi, in that order. It was interesting to see a different side to India (I think probably the side most people see, but very different from the slums of Hyderabad). Before I get into the trip—I learned that you can be comfortable anywhere in the world. Someone visiting the states in Beverly Hills vs. the inner-city Detroit would have a very different experience. I love high culture, I love Indian culture. I also love the slums, but for different reasons. I was grateful for the opportunity to see both I suppose.

 

Highlights from Jaipur:

We got into our hotel late Thursday night, and met an incredibly friendly man outside, with the biggest smile I’ve yet seen in India. He told us he could drive us around Jaipur for the day (for about $3 a person) and we didn’t have another plan, so we agreed. Turns out he was the sweetest man, Salim. He played our tour guide, and took us to some places we’d have never found on our own. He also showed us some great music. 

The day in bullet points: (a lot of the pictures hopefully to come)

•     The world-famous Lassi shop. Best Lassi of my life.
• A floating castle

•  Amber fort. (on the way we met a snake charmer)·             
• Elephant village (those pictures are coming, they were taken on a different camera) where we rode elephants!
•  One of the scariest/most awesome moments in my life was climbing an elephant by way of his trunk.
• My elephant’s name was Rangoli.
•         A Monkey Temple.

Monkey Temple

o      A post-apocalyptic image of what the world would be like if monkeys took over all our buildings.

       Not really…but a little bit.

·             A gorgeous royal cemetery

·             We watched the world cup match at our hotel and ate dinner on a rooftop restaurant riddled with international tourists.

·             Then we took a night/sleeper bus to Agra. That was an experience in itself. Just picture trying to sleep on a bus in India (remember what I told you about the buses?)

from the cemetery

cemetery 

Amber Fort

We arrived in Agra at 4:30 am. A little bit out of sorts, we had to kill an hour until the Taj Majal opened; we loitered in the lobby of a hotel with a backdoor open. Wandering around the surrounding city of Agra, I’ve never gagged so much in one setting.  It was a really interesting juxtaposition: this pristine city behind walls, one of the most beautiful sights in the world, next to the most foul disintegrating surrounding buildings. 

            The Taj Mahal itself was incredible. As incredible as the hundreds of years of conversations about its beauty; every moment of marveling is completely justified. You walk through the giant entrance gate and are just struck by this other-wordly beauty as the giant white temple comes into view. The building was erected as a monument to emperor Shah Jahan's wife, who died during the birth of their 14'th child, out of grief for his loss. 

  It wasn’t a fort for war, or a utilitarian palace, it’s sole purpose was to honor the love of his life. Isn’t that sweet? 

 I marveled.

 I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to stand in the midst one of the greatest wonders of the world We took a four-hour taxi ride. Stepped out of the taxi in Delhi into an OVEN. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that in Hyderabad it’s HOT, and HUMID—In Delhi, it’s WORSE. The air is oppressively thick with a heavy, moist, sweltering wall you have to slug through. One does not simply walk in Delhi, you trudge. Even breathing feels like a chore.

Also have I mentioned that Hyderabad is loud and heavily populated? Delhi is more so. The streets are packed with people; every corner, every crosswalk, every inch of sidewalk is just littered with bodies trying to shuffle from one side of the city to another. Your tolerance level for chaos shoots up very quickly, or else you are consumed by a sensory overload. I never thought I would miss Hyderabad; the heat, the trash, the noise, and the crazy death defying street-crossing acts, the underdeveloped roads and the lack of police attention; but initially walking around in Delhi I did miss it! Yes Hyderabad is dirty and hot and loud, but it’s my dirty and hot and loud. (There are advantages to underdeveloped roads and a lack of police attention, you can turn around quickly, and can fit as many people as possible into an auto.)

            We walked through a bazaar and soaked in the masses of people and spices and smells and shops. Now that I’m used to Indian markets, they’re kind of fun. You just have to be focused, and not look like a white person able to be taken advantage of.

            That night, it was the 5^th of July, the U.S. Embassy was throwing a party for American Independence day. It was quite the party. On the lawn of the embassy, (which is a baseball diamond) we sat and ate hamburgers and hot dogs and drinks, by far the most expensive meal I’ve had here. (Typical America.) There was a live band (which ironically was British) that played the all-American anthem “Footloose” during the firework show.            

My team is awesome. We danced with vigor and vim; Ashley and Ann sporting the greatest American flag leggings the world has ever seen. We took advantage of the children’s booths and got our fingernails painted (with sparkles of course) and our arms painted with face paint. I got a cool butterfly.           

 As the party was fading we met some people who worked for the embassy. They were incredibly friendly and wanted to invite us to watch the world cup game (Belgium vs. Argentina) at the Belgium Embassy. The only catch was they didn’t know if there was enough booze. When we told them we didn’t drink, we were enthusiastically welcomed! We were “cheap dates.” At the game, I met some of the most interesting people—a giant room full of political dignitaries, mediators, culture preservers, sous chiefs, foreign consultants, reporters, and artists, from all over the world.

Everyone was very nice, and willing to answer questions about their endlessly interesting lives. The butterfly “tattoo” on my arm got a lot of compliments at the party.
That lifestyle, the state department foreign diplomat, moving anywhere in the world and creating a network of interesting people for a few years, then living somewhere else, is so cool. Extremely glamorous, romantic, exciting, and interesting. And after having spent the evening with the group that I did, I think I could fit into that lifestyle. I don't know if I deserve to, but I could get used to it.
As I looked out among the crowd I was suddenly mingling among, I was struck with the simplicity of this party. Yes, we were at an Embassy in the capital city in India, and yes, it was wall-to-wall packed with wildly intelligent, impressive, and intimidatingly accomplished people, but everyone there was just sitting around watching a soccer game together. The same soccer game a large portion of the world was watching. It was poetic.

The next morning we went to church: a really incredible testimony meeting with the branch members in Delhi. It’s really pretty wonderful how the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the same anywhere in the world.

Lotus Temple

We then visited a non-denominational lotus temple. I love the tradition here of removing your shoes. It adds a level of connectivity to the place where you stand. I also love the way they greet and leave each other. Hands to a prayer at heart center with a small bow and a “Namaste” which translates to something like “my light honors your light” It’s peaceful and respectful; a lovely way to say hello and goodbye to one another, especially through a language barrier.

 Then went out to lunch again with one of our new friends in a hip part of Delhi, with modern shops and restaurants right next to some old beautiful ruins.

Because of the traffic (I’ve mentioned Delhi has a few people right?) and rickshaw problems, we very nearly missed our plane back. But when we walked into the airport, every single airport employee seemed to know we were late. “Hyderabad?” they inquired with haste and concern. When we nodded, they pushed us at the front of every line. With the personal escorts of a few Air India employees, some back “staff only” routes, and a good solid adrenaline rush, we made it onto the flight, and safe and sound back home to Hyderabad.

It’s kind of cool calling Hyderabad home.