Final ramblings

Today was my last day and I spent it in Delhi. I got wet in the morning from rain and wet in the evening from water balloons, but had a great time. (The water balloons are for the start of Holi, a crazy holiday where people throw water and paint on each other and generally go nuts... I luckily only got water on me - took a balloon in the shoulder, one grazed my leg, and a third hit me squarely in the back of the neck. I just kept walking, there's not much else you can do! Yay for quick-dry clothing.)

Some final impressions of India (odds and ends from my journal that I forgot to post):

- The transport trucks in India are like no other. They are painted and decorated like it's a permanent cheesy holiday (kind of is, in India... each year contains over 100 Hindu festivals alone), with primary colours everywhere, pictures and portraits, gold embellishment, gold streamers, and more dangly bits (also preferrably gold). The horns are also obnoxious, playing piercing bits of 'music', i.e. annoying major thirds or other intervals, or half a scale at best. Oh, India. But where else in the world would a trucker have a scene of his favourite gods and goddesses painted on the side of his rig??

- There are poisonous snakes here. Small and green and cute looking (I saw one, right before Dhiren killed it with his flip flop), but definitely deadly. Thought I'd save that one until I was safely out of snake territory.

- Sugar cane is officially my favourite new snack. Not only is it sweet and juicy and dribbly and messy, but it's a good challenge to eat. I feel like such a fierce vegetarian, ripping off the bark with my canines and gnawing on the fibrey goodness, sugar cane juice dripping down my chin.

- Everyone's favourite line here is, "How do you feel?" How do I feel about India, about the people, about this state or that state, about the train, the bus, about leaving India, about staying in India and marrying so-and-so's son (yes, this proposition is common, and in everyone's opinion, is the obvious and best option for me). But sometimes I misinterpret this phrase, such as on a crowded uncomfortable train ("How do you feel?" "A little squished"), or when talking about stomach health problems ("How do you feel?" "Well, this morning in the bathroom...").

- Hindus have a set of somewhat strict rules to live by. I recently found out that this list includes restrictions on when you can and can't cut your nails. (I would be toast in this society; I'm a nailclipper addict.) Then again, one woman told me you can clip your nails on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday while another man told me it's only on Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday. Hmmm.

- My doctor made me promise not to eat street food while I was here. The other day I realized why: looking out the bus window, I was treated to a show of a local snack vendor picking his nose for about 10 minutes, then picking up his pail of snack mix and climbing onto the bus ahead to dish out portions to hungry travellers, using his bare hands.

And that's all folks. I'm out of material, I think because I'm actually used to daily life here now. I am no longer suprised by cows in the middle of the road, I have stopped snapping candid photos of old women in saris, and hassles from rickshaw drivers, shop-owners and random men on the street have become part of the routine. Most of all, I've long since forgotten that everyone around me is Indian and I'm not. I guess I'm ready for a change; I think I'm ready to come home. But somehow I'm already nostalgic for India, thinking of everything I'll miss once I leave here. Just means I'll have to come back in the future, I guess! (Himalaya trekking, anyone?)

Thanks for reading.

love
alyss.

Two birthdays in Dharamsala (hooray time zone differences!)

As if Dharamsala isn't already the coolest, chillest place to wind down a trip in India, I got to spend my birthday there - twice. I figured with the time difference and all, I'd better celebrate two days in a row to cover my bases. That, and the Slav crew (my new buddies from Croatia, Serbia and Slovenia) forgot on the actual day but took me out for lunch the day after. They are some of the greatest people ever (plus Swede Martin and Aussie George) but I can't write too many glowing details about them since I'm giving them my blog address and that would be embarrassing. :P Suffice it to say I love Dharamsala not only because of the mountains, relaxed atmosphere, Tibetan people & culture, random packs of semi-wild dogs, and constant cold rain (a nice change from Orissa), but the western tourists are also some of the nicest, least pretentious, smartest, and most fun I've met so far. Made for a good stay.

I arrived in Dharamsala at 3 am one night and hung out at the outdoor bus station in my wool socks and hat for five hours until I could catch a shuttle up the mountain to the real town. Then found out that the Dalai Lama is about to start a teaching session so the whole place was packed with monks, Tibetans, and tourists, leaving pretty much zero hotel availability. A nice welcome. Luckily I got the last room in a sweet place with cheap internet, good breakfasts, and HEATING (in the restaurant, definitely not the rooms). It was my comfort base and home for the last five days, along with an Italian restaurant where I literally ate 2-3 of my meals each day and sheepishly loved all the non-Indian food!

What I did in the mountains:

- Walked around in the rain a lot. If it wasn't raining, it was cloudy. i.e. We were IN the cloud. I was happy my rainjacket finally saw some action after sitting neglected at the bottom of my pack for five weeks.
- Did some wandering in the foothills with the boys, just trying to get up high for a view and some relaxation. Realized how out-of-shape and weak I was after days of doing nothing while trying to kick the Delhi belly. (100% better now, hooray)
- Hung out with Helena and Irena (Croatian woman working on a cruise ship and opening a kindergarten; Slovenian woman who's a retired cop) - visited temples and monasteries, cafes, and shops (window shopping only for me... I've taken a vow of non-consumerism, mainly to contrast my SE Asian market binges and to protect the bank account).
- Ate lots of chocolate.
- Saw the sun once, briefly, on my birthday! Made my day.

Looking forward to yet more celebrating in Toronto and Kingston. :) Four birthdays in one year, not bad.

Backtracking a bit... highlights from Varanasi and Haridwar

Although I'm almost home (!) and should probably be using all my remaining time to soak up India, the internet connection here is just too good to pass up. I'll go for a long hike after just one quick blog... :)

My last day in Varanasi was excellent. Not overwhelming any more - either I just needed a couple days to adjust to the craziness, or maybe I had an unfair share of hassles on my first day, who knows. I spent the day with Chantal, my French friend, and her boyfriend's friend Sanjay who turned out to be a pretty well-known and popular guy and also showed us around the city. The day included:

- chai (just translates as tea) by the Ganges at Chantal's favourite 'Baba Chai'.
- visits of several temples, a fort, a museum, and Sarnath (where Buddha gave his first teaching).
- lots of dust and grime on the autorickshaw ride.
- buying a book of some of the Dalai Lama's teachings (lectures given in N. America, circa 1980) - I love this book; definitely the highlight of the day. When I bought it, a Western man in the red Tibetan monk's robes came up to me and said it was an excellent choice, that I had good karma. I thought this was funny but appropriate.
- relaxing by the Ganges with my new book.
- visiting a silk shop owned by Sanjay's friend. Had a good time chilling with the guys there while Chantal bought some fabric. I offered to help tidy up and fold the bolts of silk she rejected; they then offered me a job as Fabric-Roller Supreme. Too bad I really want to be a doctor.

After Varanasi and Agra I took a night bus to the holy and quieter city of Haridwar. Remind me never to take back-to-back night transit again, especially not buses (even 'sleeper buses'... I had a love-hate relationship with the railing next to my bunk, as I alternated between clutching it with white knuckles and being thrown against it on the particularly bumpy parts. I was only slightly bruised the next day.)

I spent my few days in Haridwar living at an ashram, Shantikunj, a religious and spiritual community of several hundred Indians (and three of us foreigners). It was a special atmosphere - very peaceful, inclusive, and condusive to reflection and meditiation. Highlights:

- meeting Tineke, a very wonderful young woman from Belgium who's been wandering on a spiritual journey for a while now doing yoga and meditation and retreats, and who is very down-to-earth. We had some good conversations and I felt comfortable with her, even though we're on different paths.
- the Shantikunj campus - gardens, music, and a meditation hall with a large model of the Himalayas inside.
- having some time and nice bathroom facilities to start getting over some stomach problems!

I didn't interact much with the Indian students, teachers and visitors at the ashram but preferred to spend my time with Tineke, or on my own, reading etc. I think this is partially because I still find it easier to relate to Westerners and speak in a common language - not just literally, but we're also spiritually more on the same page. For example, one of the very intelligent Indian students I met talked about the importance of mediating on the Gayantri mantra over the rising sun, saying the mantra silently 540 times to connect with Sabita, the sun deity, which is also the life force or spark and is awakened by the Gayantri mantra. I personally think it is important to meditate in a peaceful place and at a peaceful time, to try to reach and touch your inner consciousness and through this self-awareness, work at improving yourself. These are probably essentially the same thing, just put in different terms by people with different backgrounds. So while I still don't feel entirely comfortable around many of the religious aspects and lingo and rituals of Hinduism, I felt welcomed and happy there. Who knew my trip through India would take me to a full-out, genuine ashram? Certainly not me.

Women in India

I promised a quick note on the lives of women in India: (for a really good book on the subject, check out Elisabeth Bumiller's "May you be the mother of a hundred sons" - thanks Leora and David!!)

One of the biggest differences for me is seeing the culture of women and family. Family is very strong in India, with all generations usually living together under one roof. There is a strong sense of love and respect for each other, especially for one's seniors. In this system, women are the caregivers/protectors/workers inside the family, and usually give up their previous lives to devote themselves to this task. It's the custom for brides to leave their parents and go live with their husband and his family, and care for these inlaws. At the same time, they usually bring a substantial dowry (illegal now, but pervasive in most castes and classes). Many to most women don't have a career outside the house. But at the same time, they don't always get respect for the work they do. When I asked men at the hospital what their wives did, many said "Oh, she's JUST a housewife."

My main impression about women here is that a girl's major goal in life is to find a good husband. It's not to say this isn't at all true in Canada. If I had to choose between either a career or kids, I'd probably choose family (although I'm not broadcasting this to med school interviewers!). But in Canada it's not unusual, and I'd say it's even the norm, for a woman to work out a career and then find a husband/partner (or at least co-plan the two). In India, the single greatest blessing you can give a girl is, "May you find a good husband." Nothing about a job or education or happiness in what they do.

Now, a bit about how you find this perfect husband. Most marriages are still arranged. This means your parents discreetly advertise around to find you a suitable match, and then you meet the guy and say yes or no. Sometimes you only meet a couple times, in a public setting! According to the book I read, and from what I've seen, marital 'love' in India means just that - love due to marriage. If your husband takes good care of you and does his duty, it is your duty in return to love him, which you generally end up doing (and feeling). Granted, many more marriages now are "love marriages". Many of the young nurses at the hospital have boyfriends, which is looked down upon unless you end up marrying them. So when I asked one girl what was going to happen in her situation, she casually replied, "Oh, I'll have an arranged marriage. With my boyfriend." But many still opt for the unknown groom and develop love later. Many Indians think of Westerners as morally inferior with our high divorce rate, which they take as a sign of fickle love, or lust run its course. But I've seen the other side of Indian marital love too, in the women abused or neglected by their husbands or inlaws, who now live at the NGO's shelter. I can only imagine how many others there are, who are unhappy but never leave.

Basically, I don't think either system is perfect. I just feel really, really lucky to live in a culture where I get to choose completely freely who I love, and even more lucky to have found that person. (awww.) (This is my ONLY detour into sappy-ness, I promise.)

Agra Part 2

A P.S. about how the rest of my day went in Agra (was going to be a quick post, but we'll see):

I caught an autorickshaw after lunch to take me to the bus stand. I only bargained the guy down 10 rupees (25 cents) but realized I'd probably done really well when he actually dropped me off at the right spot. I remember reading in Lonely Planet about cheap rides ending up at commissioned shops, not even necessarily in the direction you want to go. I only had to listen to constant pressuring and cajoling from my rickshaw dude that if we stopped at a shop to "look only, no money!", then he'd get 20 rupees as commission to make up for the extra fare (and he'd been off work sick for 10 days, he needed the money for medicines, only 5 minutes, no problem, and on an on and on). I guess I was firm enough in my refusals, or maybe I was just lucky, but I felt thrilled when we actually got to the bus stand and he didn't even try to extort any extra money. Bronwyn commented that my life here sounds stressed, and I guess it is sometimes (nothing like school!), but it's not without the rewards and highs of having things work out. I love all the little battles.

The bus ride was also fun; I caught it just as it was pulling away so I got the special "last one on gets to stand" spot. Sorry, this is misleading; usually the last 10 or 20 or even 30 people get to stand, and least from what I saw and experienced in Orissa. But this bus was quiet - and smooth! I was perfectly happy standing, especially since I got to smile at all the seated passengers and politely refuse their offers to squish in and share. I think they were all shocked, which I found funny. I was smiling for practically the whole hour-long trip.

I did sit down for the last bit when a young guy insisted that I take the seat next to his wife. I chatted a little with the wife and learned that they'd just been married in January, but had known each other for 6 years. She shyly but proudly told me, "It was a love marriage." I felt myself being really happy for her and congratulated her on her good fortune. A little while later I thought to myself, how interesting, I'm proud of this girl because she actually knew her husband well and even loved him, before marriage?? The arranged marriage system and the lives of women in general here are very interesting. More on that later.

At Fatehpur Sikri the 'guides' were even worse than at the Taj. This is because they can follow you into the main square and mosque (it's free), with lines like, "You need guide here, I very cheap. Only 50 rupees. No? I tell you about eveything, and if then you don't like, I don't take money OK? No?? I do not understand you Western people, you come to these places but you do not want to learn about them! This is holy place! Why do you not want my services?!" All the while I'm thinking that first of all, the purpose of most of the buildings and ruins is unknown so I'd rather not hear the fabrications, and secondly, if this is such a holy place then why are they disturbing everyone by constantly yelling at tourists? I finally looked one guy square in the face and said, in my best polite Indian accent, "Yes, this is holy place and to fully appreciate it I need to be on my own, have quiet, and have PEACE. You understand? Or do you wish for me to become vedy, vedy angry?" (Thank goodness they speak English well in the tourist hotspots; in rural Orissa this kind of speech would have gotten me nowhere.) The trick is you have stay perfectly calm and rational while verbally beating them away. Indians (as a gross generalization) love to debate, argue, and spew long strings of accusations at each other from a few inches away... but all perfectly controlled. The moment you let emotion into it, you're dismissed as irrational and rude. It's taken some getting used to. I think in some strange way, India has been my assertiveness training.

Some other highlights of Fatehpur Sikri (other than my successful interaction above) included some amazing marble lattice work (I tied a string onto one for 'good luck', but later read in Lonely Planet that it's for childless women who wish for a son... oops), getting a few good photos when the sun went down, and in the end, making friends with some of the hawkers and guides. Sans purchases!

Agra - home of the highest concentration of annoying Indian men ever

After getting settled and happy in Varanasi just in time to leave, I spent a full day and night on trains and arrived here in Agra - tired, sick (flu? cold?), hungry, and strongly considering jumping on the next train to Haridwar without even seeing the city. I actually scouted out the train schedule and tried to book one that left the next hour, but was told I'd have to buy a unreserved second class ticket. That sealed the deal; while I wasn't anxious to brave the touts and rickshaw-drivers and hassles of Agra, I DEFINITELY wasn't going to take a shot at the craziness of second class unreserved trains (just seeing the lines at the ticket window - as in, masses of pushing, shoving, shouting men - was enough to dissuade me). So here I am.

I'd told my parents and Tom that I was going to skip the Taj Mahal this trip (partly cost, partly I feel it's not necessary to see more than one Wonder of the World within a year and I'd appreciate it more next time), but I of course changed my mind. It's pretty incredible. I really wish I'd brought some sketching or art supplies with me (the surrounding gardens and lawns are a good spot to chill and paint), but I'm happy with photos. They also capture the beauty of the white marble better than charcoal would! I was also impressed by the whole atmosphere. The grounds are large and open, giving the feeling that you can fully breathe and relax, even with the hundreds of tourists milling about. It rarely feels crowded. And when it does, the crowds are at least partly composed of women in lots of colourful saris, so it's worth it.

The only problem is the men. In my 2 hours spent at the Taj, I got asked for a photo by approximately 20 men. At first I thought they wanted me to take a photo of them and their friends and I was all to happy to oblige, but then it became clear that they wanted a posed shot of me (luckily not doing the half-reclined-on-a-bench shot that seems so popular at the Taj). Unfortunately, they didn't know I was tired, sick, thirsty and therefore very, VERY grumpy. I humoured a couple of them but slowly got more and more irritated by their demands. "Excuse me, madam! One photo!" seems pleasant and courteous until they continue shouting it at you and following you with their face about a foot from yours. Eventually I couldn't stand it, after one guy upped the ante:
-Excuse me, madam, I want one photo.
-Sorry, I'm not in the mood today.
-Just one photo here in front...
-OK, since you're the first person who's actually expressed an interest in including the Taj in the picture.
-If you don't mind, madam, over here.
-Sure.
-If you don't mind madam, please remove your bag.
-OK.
-If you don't mind madam, please move closer.
-Um, this is just fine where I am.
-(moving closer) If you don't mind, madam, my arm on your shoulder.
-Actually, yes, I do mind a little. (moving away)
-Madam, if you don't mind!...
-That is not necessary. I DO mind.
-MADAM, it is a simple thing!
-I'm sorry, I am leaving, have a good day.
-Excuse me, it is not a matter of good day! It will be a good day when my hand is on your shoulder.
-Excuse me, good bye. You will stop harrassing me!
At the word 'harrassing' he seemed to drop it, although I didn't turn around to see if he followed me. Good lord.

That was the end of Alyssa posing for Indian tourists' photos. Now I'm seeking refuge at an internet cafe, and this afternoon I'll head to Fatehpur Sikri (outside Agra) where I hope to find fewer annoying men. Wish me luck.

Varanasi - my first venture into urban India

First of all, kudos to the Indian rail system. I took a 22-hour ride for under $30, and it was air-con, a comfortable sleeper bunk, safe, and sheets were provided (including an extra one when I threw up into my bedsheet in the middle of the night... and I thought I'd defy all odds and get through 6 weeks in India without puking. Oh well).

My first impression of Varanasi, from the train window: everything is greyish brown - the houses, the horizon, the people, the clothes, even the trees and their leaves are brown from dirt and dust. And a related second observation: urban poverty is very, very different from rural poverty (dirtier, louder, and once you get out into it, definitely more in-your-face). From the train, Varanasi also seemed to be crumbling - the bricks from the roofs and walls of buildings taken down one by one to throw as weights onto the canvas or corrugated tin roofs of the thousands of make-shift huts crammed into the city's gutters and corners.

My first day in the city was overwhelming. I sent this email to my parents:
I'm not sure why I was (and still am) so overwhelmed... I think I just wasn't prepared for real urbanness in India. And Varanasi is so touristy, both for westerners and Indians, that there are a kadrillion touts and annoying men and boys following you and asking you questions and/or trying to sell things. I think the real problem is that I've been very concerned with taking the advice of 'not trusting anyone', and this gets really exhausting and isolating. Not only do I want to be able to chat with a local without ending up feeling pressured to take an overpriced boat-ride, buy some postcards, or buy some kid's British 2-pound piece for 130 rupees (they get coins as souvenirs but know exactly what they're worth!), but also in such a holy place as Varanasi I really want to be able to talk with or at least observe some of the Baba's, the ascetic spiritual men, without worrying about all the aggressive, phony ones. I've also found that you can't stop moving for a second, without being hassled. It makes for a tiring few days. I also don't like taking out my camera very often, since people notice and then bug you for money or more photos, and also I don't want to advertise that I have valuables on me (being alone). Overall, solo travelling's been an adventure. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I'm dejected, sometimes I don't know what to do with myself (like right now, hence time for long emails!). On my own, the lows are much lower, like this evening, I almost cried when my guesthouse told me for the second time that their lending library "didn't open for another hour" - meanwhile they were all sitting around doing nothing. Not a big deal, I know, and then fifteen minutes later I was all happy and relaxed, sitting down by the Ganges on the ghats, watching the nightly Hindu ceremony. Ups and downs.

Photos! Just a taste...

The Middle Of Nowhere, Orissa, India. This is the view outside the campus where I first stayed. The desolation is beautiful, in a way, but doesn't make for very good lives or opportunities for the local people.


The "grannies" (and grandfathers) of the Adopt-A-Granny program (sponsorship program linked with the UK - kind of like a foster family program). This group came in from the local village to be interviewed, but we ended up conducting more of a group meeting where they shared their problems with us and each other. They all thought this was the greatest thing ever, since their family and village members often don't listen to them or sometimes even notice they're there. It was helpful but also a little frustrating for me because I realized they never meet like this in their own community, even though they have regular meetings where issues are supposed to be addressed. Apparently half of them don't show up, and the half that do just hand over their 20 rupees to group's savings fund, don't even consider using it for income-generating project loans, and then everyone leaves. There's such a difference between the ideals of a program on paper, and actual implementation in the field...


The new Indian lady. (sorry if it's sideways, I can't rotate on this computer)


Me with some funny, affectionate patients (post-op). They love being interviewed and getting the personal attention; in return I get 10-fold the personal attention from all of them, in the form of lots of arm pats, chin squeezes (equivalent to a pat on the head), and hand massages. Everyone wins.


School screenings. This photo is totally posed; normally I'm at the other end of the room pointing to the eye charts, while one of the Oriya-speaking nurses talks to the kids. The kids were all too happy to oblige for this photo, though. I'm glad I have a digi so I get to show all of them the photos afterward. Same goes for all the patients; they love seeing the pictures. Although sometimes they can't recognize themselves and point to another person in the photo, going "mu? mu?!!" ('me?' - nope, sorry dear, guess that bandage over your right eye isn't helping your binocular vision too much right now...)

Almost over...

Feb 26
Kalinga Eye Hospital, Dhenkanal (2nd last day)

I had a cool afternoon in surgery today (figuratively and literally – OT is the only air-conditioned place in the vicinity). After a boring and hence tiring morning doing post-op bandaging, I got the word that I could be in OT in the afternoon shift if I made it in time after lunch. Wolfing down my rice/dal/cauliflower curry/chutney in about 4 minutes flat, I arrived in time and scrubbed up to find that I was actually the one in CHARGE of all the non-sterile work. Very cool. My assistant was the new pharmacist who has no experience or training in nursing, and is also quite stupid. When I first met him he had asked for a handshake and then a kiss, so he wasn’t one of my favourite people to begin with (that being the only instance of vague sexual harassment I’ve experienced in India). In OT he was only good for the Oriya section of the paperwork, and breaking open one vial of adrenaline which I didn’t know how to do. Other than that it was all me, doing the work of two regular nurses – hooray, finally some responsibility! Granted, it was the slow surgeon so two experienced nurses would be bored to tears during his shift, but I was happy getting to do some jobs I haven’t been allowed yet (handling patients, moving the microscope, resupplying all the drugs and tools) as well as teaching the new guy – as in, showing him several times and then taking over when he proved incompetent. After OT was finished and I was helping with cleanup (after ignoring protests and getting down on hands and knees to scrub the floor – honestly, they treat guests like royalty here and won’t let you do anything), they seemed impressed and affectionately called me their Senior Sister (the term for respected and elder nurse). They all want me to stay here forever. I personally think the novelty of my foreignness would wear off after a while, but it’s heart-warming nevertheless. They’re a great bunch.

Hinglish?

Feb 26

I’ve got to admit, it’s still often difficult to understand spoken English here. It’s the mixed problem of pronunciation, vocabulary, and grammar. Here’s a taste…

Prononucation:

Bee-jahn/Bee-shahn = Vision
Peelt = Field
Yat-tuw-ohm = Earthworm (As in, “Oh, you are a Biology major; did you do dissection of a yattuwohm?” “Sorry, a what?” We resorted to spelling.)

There are also the basics:
‘p’ and ‘f’ are interchangeable, mixed together, or often reversed
same with ‘b’ and ‘v’ (like in Spanish)
‘i’ and ‘y’ are always ‘ee’ (my name is Aleesah Teetoose)
‘d’, ‘dh’, ‘t’ and ‘th’ all sound exactly the same to me but are apparently entirely distinct. Bloody critical period for aural/verbal language acquisition!
And the golden rule: when pronouncing any English word with more than three syllables, jam all the final syllables together into a fast, ill-stressed, incomprehensible mutter. Then look astounded when Westerners don’t understand. (Superntrndrrtrrnt - Theye’re talking about the Superintendent, of course.)

Vocab

Indians love flowery language. I don’t have any great examples at hand but will try to remember to write some down when I hear or see them. All I can say is you’re more likely to be understood if you say ‘multifarious’ than ‘many’, ‘of great length/duration’ than ‘long’, and ‘in the direction of that location’ than ‘there’.

Adjectives are also interesting. One girl looked at me happily and said I was ‘simple.’ I asked for clarification and she agreed that yes, she also meant I was ‘easy'. Great, I’m stupid AND slutty. Later I found out she meant honest and down-to-earth. I’ve also been called punctual (HA, imagine) and sincere, but used as common and broad adjectives like we would say responsible and nice.

Some fillers I find funny and strangely used are ‘little bit’ and ‘so many’, as in “I am little bit tired” or “And so many other things are also there.” Maybe this is also a grammar issue…so on to grammar.

Grammar

My sole issue with the grammar is tense. (This is limited to the poorer English speakers.) The cook asks me halting things like “Alyssa… was… eat… was… breakfast?” This can still mean anything from “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” to “Would you like to eat now?” to “What do you normally take for breakfast?” Another example: Today a patient invited me to her house and said “Told Dr. Parida you come.” She told the director I am going to go for lunch today? She is going to tell him? She wants to tell him? I am supposed to go tomorrow? Or maybe I am the one who is supposed to ASK if I can go? The only possible answer: “Maybe. I’ll try.”

How I can tell this is not a Canadian hospital...

Feb 26
Kalinga Eye Hospital

Some interesting facts about leniency at the hospital.

#1. Not ONCE have I been told to wash my hands before dealing with patients, medicine, equipment, or even in surgery. I was reminded once to wash my hands after working with patients – I think this was for my own health benefit.

#2. The other day in post-op a staff member grabbed my attention, urgently pointed at a bottle and then at some patients, said “Medicine. Him.” and held up two fingers. What the hell does that mean? I got flustered and impatiently/angrily asked which patient, what is this medicine, is it oral, how much, and two WHAT? It was some sort of liquid codeine, and the patient needed two capfuls by mouth. Sweet lord. Someone else took care of it in half the time it took me to figure this out.

#3. Everyone shares roles here. The publicity guy often does post-op bandaging, the bus driver screens school-children for visual acuity, the cook hangs around the hospital and is a go-to guy for anything from power outages to photography, and the ‘peon’ (I love that word – what does it mean?) escorts bandaged patients down the stairs and gives them eye drops. Somehow, this really works.

Spiritualism

Feb 23
Kalinga Eye Hospital, Dhenkanal

I have met a very spiritual and a very inspiring man – Dr. Dave Sahani. He used to be the resident surgeon here but has since moved on to start his own hospital, coming back to Kalinga only once per week to crash through 40 or 50 surgeries in one sitting. I met him briefly twice before and was already impressed from 5 or 10 minutes of interaction. However, this last visit we sat down for an hour and talked about spirituality, medicine, my travels, and life. It was exactly what I needed. Although I hadn’t thought too much about Indian spirituality before I arrived or made any specific plans to explore it during this trip, I’m really happy this introduction landed in my lap. Not only is Dr. Sahani a great surgeon and doctor (a ‘whole-picture’ physician), but he has a bottomless supply of spiritual advice. While definitely a preacher, he finds a way to relate to you very personally in a short amount of time. Or maybe his type of life advice just has a way of sounding pertinent and inspiring in whichever context you choose to apply it. In any case, talking with him gave me lots to think about – everything from the reasons behind childhood happiness, to meditation, to what it means to miss someone and whether love is possible where there is missing without sadness. He also gave me lots to do: a suggested itinerary for my two-week travel adventure (which starts Tuesday), passing through various meaningful and spiritual places. It sounds pretty excellent – it is basically my original plan with a few substitutions, leaving some of the more touristy highlights for my next trip to India (whenever that may be). This is not to say that the holy places aren’t also touristy… they definitely take up a large chunk of my Lonely Planet. Hopefully with Dr. Sahani’s advice I can avoid the phony yogis, gurus and trendy ashrams and see a bit of what Indian spiritual energy is really about. I’m not going to come home a converted Hindu or even Buddhist, but I hope to be more in touch with my spiritual side or at least have spent some reflective time for myself.

Holiday

Feb 22

I just got back from my first holiday! I spent two days in Bhubaneswar, the capital of Orissa and the “temple city.” I have to admit, my favourite part wasn’t any of the temples but rather my random meanderings around town. Some quick highlights:

- going to the zoo by autorickshaw but finding it closed (spontaneity is fun)
- finding my way downtown, WITHOUT any map (my crutch)
- locating the tourist office and getting a map (30 cents; awesome)
- wandering the streets, successfully crossing the roads, and smiling stupidly at all the people staring at me
- finding a Lonely Planet
- watching a Hindi film. I thought I’d ended up in an X-rated movie, but it was pretty soft-core and turned out to be just a regular one. I mainly liked the song-and-dance bits.
- finding a bank (I now have money, always nice; my bank card doesn’t work and they don’t cash traveller’s cheques in Dhenkanal)
- checking out a local artisan shop which does leaf-paintings (beautiful, intricate pen drawings and etchings… almost bought one depicting scenes of the Kama Sutra!)
- visiting a beach – complete with cows lying on the sand and camel rides (the camels all decked out in garish colours and jangly bits)
- actually speaking English with my host and his family!

Bus-related stories

Feb 17
Dhenkanal

I love bus rides. Not only have I NOT been puked on for an entire week, but we’ve been going further and further afield and into some wicked scenery. I had (mistakenly) believed that all of Orissa consisted of barren dusty plains of reddish/yellowish/brownish rock with no potential other than for quarrying, games of cricket, and my attempts at photography. However, the other day I saw my first true forest! I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated trees so much. No maple, pine, spruce or other favourites but plenty of coconut palms and lots of much-needed shade. (Indian spring = hotter than any Canadian summer… and I only have one salwar with short sleeves. Yes, I’m a sweaty, grimy ball of irritation on the bad days, although most of the time I can accept and relish the sweaty griminess.) The rice paddies are also getting going and I have lots of mental photos of cotton-sari-clad women planting handfuls of bright green baby rice stalks in the flooded fields. Unfortunately the ride is too bumpy for real photos.

The other day I saw my first roadkill. Not a squirrel, luckily not a cow, but sadly, a dog. The worst part: there were intestines. I also saw my first accident. Two transport trucks had collided and landed in the ditch. Didn’t see more details than that. Last, I saw my first incidence of road-rage. A guy on a motorbike swerved in front of the bus yelling at our driver. Apparently one of the patients in the back had spit out some pano (mix of herbs and spices wrapped in a leaf that you chew and spit, leaving your mouth and teeth stained an attractive dark red), and this attractive gob of red goo and seeds had landed on the front of his dress-shirt. Our driver suffered the blame and had to listen to some ranting as well as deftly avoid hitting the guy. On top of that, he (our driver) wasn’t feeling great and had just stopped to puke out the window. Rough day.

P.S. The volunteers who were here in fall just told me they had a nickname for the bus: the Vomitron.

Some more impressions

Feb 16
Kalinga Eye Hospital

A few things for now…

-It’s HOT now. And technically not even the start of summer yet. That’s a whole other kettle of fish reserved for March.

- I don’t think they quite understand the meaning of the word "chocolate" in Dhenkanal. Many fried snacks with the faintest hint of sweetness supposedly “taste like chocolate, yes?” They also call all the packaged candies “chocolates” – from the caramel kind to the mango variety to even those flavoured like cardamom.

- I’ve turned quasi-vegetarian! They eat meat but only a couple times a week, and I’ve realized I don’t even like it that much here. The veg dishes are just so tasty on their own, with lots of chickpeas etc for protein. That, and the meat is always random parts form the WHOLE animal… the other day at lunch I had to abandon my curry because of several chicken livers staring up at me. I just couldn’t do it.

- People here blatantly and happily pick their noses. I wish I lived in a country as free.

Watching surgery

Feb 15
Kalinga Eye Hospital

My first day in surgery is over! I think I’m exhausted but I can’t tell through the satisfaction. It’s been a long day – 3 hour OT in the morning (Operating Theatre, i.e. what the surgery sessions are called), and a 5.5 hour OT in the evening going until 11pm. Quite the initiation. I was by no means locked into staying the whole time but felt like staying. For the morning session I didn’t really do anything, just stood in the corner and watched, trying not to touch anything or breathe. Maybe that explains the bit of lightheadedness I got for the first half-hour (at least I didn’t faint… that would have caused some problems since there’s not really any extra space; I probably would have fallen onto a patient or a syringe or something). But I’d also been feeling nauseous that morning anyways – not great timing for your first surgery observation. However, once I started watching from up close rather than from the corner, I got really interested in the surgery and kicked the lightheadedness. True, it’s still an eyeball staring up at you (probably the most ‘human’ organ – it doesn’t let you forget it’s a person under that sheet), but the surgery is quick, routine, non-bloody, and it’s so damn satisfying to see the cataract come out.

During the morning session I also watched and tried to learn the basics of the whole OT procedure. It’s a well-oiled machine. Two patient beds, one expert surgeon swinging from patient to patient in under 10 minutes, two senior nurses doing direct assistance, one junior nurse doing prep and cleanup, two junior nurses doing all the non-sterile stuff, and me standing off to the side opening the lens packaging at the precise moment in the surgery. This got tedious pretty quickly so I tried to figure out the exact roles and timing of the two junior nurses. In the evening I was rewarded when I stepped up to fill some roles while one nurse was held up with paperwork in the corner. They definitely don’t OFFER to let you help, so I had to be speedily aggressive at the right moment. Apparently they thought I did well; for the rest of the evening I got to help with various stages – supplying acetone for the surgeon in between patients, moving the foot pedal of the cauterizing machine, opening the lens, taping the final bandage, and removing dirty cover sheets. However, this gets pretty monotonous too (and so much standing is tiring, especially when you are in flip flops – or worse, bare feet for 5.5 hours). The satisfaction comes from knowing you are doing a meticulous, efficient job, and also staying alert and sensitive to the needs of the other nurses or surgeon. I call it an exercise in concentration in the midst of monotony. And if you ever get truly bored, you can just go stand beside the surgeon and imagine yourself with the scalpel in hand – that’s enough to inspire anyone. But I didn’t get bored. I loved it.

My work

Cows and curry are all very nice, but it’s time I wrote a little about what I’m actually doing here. It’s my fifth day based at the eye hospital and so far I’ve done three days of eye camps, 1 full day at the hospital, and 1 day on the internet (today, could you guess?). Overall, I have seen more than I ever expected.

The hospital runs rural eye camps every day or two to both screen for cataract/disease and test children’s visual acuity. A doctor, an ophthalmic assistant or refractionist, and one ophthalmic nurse set up to test the long lines of elderly (or other) patients who have gathered at the village school. At the same time, two ophthalmic nurses go around to the different classrooms, testing each student’s eyesight with Snellen charts (those lines of letters you read over and over at the optometrist’s). I’ve been observing and helping a bit with both. My first day I simply watched; my biggest contribution was probably the masking tape I procured from my bag for sticking up the eye charts. However, I now get to help with nurse duties like measuring blood pressure and intra-ocular pressure (they definitely don’t have the automatic IOP machine like the one I used in Kingston, but the small hand-held one works just fine), and I’ve also helped with the school screenings. Pointing to different letters on a chart all day could get boring, but luckily the students are all so curious about having a westerner in their midst that I stay amused by smiling at them and watching them hide their faces or giggle.

The hospital is pretty neat. It’s crazily efficient from diagnosis all the way up to surgery. In addition to doing some regular appointments for paying patients with various eye troubles or refractive error, they also push through 10’s of cataract patients per day, for free. They are brought from the rural eye camps by bus, stay one or two nights in the in-patient rooms with meals provided (no beds but that’s the norm here), have their operation, recover, and are returned home with antibiotic drops and temporary glasses. For some reason, I am allowed to observe and help at all these stages. Never would I get this kind of opportunity, free of restrictions, in Canada, so I feel really lucky. Although I’m not exactly going to learn the technical side of cataract surgery in 14 days here, I do get to observe it if I choose, talk to the doctors, staff and patients, and help with minor things like prep and bandaging.

I don’t feel all that useful right now since there are so many qualified people around and things run smoothly already, but it’s neat to see. Hopefully the report I write at the end will be useful, as the fundraising money I sent definitely will be. That seems to be their biggest obstacle right now – simple funding. So if you’re in the Kingston area you can expect to see me holding a few more bake-sales in March/April! Other than that, I really wish I could help on the patient-interaction side of things. While the medical side runs very well, it seems like the patients often get lost in the shuffle. I wish I had the language skills to talk with them, reassure them, answer their questions, and provide guidance or simply a listening ear. That’s the part that the staff don’t seem to have time for, or don’t want to have time for (maybe that’s a reality of all hospital settings). Sometimes, I can see myself slipping into a mind-set of ‘patients as objects to be treated’ (especially since I can’t understand their conversations and therefore have a hard time understanding their personalities), so this is something that I want to be conscious of in the future. In that sense, this volunteership has already accomplished something.

Today, after this reflection, I visited the in-patient wards and talked with several elderly patients, with translation help from one of the staff. They seemed really happy to be able to share their stories with someone and were also excited to pose for photos. When Janardan, the translator, left for a while, we hung out on the mats together and tried to communicate as much as we could (lots of laughing), settling for a song sung by one of the old men when we’d exhausted my range of topics of conversation. A very excellent morning.

Some impressions

Feb 11

- Cows are everywhere. Instead of squirrels or the odd raccoon running around on the lawns, it’s cows. Grazing. And in the streets, more cows - fighting, walking, crapping, standing, getting in the way of traffic and threatening to become rather large road-kill… Except cows are so sacred here even the most impatient driver wouldn’t dare touch one. (On the topic of cow sacredness, I made the very rude mistake of mentioning I eat beef in Canada. Everyone’s always so interested in what I eat, asking, “What are you taking for breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? You take rice? You take meat? What kind of meat?”… and so it just kind of slipped out. In a town where tourists - and westerners in general - are pretty much non-existent, the idea that people eat cows was a shock, I think.) So yes, there are many cows here. It was part of the reason I knew I had landed in the right country.

- It’s still really dusty everywhere. Town is even dustier than the villages!

- I saw my first cloud yesterday. The rest of the time it’s been pure blue sky – although white near the horizon due to lighting or something in the atmosphere. Temperature: 15 at night, 25 during the day. 30 in the sun. Dry. Perfect.

- Garbage is everywhere. Even the hospital staff throw bandages and wrappers on the floor when they miss the wastebasket and don’t bother to get up. At rural eye camps, they ditch the used medical supplies out the window. At first I was shocked, but when I looked out the window and saw a pile of garbage already there, I figured the antibiotic-soaked cotton balls are probably the cleanest thing around.

- There is no privacy. In the morning the girls or the cook bang on my door to bring me tea, or shove a mirror in my face to say “good morning, here’s your smiling face!” In the evening my room is also fair game if I haven’t bolted it. And during the day, especially when I’m the office computer, I usually have 1-5 people standing around watching what I write or type. I never want to send them away so I just keep writing and hope they don't notice I'm writing about them. Although once at an eye camp, the presiding doctor asked to read my notes – which contained one part about how “Dr. Parida has a nicer tone with his patients than I would have expected.” I don’t know whether he actually read that part, or if he did, if he took it as an insult or a compliment. I didn’t ask.

- Everyone here has a large affinity for the colour pink. For guys’ shirts, pink is the new blue. And we’re talking bright pink. Most of the girls also say pink is their favourite colour. “But not dark pink,” they say, “light pink!” and they point to my skin. As in, PALE.


- In India you don’t nod your head to indicate ‘yes’. Instead, it’s a funny tilt of the head and a nod sideways instead. At first I thought people were trying to scratch their ear with their shoulder. Now I quite like it and think I will continue using it in Canada.

Boriya aichee (the food is tasty)

Feb 11
3:30 pm
Kalinga Eye Hospital, Dhenkanal

Here it finally is, my first post about FOOD. How much longer do you think I could have held out?

I don’t know how everyone isn’t 300 lbs around here - the food is fantastic. Yes, I’m a sucker for Indian in general but this stuff is awesome. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to eat the sweet, meaty dhansak, korma and madras of Curry Original any more without craving the tasty veggie dishes of Dhenkanal. The usual is rice with dhal, and some curry or chutney or fried veggies on the side. Chapati (roti) is also standard breakfast fare. I’ve had some great market food too (and no market belly problems!):
- dosa for 6 rupees (that’s 18 cents Cdn; who knew you could beat Johor Bharu prices, eh Em?)
- bora (fried and delicious)
- breadchop (also fried… danger, danger)
-gupchu (strange crunchy spheres stuffed with a potato mixture and some tangy water, assembled as you wait with a leaf-cup in hand)
- chaat (which I can only describe as the Indian equivalent of nachos – tomatoey yet crunchy with bits of chips and things, but no cheese and instead, lots of veggies and way more chili spicy-goodness that the little jalopenos in Canada!)

I am also in love with the dining style: a test of speed, and truly hands-on. I’m afraid my little sojourn in India won’t have helped my shoveling tendencies… everyone here finishes meals in less than 10 minutes with the hand flying non-stop between the rice, dhal or curry, and mouth. I am now proficient at this no-cutlery method, and I can even scoop up the last liquids of curry or dhal with my fingers! Lots of slurping involved.

The only problem with the food so far has been the amount. No one listens when I say I’m full (“peto puri la” or “dhorkha nhai” or simply “nein” – NO!). They just keep dumping in the dhal, the rice, the curry. It’s probably also the culture. I’ve noticed that even in restaurants there’s no such thins as a ‘serving’, they just keep topping you up until you hold out your hand to refuse. My hosts here also love to give me food between meals (in the market… at neighbours’ parties… snacks from the kitchen…). Finally, after a stretch where I had five meals one day and four the next, all larger than I’m used to, I decided I had to say something. And loudly.

Success! The cook now waits for me to come into the kitchen before heaping my plate full, and last night I successfully refused dinner after a satiating evening at the market food stalls. I will therefore probably come home only 10 pounds heavier, instead of 100.

P.S. I will try to learn some tricks from the cook here so I can share the deliciousness when I get back

Initiation to Indian transit

Tues Feb 7
Pingua Eye Camp

I rode an Indian bus for the first time today. Granted, it was only the Kalinga Eye Hospital bus and not a public bus, but it still counts. Why? Because, a) I was dirtier when I got off than when I got on, and b) at least three people threw up. (P.S. Cait, that 'a)' and 'b)' is just for you!) We were on the way home from the eye camp, and the bus was filled with old men and little old ladies being taken into town for cataract surgery. When I say ‘filled’, I mean filled. They were squished 3 or 4 to a seat (while I comfortably shared my seat only with Sasmita, one of the ophthalmic nurses, who was asleep on my shoulder). Many other patients were sitting on the steps or in the aisle on little round stools. Only later did I realize they weren’t stools but upside-down, flat-bottomed plastic bowls. I figured out this pertinent fact when I heard a strange horking noise behind me, turned around, and saw the old women behind me vomiting into one of them. During the course of the 3-hour ride back to town, at least 2 others followed suit. (On a sombre, heavier note, they lost one of the two meals they can afford each day, and the cause was probably not simple motion sickness but more severe and persistent gastrointestinal problems.) However, no one seemed fazed by it, including myself - even when a woman spit up on the steps in front of me and some spray landed on my foot. It was only saliva by that point, the poor woman.

Fri Feb 10

I have lots to write and many posts already in the works but thought I’d drop a line and upload quickly now. For those wondering, I’m no longer very lonely! It’s still difficult at times living in a culture where I can’t communicate very easily, but the positives are outweighing the rough spots. The people here are terrific. It’s hard to stay lonely for long when you have five girls sitting around you braiding your hair, lying on your lap, and making fun of your attempts at Oriya.

More soon!

First week's update

Note: For at least the first week of my placement, I’m based in the middle of nowhere… so although I was bragging about my ability to find internet anywhere, anytime, it looks like that won’t be the case. Instead, I’m keeping a journal on pen & paper or the office computer and will upload the entries whenever I find an internet connection.

Jan 31
5:00 pm
From the Director’s office laptop in Bhubaneswar

I had expected my trip here to be more of a hassle. When I booked my flight with Aeroflot Russian Airlines, it was against the advice of not only my travel agent ("they have bad service, yes"), but also a random, muttering Indian man I'd met at the Toronto Indian Consulate in December. According to this guy, I'd be lucky if I didn't end up sitting next to someone who chain-smoked for the whole 20+ hour voyage.
-"But I thought all flights nowadays are non-smoking?"
-"Yes but believe me, on Russian Airlines it's the pilot who gets to decide."
I decided not to believe him, since (a) our conversation had begun when he'd swivelled towards me while mid-sentence in conversation with the other stranger on his left, apparently cutting his losses and looking for a fresh audience for his rambling, and (b) his other stories included some garbled nonsense about his kitchen tap. Legitimate warnings or not, I booked Aeroflot Russian Airlines with the justification that as a student I would embrace both the cheap price AND any bad service/smokers/delays/or adventures that came along.

Surprisingly, or fortunately, the flight was awesome. They didn't have movies but I slept the whole way anyways (thanks to the inflatable neck pillow from Tom's dad); the food was fine (no borscht); I got to chat with a woman from Siberia; the layover in Moscow allowed me to actually see some real snow for a change; and the airline didn't even lose my luggage! The only 'bad service' was some fighting between the Russian stewardesses and various Indian passengers who didn't like to stow their carry-on suitcases in the overhead compartments, or remain seated after landing.
Stewardess: "You must poot eet een the stowage."
Indian woman: -blank stare
Stewardess: "You must poot eet een the stowage."
Indian woman: -another blank stare
Stewardess: "You must poot eet een the stowage."
Indian woman: -still another blank stare
Stewardess: "Do you not understand me?"
Indian woman’s husband: -grabbing suitcase in a huff “I understand you perfectly... don't you have other people to attend to?"
The only other incidents were a couple late take-offs, with didn't bother me since the only things I was late for were various multi-houred layovers in different airports.

After 21 hours sitting on planes and in waiting areas, I arrived in Delhi at 2 am. My final leg of the trip: sitting in the Delhi airport for 6 more hours until I could phone and meet my travel agent, grab a return taxi ride downtown to chat with him about train schedules and travel itineraries (for March), and then hop on Indian Airlines for a short flight across to Bhubaneswar in the afternoon (during which I finished drafting this post).

The first 4 hours in Delhi between 2 am and 6 am went nicely, sitting with a book inside the peaceful sanctuary of Baggage Claim during its dead hours. When I finally got restless, I decided I should head through Customs and brave the taxis, money changers and telephone system. Turns out Customs itself needed the most bravery. Three agents immediately descended on my luggage, possibly because one was a giant clear plastic Rubbermaid container filled with 650 pairs of brand new sunglasses.

What were these for? Was I selling them? I was donating them to poor people? Where was the documentation? Why did my documentation letter say 'the gift is sealed legally for donation'? There were no such seals on the box, see?

They told me I needed documentation from an Indian organization, not an American one. They told me I would have to pay large taxes, or leave the glasses there, or go to an office later that day to apply for an extension, and that the extension would take 3-4 days. (I was flying across the country the same afternoon.) Then they started trying on pairs (and I think quietly approving of their stylishness), and noticed old price tags. Why was I donating them when the tag said $24?? After trying my best to get information and figure out if there was anything I could do (talk to someone? Phone the NGO in Bhubaneswar? Remove all the offending price tags?), I finally burst into tears. At this point, the man in charge suddenly waved me through the Customs gate. As I tried to say "don't mind me... I didn't want to cause trouble... I'm really sorry...", they pushed me through with my crate of sunglasses. I guess all you have to do to get into India with sketchy goods is look really pitiful. But for any future UFS volunteers, if crying doesn't work, I'd say definitely try bribery - with some of those damn fashionable glasses.

The rest of the day went smoothly. India is awesome. More later.

alyss.

P.S. There’s a pigeon doing courtship vocalizations on the windowsill outside. Makes me feel slightly at home.


Feb 1
2:00 pm
NYSASDRI’s Santhasara Campus

It’s Day 1 and I’m already faced with some tough decisions. What I’d expected to do here was vision screening, eye health education, and help out in the eye hospital. It turns out that in my four weeks here, the directors of NYSASDRI (the local NGO that Unite For Sight hooked me up with) have ambition plans for me to visit five locations and investigate and report on no fewer than eight separate development programs which they run. Not only do I hate report-writing, but I was looking forward to lots of hands-on interaction and helping directly rather than observing and information-gathering. However, I think it would be an incredibly valuable experience to see what goes on in the various areas of developmental work here, not just limited to health care. NYSASDRI’s programs include women’s self-help groups and economic collectives, non-formal education programs (“Joyful Education”) both for children and for adult literacy, agricultural demonstration plots and irrigation construction, a joint public/private hospital, the eye hospital, a sponsorship program for the elderly, a family counselling centre, and a shelter for destitute women. I’m not exactly sure how useful they expect my reports to be, given my limited time and the sizable communication barrier (I find it really hard to understand even the English-speakers!), but I’m tempted to trust their judgement and consider it. It’s time to sit down and think hard about what I want to get out of this volunteership and what I can offer.

Feb 1
5:30 pm
Santhasara campus

Back to this language barrier issue. My Hindi tutor/squash partner Namrata asked me before I left if I was good at interpreting the Indian English accent. I told her I didn’t know, but I was sure I would adjust quickly. That definitely hasn’t happened yet. I’ve been alternating between open embarrassment when I constantly ask people to repeat themselves, and hidden embarrassment when I play along and pretend I can understand the more advanced English speakers’ rapid-fire sentences that end up sounding like Oriya anyways. (Oriya is the local language, of which I now know 9 words/phrases!) I’m hoping I’m still in the adjustment stage (it IS only the second day), and that in 6 weeks I’ll come home an expert in interpretation of even the strongest Indian accents. For now, I’m focusing on identifying the differences between Canadian and Indian pronounciation – for example, I asked, “how do you say, ‘I’m full’?”, and my coordinator Dhiren looked confused for a while until he said, “oh, you mean, how do you say ‘you’re pool’?” – so I will probably also come home an expert in imitation.

Feb 2

There’s a dog outside my window that sounds like a cross between a squeaky door and a crow. It’s very young and doesn’t have a mother. Looks like nature’s played a cruel imprinting joke on the little guy.

Feb 4
10:30 am
Santhasara Campus

The campus I’m staying at is lovely, if isolated. There are flowers everywhere, trees of every sort (teak, mango, jackfruit, and lots I don’t know – quite the arboretum), buildings with red and yellow walls, and small plots of corn, cabbage, green onion…

It’s also a total oasis. On my first morning I peeked over a wall surrounding the teak forest and saw only plains of dusty earth with a few shrubs disappearing in the distance into some trick of the early morning light. Yesterday I went walking outside the campus walls and did a loop around the perimeter, about 1 km in total. It’s dry plains practically the whole way around. On one side there is a quasi forest, but it has only large old trees spaced widely apart with no understory or other growth at all, only bare, hard earth. Old women and men from nearby villages spend their days sweeping the fallen leaves into piles, to gather into sacks and use as fuel for their cooking fires. Their backs are in pretty rough shape.

There are villages all around, judging from the chanting and singing I hear early every morning from all directions across the plains. I’ve visited the nearest one, which consists of thatched clay huts and smells of pungent smoke. For some reason it surprised me when a girl pulled out a cell phone. However, she said it’s usually hard to get a connection.

We also have difficulty with the electricity supply – it’s been out more than a third of the time. The landline phones are fine but I don’t have a calling card yet, and haven’t been able to email the number to Tom and my parents yet. I’ll ask if I can get a quick hookup today through the phoneline. That is, if the power doesn’t cut out again. Oh wait, the power storage device under my desk has started beeping again. Looks like it’s gone again until who-knows-when.

Feb 6
10:30 am
Santhasara Campus

I'm lonely. I try to pretend I'm not but there it is. I just heard that my parents called the main office and will try to call here sometime today, and I just about cried. But I'm staying busy (report-writing day!) so hopefully I'll kick this loneliness thing soon! Miss you all.

love

alyss.

Off to India: to bring, or not to bring, toilet paper...

There's the question of the moment. Do I fill my pack with rolls and rolls of TP or adapt, as so many have recommended, and go without? (True confession: I've been practicing the requisite left-hand-wipe -- although WITH toilet paper -- in preparation for such a choice...) Ah, the challenges of packing.

As you may have gathered, India doesn't really have toilet paper. Nor does it have waiting lines/queues (according to Caitlin's uncle, Pete, you just have to push), winter (my often favourite season), or my trusty travel buddy, Em (hence the site address... sniff... -- p.s. she's http://onefeistynomad.blogspot.com). It does, however, happen to be the place I've most wanted to visit in my global travels. Someone once told me that "you haven't travelled, until you've travelled in India." I'm going to go check out what they meant. I've also wanted to take part of this year-off to do some meaningful work helping out in a community in some capacity. This trip is my answer to both.

The long and short of it: I'm flying to India on Sunday and spending four weeks volunteering with Unite for Sight, a non-profit eye health organization. I'll be based in a small town outside Bhubaneswar (on the east coast south of Calcutta), and travelling around the area to do vision screening, cataract screening, eye health education, and any other projects through the local NGO that need a hand and look worthwhile. After that I have two weeks to make my way across northern India to Delhi and fly home in time for med school interviews. I'm getting excited... But knowing myself, I'll only be truly, crazily excited about five minutes before I board the plane on Sunday. :)

I hope to find internet easily in India (although nothing can compare to SouthEAST Asia), and I'll keep you posted on my work, travels, and impressions. Yes, that also unfortunately means that you will get to sift through hundreds more photos! Enjoy. Write me.

love

alyss.