BIG THANK YOU TO THE CUNY BA!!

SO this being my last blog about India I have to say a BIGGGGGGGG Thank You to the CUNY BA for everything - for funding my opportunity of a lifetime and just being what it is...the best program in the world!

Thanks!!


PS> I'm doing a video interview for the BMCC's website talking about the greatness of the CUNY BA and my experiences as a student of the program. This is an initiative to encourage students to join and make the unaware aware :) Look out for it!

I AM back in NYC!

So I got back Saturday night (of last week)! I feel a little out of place in the city but I expected worse so hey - it's all good :)

Before I left I drafted a letter and took it to my professors to make them sign to ensure that they send my grades to me on time - ie before the start of the spring semester, my last last semester! Would you believe that none of them would sign it.

Look, I better get my grades on time...OR ELSE! :)

So I'm back out to work (since last Tuesday)...I know...I didn't even let the jet lag run its full course. Oh well.

Clarine called me on my way to the airport crying...and made me start bawling...it was a mess. But hey, I made a lifelong friends - with both she and Jane.

After all my crazy complaining and whining...India was definitely an experience I wouldn't trade for the world!!

Now, back to life as I know it...

It's been a while!

Oh, I havent blogged in forever...for various reasons...internet has been down more frequently these days because of the monsoon rains...and I've just been lazy otherwise. The monotony of life in India has caught up with me.

One great thing did happen - I wore a SARI! Clarine (one of the girls who like here along with myself and Jane) bought it for me as a going away present. It was the best gift ever. Though I was falling out of it halfway though the night. We went to a wedding reception and I looked at Clarine and said "its falling off!" I am clearly not graceful enough for a sari. That thing is held together with ONE pin. Clarine looked at me in horror when I said that and replied "then we must hurry and leave" hehe. T'was hilarious. I felt like Cinderella...we had to run off before my sari spell was undone.

So I'm leaving in 2 days...while I am happy, I am so sad to leave Jane, Clarine and Tessa(a new addition to our clan - Jane's student from New Zealand). She is really innocent and sweet. She grew up in rural NZ and said she had never seen black people. I'm glad to be introducing her to "the life" haha. Last night she touched my hair and yelled "Oh!" followed by hysterical laughter. She said "I didn't expect it to feel like that" and continued cracking up. I am not sure how it felt to her but her reaction made my laugh!!

Anyway! I have a "fake" exam to take now. My professor is so worthless he gave me the exam questions before hand and is making me write it at home. SO, yes a "take-home exam"

:)

*This blog was done especially for Andrew (Leung)

Random Happening of the Week...

I'm resurfacing after an internet lapse (for days)!

The following was written on Wednesday.

Grace (the coordinator’s wife) to say that the international student advisor (ISA) at campus needed to see me ASAP because she got word that I was not handing in any assignments for Sociology neither was I attending any classes. This morning I calmly took myself to my Sociology professor and asked if there was a problem with my attendance or my assignments or exams. She is very fond of me, just last week she sat me down and was telling me about her arranged marriage that she hopes never happens but when it does, she’d have no choice but to oblige. She assured me that there was nothing wrong, and told me I should be studying for my final exam. I told her that my ISA called and said there was a problem but she was clueless as to why there would be an issue. I then went to see the ISA. She was teaching a class but rushed out and called me into her office in an urgent rush. She said that this is a big problem and demanded to know what was going on. She said that the head of the department met her and had “showered” all these things on her about me. He told her that I wasn’t attending the classes, that I wasn’t doing assignments and “that American student…I want her out!” I knew he didn’t like me from day one, I knew he had issues…
Mr. Power - Trip is at it again, I thought. I wondered why he waited so long to wrongfully complain about me though. The ISA called him immediately on the phone and didn’t say to him I was there but said that she had spoken to me and that I said I was performing splendidly in the class. She did all the talking. She holds several posts at the university and many fear her. She said to me after she hung up that I should not let him see me coming from her office. I immediately went back to see my Sociology professor and she looked worried and said “come, come” as I entered her door. She was flipping through the roll book. She said “Sir just called me, he wanted me to tally up your attendance and he asked how you are doing in class. What happened??” She is so terrified of him, it makes me want to slap her back into reality. On another note, I couldn’t believe that he told the ISA such rubbish without even knowing how I was doing in the class in truth. Talk about playing dirty! She had given him a good report, well she told the truth. I do everything I’m supposed to. I was blameless! (grins)

Yesterday he set a new rule that all the girls must wear salwar kameez or tops that cover their bottoms (mid-thigh) and pants that go to their ankles. When my professor told me that, I almost died with shock. Some time back, he made Vasantaraja shave his beard because he said he looked like a thief. It wasn’t even a long beard!


So I started to think, why all of a sudden he is so angry at me? Then I remember I told my criminology professor how rude he was to me. Perhaps he told him and now he was set on destroying me? (hehe I kinda find that funny)

MUMBAI!

(This is a long overdue blog)

I flew into Mumbai for a Congress WBN seminar, spent the weekend there and returned to Chennai on Sunday. The flight was about 1.5 hours long, which feels like nothing when the last time you’ve been on a plane was for 20 hrs.

I stayed at the Salvation Army. They have a female dormitory with the capacity of 16. Most nights there were about 12-14 of us there, all of which were foreigners. That didn’t surprise me much though; I am now used to the idea that Indian girls aren’t free and to be camping out/sleeping in a strange place with strange people for a couple of days is the pinnacle of liberation.

The seminar was exceptional! Mumbai was a shocker to me though. I drove past the slum where they filmed Slum Dog Millionaire, my driver pointed it out to me. It was cleaner than the slums I saw in Chennai, in fact, the standard of living, though still extreme poverty, seemed higher than Chennai’s poor. The children on the sidewalk had on shoes to my surprise, a sight I’d never see in Chennai. In fact, children who can actually afford the opportunity to go to school in Chennai still don’t wear shoes. Oh, and how I enjoyed not feeling grossed out or crying for a shower upon stepping out my door. I spent four days in Mumbai without the sight of a single person urinating in the street. In Chennai, I couldn’t go four minutes without seeing that sort of misconduct in public. Those four days in Mumbai was the longest I have gone without seeing nakedness since I’ve been in India. I get back to Chennai and I see a man pant-less stooping, number two-ing a little off the road where heaps of rubbish meet the road and the river bank. It wasn’t even a gross sight, it was just so sad. To think that poverty can bring people to such animalistic levels but still I could still imagine his human-ness. He wasn’t on the pavement, but a little off the road, perhaps preserving the ounce of dignity he has left.

So yes, everything seemed 100 times cleaner/better in Mumbai. The people – oh the people! I was shocked by the way they dressed. I, without any hesitation, wore my sleeveless clothes with no qualms…every other person did – Indians and all. I went into a store and to my shock, they sold short pants and sun dresses! That Mumbai – a very western one! In Chennai almost everyone wears sarees, all my female teachers wear sarees to teach. The students in my class wear churidas or salwar kameez outfits.

In Mumbai, no one stared. There are so many tourists there! When I see a foreigner in Chennai I almost want to point. In Fort, Mumbai where I stayed, everybody was a tourist. In fact, one man guessed I was from the West Indies after I told him I wasn’t from Africa. The third West Indian country he called was Trinidad and I shouted “YES!” He is an artist and had been to Trinidad, so I had to buy a piece from him.

Shopping there is super cheap, I thought. And the competition is stiff so bargaining is the greatest. You can easily beat a man’s price down by 50%. If you walk off and pretend to be uninterested after being told a price, it always works out in your favour *grins*. Though Jane said she feels bad because they probably have families to feed and 100 extra rupees is nothing for us. I wish I had such a big conscience.


Paranoia in Mumbai

(At the Central Train Station, I wrote this on my blackberry as I waited)

I’m at the train station with Zena, a Kenyan girl I made friends with. She is slowly driving me crazy with her clinginess and I just feel like being alone today. Well, she needed a train to head back home, and she almost coerced me here to come with her (haha). I’m uneasy. I’m just sitting on these terrazzo benches waiting…waiting to be bombed. There are lots of people in here and its divali, what an opportunity for terrorists. It doesn’t help that’s this place looks just like the train station in the BBC report neither does it help that there was another bombing in Delhi just weeks ago. Oh, and the American media’s face of a terrorist is every man in here. I don’t know where Zena went; she is having problems getting her ticket. My senses are peaked, looking for suspicious behaviour. A man just passed. He is dragging a big filled with large pieces of crumpled paper and plastic bags. I think he’s a janitor but he’s moving so hastily. I follow him with my eyes. He passes me and stops at a pile of boxes. He takes the bunch of paper and plastic out of the bin with both hands. He takes up one box that tied together with a string crossed at the top. He places it in the bin. My attention is perked and fixed on him. He takes the paper and the plastic up with both hands once more and places it in the bin, covering the box. What sort of explosive could be in that box, I wonder. It didn’t seem heavy, in fact, he lifted it with ease. He hurried off, in the same haste in which he came. I’m waiting…any second now…to hear the sound of chaos, a bomb! Okay, there is Zena. I’m leaving now…safe, sound.

**(Zena is great, it’s me who’s the weirdo. I was just hot and being dramatic when I wrote this)

THE UPPER-CUT

I hastily left the train station with Z in tow. She had no clue the reasons behind my quick steps. I simply did not want to be in a ten mile radius of that place. Outside, lines of taxis waited with its drivers leaning against its doors hollering at potential passengers as they pass by.

The first car in line was my pick. I wanted to go to Fab India, one of the best stores for modern Indian clothes. Fortunately, this driver knew where it was, unfortunately, he wanted 60 rupees, doubled the price. Not a chance! A taxi that was not in line but had just pulled up was my next pick. He came out in car and came towards me and I walked towards him, with the overcharging driver following. The man didn’t speak English well I noticed and wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. The overcharging driver started what seemed to be an argument with him in Hindi, his tone seemed aggressive. I looked back and forth at the men as I was facing them both. The overcharging driver pointed at the man and said to me that he knew little English, but in a mocking manner. The man said “50 rupees madam” forcing the overcharging one to say “40 rupees”. I agreed to the 40 rupees, at least he knew where we wanted to go. As the overcharging driver turned to walk away and I turned to follow him to his car, the other driver reached and hit his successor a hard clout.

Well I almost fainted. I almost held my head with my hands and ducked. In my world, a man hitting another man is a huge deal. As a matter of fact, that meant WAR. I stood there frozen, expecting the worst. The clout was strategically done. It had great impact. The receiver’s buffy hair split right down the middle where the other man’s hand made contact, leaving a path. He spun around in shock with his head lowered and his both hands holding his head. Retaliation is sure, I thought. I got ready to skip, jump and roll. Suddenly, he began to laugh uncomfortably, watching his bully for a second and continued making his way to the car with me and Z in tow. I was confused, what did that mean? Then he said something out loud in Hindi. I was sure that was the “wait dey! Ah comin’ back” - the most obvious response when walking away from a fight you’re unprepared for. In a Trini context that usually translates to “run!” because upon his return…it’s war. As we pulled off he shouted “idiot!!” Was that his response to getting tap up in the head in public? Grown man like him? I caught myself a few minutes later, and I couldn’t breathe, I was laughing uncontrollably all the way to Fab India. The seconds between the clout and his response, I had seen this going down totally different. No wonder India’s crime rate is nothing compared to Trinidad’s…after all, nobody does “keep lash”.

The Pond and my Imagination...

My latest thrill is sitting by the pond at the back of the guest house and reading. Yesterday I sat there in the afternoon, as the sun was shifting in the sky, getting ready to set. I was distracted by the ducks that glided across the water, the hundreds of dragon flies that dipped quickly in the water leaving tiny circular ripples that went out and the little turtles that stuck up their heads. The thousands of giant gold fishes converged crazily whenever they saw a shadow near the water, expecting food. Jane (my Australian friend) said when the monsoon rains come and the pond overflows, fishes are everywhere! If that isn’t the grossest thing ever…

I started to feel like I was in a Jane Austen novel. I looked out at the branches of the trees that surrounding the pond, they were touching the water. There was nothing there to remind me that I was in the 21st century…well, beside my blackberry lying on the bench next to me. The little barefooted girls dressed in their navy blue overalls with their ribbons in their hair were just coming from school. They had seen me before, perhaps. They are from the orphanage I reckoned. They looked at me, giggling and whispering to each other as they walked. One brave girl waved and the others followed suit. I waved back with a huge smile. I was Emma for the moment. The girls who were around my age from the hostel would pass me and look down as if pretending not to notice me. They reinforced my daydream. Like Emma, I am free. The thought of marriage is far from my mind, but that is all they think about. Girls ask me all the time “Are you married? Why are you single?”

I spotted him. “Oh crap!” I thought to myself. I really didn’t want to be sitting by the pond and have him come over to talk to me. He was coming with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. “hello madam” he said, still steps away from my bench. “How is your friend?” The last time he saw me he asked me the same thing and I told him Evan had left and is back in California. Suddenly, there was a female Tamil voice from the back of me and he said “sorry madam, one, one minute” in an awkward tone. I quickly continued to ignore my book and went back into my day dream. Only this time I was Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice…he was so Mr. Knightley! Very awkward, very random. He didn’t come back. I imagined that the woman, whoever she was, told him that he need not be talking to me because that might jeopardize his chances of getting a proposal. The night before, at dinner, Clarin, whose mother just died from cancer a couple weeks ago, told me that she has to wait until she’s married to go get a mammogram because word might get out if she goes now and her potential proposal will be jeopardized. No man wants to marry a potentially cancer stricken woman, unless she ups the dowry of course.

I went back to reading my book, forgetting I was a character in Jane Austen's novels. A long time passed and the sun was right ahead of me, so the tree I sat under no longer provided shade. I heard a voice approaching “madam, did you change your number?” The last time I had seen him he asked for my number and I gave it to him. I was with Jane, who gave me a look and scurried off as if wanting to give me privacy. That same night he had called me to ask me to come to church, I declined. He stood up right in front of me, right next to the blazing sun, so I could not watch him. He claimed that whenever he calls me I never answer. I was Emma now – uninterested and unimpressed. I pointed at my phone on the bench next to me and said “call it”. He did and it rang…that ended his short-lived tantrum. He continued to speak “you call me, rickshaw I drive after…” and I finished “after 5:30, I remember”.

I was looking at the fish in the pond and Mr. Knightley followed my gaze “madam? You want? 150. You get big one” and he held out his hand, gesturing from his wrist to his elbow. I said “for what?!” I knew he was going to say to eat, and he certainly did. I blurted “they are goldfish! They are pets”. He said “No, madam” smiling. Then the thought flew into my head “is this what the international guest house cooks??” At the urging of Jane(my Australian friend), I have had tastes of the fish at dinner before. He wasn’t sure, and asked to describe the fish I ate, prolonging my horror. When I said the fish were small and fried in red chilly powder to perhaps disguise their gold skin, he assured me that this wasn’t the case because they only eat the big gold fish. “Okay, Madam I have to go back to work…” he said reluctantly, as if I was keeping him.

Minutes later, he was at the end of the pond a little way from with a bucket, I saw him smile without looking at me and I had him figured out – he wanted attention. His father is the gardener, so he was fetching water for the plants I realized. Emma wouldn’t care either way...neither did I. I love the pond; I get to feel like I’m in another place in another time…

Zoo Day!

For those who don’t know me very well – I love zoos! The zoo is located about an hour or more outside the city (Chennai) so we took a train and a bus to get there. We had to wait a while for the train so we sat on the platform benches and chatted. Six females foreigners– Cadence, Diana, Yael, Kelly, Sara and I – chit chatting on a crowded train platform can cause quite a disruption in India I have realized. It didn’t help that Kelly’s laugh is high-pitched and loud and Sara’s is thunderous! One time Sara and I was in a store and I said something and there was an attendant helping us and Sara flung her head back and busted a laugh so loud that the startled, tiny-built man jumped. It was horrible.

On the platform this tiny little girl began to beg us and as we boarded the train. She, her mother (who looked about our age and was very beautiful we thought) and her baby sibling followed us onto the train. The begging child looked no more than 5 yrs old. Sara gave her a granola bar, Diana gave her a candy and when she got to Yael and I we said no to her. She stood in front of us with her hand out so I began to take pics and Yael suddenly blurted “Oh! She did the face!” and she dug in her bag and handed the girl 5 rupees. I know the face she was talking about. It’s that face that just breaks your heart to see on a child. It doesn’t help that they are dirty and wearing rags either, that only makes the look on their face all the more heart-breaking.

We had to swap trains and the train was so crowded, a lot like New York’s, only there are no train doors here, falling off on to the train tracks is just a push away. It is so interesting that there are ladies’ cars though. There are only one or two cars on the train for ladies (it seems to always be the cars to the back too). When we initially got into the station the train was already there so we had to run like horses from the front of the train to the back to get on the ladies’ car. Imagine if you’re late and the train is pulling off and you have to go to the back of the train to board…so inconvenient and annoying!

We finally made it to the zoo. We did the lion safari first because the zoo was HUGE and doing it first would mean that we get a ride to the end of the zoo and we could walk back to the front and see everything on our way out. We got into this van that literally had a caged around it, and held 12 people. The lions were in open space as if in the wild and they have concrete “houses” for them to escape the sun, I guess. We drove among them and stopped to take pictures. They seemed bored. Aside from when our driver got too close for comfort. He was doing it for spite. The lion was laying against the wall of his house minding his business and our driver drove right up on him (as if meaning to pin him to the wall). The lion paid us no mind. The driver switched off the engine and began to inch the van closer and closer to the lion. At this point, I was right next to the driver (there was no passenger seat) sitting on the floor of the safari van because I wanted good pics. The lion raised his head and shoulders, becoming aware and getting defensive. He looked the driver dead in his eyes! I was in front saying to the driver in my head “do it! do it!” He must have heard me because he inched the van forward a little again and the lion’s gaze just looked a little more devious and he got up on this front paws, his behind still on the ground as if going to pounce. He stared at the driver dead on through the bars around our windscreen as if saying “move another inch and it’s on…” Our wussy driver put the van in reverse and the lion turned his head and looked away as if saying “…thought so!” Like the lion, I too was disappointed. That would have been some good shots!!

That was a good way to start off our zoo trip. I loved that the elephants weren’t in cages. They it looked just as if they were in the wild. They had a huge stomping ground. So did the giraffes. Every other animal was pretty standard. The wild cats – jaguars, tigers, etc – were the best I thought. I was disappointed by the lack of gorillas. However, the monkey that escaped made up for all my disappointment. Zoo attendants were climbing trees, struggling not to fall, while others were launching stones, the crowds began to gather while the monkey was just chilling in the topmost part of the tree, swinging to avoid stones and catching as many as he can. It was hilarious. After the men started to feel their ego’s shrinking as the bunch of foreign girls laughed hysterically at the entire situation, they ran us. I pretended to not understand their broken English and obvious hand gestures for a bit so I could get some good pics.

That afternoon everyone came over to my room and chilled out until it was time for dinner. There is this “American” restaurant called “Sparky’s – Never trust a skinny chef” and they wanted to go. I had been there already and thought the food was a pathetic attempt at western food. They even sold Jamaican jerk chicken which I didn’t dare to order.

After dinner, we decided we should go do karaoke or dancing. Yael and Kelly were leaving in the wee hours of the next morning so we thought we should enjoy the night. We got a tourist guide and looked under “night life” – choices were minimal. We went to the “club” in a hotel called Havana. The music was shocking. They played Jay-Z and all sorts of hip-hop. I wasn’t in India anymore. Well, I was reminded when I saw the sign “only married couples on the dance floor”. Despite the loud music and dimmed lights, most of the crowd were watching cricket on a big screen tv! The dance floor became ours. We were wilding out! Kelly was break-dancing to hip hop and she was surprisingly good! We had a ball.