Post-India Reflections

A year ago today, I arrived in India, exhausted and relieved to have finally made it, especially after missing my first flight.  Two and a half months ago I returned to the United States and while settling into my American life,  I've reflected a lot on my nine months of living and teaching in a foreign land and thought what better way to wrap up this blog than by sharing those reflections here.

THINGS I LEARNED:

Always try.  Whenever asked to perform or give a speech in America, I could expect to be notified at least a month in advance, usually more.  In India, I was lucky to get a week's notice.  For someone who has suffered from stage fright nearly all her life, this was a big hurdle to get over.  My initial reaction to requests for me to dance or give a speech or (even worse) sing was to immediately see the situation as impossible in the amount of time given.  How could I possibly whip something together in less than a week?!?!  However, I couldn't just turn down their requests and as a guest at the school, wanted to give back as much as possible.  So, I gave a hesitant yes, still thought it was an impossible situation, and...succeeded...every time.  After my speech during Indian Independence Day, students were eager to learn more about American Independence Day; after my attempt at giving a speech in Hindi, teachers told me how inspiring it was to hear me try to speak their native language, mistakes and all; after my bhangra dance for Children's Day, I ignored the pain emanating from the popped blisters on my feet and performed it a second time at their request. Through these experiences, I learned to push back my self-defeating thoughts, fears of failure, and need for perfection and to refocus that energy into just getting the job done.  

Flexibility.  No matter how many hours I put into lesson or trip planning, I was always greeted with something unexpected.  In my pre-India life, I spent so much energy trying to imagine all the possible outcomes of a situation so I would never be caught unaware.  India taught me to let go a little, to plan sufficiently but to also take advantage of and enjoy those little surprises that can never be planned.  I gained confidence that even if something doesn't go according to plan, things will work out and even I, a recovering over-planner extraoidinaire, can improvise a solution.

Patience.  When I first arrived in India, it was very easy to get frustrated when things didn't happen as I wanted or as quickly as I would have liked, a frustration that was admittedly due mainly to my unfamiliarity with how things worked in India.  I was trying to fit this square-peg-new-life into the round-hole-old-life I left.  While I always thought I was patient, I soon saw that the 24/7 instant access culture of America affected me more than I thought.  I learned to accept and expect that things were just going to take longer and in those moments when I began to feel frustration creeping up on me (for example, when visiting the copy center for the third time, the previous two times failing due to a power outage and an unexpected 2-hour closing) I breathed through the frustration rather than wasting energy being upset.  Afterall, there's no use getting worked up about something you can't change.

Focus. When reading about India in preparation for my trip, the one phrase used to describe it more than any other was "sensory overload" and after arriving, I could see why.  In the main areas of the city, my ears were bombarded with vendors trying to lure me to their stalls; the seemingly non-stop honking of cars, busses, and autorickshaws; and the frequent calling out of stops by bus conductors and auto drivers.  My eyes were constantly on the lookout for unmarked construction sights, uneven pavement, and the best frogger-like path to take across the street.  I could encounter a smell as sweet as fresh mangos in one step and in the next, be taken off guard by the unmistakable odor of urine. For this ultra-introvert, just a 15 minute walk could sap me of all my energy, especially when adding to the heat and humidity to all the things mentioned above.  Until, that is, I adapted.  I learned to tune out all but the most important sensory inputs and with time, began noticing previously invisible details of my surroundings.  Walking around the city became a practice in meditation and by the end of my nine months, I found not only that I was no longer weighed down by the activity around me, I was energized by it.

THINGS I'LL MISS:

• All the warm, supportive, and hilarious teachers at my school.  I didn't always understand their Bangla/Hindi gabbing but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
• Goats wearing scarves and shirts to stay warm in the chilly winter air.
• My pholwalla (fruit seller), sobjiwalla (vegetable seller), and my go-to computer print-out guy who were always so happy to see me, so patient with my Bangla, and so willing to help.
• When my attempts at speaking the local language was greated with fits of good-natured giggles...by large, hairy, grown men.
• STREET FOOD!  Especially kathi rolls, puchka, and padpi puri.
• Listening to the students recite the morning prayer, pledge, and sing the national anthem.
• When strangers would come up to me to ask where I was from and after receiving their answer, say thank you and promptly walk away.
• Being able to walk 2 minutes down the street to do all my produce and egg shopping or to get my street food fix.
• Party autos, the auto rickshaws that are adorned in blinking lights, mirrors and blast anything from techno music to old time Bollywood hits.
• Our neighborhood street dogs who would chase cars that drove off with us and who would sometimes escort me down the street on my way to school.
• The kindness of the people, always eager to help a vistor find her way.
• The random and hilarious comments made by my students.  "You are looking damn gorgeous today, Mam" was one of my favorites not because of the compliment but because of the choice of words by a sixth grader.
• Cha! Not to be confused with ah-cha-cha. (Translation: Tea! Not to be confused with the word that means "good" and that our landlord would endlessly repeat when he couldn't understand what we were saying and didn't want to admit it.)
• The phrase, "You do one thing..." that was usually followed by a string of seemingly endless instructions.
• Going into a sari shop and having the clothes literally thrown at me.  At first I felt bad because of all the folding that would be required afterwards but later, really appreciated being able to see the variety of materials so quickly. Plus, it created work for someone which is needed in a city of around 4.5 million, or 14 million if you include suburbs.
• Those moments in Bangla class when all our brains would cease functioning at the same time which would (usually) result in fits of laughter and an utterly confused look on Proshenjit-da's face.  
• The days when our caretaker, Robin, would burst into the apartment and rather than spend 15 minutes trying to explain why he was there through our broken Bangla and his broken English, would just start doing quizzical things.  Case in point: when he, without a word, went through Sarah's room, out onto the balcony, climbed over to our neighbor's balcony, and started transferring their plants to our side. Apparently, they were on vacation and he needed to water their plants but didn't have a key to their place.
• And finally...the fellow ETAs who became my family abroad - Irene, Julie, Sarah, and Zoe - and our papa bear, Sumanta.  It wouldn't have been the same, or nearly as entertaining, without them!