Chota, one of the staff, rewinding his turban |
So, now we are really getting settled
in Chandelao and are both working quite hard on our various projects
and activities. We are also getting to know the village and its
surroundings.
Lin's Work
I am enjoying teaching at the local
private school, though dread to think what the other two local
schools must be like in terms of lack of supplies and facilities. The
children, all 200 of them, sit on the bare ground, sometimes with a
thin strip of fabric under them. The lucky teacher gets a plastic
chair, but no desk. A couple of the classes have a chalk-board that
has seen better days, and we seem to share a duster to erase it with,
adding chalk dust to the clouds of dust that rise whenever the kids
get to their feet. Ironically, the kids have to take off their shoes
at the gate of the school... to avoid bringing in even more dust? A
couple of lucky classes are under cover, but most classes are in the
open air, so teaching oral language invariably means disturbing other
classes. The six teachers were grateful to receive ball-point pens I
had brought from Philadelphia. The kids have a book-bag to keep their
books in, but there are no extra books around as far as I can see.
Lessons involve a lot of teacher-reading with students answering
questions or reciting by heart. Their daily greeting to me is a
recital in English in which the word “welcome” recurs
comprehensibly and the rest is a jumble of polite formality.
This week I arrived before 9:30 one
morning, so was in time to witness the daily assembly at which the
kids stand up to cough and splutter their way through the national
anthem. Corporal punishment is used presumably as a deterrent...the
culprit “assumes the position” by putting his head between his
knees, and his hands behind his legs and up over his ears in an
admirable if shockingly tortuous display of physical flexibility. He
still doesn't escape a beating.
Sandy with the teachers at Lin's School |
Otherwise there is a visible enjoyment
of learning, and the teachers are thoughtful and cheerful. I am
rewarded with a daily Hindi lesson in the school's lunch hour, and
spent one session at the teacher's house drinking masala chai,
meeting his family and viewing his album of wedding photos. More
later on elaborate and expensive weddings which can leave a family in
debt for years.
I plan to use my FSD grant money to
purchase supplies that will be useful to the teachers and can be
passed on to future teachers. I am also going to look into the
possibility of providing something like carpet samples for children
to sit on.
Sandy's Work
I am working on a
couple of projects, one of which is moving along well and the other
is going quite slowly. The web sites of the Chandelao Garh and the
Sunder Rang ladies' craft center have not
been changed for some years and are lacking in much important
information. The hotel is ranked #1 on TripAdvisor out of all the
hotels in Jodhpur, but is not well known or easy to find. So I am
rewriting and redesigning the web site, and making sure that the
hotel is listed with full information on other websites such as
Frommer, Expedia etc. This is all going along quite well. The Sunder
Rang web site is more problematic as it is hosted in Norway, and the
user name and password are lost! I hope to get that one sorted out
within the next few days.
Rajasthani ladies in their daily dress |
I thought I would
get involved with the local school in teaching one science lesson a
day to the top class, but having sat in on one lesson – and learnt
the names of all the planets in Hindi – I realised that it was not
possible to contribute much with my limited knowledge of the local
language and the pupils limited knowledge of English. I'll leave the
teaching to my much more experienced and effective better half.
Daily Life
We are meeting
interesting hotel guests from Britain, Brazil, Germany, and France,
which has us practising our foreign languages and focusing less on
Hindi as we socialize over meals, take them with us walks, or to the
craft center, and show them some of the colorful birds from the
rooftop. The hotel staff are friendly and attentive: after a week on
our jute-filled mattresses that felt more like concrete especially in
the middle of the night, we discovered that the other rooms have
foam-rubber mattresses, so ours were replaced on request and we now
sleep like newborn babies. We are learning the Hindi names of the dishes we
are served, and feel generally privileged to be treated like the
other guests. We have even joined in two birthday celebrations last week,
one German and one French, with chocolate cake and candles. Today we
did our first major clothes-washing, having acquired a plastic
bucket, and bought some Tide in Jodhpur, and now have clothes draped
around the furniture in our room which consequently smells like a
Chinese laundry. Luckily in the bone-dry air they will dry in a few hours.
We can not leave
the hotel compound without being surrounded by children, wanting us
to take their photo and trying out their English vocabulary on us.
Sometimes I feel like the Pied Piper. They mostly seem to have
dropped the insistence that I repeat my name, so that they can giggle
over its Marwari meaning. Some of them want to hi-five me, but I
avoid contact with some of the more heavily dust-encrusted hands. So
far we have not had any stomach ailments and aim to keep it that way.
The blue city of Jodhpur from the Mehranghar |
Last Sunday, we
took the local bus into Jodhpur (40 cents for the 1-hour journey)
which was an entertaining experience. Some of Lin's pupils were on
the very crowded bus, along with an assortment of turbaned and
dhoti-wearing farmers, women in flamboyant Rajasthani costume with
clanking bangles up their arms, and children and babies of all ages.
Soon everyone in the bus knew who we were and we were grilled on why
we were in India, who was paying us, were our children married, how
much do they and we earn, why was our 24-year old companion Hannah
not married, etc. Questions that would be considered highly intrusive
in the US are asked as a matter of course here. We had a very
pleasant day walking round Jodhpur, including a visit to the massive,
imposing and beautiful Mehranghar – the ancestral home of the
Maharajah of Jodhpur and the site of numerous battles, alliances,
murders, betrayals, and treaties signed and ignored. It was a truly
fascinating place with some wonderful art and beautifully carved pink
sandstone.
Our trip back to
Chandelao on the last bus was somewhat less enjoyable, if more
memorable, than the morning journey. We were packed in like sardines
with tired, and sometimes drunk people. There were more passengers up
on the roof. Lin was chatted up by a young (-ish) man whose
conversation seemed to be leading up to a marriage proposal, but
communication fortunately failed before things became uncomfortable.
It has to be noted that there was no light on the bus, so wrinkles
were not visible and my dress does not denote marital status as is
the case for local women, so she appeared to be unescorted.
Lin with some of her pupils by the lake |
After work in the
evening in Chandelao, the temperature is moderate, the air is clear
and dry and the sun is slowly setting. It is a wonderful time for a
walk, and we have set off on various farm tracks from the village,
meeting elegantly dressed women with heavy water pitchers or bundles
of firewood on their heads, goats heading home for the night and many
beautiful birds, including large flocks of migrating cranes. The huge
red ball of the sun sets behind the trees, and the moon, planets and
stars appear brighter and bigger than they ever do in Philadelphia.
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