Illiterate

I don’t know how to read, write or speak Malayalam. It has been a new feeling, a total challenge for a person who once dreamed of being a polyglot and now is a professional interpreter and a fervent language access campaigner. This palindrome of a word (Malayalam) is the language of Kerala, one of the six classical languages of India and one of its 22 official languages¹. It has 56 phonemes and an intricate, curvilinear alphabet. The locals say confidently that Malayalam is “the most difficult language to learn in the world,” but I have heard the same thing about a few other languages, so, upon arrival to Kochi, Kerala I set out to disprove that local stereotype.

 I moved to India nearly six months ago and it has been a fascinating, albeit frustrating, experience to try to learn Malayalam. This attempt is as futile as trying to catch the seeds after blowing them off a dandelion. When I hear a word I am trying to learn, I repeat it a couple of times and then, if any other thought or sound even so much as crosses my mind for a second… poof! It’s gone! Gone with the wind, just like those fuzzy dandelion seeds. I have to make a tremendous effort, use mental pictograms or some kind of an association, in order to remember what the word sounds like, but it is nearly impossible to capture the true sound. Very few of the words resemble anything I know (I speak Spanish, English and some Korean). Spanish only has half of the phonemes that Malayalam uses. I am able to borrow the letter “r” for at least one of their “r-like” sounds. English helps with the vowels, and for the consonants, I have borrowed some from Korean.

My learning process is a mix of associating words and borrowing sounds from other languages. When you are learning a language that is somewhat similar to your own, let’s say French and Spanish, you can fetch new words from your brain because you either associate the word with another word from your own language, or with a sound, or the spelling. With Malayalam, there is nothing: it’s a totally new alphabet and set of sounds. There are very few words that I can easily associate with anything I know. The one that comes to mind is “puta” (phonetic). Yes, “puta,” which means whore in Spanish! Yet in Malayalam, it is the word for a breakfast food. I will never forget that word! As I was approaching the breakfast buffet, on my first day at my new school, a very gentle old man started calling me “puta,” or so I thought.  I was startled! His benevolent face seemed so incongruent with this apparent insult. He must have understood my bewildered facial expression because he immediately pointed at the white powder-like food. I was relieved to realize that my integrity wasn’t under question so early in the morning and very happy to have learned a “new” word. I told to myself, at least I won’t starve. If nothing else, I can have “puta” for breakfast, lunch and dinner if I don’t learn anything else while I am here.

I was feeling really proud of myself about a month into my semester here because I was able to greet people, ask how much this or that that was, and answer VERY simple questions. So, I decided I was fit for traveling. My interpreter identity gushes out of me almost involuntarily, so even if I just know a few words, I try to read the context, faces and use all the possible available tools to communicate, to make myself understood and understand what I am being told. So in a way, I was the group interpreter for that trip. After all, “in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king…”or so I thought.  We made it to our destination unharmed. I was feeling very confident about my language “skills” when I realized that we had just barely crossed the border to another state. So when I tried to show off my language skills, I was brutally reminded that India has 22 official languages and that my recently acquired, brand-spanking new, beautiful words and phrases in Malayalam were of absolutely no use in Tamil Nadu. They speak, Tamil. I was back to square one: “how do you say ‘hi’”, “please”, “thank you” and “how much?” How do you address each person? Yes, the same questions that I had asked just a month earlier. A slap in the face does not describe how it felt at having lost my only currency.

The great thing about Malayalam, Tamil, Canara, and perhaps other languages of this subcontinent, is that you can call people older brother or older sister if you know their age, or just as a sign of respect. This makes things easier because trying to learn the names of people you meet for just a very brief period of time is just as hard as learning any other word. And, it is a good idea to learn people’s names, as it is not only culturally competent but also just common courtesy.

As a former British Colony, you can find many people that speak English here, and many English words in the language. However, the privilege of speaking English is reserved mostly for the upper echelons of Indian society with access to higher education. Kerala is a communist state and the most progressive in the entire country. It has a 100% literacy rate, but not everyone understands or speaks English. Outside of my university, I barely encounter English speakers. Learning Malayalam gives you freedom and a greater ability to function as a normal member of society, not to mention the doors that learning the local language opens up. The moment I say anything in Malayalam beyond the greeting, people open their heart and let it shine through a beautiful smile. There are no words to describe that feeling of connectedness at having touched someone else’s heart (literally, I don’t have those words in Malayalam yet).

Working in Kerala is a completely different ball game. I have had to use ad-hoc interpreters. I moved to India for six months as part of my master’s program in Social Work. I am completing a semester at Rajagiri College of Social Sciences (Autonomous). The classes and papers are taught and written in English, but the practicum is in Malayalam, as the populations we work with are children or adults that don’t speak English. My first experience in the field had all the uncertainties associated with using untrained interpreters. I asked if we could have an interpreter for the session. A couple of students were recruited to help us communicate. It was fascinating to observe my own discomfort about having to use an ad-hoc interpreter. The only reassuring thing was that the volunteers were social workers in training, just like me, so there was a common understanding of the concepts we were trying to convey. I had the rare opportunity to be the limited language proficient part of the equation.

With all the multiplicity of languages and with internal migration, some parts of India face language access related problems very similar to those in the U.S. Kerala, is the best example of this. According to the Gulati Institute of Finance and Taxation (GIFT)² Kerala’s migrant population is approximately 2.5 million. This population does not speak Malayalam and very likely won’t speak English either. Language access to healthcare in particular has some limitations, which are being overcome by creating signs in Hindi, the official language of the government, along with India’s. It is important to keep in mind that India does not have a national language. It has 2 official languages: Hindi and English. The problem is that Hindi is not necessarily spoken by everyone either.

Living as an illiterate has taught me a powerful lesson. I am humbled by the struggles faced by immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers anywhere in the world. Learning another language is not always a matter of choice. No matter how hard you try, you may not be able to succeed at this lofty endeavor

1 http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Theres-no-national-language-in-India-Gujarat-High-Court/articleshow/5496231.cms

2http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/52922762.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=cppst

Field Placement

Kerala’s social work is focused in community work. As a student, you can have all the experience you need working at a macro level. You could potentially work in the clinical setting but you would need to speak the language or use an interpreter.  I am not very interested in clinical work, so I was paced at an organization called “Outreach”. This organization manages a number of programs with all segments of the population. We traveled to the south of Kerala to visit a few of the projects they are in charged of. Kerala is a communist state and as such it operates in a different way from other states. I first noticed it was communist when I saw the ever present communist flags and a myriad pictures of Ernesto "el Ché" Guevara all over Kerala.  They have three different levels of government and the basic level of government is called "panchayat". We visited the president of one of the poorest panchayats to discussed a project that involved  building a road that will provide access to an isolated segment of the population. Then, we visited another project that will help women of lower socioeconomic status work as seamstresses. It was interesting to learn that in order to carry out any project they have to make the project as environmentally friendly as possible. This is the main feature of Kerala, their constant attempt to maintain the environment. No wonder why is so green compared to all other states of India, they try hard not to impact the environment in any bad way.

The last visit of that week was to the mobile clinic for migrant workers. Kerala is to India as the United States is for the Americas (or maybe the world?), people from other parts of the country migrate to Kerala searching for work and higher wages. Just as it happens in the United States the immigrant population is very vulnerable, does not speak the local language and they often leave their family behind. The project seeks to prevent communicable diseases like HIV. Migrant workers, are mostly uneducated and don’t speak Malayalam, and although Hindi is the Government's official language, they might not speak it either. They work mainly in construction and high risk type of jobs. It really resembles the US undocumented immigrant population. The only difference perhaps is that in India, you are entitled to the equivalent of social security services. It is your right as an Indian citizen to have  health benefits at a very low cost. Heck, even as a foreigner you can have healthcare services for a minimal fraction of what you need to pay in the US! I had to have some tests done and I paid nearly $100 for a battery of tests that would have cost me approximately $3000 in the US.

After visiting these projects my heart was set on the migrant workers project. I saw so many parallels to our immigrants in the US that I was looking forward to learn from what they are doing here. However, my supervisor asked us to develop a career awareness program for school children. Two other students and I set out to do research and create the program. It was a fantastic experience for me, it forced me to think of all the phases of program development and it allowed me to practice my program and project management skills. I was very thankful for my certification in project management as I realized that, along with the skills earned in a master in business administration, those are very relevant skills for a social worker, and basically any professional, to have.

We delved into all sorts of child development theories and unearthed all sorts of activities for children aimed to unveil children’s innate abilities and hone the skills they are more attuned with. We contemplated the inclusion of parents in our model too. We wrote a paper and then submitted to the directives of the Outreach organization. Thankfully they were pleased with our proposed program, they want us to train undergrad students so that they can implement the project with our guidance. Without the language we have to rely on these students.

Speaking of language, it has been very hard for me to be an illiterate interpreter. Being bilingual and bi-cultural I feel out of sorts in India. I can’t speak enough Malayalam and it has been hard for me to be disciplined about learning it. To begin, I have no TV which is indispensable in the process of learning another language; second, everyone around me speaks English. You can only learn a language if you hear it all the time and try to speak it all the time. This , unfortunately is not the case. One of the undergrad students was kind enough to come to my house for a class. She taught me all the vowels and consonants, which are about 56, I realize it was a big challenge for anybody to learn Malayalam. My ear is not refined enough to distinguish all the sounds. There are many variations of the sounds you make with your tongue for instance. We could say there are like three different letters that sound like R. My heart sank when I was trying to imitate the sounds that they made and was told over and over that I didn’t have the sound. Sometime, by pure chance I made the right sound but, a few seconds later, it was gone again.  By now I can recognize short phrases here and there but nothing that would allow me to be at a bar chatting with a stranger.  Well nothing could really allow me to be at a bar chatting with a stranger anyways because there are really no bars in Kerala. Yup, no free distribution or consumption of alcohol. There are "beer and wine" parlors where the selection of beers is 2 or 3 varieties and there is just one selection of red or white wine. For any wine lover this is not The State to be in, and perhaps not even the country to enjoy wine.  The parlors open only until 9:30 PM. In other words, as beautiful as Kerala is, it can be pretty boring if you are into partying.  

Lack of alcohol made me feel a little bad for all the people that might find some relief in this vice. In Kerala, you can’t really drawn your sorrows like any other human being in the western world. You can’t numb your pain mindlessly with alcohol. You simply have to endure your traumas and sorrows while dry as a bone. 

Field placement occurs in three phases. The first phase happens during the month of July, the second phase happens during the months of august and September when you take classes with everyone else and finally, during the month of October you go back to field placement.  This does not mean that you are not in field all the time. Being new to the culture you really are at field placement since you land in India until you leave.  You are learning all the time.

First Impressions (Continued)

 

Facing the Arabian Sea

   We traveled as a group for the first time to Varkala, a beach town in the south of Kerala. Our friend Melinda wanted to celebrate her birthday at the beach, so the seven of us entrained to Varkala. It is hard for me to remember a trip with so many experiences of all kinds. Getting the train tickets required the patience of a zen master and a linguist to decipher the meanings of all the codes: sleeper 2A, CC 2B,  AC, 3A, etc. It took us several days to navigate the online system. We had to put our passport numbers a dozen times and as we were ready to book, caput!, the system would fail one way or another.  We finally purchased the tickets, and felt incredibly accomplished and independent. We were ecstatic! The next challenge was getting to the train station. My friend Candy, the savvy traveler had already downloaded Uber, this was a blessing because with our luggage it was hard to fit in an otto. 

Upon arrival to the station we waded through hundreds of people trying to figure out where to board the train. Illiteracy takes over as most of the signs are in Malayalam. Chickens with heads cut off were far more coherent and organized than us. We finally made it to our respective seats a few seconds before the train departed, angry with each other, frustrated with the world and feeling like a million devaluated rupees. 

Little by little I caught my breath soon enough to be able to experience the olfactory display of fried bananas, spices, sweat... accompanied by the cacophony of voices of all types and intonations.  There was the gentleman that in his baritone voice chanted: “chai chai, chai” followed by the graver voice of the person selling the fried bananas and then the soprano selling briyani (fried rice). Obviously the jerk baby  was there to top this off shrieking at the minimal discomfort, or want. Every time I dozed off he was there to take me out of Morpheus arms.  Thanks baby!

In the train

All in all people always offer you a smile which makes everything ok. We felt excited about going to the beach,  and proud to have survived the process of getting in the train. That feeling only lasted until we realized that there were no speakers in the train and no announcements of the stops. You have to know where to get off, the train is not going to magically tell you: “Wake up there, you have arrived”. Nope! you have to simply know where is your stop. Period. There are signs at the bus stations but the signs are in Malayalam and seeing through the window that has been damaged and scratched by the inclemencies of the weather and  time,  is an impossible task.  As always, we had to appeal to a kind soul that could tell us where to get off. With my best puppy eyes I inquired to the gentleman right next to me who was traveling to a city farther south than Varkala, so he was able to tell us where to get off. Our friend Frank did not have the luck to be seated with us, he was in a different coach. We just had to hope that he asked around about where to get off, and thankfully, he did. It was great to see him appear slowly but surely at the station in Varkala. In my very anxious mind, I was already imagining him lost in some town. I underestimated his intelligence and survival skills. 

Train Station in Varkala

Varkala is a small town on a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea. It’s shops and restaurants are arranged in parallel to the cliff. There was a multicultural plethora of restaurants, from Italian to Tibetan and the whole world in between… Ok, that might be a bit of an overstatement... There was a street with several Tibetan shops where beautiful jewelry was displayed along with sound bowls, Buddhists beads and meditation cushions. Our hotel was  cute and clean, well lit and pretty minimalist. I immediately liked it. The name, simple: Inda hotel.  The owners, an Ukrainian couple, were very friendly and helpful. We had the best breakfast I can remember and undoubtedly the best coffee in Kerala. It is hard to find good coffee in Kerala, in small shops, coffee is a sweet experience that leaves you at the verge of a diabetic coma. I remember one time I went to a big coffee shop in Lulu mall, one of the largest, or the largest mall in India. I asked for a vegan ice coffee. I had three sips and could not finish, I tried to change my drink as the semi-liquid required a spoon to “drink” it, but in that occasion the usual Indian hospitality and desire to please failed. After all I was in a chain coffee shop, not in a mom and papa shop where they still solve small problems like this without involving the manager or the cash register. 

The hotel

Tibetan Market at night

The cliff town

Don't do this, specially if you don't have a rabbis vaccine

The hotel was near the cliff and access to the ocean was possible, but the beach was erased by the heavy Monsoon season. This was a bit disappointing but it didn't deter our friend Melinda who next morning went to a beach nearby that was not closed. She could not bathe, but she could observe.  Instead of the usual rooster, I was awaken by music, the entire town has audible access to a huge speaker that in the morning and in the afternoon broadcasts traditional songs. You can’t help but listening to the languid tunes that remind you that you are somewhere remote from your hometown. Somehow this music makes me feel happy, there is an air of mysticism in it, even though there is not a word I can understand, my imagination wanders to not anymore remote places while I listen. See, when I was in the west and I heard that music, my soul would travel to India, now, I am here! I feel as if I had entered the movie I always imagined in my spiritual eyes! I experienced the same  when I went and sat by the cliff, overlooking the rocks and the fishing boats, I felt happy and complete in this far away town.

Happy, touching the Arabian Sea

It has been established that I look Indian… to a great extent at least. My other friends definitely look like foreigners.  They are frequently approached by people who want to have a selfie with them, but this evening in Varkala, the proposal was far more “indecent”. We were approached by the operations manager of the Deshadan Resort who wanted our pretty faces to be in his promotional video. We hesitated for a while, debated etc. He said the magic words to a bunch of broke students: “If you accept to be in my video, you will have breakfast lunch and dinner at our resort and we will take you to all Varkala’s attractions for free”. We were sold!

 

Press play to see the video

Bright an early the next morning we were picked up by a luxurious car that fit the seven of us. This taxi of sorts had to transport us for the entire two block distance to the resort. It was almost not worth trying to fit in that car for such a short ride, but the manager wanted to go above and beyond and make us feel comfortable and important. I guess we were important, we were about to be movie stars! I felt a bit ashamed though as we made this poor driver wait for at least 20 minutes for such a short ride.

The first shots were around the pool of this fancy, beautiful tropical, and of course, green resort. It was liberating to be able to sport a bikini without being concerned for breaking any cultural rules. This was foreign territory and we were foreigners, so, off with the shirts!  

Action!

I did notice that the Director of the operation was always approaching my blonde beautiful friend and my male friend. Obviously they look like foreigners. As for me, it seemed that they wanted me out of the shot at all times.  I quickly developed a complex and started to hear the wrong things. If the guy said: Mam, could you please walk… I would hear: “Mam, could you please walk out of the hotel”. I swear he asked me to go under water for a few minutes while they finished the pool shots.  One thing was for sure, I may have looked too local for the video, but I managed to stick my head here and there and appear multiple times in it.

Waited too long beneath water

We had the most care free afternoon I can remember. Just as it is meant to be for any student at a field placement. We played for hours in the pool, then visited the aquarium, then some went to ride elephants, visit temples, bike. We did all the things there are to do in Varkala. I did not want to go ride elephants though. I feel different about that whole thing. Ever since I became so aware of the suffering involved in any kind of recreational activity that involves animals, I just can’t do it... I imagine us humans having all the fun at their expense. The more I understand that animals have their own volition and emotions, the more I find it impossible to justify that we use them or abuse them. My friends though, they went and enjoyed themselves. I spent some of this time visiting an Ayurveda center and then to the Hindu temples around there. I learned that unless you are Hindu, you are not permitted to go in to certain parts of the temple. And in the smaller ones photographs are not allowed. I was impressed that there was one temple that was approximately 2000 years old. Holy caw! Also, you have to be dressed modestly, my friend Candy had a dress that was a bit above the knee and she could not enter. I found it a bit paradoxical that their priests are shirtless and their dhoti is always folded upwards, so they are showing their chest and legs... I enjoyed the visit to the temple, especially the sung prayer by a woman who was playing an instrument with one chord.  I gave her my name and twenty rupees and I think she sang a prayer for me. They are supposed to include your name in the song but perhaps mine morphed too dramatically in the transition to the language in which she was singing because I could not recognize my name in her song. 

Temple

Inside of the temple

Deshadan Hotel

That day was definitely a highlight in our book. We were open to just go with the flow and we had an amazing day, planned for us. We still went to the beach and enjoyed the view of the roaring ocean, but we had the goal of having a good time, the means were less important and we were surprised by the sweet taste of watermelon juice and the feeling of bonding with brand new friends. 

Me!

Arrival and some first impressions

Upon arrival at the airport the immigration line was rather long. I went to the one that seemed shorter and waited for my turn. Immigration to any country always makes me nervous, I always imagine angry officials asking angrier questions such as: “why are you here?, where did you hid the drugs? Why are you taking our jobs?” I reassured myself remembering that now I carry the beautiful blue, bald eagle, “we the people…” passport of my new homeland: The United States. I get to the immigration cubicle and the first question after opening my passport is: “Why are you here?” … Thankfully it was not in an angry tone and it was clear that he was really asking if I was a tourist or a student. Still my years of somewhat negative experiences made me feel terrified for a few seconds. I explained that I am a student and everything seemed cool. I noticed that in each cubicle there is a small elephant decorated with a red umbrella, I peer at the elephant and realize it is concealing a camera. Smiling was the only thing to be done. The immigration officer that welcomed me to India had orange hair, he was very friendly but his hair was startling. Latter, I realized that the color was caused by henna and the orange color was meant to cover his white hair.  

It was 3 in the morning when we arrived and 4:30 AM by the time we were all in the van. There were two young men waiting for us. They are students from the Master’s program in Social work, who, despite the hour and a half wait, greeted us with enthusiasm and warmth. As we came out of the airport the soothing rain made a timid appearance. I could feel the wet air on my forehead and my hair (as it instantly curled up into a perennial frizz which I still sport everyday) I inhaled the India air deeply, the smell of rain was placid to me. I felt incommensurately happy, expectant and fully awake. India has been in my dreams and captivated my imagination since I can remember. I always imagined being in contact with people from far lands, so different from me, with internal worlds so diverse and rich that my travels would not only be about going to places but about meeting and talking to people.

The first impression of Kochi was of men wearing Dhotis (traditional piece of clothing wrapped around the waist of men) It is like a male saree. There were dozens of men waiting at the airport, all dressed in short or long dhotis. They are the norm in this part of India, and, although men wear pants, dhotis are predominant. They are worn by men of all ages.

The house where we are staying is right in front of the school. Its big, has three rooms, two bathrooms, a dining room, a kitchen and a multipurpose room where the refrigerator is located. We are currently using it for drying our clothes… that is if anything can be actually dried in this humidity.  My bed is located in the middle; I share it with my Colombian friend Candy. We share the bathroom with two other girls.  There is really no privacy. Actually, that’s not totally accurate, I have a mosquito net which prevents the entrance of the annoying creatures. When I am in my mosquito net, I feel secure… seriously.

 

My friend using her mosquito net

 

The garage, outside of our house

The first meal was Indian rice pancakes (apom) and some peas curry. There was also chai and a variety of banana that I hadn’t eaten before. It is a good combination with the rest of the food. The banana is sweet and it helps counteract the effect of the spices from the other food. My mouth has had very few restful moments; for the most part its busy savoring peppery food that overwhelms my palate.  I have gotten used to it but, pepper is so predominant that it is hard to distinguish any other flavor. In fact, I realized recently that the salt shaker here is the one with one hole whereas the pepper shaker has three. The exact opposite to our dining experiences. There is one moment of my day though that it is pure joy, I call it mango – paramburi combo. I go to the corner café and my friend or “Chettan” serves me a smooth, silky, divine mango juice and a fried battered banana.

Our meals are all served in the Rajagiri dining hall. There is a system to sign up for meals. All the U Maryland students must sign up or opt out of each of the three meals served. The campus follows a strict non waste philosophy, so they only cook the necessary portions for the people eating. If we fail to either sign up or opt out and we show up or don’t go, we affect someone. The case in point is eggs. Sometimes we have chapatti, curry and boiled eggs. If you come to dinner without signing up and you eat an egg, you are taking someone else’s egg, very simple.

At the end of each meal each of us has to clean our own plate. We discard the food we didn’t eat into a bucket. This organic waste is taken to a bio-tank full of certain bacteria that decomposes the waste and turns it into gas. The kitchen uses this gas to cook.

The school is a reflection of the entire state of Kerala, they are very concerned with the environment. The school does not produce much waste because they don’t have any disposable utensils. At the end of any meal there is only a mound of organic waste, despite the fact that 40 to 50 people dine at the hall at any given time. The school is very clean, with well preserved and beautiful gardens; students, faculty and employees alike display a sense of pride to be part of the school, it is contagious, I feel proud to be a student here.

The first impression of my neighborhood is, just like the rest of the state, greenery. I live North of Fort Kochi, which is a mid size city, but I feel in a very remote area because I am surrounded by trees everywhere. It is beautiful. This state should be called “fifty shades of green”. The next impression is that everyone is very friendly. I know every single business owner near the school. There is Ms. Sheena and her store manager (Chettan or Older brother), she is the owner of the shop responsible for the mango-paramburi treat.  There is Ms. Jessi, the seamstress responsible for my new Indian wardrobe, and there is Ms. Gressy, the owner of the convenient store where I get my bindis from. The sense of community here is very strong, I feel connected to all of them and I feel safe while walking in this neighborhood.

My first impression of the bathroom was not so good, well, not at first. I learned that one of the reasons why there is no toilet paper in any bathroom is because it pollutes the water. You will always find a pressurized phone shower in most toilets, so you simply wash off your intimate parts. It takes some practice though… I, of course can’t be discrete about it. I don’t understand why my hands, that are completely adept to using toilet paper, seem to have some kind of paralysis when I try to use the phone shower; it falls, it twists, it slips… at the end of the process my clothes, my face and even my hair are all wet and everyone knows where I have been.

After our arrival to India we had to go to school to register with the government. It took a few hours to fill out the electronic paperwork associated with this process. We also met our academic liaison, a very handsome professor with a very warm smile.  He walked us through the whole process and gave us the main instructions about our 5 month stint in India. He answered all our questions no matter how silly and out of place they were. He was understanding that we were new to the country, the culture and the school, so in an exceptionally patient manner, he explained things associated with our academic responsibilities as well as things associated with our household. We were also introduced to Mr. Ken. He basically takes care of our every household need. He is always accompanied by a young handsome man (Troy)  that has been the subject of many of our dinner conversations: “He is so cute” “His eyes are so…” etc. He has sparked the romantic ideas of more than one in our group. Sadly, I am incredibly clumsy every time I am around him. The only two times I have tripped over anything has been when he is around. He always gives me a compassionate smile and then I hate myself for the rest of the day. 

Our welcome and first impression of the people of the school (Faculty and Students) could not have been better. The first official day at school we had a superb welcome, the screen at the lobby was displaying our names along with a picture of a bouquet of flowers. Little things like this make such a difference, really. We felt really welcome and special with this.  Then, we had an official welcome by the Dean(s), the President of the school and other senior faculty. They all gave us a brief lecture on a topic associated with our semester here.  During their sessions, several times the power went off. I was expecting some kind of reaction from them. At least a little "oh, oh" but nothing, they just continued with their presentation. The video beams and computers must be connected to an independent generator because their power point was never interrupted even when the lights were totally off. This was a sign to me that in India you just don't sweat the small stuff.

 (Senior Faculty and Students from U Maryland)

Over all, I have had a very positive first impression of India and its people. People are always willing to help; they are curious and not afraid of asking “where are you from”, “how old are you”, “why are you here… (To be continued)