India: Day 1

Alright, folks:

I've got 2 days to write 6 days worth of India, so bare (bear?) with me if my posts are a little shorter than you'd like. I'm not gonna bother with tiny details, and only want to focus on the big stuff. Ready? Set? HERE WE GO.

Dalit Work Project:

OneWorld Educational Trust is a nonprofit in India that focuses on diminishing the educational gaps between the rich and the poor in India. This gap is pretty clear, especially considering that there's an actual debate in Indian politics regarding whether or not people of all income levels should be afforded the same quality of education. Let me repeat that: debate. Anyone who tells you that the caste system doesn't exist anymore has their blinders on.

Anyway, I worked with OneWorld for a day to help refurbish a dilapidated high school in the middle of one of the poorest neighborhoods in Chennai. SAS called this the "Dalit" work project because those are the ones who still inhabit that awful area: the descendants of the impoverished "untouchables" during the time of the Indian caste system. Like the DPS school system in Colorado, it's not uncommon for kids at that school to be provided free lunches, as the administration knows that it is likely to be the only nutritious meal that they will get for the entire day. So basically, mom and dad, think of me walking into East High School, except there's no air conditioning, no cars, no grass, and a horde of Indian children who mostly sit on the floor rather than at desks.

I loved this project because for once I was actually doing work. After the beautiful reception by the school, full of jasmine flower necklaces and traditional Indian songs, I was pulled away by a strict little Indian man to go be useful. He handed me a bucket of pungent black paint and a brush, led me into a sweltering class full of curious children, pointed at a gigantic chalkboard (basically a part of the wall that was painted a faded shade of black, but still just a bunch of wood) and said "go". As the little kids cheered me on, I painted about eight chalkboards over the course of two hours. I was so sweaty that my beige capris were dark brown by lunchtime. Also I was covered in paint, but that one was kind of a given.

For lunch we were served dhosa and chutney from an Indian fast food joint. I was amused by this, considering how terrified SAS was about us getting sick in India. "AT LEAST ONE OF EVERY FOUR OF YOU WILL GET VIOLENTLY ILL", they warned. It was funny to watch my peers poke nervously at their food and investigate it for signs of scary Indian poisons. One part of our meal was quite literally a bunch of soup in a plastic bag. It was really good. Then our guide came and told me, "don't drink that alone. Pour it in the dhosa. You'll get sick if you drink it alone". My dhosa was gone, and the soup was good. I chugged the rest of the soup to the horror of my friends. I'm still waiting for the violent vomiting I was promised a week ago. Sad day.

After working, I was mobbed by the kids. That seems to be a theme of this voyage. The fun part was, though, rather than going after my camera like they usually do, these kids wanting something else: my autograph. I think I must have signed at least 50. It was pretty wild. The best part, though, was when a little girl came up to me with a tiny cloth wallet and said "for you". I refused at first, not wanting to take her stuff, but she came back a second time and insisted that it was for me. I took it and thanked her. Then I looked at the wallet and almost cried: embroidered into the cloth were the words "I love you".

Dazzled and drenched, I returned to the ship.

At night, Maria, Gabriela and I hired a cab to take us to Spencer's Plaza, which is a mall and not Spencer Abbe's house, although for a second I was hopeful. It's important to preface that when hiring cabs or rickshaws in India, you shouldn't expect to get to your destination in one straight shot. The drivers get commissions and gas stamps from overpriced souvenir shops if they bring in new tourists. So, whenever you get in the cab, your driver will say "you want shop? I make two quick stops" or "you get discount 50 rupees and I take you 4 shops". Sometimes they'll even stop at a store without warning and claim it's where you said you wanted to go. You have to be very firm with them. Luckily, Maria was firm as hell. We got to the mall first try.

Indian malls are kind of awesome, mostly because they seem to be styled after Indian marketplaces. There's no rhyme or reason to them. There are stores EVERYWHERE. You can head down what looks like the path to a dead end and still find at least six more stores that you could have sworn were not there when you last looked. You can stop walking for a second, look around, and next thing you know you're being dragged by the arm into a shop by a suave guy insisting that "looking is free". You can ask for directions to the bathroom and be directed, that's right folks, into ANOTHER STORE. Even though the malls claim to have fixed prices, if you're smart and savvy enough, you can still bargain. Once you start getting ready to buy in a store, that's still not good enough. The associates will pull out at least five more things for you to try on and get upset if you say no. It's a crazy place, reminiscent only of the Buckle in Southwest Plaza.

The girls went crazy over the prices of Indian food court food and ordered way too much. I was not hungry at all, but naturally assisted them in finishing their delicious foodstuffs. Afterwards, we went out to a bar with our taxi driver Kumar. Don't worry, Kumar only had a soda. I pretty much did that too. My gin-and-tonic-related thing was about 90% alcohol and 10% edible. I had like three sips.

We went back to the ship very tired, full, and happy. Day 1 was a raging success.