Thursday, August 9, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
"Can you adopt someone older than you?"
When I came to India I expected to
make some amazing connections. I expected that I would have emotional
attachments to my teachers, my kids, and the exceptional 10 other students that
were on my program with me. I expected all of these connections to make it hard
to leave but, as I have learned over and over in India, it was the friendship
connection that I did not expect to make that is going to be one of the hardest
to leave behind. I did not expect Sanjeeb.
My first memory of Sanjeeb is on
the day that we moved in way back in June. Stacey and I were absolutely
dripping with sweat as we hauled our suitcases up onto our beds and began to
unpack the vast array of clothes, toiletries, and (especially in Stacey’s case)
medications. As we were doing this we heard a knock on our door and in entered
a young Indian man. Sanjeeb is about 5’6’’, has the slight build that so many
Indian men in the working class have, and has a misti (sweet) face adorned with
wispy, black facial hair. After entering, Sanjeeb proceeded to speak in broken
English to Stacey and I, all the while smiling and making grand arm gestures to
emphasize his points. We had no idea what he was saying, and I mean no idea. I looked to Stacey for help as
I had drawn to short straw of being closer to him but one look at the blank
expression on her face told me that I was on my own. After about 5 minutes
(filled with excessive smiling and nodding on mine and Stacey’s part) Sanjeeb
left the room to putter around the guesthouse making final arrangements for our
arrival. It wasn’t really a meeting to write home about and if you asked me
back then what I thought about Sanjeeb I would honestly say that I felt about
as much connection to him as I did to the lizard that had taken up residence in
my bathroom. As I put the finishing touches on my toiletry arrangement in the
bathroom and settled into my home for the next 8 weeks I had no idea what this
young man would come to mean to our group and me in just a few short
weeks.
Sanjeeb’s job in the guesthouse is
an all encompassing one. One minute he is bringing water into our rooms, the
next he is knocking on our door telling us breakfast is ready, several hours
later he is taking a nap on the floor by the terrace, sometimes, I swear he
must have a body double or a time-turner in order to do everything that he does
during the day. Every night when Sanjeeb asks us what we want for breakfast I
am always astonished by his superhuman memory. Shikha will rattle on a list of
foods and times at him in Hindi and he will stand there doing the
quintessential “Indian head nod” (a sort of bobble from side to side that
essentially means ok) and then remember everything PERFECTLY the next day. This
brings me to the first lovable quirk of Sanjeeb. He is on a mission to make us
all fat. Actually, scratch that. He is on a mission to make us all morbidly
obese and he is damn good at it.
Every morning we get the same array
of food: cornflakes, toast, cheese, boiled eggs, omelets, bananas, apples,
mangos, plums, sometimes papaya, and black tea. Now, back in the US, I would
usually just have a bowl of cereal and maybe an apple so I figured that I could
pick and choose what I wanted. False. We are expected to eat ALL of it. Also,
when I say ALL I mean approximately one bowls of cereal, an omelet, three
boiled eggs, three pieces of toast and a cornucopia of fruit. I learned this
the hard way when Sanjeeb came knocking on my door with a morose expression and
said, “breakfast finished ma’am?”. I wanted to say yes but he looked at me with
those sad eyes and I felt like I would be killing a puppy if I said yes. Three
minutes later I found myself sitting on the floor dutifully eating another
boiled egg while Sanjeeb jubilantly cut up fruit and deposited it onto my
plate. It has gotten to the point where we are all afraid of asking for
something for breakfast because we know that if we ask for one, four are sure
to appear the next morning. This bizarre reversal of the Hunger Games (more
like the Breakfast Games) always makes me chuckle as I spoon down different varieties
of food under the watchful eyes of Sanjeeb.
Besides the breakfast face stuffing
encounters that I had with Sanjeeb, I didn’t really have much contact with him
until one fateful night when a travesty occurred: the couch in the boys room
surreptitiously ate my phone as I sat on it eating dinner. I tore the room
apart, knowing that the phone had made it into Transit House but not knowing
where exactly it was and, unaware of what I was getting myself into, I asked
Sanjeeb if he had seen the phone. Rewind about 1 hour and it was fourth of July
and we were doing as any good Americans would do: watching Sanjeeb do sparklers
on the terrace in honor of America’s birthday. I was 100% positive that my
phone hadn’t made it onto the terrace since I had noticed its absence from my
pocket before we departed for the roof but I didn’t think anything of it at the
time. After I told Sanjeeb that I was missing my phone he made a beeline for
the roof with a flashlight and proceeded to look for 10 minutes all while
Bethany and Kristen yelled at him to come down. “Sanjeeb! Thick Achee! (It’s
ok)” while Sanjeeb yelled down “No Tika! Must find phone”. Of course this
turned an already stressful situation into one which was unbearably so. Eventually,
after perseverating for hours at school the next day, I came to the conclusion
that the phone had to be in the couch and Kristen (bless her soul) dove into
the couch (which contained who knows what…) with her arm up to the elbow and
found it. For some strange reason this situation created an uncanny bond
between Sanjeeb and I, somehow we were bonded by the shared experience of
stress.
As the weeks went on, we found
ourselves having more and more conversations with Sanjeeb about, well, about
everything. Half in English and half being translated by Shikha in Hindi we
talked about India, America, Food, prices of clothes, and even relationships.
Only a week ago we were talking to him when he admitted more about his life
than he ever has before. Sanjeeb lives in Sunderbans, which is about 3 hours
away from Kolkata, and he works in Transit House under the advisement of his
“Uncle” Ajit who manages the guesthouse (Uncle is in quotations because the
term is used extremely loosely in India. Your uncle might be related to you or just
a family friend. We aren’t exactly sure how Sanjeeb is related to Ajit but
regardless, he got the job through connections). We talked about his dreams and
where he would most want to visit. After he responded that he would want the
see the Taj Mahal, we asked him where he would like to see outside India and he
responded with “Ma’am, can’t even imagine…”. We were all shocked, though we
knew that we shouldn’t be, that this bright young man (we found out he was 24
after our 2nd Bengali class when we learned how to ask “how old are
you”) has such close limits on the world. Sanjeeb went on to say how he had
only been in his hometown and in Kolkata and even in Kolkata he had never
visited many of the historical sights. “Not even the Victoria Memorial?” we asked.
“No, ma’am, only home and guesthouse”. We settled it right then and there:
Sanjeeb had to come with us to the Victoria the following day. We asked and he
agreed with his usually beaming smile.
The next day we went to the
Victoria and Sanjeeb came in his best looking polo shirt and gelled over hair.
One image that I will never forget is that of Sean and Sanjeeb leaning against
the railing looking at the Victoria. Sean’s large muscular and pale frame next
to Sanjeeb’s small dark one presented them as an unlikely pair but these two
have actually developed an unbelievably tight (if improbable) friendship. Around
week five Sean turned around in the car on our way to Manovikas one morning and
asked Kristen and I, only half kidding, “Can you adopt someone who is older
than you? I would adopt Sanjeeb in a second…”. This attitude seems to be the
one that our whole group had adopted (excuse the pun). Tonight marks night one
of eight that we have left at Transit House and as Sanjeeb stood in the back of
the room after dinner as we watched Olympic badminton on the TV in the boy’s
room I looked over at him and felt a pang of sadness at the idea that our days
were numbered. A few days ago he mentioned to a small group of us that “In ten
day, you leave. No come back…”. He almost sounded as if he were about to cry
and Shikah said in return, “We are going to miss you Sanjeeb. Are you going to
be sad? Are you going to miss us too?” “Of course ma’am, I will miss very
much”. A lump formed in the back of my throat as I watched this and I don’t
quite think that it has gone away since.
So, as I looked over at Sanjeeb
tonight, I began to engage in what was going to be one of my favorite
conversations with him yet. Bethany, Shikha, Amber, Michelle, the boys and I
lounged in various positions in the boys room as we began to talk about
relationships and marriage. We had learned, much to our dismay/sadness, that
Sanjeeb believed that he would never marry. He said that he was “too old” and
that he should have found someone after he had finished school because now he
had a 24-hour job and didn’t have time to meet anyone. He also said that he had
someone read his palm and they said that he would never marry (Even though palm
reading is somewhat revered in India, let’s hope it is not true, especially for
Charles’ sake because the boys read his at Future Hope and assured him beyond a
shadow of a doubt that his first wife would die). As we went around the room
tonight we cracked up laughing as Sanjeeb scolded Bethany for not having a
boyfriend since college “2009??? Very bad ma’am!” and went through his own
timeline of how relationships should go. This was in essence the same as the
Manovikas teachers (see yesterdays blog post for clarification) except it ended
with “and then 28/29 babies, and then 20 years later, probably dead”. “DEAD?”
we all exclaimed with laughter and Sanjeeb went on to explain while laughing
that you have to get married by 30 because “really what time do you have left
after that (translated from Hindi by a giggling Shikha). This appears to be a
macabre conversation but it was done in the way that every conversation with
Sanjeeb is: multiple cultural faux pas’, Sanjeeb’s classic giggle, and smiles
on the faces of everyone in the room.
Today was Raksha Bandhan, a
celebration in India between brothers and sisters. Traditionally this
celebrated a sister’s lover for her brother and the appreciation of the
protection he gave her and in honor of this, the girl would tie a Rakhi (a
small bracelet) around her brother’s arm. In this age, girls tie the bracelets
around men in their lives who they see as being their brothers and for the last
4 weeks the streets have been full of vendors selling the various types of
bracelets. Last night I went with Amber, Sean, and Kristen to buy some Rakhi’s
for my male students and, as per usually with my shopping in India, I went a
little crazy and bought quite a few extra. I sent the Rakhi’s to school this
morning with Kristen since I was staying at home due to events back at home and
told her to simply bring me back the extras in the afternoon. As we sat around
the table talking tonight Bethany asked Sanjeeb, “No Rakhi Sanjeeb?” he
responded that his sister was far away and that he did not have anyone else
here in Kolkata to give him one. Wrong. There was no way that I was going to
let Sanjeeb think that he had no one here. When he left the room to clear the teacups
from the table I ran upstairs and grabbed one of my extra Rakhi’s and headed
back to the boy’s room. When he came back into the room I simply called his
name and showed him the bracelet. Without saying anything he looked at me and
held out his wrist. When he said “Thank you ma’am” after I finished tying my
clumsy knot, I felt a connection with him that I know will never go away no
matter where I am.
Sanjeeb promised to send me a Rakhi
next year on August 2nd as long as I leave him with my address and I
believe he will. When I get on the plane next Friday I am going to be leaving
behind India, Manovikas, Transit House, the crowded streets, the overwhelming
smells, the heat, the calls of the vendors in the early morning, the cold
showers, and Sanjeeb. I will leave him and go on with my life as he goes on
with his. I know, however, that I will never forget him. I meant it when I tied
that Rakhi onto his arm tonight. Sanjeeb has become the most unorthodox brother
that I could have ever imagined and you never forget your brothers.
(sorry that this post is so long but I had to do proper
justice to this person who has become so important to us all)
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
"And then, MARRIAGE!"
Here are Kristen and I with some of the teachers from Manovikas at a fancy dinner. They all laughed at our sari's and then descended on us to fix what we had done wrong (Thank you youtube for getting us as far as we got...). Moumita is standing next to Kristen (girl in red) and Sukanya (my teacher) is in the middle with her daughter.
Each day the three of us that work
at Manovikas step out of the car to the sound of the security guard’s usual
“Morning! Morning! Morning!”, walk up the small staircase and in the front door,
and then part for the morning shift to our different classrooms (since Kristin
and I have the same afternoon class we are together again later in the day). As
soon as I step into and then nestle myself on the floor of my crowded classroom
I can always expect a beaming smile from my teacher, Sukanya, followed by some sort
of comment. The following are several that I have received over the past 6
weeks:
•
“Bangles on one wrist is not looking good. Two
wrists is good. Very good”
•
“Your hair today is not looking good. Too much
back. You need to have your bangs down” Guess
that headband was a no-no…
•
“Blue is a good color for you. Why do you not
wear more? You wear too much white…”
•
“Your blouse is khub bhalo (very good). Where
did you buy? Oh, America? I think made in India. Too much expensive in America”
•
“Your eyes look tired today” Guess I can’t get away with skipping putting
on makeup for a day…
•
“Your hair is too long. Why so long?”
This barrage of comments is never
meant in a hurtful way, it is just a cultural
difference and one that just usually makes me laugh (though
I was bummed when I realized that I had to put on makeup everyday since I feel
like it just melts off my face in the heat). The other cultural difference is
the acceptability of asking how much something cost. After every compliment on
a piece of clothing or jewelry there is the inevitable follow up of “How
much?”. If we did good in buying the item (assuming it is from India) then we
get a “Very good!”, if they think that we were slightly ripped off but not too
bad they will say, “It’s ok…”, and if we really messed up then they will say,
“They cheat!”. As our time in India has gone on and our haggling has gotten
better we are usually proud of the prices we get for our items and the teachers
like to laugh as Kristen mimics her extreme haggling skills, “200 rupees??? NO!
The highest I can go is 30!”.
After
clothes, the teacher’s next favorite thing to talk about is finding me a
boyfriend/husband. When they found out that I was single you would have thought
that I said I had three heads, “But you are 19! And have such fair skin! How this
possible?!”. When I try to explain that it is not unusual to be still single at
19 I am immediately shot down. The teachers will often sit together at our
breaks and talk in Bangla and whenever I hear the word “boyfriend” or see eyes
flicking to me I always know what is coming next: the timeline of my life. The
teachers at this school have decided that since I am clearly slacking in the management of my own love life that they
are going to have to step in and help me out. Below is the timeline that they
have thus set out for my life
19 yr (find
boyfriend)------------->22/23 yr (marriage)------------->25/26
yr (children)
Every time after the exclamation of “And then, marriage!” I
try to explain the whole problem of finding
a boyfriend/husband but I am just brushed off. Sukanya had a love marriage but
the other two married teachers both had arranged marriages so they REALLY don’t
understand my problem. These discussions are always filled with laughter and
descriptions of what I want to find in a man.
One particularly hilarious/awkward
conversation took place on the floor of my classroom which is right next to
Kristen’s classroom and they are only divided by 5 ½ foot tall walls with no
ceilings. Sukanya was yelling back and forth with Moumita (Kristen’s teacher in
the morning) about what my boyfriend should be like.
Jessie: “And tell her I want him to
be tall!”
Sukanya: (yelling in Bangla to
Moumita)
Moumita: Silence then yells back
something in Bangla
Sukanya: “Moumita asks why he has
to me tall? There is nothing wrong with short men” then she whispered, “She
says that her husband is the same height as he but he is actually shorter…”
It only took one look between us before Sukanya and I were
basically rolling on the floor with laughter. It is moments like these that I
am really going to miss about India. The teachers at Manovikas are some of the
most genuine people that I have ever met and, even though they may not like my
clothing sometimes, I am truly going to miss this gaggle of women who never
fail to brighten my day.
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