I haven't yet made much mention of school, and I would be lying if I told you that that was the main reason I am here. I have always wanted to spend time in India and going on exchange was more of a means to do it. This made finding out that I have to go to college from Monday to Saturday a bit of unwelcomed information, especially since I have have grown used to only going to school from Monday to Thursday back home. And here, attendance is taken, and one is interrogated when having missed class- or at least I am. My answer is almost always the same and always completely truthful: I had no idea we had class today.
I was provided with a school schedule when I arrived and was mistaken to think that I could rely on it. It is largely tentative. It is not unusual for me to show up to a scheduled class only to find out that it was canceled last minute, or switched to another time slot (usually conflicting with another one of my classes). For such schedule changes, students rely on a kind of telephone chain where the professor notifies one student and the student calls another, and so on and so forth.
The readings are also difficult to track down, for many books in this city are hard to find. Recognizing this problem, the school has a xerox office where photocopied readings (sometimes entire books!) are sold to students. More on that later though, because the business of photocopying in this city is phenomenal.
To be fair, some of the confusion with my schedule has come from my choosing to switch a couple of them, and taking classes at all three year levels rather than the normal one, because I have picked them based on my interest in their subjects rather than on their academic level. Also, all of my peers are very kind and friendly and help me along as much as they can.
It probably also did not help staying on top of things that in my first couple of weeks there were many late nights and early mornings. At first, many of my classes began at 7:30 am, and at the time I was not living downtown and had to make a one an a half hour commute. I couldn't disagree though with the invitations to spend nights out, as it was a great chance to spend time with new friends and see the city at night. A couple of evenings were spent at a trendy bar called Toto's Garage in Bandra, where the waiters wear mechanic jumpsuits and over the bar is an old car, from which all of the beer glasses are strategically hung. The place bursts at the seams with foreigners, locals and an endless sea of food and drinks.
Getting home is as laborious as so many other familiar trips: rickshaw, train, and taxi. The last leg of the trip and its between 1 and 2 am, and although the streets of Colaba are not silent, they are as quiet as I have ever seen them. The night's inhabitants are making their beds in the streets, or like us, they are wanderers not yet ready to let the night slip away.
At the train station we are picked up by a cab driver with a young face and without a word of English. We rely on street names and the universal language of hands.
He stops in the middle of the intersection, turns around to motion for us to wait a second, gets out of the car and lifts up the hood. We are in the backseat howling with laughter that reverberates though the quiet streets. The driver slips back into the front seat and looks back to us as though to ask which direction. Straight is luckily one of our only Hindi words: "Seeda! Seeda!" He laughs and every so often he glances back again to ask us which way to go: "Seeda! Seeda!" He has joined in with us as we roll down the street- laughing, exhausted, and the only car that yells what direction it's going in.
We slip back into our apartment, back in to our bed, and in what feels like only minutes later the sun is pulling at the corners of a night that didn't give me enough rest, and my mobile alarm is calling me to school.
After my classes yesterday afternoon, I attended my first teaching session at the downtown Akansha centre (http://www.akanksha.org), an organization that provides underprivileged students with the opportunity to take a break from life in the slums, and focus on an education they are so deserving of.
I was under the guide of another teacher, and we began with lessons in current affairs, and then history. The kids are excited and restless, but we challenge them to keep focus. They call me 'didi', a term that demonstrates respect and means something like 'big sister'. They ask me where I am from, and what my country is famous for. "Maple trees," a student pipes up. I find out they recently had another teacher from Canada. I tell them it is known for its beautiful landscapes, hockey, and its biting cold.
I began speaking to some of the students one on one, and learn that they are about 13-15, but they are not where they should be academically. I am told by the teacher that in their day school, as Akanksha runs in the evening, they belong to a school board that does not do enough to challenge and evaluate them properly.
I start talking to A. one on one, a sweet boy who smiles endlessly, and whom I will be helping with his English and grammar. He speaks quickly, and I struggle to catch all of his words though his accent. He sees right through me: "Do you know what I am talking about?". I feel embarrassed, and don't want to say no. "Your presentation exam?" "No, per-cen-tage of exam." He laughs at me, and I am grateful.
After class, students that I hadn't had the chance to personally talk to approach me to hug me goodnight. One of the girls quietly asks me, "So... are from Canada?" "Yes" "And your hair...is just like that?" I laugh and nod.
When a few of them found out that I live in Colaba they asked me to wait for them, so that we could all go together. They quickly changed their mind when they found out I was walking (it is about a 35 minute walk).
I am to prepare a lesson for two or three kids for Monday focusing on their grammar and vocabulary. Wish me luck.
Fun fact: It is only 3 pm and I am on banana number 5 for the day. I can't say no to two ruppees for a banana, especially when they are so much more delicious here.
I was provided with a school schedule when I arrived and was mistaken to think that I could rely on it. It is largely tentative. It is not unusual for me to show up to a scheduled class only to find out that it was canceled last minute, or switched to another time slot (usually conflicting with another one of my classes). For such schedule changes, students rely on a kind of telephone chain where the professor notifies one student and the student calls another, and so on and so forth.
The readings are also difficult to track down, for many books in this city are hard to find. Recognizing this problem, the school has a xerox office where photocopied readings (sometimes entire books!) are sold to students. More on that later though, because the business of photocopying in this city is phenomenal.
To be fair, some of the confusion with my schedule has come from my choosing to switch a couple of them, and taking classes at all three year levels rather than the normal one, because I have picked them based on my interest in their subjects rather than on their academic level. Also, all of my peers are very kind and friendly and help me along as much as they can.
It probably also did not help staying on top of things that in my first couple of weeks there were many late nights and early mornings. At first, many of my classes began at 7:30 am, and at the time I was not living downtown and had to make a one an a half hour commute. I couldn't disagree though with the invitations to spend nights out, as it was a great chance to spend time with new friends and see the city at night. A couple of evenings were spent at a trendy bar called Toto's Garage in Bandra, where the waiters wear mechanic jumpsuits and over the bar is an old car, from which all of the beer glasses are strategically hung. The place bursts at the seams with foreigners, locals and an endless sea of food and drinks.
Getting home is as laborious as so many other familiar trips: rickshaw, train, and taxi. The last leg of the trip and its between 1 and 2 am, and although the streets of Colaba are not silent, they are as quiet as I have ever seen them. The night's inhabitants are making their beds in the streets, or like us, they are wanderers not yet ready to let the night slip away.
At the train station we are picked up by a cab driver with a young face and without a word of English. We rely on street names and the universal language of hands.
He stops in the middle of the intersection, turns around to motion for us to wait a second, gets out of the car and lifts up the hood. We are in the backseat howling with laughter that reverberates though the quiet streets. The driver slips back into the front seat and looks back to us as though to ask which direction. Straight is luckily one of our only Hindi words: "Seeda! Seeda!" He laughs and every so often he glances back again to ask us which way to go: "Seeda! Seeda!" He has joined in with us as we roll down the street- laughing, exhausted, and the only car that yells what direction it's going in.
We slip back into our apartment, back in to our bed, and in what feels like only minutes later the sun is pulling at the corners of a night that didn't give me enough rest, and my mobile alarm is calling me to school.
After my classes yesterday afternoon, I attended my first teaching session at the downtown Akansha centre (http://www.akanksha.org), an organization that provides underprivileged students with the opportunity to take a break from life in the slums, and focus on an education they are so deserving of.
I was under the guide of another teacher, and we began with lessons in current affairs, and then history. The kids are excited and restless, but we challenge them to keep focus. They call me 'didi', a term that demonstrates respect and means something like 'big sister'. They ask me where I am from, and what my country is famous for. "Maple trees," a student pipes up. I find out they recently had another teacher from Canada. I tell them it is known for its beautiful landscapes, hockey, and its biting cold.
I began speaking to some of the students one on one, and learn that they are about 13-15, but they are not where they should be academically. I am told by the teacher that in their day school, as Akanksha runs in the evening, they belong to a school board that does not do enough to challenge and evaluate them properly.
I start talking to A. one on one, a sweet boy who smiles endlessly, and whom I will be helping with his English and grammar. He speaks quickly, and I struggle to catch all of his words though his accent. He sees right through me: "Do you know what I am talking about?". I feel embarrassed, and don't want to say no. "Your presentation exam?" "No, per-cen-tage of exam." He laughs at me, and I am grateful.
After class, students that I hadn't had the chance to personally talk to approach me to hug me goodnight. One of the girls quietly asks me, "So... are from Canada?" "Yes" "And your hair...is just like that?" I laugh and nod.
When a few of them found out that I live in Colaba they asked me to wait for them, so that we could all go together. They quickly changed their mind when they found out I was walking (it is about a 35 minute walk).
I am to prepare a lesson for two or three kids for Monday focusing on their grammar and vocabulary. Wish me luck.
Fun fact: It is only 3 pm and I am on banana number 5 for the day. I can't say no to two ruppees for a banana, especially when they are so much more delicious here.
Conor used to call me Didi when we were little and we still have no idea why.
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