First of all, if you wondered where my blog about living with a brain injury went to, well, someone with a brain injury wrote it. What do you expect? No, I actually did write one, and for two days it was on the page. I will go hunting for it again.
Now, about So Much Love. There is a cement courtyard large enough to play basketball surrounded by two floors in an L shape. The first floor is all classrooms, and the other side of the L has the library, the computer room and two offices. On the second floor above the classrooms are the two hostel rooms, one for boys, one for girls. In between is my bedroom, so I'm in the middle of wonderful traffic/racket several times a day. Each room holds ten bunk beds. Everyone is in school from kindergarten to Grade 10 (junior year). They wear school uniforms and then when they come home the girls change into these wonderful saris or long tops and pants. Sparkly, beautiful, dazzling. Remember, these are children from very poor homes, yet the few clothes they might have make them very beautiful. Of course they think mine are mostly drab, and in comparison to theirs they are. So every time I wear sparkly or different earrings, they say, 'Very nice miss.' When I wore my two kurtas they raved! And they finally just couldn't stand it any longer ; 'we make up your face!' 'We fix your hair!' so five of them ran around my room discussing how best to make me look beautiful. And they did, of course.
All the children run up in the morning and say 'hello miss. Where you going?' or they drill me on my Bengali:
'Kaemon acho' (How are you?) and I say 'bhalo achi' (I am good). 'Aj mongolbar.' Today is Tuesday.
When they get home in the after noon or after supper some of them will ask me questions in English because that's one of their subjects. They are so loving. One afternoon I was feeling homesick and had been crying. One of the girls knocked on my door for something else, and five of them crowded round saying, 'Why you cry miss? you no cry. We love you. You no cry.' And they crowded round and hugged me to make the tears dry up. It's not just me; they interact that way with the whole world-guileless, open to anything.
They also think I'm a dancin' fool! They dance gracefully and sensuously, and will eventually teach me how to do some version of what they do. But even if I'm doing a terrible imitation of the Supremes, they laugh with delight and follow me.
One last thing. I have been self-conscious of my double chin for at least a decade now. Now, two little ones have discovered it and love to touch it with their fingers. They laugh and laugh. And several women my age were looking at it last week, saying,'That's what ours will look like.' With curiosity, not disdain. The girls love to shake the skin on my upper arms, and they touch my skin because it's so soft. They're so unjudgemental. Really makes you love being yourself. I see unconditional love every day, all day.
Indian Rule of the Road No.1: The assumption of immortality is expected..
see ya later!
Now, about So Much Love. There is a cement courtyard large enough to play basketball surrounded by two floors in an L shape. The first floor is all classrooms, and the other side of the L has the library, the computer room and two offices. On the second floor above the classrooms are the two hostel rooms, one for boys, one for girls. In between is my bedroom, so I'm in the middle of wonderful traffic/racket several times a day. Each room holds ten bunk beds. Everyone is in school from kindergarten to Grade 10 (junior year). They wear school uniforms and then when they come home the girls change into these wonderful saris or long tops and pants. Sparkly, beautiful, dazzling. Remember, these are children from very poor homes, yet the few clothes they might have make them very beautiful. Of course they think mine are mostly drab, and in comparison to theirs they are. So every time I wear sparkly or different earrings, they say, 'Very nice miss.' When I wore my two kurtas they raved! And they finally just couldn't stand it any longer ; 'we make up your face!' 'We fix your hair!' so five of them ran around my room discussing how best to make me look beautiful. And they did, of course.
All the children run up in the morning and say 'hello miss. Where you going?' or they drill me on my Bengali:
'Kaemon acho' (How are you?) and I say 'bhalo achi' (I am good). 'Aj mongolbar.' Today is Tuesday.
When they get home in the after noon or after supper some of them will ask me questions in English because that's one of their subjects. They are so loving. One afternoon I was feeling homesick and had been crying. One of the girls knocked on my door for something else, and five of them crowded round saying, 'Why you cry miss? you no cry. We love you. You no cry.' And they crowded round and hugged me to make the tears dry up. It's not just me; they interact that way with the whole world-guileless, open to anything.
They also think I'm a dancin' fool! They dance gracefully and sensuously, and will eventually teach me how to do some version of what they do. But even if I'm doing a terrible imitation of the Supremes, they laugh with delight and follow me.
One last thing. I have been self-conscious of my double chin for at least a decade now. Now, two little ones have discovered it and love to touch it with their fingers. They laugh and laugh. And several women my age were looking at it last week, saying,'That's what ours will look like.' With curiosity, not disdain. The girls love to shake the skin on my upper arms, and they touch my skin because it's so soft. They're so unjudgemental. Really makes you love being yourself. I see unconditional love every day, all day.
Indian Rule of the Road No.1: The assumption of immortality is expected..
see ya later!
No comments:
Post a Comment