Wanted: English Teachers

5 months ago, we finally fired our Tamil teacher and gave up on our dreams to become bilingual. Don’t feel too bad for her. Often, we had to devise the lesson plans, and it turned she was learning more English than we were learning Tamil. Plus, at the end of every class she wanted to renegotiate her fee. Ugghh. Arrivederci senora Balouze!

Now relegated to the world of indo-english creole for the remainder of our stay, we weren’t sure how to smartly navigate the communication gauntlet. Jeeyung had a knack for the creole and could both comprehend and speak it proficiently. From months of experience with her study nurses, she became a master. For example:

You have doubt = Do you have any questions?
Next time = afterwards or subsequently
Place diaper on scale and next time take weight = After you place it on the scale take the weight.
Finish = Ok. We are done for now.
Please wait here only = Please wait right here.

Unfortunately, I remained remedial. My penchant for romance languages was of nil (another example) use , and as I was spending most of my time doing research in the villages communicating cum hand signals, I had no outlet to learn the creole. Aimless, I searched for answer, and then it came.
One June day after filming our milkman on his rounds, I came back home via the local Tamil Middle School. Everyday we passed by the school on our way to the pool, the children running alongside our bike screaming, “How are you? What is your native country?” So, one day I entered the school and asked if I could sit and watch a class (all in Tamil, but I thought it would be some interesting video footage). The teacher smiled and asked, “Your teaching? English, this class today only?” I was reluctant but agreed. The teacher handed me a book and pointed towards a story called, “The Cherry Tree”. It seemed appropriately simple and on point because of George Washington. As we read together it became clear that only half the class could actually read and the other half was just lip-syncing. For those who could read, the words were meaningless. I looked over to the teacher. She smiled back without hesitation – all is well. The kids were all smiling, but I had a doubt. I closed the book and thought to myself, “we need to start from scratch.” So we did by reviewing the a, b, c’s and then on to numbers. 40 minutes later, finish!
Sweating and disoriented, I began walking out and waved goodbye to the children and the teacher. The teacher followed me outside and asked, “English, you, coming tomorrow only?” So I did, and the day after, and the day after….. That was over 4 months ago.

I teach eighth grade once a day Monday through Friday. The problems with literacy remain. But for those motivated students, they have made great strides with English grammar, and most importantly, they enjoy the language. I have no use for Tamil in the classroom. It is like a compulsory ‘Capretz Method’.

For months, we lacked reading texts at their proper level. After complaining enough to my mom, she made some calls and said that she found some resources for book donation. She wasn’t kidding.

Lugging over 40 kilos of children's books to the school.
These books traveled 8000 miles and came via Roma thanks to Mom and Ron.
We should all get extra frequent flier miles for this!

Ok. How are we going to distribute these books so this doesn't turn

into a feeding frenzy?

Calm before the storm.

Like a swarm of bees rustled from their slumber, they dive in
to get their copies of Bumps in the Night and The Hoboken
Chicken Emergency.

Wooo!!!! Got the booty!!!!

Organizing the books with my helpers.

Reading Bumps in the Night. Notice how girls and boys
sit on their respective sides of the classroom.

Lunch with Vijayalakshmi, my co-teacher. and her son. Check
out the lavish spread with my Special Meal.

Getting dropped off stylishly in an Ambassador. Before getting
out you have to pet the furry dash for good luck (and then wash your hands).

Why we so badly need English teachers here.

Donkey Anniversary

A couple of weeks ago, we celebrated our 4^th wedding anniversary. Last year, the fragrance of the evening was Marc Jacobs Blush. This year, it was Repel. We both agreed that we smelled like manure as well.

We generally have used these special occasions as an excuse to splurge on French cuisine or a tasting menu for the gourmand-wannabes that we are. So this year, we headed out to “Hotel Darling" for a classy rooftop dining experience populated mostly by men in droopy bow-ties (and mustached, of course). We think that these men were waiters because they took our dinner order and brought food, but for the most part they lurked off to the side and stared at us in earnest as we ate. As de rigeur, we pleaded for “no spicy!!” but were rewarded with red hot dishes that still tasted like fire. The two liters of water that we each drank was a big mistake on my part, because I knew that if I removed my sari I’d be left with a confusing bundle of silk that I couldn’t tie back on, and would be forced to skulk back to the table in the pajama bottoms that I wore underneath.

The best part of the evening, though, was on the ride home. As our rickshaw careened through Vellore's bustling streets lined with people burning trash or selling street food by the light of oil lamps, we saw a few donkeys in the road. Not an unusual sight at all, but this time, on our fourth anniversary, there were four donkeys each walking behind another in perfect formation across the road. One donkey for every year – we’re not sure what it meant, but it felt like a formidable and favorable omen. The only thing that would have made it more remarkable was if each donkey were performing a quadruple axle in a flowy Brian Boitano shirt.

By the way ... did we ever talk about the time when Alex wore an oversized silk shirt tucked into my leggings for a Brian Boitano Halloween costume?