Good Thing I Watched All Those Episodes Of MacGyver

The chichipato curtain rod holders are bent and the rod, now barely reaching, falls all the time. 

Would've been easier if I had some duct tape, but all I had was some Velcro and painter's tape which did the trick just the same!

It's not always champagne and glamour living overseas! 

My Hindi Is Not Yet Good Enough...

...to explain to the guard about the john and transgender prostitute turning a trick in the driveway next door last night.  

Good thing I can pantomime! 

Drama in Dharavi

One thing you learn living and working overseas is that people eventually leave.  It seems obvious, but when they leave and they are your friends, they also leave gaps in your life  -  who to call, who to hang out with, who to share an experience with  -  and that it can be unpleasant at times to miss them after they've gone. 

As an adult, you make these decisions and choose to live with them. Children, on the other hand, often have no say in the decision and may be too young to fully understand it, let alone have the cognitive or emotional skills to handle them. 

This is one of the main reasons I do not agree with volunteer tourism. It turns my stomach. In order for NGO's to be effective, they need to build relationships with people locally, and in order for the local population to benefit most, they also need to build trusting relationships with those providing services. This is why the most effective NGO's require a long-term commitment from their employees and volunteers as high turnover leads to greater mistrust. And for children it can also develop skewed perceptions of self-worth, fears of abandonment, and resentment. It's cruel and unfair, as far as I'm concerned, to 'volunteer travel' if you're not willing to make a proper commitment. 

For this reason, I prefer to donate funds or supplies to charity organizations rather than volunteer unless I know I'm able to fully commit. In Colombia, I collaborated with teachers at Hogar Nueva Granada to design lessons and experiences in which our students were able to bridge the gap between rich and poor. We met regularly, as did our students, for 8 of the 9 years I was there and were genuinely invested in our program. 

But for my first two years in India, I was honestly, just trying to establish my own life here. I knew there were tours of the famous Dharavi slum, and although I did my best to avoid it, ended up chaperoning a class trip there organized by one of my colleagues. The group running it, Reality Gives, actually does very good work, but seemed to have quite a high turnover of volunteers and employees, so it was tricky to organize something significant even if we wanted to.

Last week though, a colleague, who teaches high school theatre, told me she would be supervising one of our seniors doing his IB Theatre project by working with children in the Dharavi slum. She'd helped him arrange to visit the school every week, over a span of three to four months, and she would supervise. However, she would be out of town for one of the weekends and asked if I'd cover for her. I agreed, but requested that I attend a session prior to get a full understanding of the project. 

So last week, we spent the afternoon in Dharavi. We had 27 children in our drama session, aged 6-16, plus six teachers from the school, all under the age of 30. Most of the children understood some English; our student was also fluent in Hindi; and many of the children also spoke a third language; so we were all able to communicate as needed. The senior leading the project had great ideas, but needed our assistance with pacing, holding attention, and keeping everyone on track. 

They had incredible energy and enthusiasm, shared ideas freely, and eagerly wanted to be next to perform. As we sat in a circle on the floor, they'd vie to sit next to us, proudly demonstrating their English, and the littlest ones would pop into your lap or hold your hand. And that's when I knew the deal was sealed. 

No child holds your hand of his own accord and expects you to walk away. The inherent nature of theatre requires actors to trust one another, to build relationships with one another. We went to supervise a student-run theatre workshop, but we established relationships with the children as well. And as we left, we knew exactly what we had done…and what we were now committed to continue.

We're going back next week. And next month. And most likely for several weeks and months after that. And it's a good thing…for all of us.

Rinse Away Your Tears

Prior to living in Mumbai, I made a point of having regular medical check ups and taking good care of my health. I intended to do the same when I arrived here, but in my first year was greatly dismayed at the access to the type of quality medical services to which I had become accustomed.

Don't get me wrong, I know there are excellent doctors and facilities in India to the point that medical tourism is big business. However, finding the doctors you want, in either close enough proximity to visit them, or having reliable transportation to reach them, proves very challenging, and unlike my last employer, this one does not maintain a list of staff recommended physicians.

Some doctors are very 'old school' - owning their own equipment and maintaing small offices - much like my father used to. They're often excellent doctors, but lack the bedside manner I need. Others are all flash and bling and make no effort to hide that they're in it to make money. They stand in front of their chastised staff, posing next to some Bollywood movie star's poster, and spout arrogantly what they offer rather than diagnosing what you need. I visited six dermatologists before I found one I liked…and I'm still not sure.

Fortunately my medical insurance covers me anywhere in the world so after my first year in India, I went back to Colombia and saw all my doctors and had all my check ups. I wasn't able to do that again this past summer, so I'm now overdue for all my check ups.

It's now been over a year since I've had my teeth cleaned and I'm not happy about it. In Bogota, I went every six months to Dr. Ximena Lian, who is hands down the best dentist in the city. I went to a local dentist my first year who reprimanded me for going so often, then cleaned my teeth for $8 USD. It was a good cleaning, but not the greatest and my gums bled a bit during.

I no longer live on that side of town, so I thought I'd find a dentist close by. I've been scoping out the neighborhood and there are two offices within a block of my house that don't look too decrepit. The one was all flash and bling, no doctors were there when I visited, and the three guys working reception couldn't communicate a complete sentence between them or hand me a brochure…the cleaning lady did that on my way out.

The other office is a small, independent office next to the pharmacy with well-maintained windows and entrance. So I popped in to ask about services. The dentist was an older gentlemen, well groomed and well spoken in English. I scoped out the sterilizer machine and disposable gloves, plus he had a few recent course certificates on the wall from NYU and the Chicago Institute of Dentistry. He was free at the moment, so I opted for the $3 USD consultation and was told my teeth weren't so bad, but was again reprimanded for having them cleaned every 6 months.

He offered to go ahead with the cleaning, which was only $16 USD and would take a quick 15 minutes - so I agreed. His hands were steady and the cleaning went quickly, didn't touch my gums at all. And then... he said he was going to 'polish' my teeth as a last step. I thought that meant the little rotating brush with the bubblegum toothpaste on it. It did not.

"Keep your eyes closed," should have triggered me to ask why, but I didn't. And then it felt as if he were sandblasting inside my mouth. Usually it's the noise of the dental tools that freaks a patient out, but this genuinely hurt. Like tiny blasts from a pellet gun inside my mouth. It hit my tongue, so I thought I needed to move it out of the way. Then it hit the bottom of my mouth, then the inside of my cheek.

I couldn't figure out if it was sensitivity to some chemical he was using or what might be happening. There were too many things inside my mouth for me to talk and it stung. It stung like raindrops hitting your bare skin while riding fast on a motorcycle. It hurts. And I'll be the first to tell anyone that I have absolutely no tolerance for pain. I am a wimp when it comes to pain and injury to myself.

There was spray dripping all down my chin, my neck, on the bib. I'm sure I was white knuckling my car keys in my hand. And then, I think I winced, but a blast of whatever was going in my mouth hit my cheek and far too close to my eye than I would like. In fact, I think it blasted into my closed eyelid. And just like pressing a button, I lost my breath and had tears streaming down my face.

He stopped. The assistant stopped. The equipment stopped. The tears kept flowing…non-stop. I caught my breath.

"OK, OK, we'll stop there," he said, kindly, "It's just compressed air and water."

But I kept my eyes shut tight, tears still falling, catching my breath.

"It felt like salt," I said.

"Ah yes, a little," he replied, "...to polish. Go ahead and rinse."


And so I did, tears and all.

The End of Ganpati

Ganesh Chaturthi ended today with the final immersions of the Ganesha statues into the sea. Traditionally, the statues were made of clay but in recent years they are made of plaster of paris which is cheaper and easier to mold, yet far worse for the environment and the water 'purified' by the god Ganesha's immersion in it.

I'm not a fan.

Check For Rats

...what you do in India when you return home and realize you left the kitchen window open a crack while you were gone.

Glimpses of Monsoon

Solution to Clogged Sewers

Phrases I've Actually Used In India

'If you open the fridge, there's a light inside.'

In response to the waiter telling us he could not bring our ice cream because the power was out and the kitchen was dark…even though there were lights in the eating area. 

Anyone's Guess