July 21, 2009

I was talking with the CCS translator, a woman of 20 years from Palampur who is absolutely gorgeous and very sweet, during her visit to my daycare yesterday. She was there to ask Swadesh, the teacher, a few questions on what she though about CCS and the volunteers (namely me). I asked her how the survey went, and the translator began exuding compliments, forcing the point that I had done "too much good". All the parents have been commenting on how pleased they are with me there, and how the kids are more eager to go to daycare now. The teacher feels immense relief at not having to deal with all the kids by herself. Apparently, I've also been revealing new teaching methods to her. I was taken aback by all of this. I could gage that the parents were permissive of my presence at their children's daycare, and some even extended snips of attempted English and huge smiles from time to time, but I had no idea that everyone was so pleased with me to that great of an extent. I always figured (and desperately hoped) that my presence and energy would have at least a wee bit of positive impact, but from the way the translator was gushing on and on, it occurred to me that my presence at that daycare is a HUGE deal. I really wanted to start crying right then and there. I felt so thankful. I felt so blessed. I felt so in my loving.

I just want to give more and more of myself to these people and their children. And if that means inhaling my frustration and holding it in a knot in my stomach when I'm trying to teach a child to add and I still can't get it across in English, then I'll do that. If it means completely abandoning any self dignity and running around with my arms out like an airplane making strange noises, then so be it. If it means getting virtually the best arm workout of my life lifting kid after kid up in the air and flying them around with their legs kicking and their bellies busting out laughter, then I'll do that. If it means doing everything in my power to attend to a crying kid in my lap while drawing a "meow" for another to color in and exclaiming "acha!" (good!) to every kid's drawing and intermittently passing back a ball to another kid with equal enthuse, then I will do all that. Every time I realize I'm sitting there with a blank look of fatigue on my face, completely motionless and trying to gather up my energy again, I immediately snap out of it because so what if I'm a little short of breath and ideas? Those kids are constantly throwing their energy at me, and I'm going to give it back full force. Every morning that I wish I had downed two cups of coffee before placement (and I don't even drink coffee anymore...) I use that little irritance as an opportunity to realize that what I'm doing here is about so much more than just myself and my own petty moment-to-moment desires. I can acknowledge when I'm thinking: "Ew, my pants just got completely covered in chalk dust and snot" or "I would do anything to make this child stop tugging on my shirt for attention" or "jesus, I'm sweating like a man through my nice dress shirts and all the women are asking me why I'm sweating like this" and just step off that train of thought and say "No, thank you. I don't need to ride this". I propel my thoughts beyond the likes of those to ones like "How can I make these next 3 hours even more exciting and stimulating for these kids?" ... what can I bring to this moment that will make smiles? Making smiles. I just want to be in the business of making smiles.

On the cultural side of things, I had quite the experience last Thursday. We went to visit another nearby Buddhist monastery. I just can't get enough of these excursions. Every time I'm in a Buddhist setting I immediately feel It. The indescribable elation at being a part of existence. And we got a real treat on this visit. The monks were doing their monthly incantation to the goddess Kali - who destroys all of existence while simultaneously being the mother of existence. I think this is an accurate portrayal of her, but I'll check to verify. Anyways, we got to sit in the temple during the chanting, and even after my friends got up to walk around a bit, I couldn't resist staying in there through the whole thing. It was powerful stuff. They hit huge gongs and blew trumpets and clapped hands and seemed to dish out all sorts of cacophony in a very fitting manner for how I'd feel like I would want to address Kali. It was a sort of haphazard melody that I imagined rattling the huge golden Buddha statue and whipping around through the monk's red robes, throwing itself against the walls of my heart. Afterwards as the monks filed out, I smiled at as many as I could to see how many I could get to smile back. I decidedly LOVE smiling monks. They present you with a smile like its a four course meal that they've spent all day slaving over. This is no casual muscle twitch, this is the full serving of love that makes its way through the corners of their lips and through their soft eyes and through their entire posture. So I'm a little fiendy over monk smiles, I just can't get enough.

I happened to get a few more on yet another weekend excursion to Mcleod Ganj in Dharamsala. I hadn't yet seen the Dalai Lama's residence - which is kinda a big deal. But also not so stunning. There's a couple rooms to peek around in, with their huge statues and wall paintings and the whole deal. Perhaps I'm a bit desensitized to it all now. What I was more entertained by was the debates going on in the courtyard. I've heard tell of these dynamic Tibetan Buddhist debates, but it is quite the sight to behold in person. The monks hold their prayer beads and clap their hands together like they're violently smacking a mosquito between their hands throughout their making a point. They rock back and forth and speak with an obvious conviction that bypasses any language barriers. If only I knew what they were saying ...

One part of that excursion that especially stuck out to me was the visit to the museum. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but I honestly knew hardly anything about the Tibetan's plight after the Chinese occupation. Well, I learned a good dose of it in the fifteen or so minutes I spent in that museum, walking along reading the placards besides pictures (which usually were even more telling than the written descriptions), and watching a film which showed footage from the "cultural revolution" in the 80s and various Tibetans who had undergone the horrific experience - their faces contorted into the muscles' begrudging remembrance. There were a few pictures of prominent Tibetans with quotes on what they thought about the probability of Tibet receiving its justice and freedom. One particular quote stood out noticeably for me, and I even took a picture of it. The quote reads: "The law of karma is undecievable. After suffering the consequences of our bad karma I think that we will regain our Independence under the guidance of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. I request all the Tibetans to be united and keep the flame of struggle for our freedom." There was a ledger for visitors to sign, and once I got that pen in my hand, I knew exactly what I had to say: "Compassion is our true nature. May Tibet continue to be a beautiful example of this, and may Tibet be freed. Love, Erin Dellinger". Leaving that bit of myself in that book means a great deal to me. It felt like one of the most truthful things I have ever written.

After that culturally valuable experience (and some gift shopping for my lovely family and friends), the night got a bit wilder. First, we sat on a rooftop and had a few drinks while watching the sun set over the Himalayans. Just that sentence alone sounds really great - but it gets better. I had spotted a bright green flyer earlier in the day for live Tibetan music at a restaurant that very night - traditional Tibetan vegetarian buffet included - so of course we had to go check it out. We arrived a bit late and made our way to some empty seats in the back - and the energy of the place was not what I had expected at all. Maybe I though that things would be a bit looser, people walking around and chatting and occasionally side-glancing at the performers. But no, everyone had their whole bodies placated in rapt attention by the elderly Tibetan woman singing in the front of the room - I mean, even their elbows and eyebrows were giving it their 100% attention, I swear. Not one thought other than complete emotional concordance with this woman's voice could have been pecking around in anyone's mind. I took on her pitch in my heart chords, I felt everything she had given me to feel - I knew her story without knowing the words. She was singing compassion. There were two Tibetan men with her, one with a drum and the other with a guitar. The whole thing was perfect and ended far too soon. But when she suggested that those who could hold off on the buffet go downstairs to join in traditional Tibetan dancing, I knew that's exactly where I would be within the next two minutes - on the dance floor. And things got pretty hilarious. We all joined hands in a circle and imitated her footsteps. It became a sort of version of line dancing that broke into complete chaos - with all us laughing Westerners just doing everything we could to keep our feet moving in the ways hers were - and failing miserably. So we started wiggling our arms loosely and just stomping our feet around in shuffles. I don't think I'd laughed that hard and consistently for a very long time. And don't worry, there's video footage of this spectacle. So after that day in Mcleod Ganj, I can say that I feel a much stronger connection with Tibet and its culture. And damnit, Tibet will receive justice.

The next day we hiked to a waterfall where we were once again assaulted by people wanting to take pictures of us and asking "Which country? which Country?" feverishly. Always responding with: "We are from US". "US" somehow gets through easier than "America" or "United States" or "the states". The waterfall inspired me to write a lovely little poem, I'll include it here for kicks:

The supine startle of a waterfall
in chortles that fell
clear round bare ankles
and swallowed the heat from skin.
The rocks in jig-sawed shards in
All That Fortitude
they still erode away
(away away)
erroneously thinking they'll be our
stepping stones for
Ever.
And Ever did I perch myself upon one,
spright and beak-nosed
against the mountains line.
A valley of people and rocks,
Not one more inert than the other.
(My face lifted into a smile)

A bit later that day, four of us attended a "cooking class" in a small roof-top restaurant. It ended up being just us four, which seemed something like a blessing as we were cramped together into a little kitchen. The chef epitomized the term "smiling eyes", as he guided us through the preparation of yellow dal (lentils with tomatoes and onions), fried okra, and halal (a sort of sweet couscous with nuts and dried fruit). I was super hungry throughout this whole thing and kept on picking at raw okra bits while trying to keep up with his instructions so as to write everything down for future reference. I would love to become an awesome chef of Indian cuisine. After our meal, we waited for our friend to get a massage (I plan on getting an Ayurvedic massage in Vashish this weekend, which I am WAY Excited about) in a little cafe, where I sipped ginger lemon honey tea (my new favorite drink) and wrote a few more poems. It began to monsoon while we were in there, which was pleasant. I watched through the windows as the rain hiccuped into street bubbles and the mountains gracefully dissipated behind sheets of white rain. But then we had to go out there. And sans umbrella. I thought I could handle it, but as soon as I stepped out of the cafe, a shop keeper across the street saw me and yelled out "Umbrella!" and I immediately thought to myself "OKAY!" and dashed over to him. It was pretty exciting stuff - the streets were flooding, and seeing as everything is on a hill, the streets were not only flooding, but cascading about in mini rapids. The umbrella did a bit of damage control, but I found myself wading through these rivers, and laughing the whole time. I like monsoons.