Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Yeah!

The "Blow Horn" instruction on this truck is incredibly redundant.  Honking horns is a way of life here. When Andy accepted the job here in Mussoorie, we talked about all the things that would be different from Chicago because we would be living at 7000 feet in a small town.  Better air quality! A calmer lifestyle! No honking horns! Hallelujah!  Oh how wrong we were about horns....
Lane lines are merely a suggestion here in India as the common belief is you not only own the space your car takes up, but all the air surrounding it. People speed through busy intersections, highly trafficked roads and up narrow mountain passageways all with a "HONK! HONK!" and then it is understood that you are going to be passed by said honking vehicle.  Not only is honking used for passing, it is used for letting people know you are coming.  You are coming around a curve, you are coming into an area where people are walking...you exist! You matter!  Honk honk honk!  We live on a quiet (by India standards) mountain road.  People walk up and down everyday to and from work.  We have cars, scooters, trucks and the occasional bus on this road.  I think the planner who designed our roads up here dropped a piece of spaghetti on the floor and thought to himself "Looks good!"  There are so many twists and turns and slim passageways that more people are pulled over sick here than the Hana Highway on Maui.  When a car come to a blind curve, it honks.  When it needs to (very narrowly) pass another car, it honks.  When groups of school children are walking and it is coming up on them, it honks. Honk honk honk!  So Oliver and I steel ourselves for the honking each time we leave the house.  We get to a curve, Honk! A car is surprised to see us, Honk! As if I was planning on jumping out in front of them!  Yesterday I had a dark cloud over my head. I have not seen the sun in a week and a half and the rain, clouds, humidity, dampness was really...bringing...me...down...  So I was grouchy when we left  home and felt drizzle coming down on us.  We, of course, heard honking as we walked down the road for lunch.  Then we got to the one straightaway our road has.  We were about halfway between curves, completely visible, and I could hear a car coming behind us.  I knew it could see us, we were on the only straight part of the road!  But then, just as it came up behind us, HONK! HONK! HONK!  I lost it.  I spun around and screamed: "I hear you!  We ALLLLLLL hear you!"  My outburst did nothing but provide comic relief to the dozens of men packed in, on and hanging off the back of this Jeep.  Look at the crazy white woman with a baby yelling at us!  Humph.

What is different here, when compared to Chicago driving, is there is zero road rage here.  People will speed up to try and make it through a narrow part when they see another car coming and they often meet in the middle, stuck.  In this situation, it is necessary for one of the cars to back up and if there are cars behind those stuck cars, they need to back up too.  This never causes screaming, obscene gestures or threats.  People just go along their way. Honk Honk Honk!  I have seen fender-benders, little nicks here and there and everyone just nods and continues on their way.  Even cars that seem to be cut off, just give a honk and wait until they are able to proceed.

Road rage or no road rage, we need to move to a place with a honking ordinance.  It's beginning to grate on my nerves.  The sun needs to come out soon. xo

Off

It's been a great week and a difficult week.  The monsoon, that everyone swore to me was ending, proved it still had legs.  There were more rainy and cloudy hours than sunny ones.  Not seeing the sun is getting hard.  As in, seasonal affective disorder hard.  I am really hoping for an end quite soon.  I am getting a little stir crazy.

Oliver and I both had issues with our stomach's again this week.  I got very ill very quickly one night and it took me the entire next day to recover.  Poor little Oliver has the worst gas I have ever seen anyone have.  His entire body goes rigid, his face turns beet-red, and he screams until it passes.  It breaks my heart; lots of tears have been shed between the two of us. It's made us both just a little *off*.  I am putting myself on a bland diet to see if it helps (I have tried just about everything else!) and we are going to see the pediatrician tomorrow to see if he can offer any help. Sigh.

A wonderful thing happened to me and Oliver on Friday as we were walking to meet a friend in the bazaar.  Five children were walking home from their school all huddled under a very tiny umbrella (it was pouring, but I really needed to get out of the house).  I heard the oldest say something and immediately after, the two youngest children scrambled over to me and huddled under my huge, golf-bag style umbrella.  These little soaked children walked the entire way into town with us and didn't say a single word to me but just kept looking up at Oliver in his carrier and laughing. Oliver seemed quite surprised that we had guests and he just stared at them the entire time, every once and a while letting out a little "AHH!" Which just made the kids laugh harder.  Once we got into town a ways the two kids scampered off towards home (I assume) never really acknowledging me but giving Oliver one last big smile.  It was such a sweet, pleasant encounter and I was happy to shield them from the rain.  I hope I can be as helpful to someone the next time it rains.  Which it will...because this monsoon is sticking around!

Shopping in India 101

So many things are quite different here, naturally, but nothing more so than shopping.  For example, what the stores have on the shelves is not everything that they sell.  We have asked for beer, brooms, Lysol (it's Lizol here) and napkins when only foodstuffs are visible and these things have magically appeared from who-knows-where.  Ask ask ask! seems to be the motto. So does bargain, bargain, bargain!  I was able to buy an oven and a hand mixer today and I convinced the owner to take 500 rupees off of the price. Granted I smiled like crazy and kept pointing to the baby, "I am going to be baking things for him!" but it worked!

Prices are hardly ever listed on items so you always have to ask what things cost.  This can be quite irritating for me because there seems to be a sliding scale; one price for Indians and a different price for Westerners.  I always feel as if I am being sized up when I ask the price and that they seem to conclude I can afford more so they ask for more.  That's typically when I chuckle and act like I have a clue what I am talking about and give a lower price. This is where it helps to have a friend with you so she can back you up and say things like, "That's crazy, the store down the street charges 300 rupees less! Come on Lindsey, let's go!" This typically works to get a lower price. Andy says I need to stop converting rupees into dollars because he is paid in rupees (which makes complete sense) however, I have no value in my mind yet for rupees, so I do quick conversion and offer them a price I think would be fair in Chicago.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Besides the asking and bargaining, you often to not take the items purchased home with you.  Doing so would mean you would have to hike up or down (depending on which bazaar you shopped at that day) the mountain with your bags of things.  It's not easy, and it's very tiring.  So you ask them to deliver it to your home that night.  This is usually free of charge, unless you order something large like a washing machine.  Then you tip the delivery man (because the store owner told me to-but only a very little!  Don't tip too much!) and thank him for walking up the mountain with your washing machine strapped to his head and flip flops on his feet.  Tonight my oven will no doubt find its' way up our mountain strapped to another man's head.  This person is not to be tipped, however, the store owner told me not to.

Groceries too, get delivered.  I can either walk into the bazaar, fill up my basket, and give the owner a delivery time or I can simply call on the phone and place my order to be delivered.  Calling presents a challenge however, because you never know what is going to be available and given that there are VERY FEW options (we are talking three kinds of cereal here, folks) sometimes what you want is not what they have so you need to be very specific, or risk getting sent something the store owner thinks you want.  The stores may not have what you are looking for and the owner may order it for you.  Sometimes this is successful, sometimes not.  One store owner could not find plain soy milk for us so he bought vanilla, chocolate and mango.  Mango soy milk? Pass.  So we get our soy milk from a grocer who had greater success.  I have been told "I can get that in two days" so many times that when I hear it now, I move on to another store knowing full well they will never get chickpea flour, vanilla beans, or rice flour in stock. But I found them in the city, so I am set!  Ordering groceries over the phone is particularly helpful on the warm, sunny days when the Rhesus monkeys are about and we need produce.  Unless Andy is with us, it is quite foolish for me to carry fruit up the mountain by myself.  One teacher was jumped on for carrying bananas out in the open... so I just call the store up and have a delivery man deal with the monkey harassment.

Since we are a "Woodstock Family" store owners immediately trust us and often refuse our money the first visit.  We walked out of one store with a lamp, even though we had the cash for it, because the owner wanted us to "come back and pay later." You have accounts at grocery stores that you pay off at the end of the month.  Today I walked in and took maple syrup off of Sadarchi's shelf and said "It's for the Cooper's!" and walked out.  Sadarchi smiled at me and waved to Oliver and took out his notebook to account for the syrup.  It makes it so easy not to carry cash.  You just need to read your receipts very carefully or risk paying for your neighbor's butter and cheese.

The store owners are starting to recognize me more and more (or maybe they just recognize Oliver; everyone wants "the baby" to shop at their store) and we have developed some great working relationships with our grocers and store owners.  It is a good feeling for me, when I feel out of place or homesick to be greeted with, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cooper!  So happy to see you today! I have more chocolate for you!"

No, really, stop touching my kid!

Here is a new concept for us: people-complete strangers-wanting to take pictures of our child.  We have had people ask, not ask, and ask us to join them in the photo as well.  Yesterday we went shopping in Dehra Dun with several school staff members.  Once someone asked if they could take a picture with me and Oliver, another person asked if he could take a picture through the bus window as we were waiting to leave. Today as we were walking around the bazaar at the very top of our foothill, a family stopped us and asked if they could "please take a picture with your child." We said no, he's tired, and kept on walking.  Oliver had better not turn up in an advertisement for Coca-Cola here.  I try to see their side as to why they might want a picture of Oliver.  Say I was walking through Millennium Park, would I ask a family from a different country, with a different look from my own, if I could take a picture with their infant?  Nope.  I still don't quite understand the novelty of him. Sure, he is cute as heck with blue eyes and fair skin, but so are many people on television and in advertisements here.  I just don't get it.

Then there's the touching...my god, the touching!  It never ends!  People pinch his cheeks, grab his hands, kiss him, rub his head, tickle him....and the entire time I am looking at them as if to ask, "Do we know you?"
I have pushed hands off, asked them to stop, TOLD them to stop, even turned and walked away.  Leave...him...alone!  Yesterday there were groups of young children all over Dehra Dun begging for money.  They brake your heart.  Barefoot, filthy, eyes desperate, they follow us westerners until they have either wandered too far, or they finally understand we are not giving them any money.  I swatted away several hands yesterday and used a tone of voice that will come across the language barrier "NO!  NO TOUCHING!"  They would try to grab his legs or poke his cheeks and squeal "BAAAAY-BEEEE!!!!" Our Aussie friend Craig (6'5", deep voice, imposing posture) would run interference for us and boom, "GO AWAY!  NO! NO! NO!"
It's shocking that as aggressive as some people can be to get to Oliver is exactly as aggressive as we need to be to get them to stop.  In his carrier we keep his hat on at all times (can't touch what you can't see!) and keep one hand on him as well...ready to swat!  I wish I could relax as Andy has told me many, many times to do, but I can't seem to help it.  My natural, strong, mama-lion reflex says leave him alone or you'll have to deal with one very angry woman.  Back up, keep walking, there is nothing more to see (or touch) here!

Help

We were told before coming to India that we should expect to hire an Ayah (housekeeper).  It is a way we give back to the community by employing someone. Having no idea how to begin to clean concrete floors, help was quite welcome.
When Andy arrived two weeks previous to us, he had little time to hire, or even look for an ayah.  The head of school, Ms. M, told him she has two and one, Sooni, only works part time, so he could have her for part of the week. This seemed a wonderful deal.  No problems trusting Sooni, she helped raise Ms. M's children and has been with her for over 20 years.  Andy handed over the extra key and went right on teaching.

When I arrived two weeks later I was so thankful we had help with cleaning because so many simple tasks were quite overwhelming for my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged self. I spoke with many staff and spouses about the ayah situation.  What was a fair wage? What can I expect her to do?  I was quite taken aback by how direct and seemingly insensitive the answers were.  "Do NOT pay her too much, they will ALL want to make more if you do.  Never give her more than one new instruction per day; anymore will confuse her.  Talk to her as if she is four, they need very simple instructions.  Do not let her take advantage of your not being there and slack off!"
I was appalled.  Of COURSE I will pay a fair living wage.  I really only need help with the cleaning; I am a capable cook and I don't want her to be a sitter for Oliver.  I spoke with Sooni and Ms. M about pay.  For 2.5 hours of cleaning every Tuesday and Thursday, I would pay Sooni 1,000 Rupees (about $20.00) at the end of every month.  This seemed incredibly low and unreasonable, but then I discovered we are paying her more than most for an hourly wage.

Sooni would come when Oliver and I were at lunch with Andy and we would catch her near the end of her shift as we returned for nap time.  I gave one new instruction each day. "Please lift the rugs off of the floor before you sweep and mop THEN put them back down.  Please scrub the countertops, they are very damp.  Please move chairs aside so you can mop under them." Always polite, respectful and kind to her I thought we were off to a great start.  Oliver thinks she is just the neatest person ever as she has sequins all over her sari and she lets him grab it and shake it.

But I was starting to get suspicious.  We had lots of hair left on our bathroom floor, the counters still had crumbs, the floors were clearly not being mopped.  I spilled a few cornflakes on our floor on Tuesday and thought "let's see what happens." Our floor is maroon concrete, three yellow cornflakes are highly visible against it.  When Oliver and I returned from lunch the cornflakes were still there. I asked Sooni if she had mopped and I got the standard, "Yes Ma'am!" Then I asked her if she would wash the doors on our built in cabinets as they were getting quite dusty/moldy and she said (what I believe she said, my Hindi is far from great) is that the monsoon makes everything dusty and moldy and then she walked out the door.
I was fuming. That was my one new instruction!  I was following the rules and she just walked out!  Not only that, I knew she had been there less than 2.5 hours because she wasn't there when we left and she left when we returned less than two hours later.

I was angry at myself.  Was I not clear?  Why don't I know more Hindi? Why am I not someone who can be firm with others?  Andy and I spoke about it and we agreed that I needed to talk to Ms. M. To say that Ms. M commands a room is the understatement of the year.  I have never seen someone hold the respect and attention of every...single...employee under her.  She is fair and direct and wants everyone to hold up their end of the work.  She was very upset to know that Sooni had not been working to our standards or hers (she even used the word "naughty") and she told me she would have a long discussion with her about it.  I wrote out very clearly what we wanted Sooni to do in her time here so Ms. M could outline the tasks for Sooni.  Immediately after our discussion I felt horrible.  I just tattled on my ayah.  Why was Ms. M fighting my battles for me? Sooni showed up that afternoon fifteen minutes early saying she spoke with Ms. M.  She seemed humbled yet eager to show me all that should would clean while I was gone.  She said (I believe) that she will clean better and stay longer for the same price.  She stayed for three hours, and the floors were cornflake-free.

I told a few friends what I had done and how guilty I felt.  They all assured me that they had to get stern with their ayah's as well and told them they can easily find someone else.  One friend even had her Hindi tutor translate that the situation "just isn't working and that I want my key back."

So I am learning how things "work" around here.  I am not used to having a housekeeper and I clearly need to learn more Hindi.   But I think the next time I need to talk to Sooni I can handle it myself.  Or maybe I will hire my friend's Hindi tutor to speak to her for me.

Teacher and Student

Last Thursday I taught a lesson in Andy's classroom about story dramatization.  The kids went NUTS.  They loved acting out the stories together and individually figuring out how to best represent the characters.  I loved it myself.  It felt good to put my toe back in the teaching pond. I felt comfortable and natural and yet it reaffirmed that the classroom is not the place for me at the moment; being a full-time momma is exactly what I should be doing.  I gladly handed the class back to Andy so I could walk home and put Oliver to bed.

I think a part of me liked being a teacher because I was in control of so much: our schedule, the implementation of lessons, how conflicts were handled....  I liked knowing how each day looked before the kids came in (at least on paper) and what I needed to do to help everyone succeed.

Then there's me the student. The part that shows up and not knowing what *exactly* is going to happen each day.  It's both wonderful and incredibly frustrating to not have control over what my days look like.  I often don't understand the language spoken around me, or the customs of my adopted country and there is nothing I can do about it.  Knowing this calms me because what can I do to change the situation at that moment?  I am learning so much everyday about this amazing, frustrating, beautiful, dirty, surprising and humble country.
A few tidbits I have learned the past two weeks:

• 90% of Indian homes do not have hand towels in the bathroom.  They do however, have towel racks that stare back at me saying "use your pants." I do not understand this but am starting to bring Kleenex with me for this and...
• Public bathrooms, more often than not, have no toilet paper.  Which is awesome for us girls.
• If you stare a Rhesus monkey in the eye, it may attack you.  This advice has been given over and over to us and we are taking it quite seriously.  We have been told to wait inside twice now because the Rhesus were fighting outside.
• I learned that if I go into the bazaar with just Oliver, men come out of the wood work to either stare at us or help us find anything I need. "Garlic!  I know where you can get Garlic!" 
• I also learned that if I return to the bazaar with Andy then the men pay no attention to me but the women look quite relieved to know I have a man in my life.
• I learned that if you take your fair-skinned blue-eyed baby out to a restaurant, people will take pictures of him.
• If you and 12 other white ladies walk into a bar, the entertainment will stop singing Hindi songs and start singing whatever American songs they know.  On Friday this meant covers of Bob Dylan and John Denver.
• There are no boundaries when it comes to babies.  I have had people yank Oliver's arms out of the Ergo (carrier) and shake them, take his hands from his mouth while he is eating, lift him out of the highchair (again, while eating), put their fingers in his mouth and also (true story) blow their nose with their fingers and then touch his face.  Andy says I need to be cool but I have been known to say "Ok, stop touching the baby now!" Seriously, with no toilet paper or towels in the bathrooms...stop touching my kid.
• I have learned that Indians look very disappointed when you tell them to stop touching your kid.
• I have learned that no where else on Earth (that we have traveled at least) are the people more helpful, inviting, hospitable and eager to please.  We have been invited to countless homes for dinners and shared many fun nights with our new neighbors and friends.  This has aided our transition and made us feel like we made the right decision to come here.

More to come!

xo

Imagine if you can

Oliver and I were in a rush today to get to school for lunch with Andy. Let me start from the beginning:  We bought a washing machine six days ago and the store is supposed to send an "engineer" to set it up the next day.  No one came.  I called and called and was told always "today!" but the engineer never came.  Then Andy called- we figured that my female/western voice wasn't getting very far-and told them they had to come TODAY.  The head of the school got wind of our frustration and also called them and said TODAY.  I was told to expect them between 11:30 and 12:00 so that Oliver and I could still make lunch.  12:00 came, no engineer.  My Ayah (housekeeper), Mooni, came to wait for the engineer so we could leave.  Rushing to get out and make it to school on time we bumped into our next-door neighbor, Rajneesh, who offered to give us a ride to school...on his scooter.  My mind flashed back several years to when Britney Spears was accosted by the press for getting caught driving with her child in her lap and child services was called.  But we jumped on anyways.  Oliver was in his Ergo, tight to me and I figured that I see people doing this all the time just holding their babies in the arms.  Besides, there is no child services in India, so who would anyone call and report me to?  My neighbor told me to sit side-saddle (because all ladies sit side saddle) and to hold on tight.  I tried to adjust the hood on Oliver's rain coat, but he wailed.  I tried to put up the cover on the Ergo and he kicked.  Rajneesh saw how much resistance Oliver had to being covered and said, "Just open your umbrella." So now, imagine if you can: Me and Oliver sitting side-saddle, me holding on to the scooter with one hand and holding up my open umbrella in the other, riding down the mountain on Rajneesh's scooter.  People waved and smiled at us; never once did a look of concern flash across any faces.  Oliver narrowed his eyes against the wind and laughed the entire way.  To be sure,  I questioned my parenting the entire ride.  I would be arrested in America!  We aren't wearing helmets!  But the ride was kept under 25 mph (what's that in Kilometers?) and Rajneesh often shuttles his children around on the scooter so I knew he would be quite careful. Two minutes down and we hopped off and were just in time for lunch.  I hope next time we get offered a ride going UP; that's the difficult direction.