A Year Later

One year ago I was covered in brightly colored powder. My nail beds and feet were pink for a week after our Holi celebration at Shani Bhavan. Eventually the color washed away and the last of the dye rubbed off during a cold bucket shower.

When I initially decided to keep a blog of my time in India writing a last entry seemed daunting. A final entry seemed to suggest a neat little bow atop my experience. Yet the time I spent in India is not meant to be a story I tell for attention. And I do not want praise. I do want the young men and women of Shanti Bhavan and their stories to grow beyond the entries of this blog.

It's been one year since I flew to India to volunteer with ASTEP. One year has passed since I took the two hour off-road taxi ride to Shanti Bhavan campus for the first time--- sans luggage and wide-eyed. Some of the students I taught have completed their first year of college. Some will be high school graduates this spring. Some are navigating new territory of middle school or adjusting to the increased work load demanded by high school ICSE and ISC exams. Still others are no longer at Shanti Bhavan. I wonder about these students as much as I think about the futures of those still studying late into the night and clandestinely stealing coconuts from the school's fruit trees.

I can see the boys' red soil-stained socks as they walk back from the sports field. The students' bright white smiles against dusky light. Spicy veg dishes are thankfully cooled by curd and basmati. I can feel the cold metal of the plates and chai cups in the outdoor cafeteria. The warmth of a southern Indian evening whispers, then stays, on my shoulders. Palm trees and tropical flowers the size of my face. Jasmine. Plumeria. Vijay wise-cracking, now in seventh grade. Prem relentlessly answering each biology question correctly. Bhavani reading the latest novel she found at the school's library. Maheshwari elegantly walking, arms full of books, along the main path.

Look at any international news website and you will find two tales of India. Within these two tales are individual stories. Granted enough luck to be a part of some of these stories I now understand the heavy choice SB students make. Shanti Bhavan, a residential school, is not only separated by distance from its students' families, but remains distinct in station. SB students will go to college. Maheshwari will go to medical school. She will be the first from her village to do so, and probably the first to fully conceive of the chance. The choice to separate oneself brings honor but also carries division. There is a bumpy rural road, hours and hours long, between the young girl from a southern Indian village and the physician she will become. What will she feel when she goes back to the village? Will the Shanti Bhavan Children's Project work? As one reviewer of the similar Promise Academy Charter Schools project in Harlem, led by Geoffrey Canada, put it: "Poverty is a vortex."

The weight of Maheswari's choice seems more grave than any choice I've ever made. I know my job as a teacher for those blessed three months was to reaffirm and foster that choice. As Dr. George puts it: Poverty is a state of suffering without hope. Everyday the students at Shanti Bhavan mark the world with hope. They literally dye the soil with color and life.

This final entry will not complete my experience at Shanti Bhavan, nor will India's dye ever wash off.

Scores Are In

Chaithra made my day a few nights ago when she called me from Bangalore to tell me 12th grade ISC Biology exam results... All were 80% or better!!!

Way to go!

Moved

I recently took what I think will be my last trip to Hosur (the town closest to Shanti Bhavan School). And I realized how much I am going to miss the rickety old bus that takes me from just outside SB gates one hour to Hosur.

A 12th grader shared with me that her mother may have had a miscarriage as an indirect or direct result of riding a rural Indian bus. I now know just what she means. There are numerous times when the bus hits one of the hundreds of giant pot holes and my entire bottom leaves the seat for a moment hanging in mid air. It is a crowded, hot, dusty and dirty ride. The buses are either green or bright orange and appear to be built in the early 1970s. As much as we ramble along it amazes me how we never break down. Though in all this I also feel excited, even invigorated by our bus rides to Hosur.

There is the bus conductor who collects fares and distributes the tickets. Though I do not know his name, everyone else riding the bus seems to. He jokes and cajoles with the regulars in Tamil. I don't know what he says but it's obvious he loves his job. He has a whistle blown to signal the driver to a jerking stop for a new passenger. He seems to have a soft spot for old women who board the bus, as these are the only passengers he will help up the steep steps of the tenuous clamoring bus. He gently lifts them up and helps them find a seat among the colorful crowd. He is cheeky and playful with the school children. But my favorite quality about our conductor is the fluid grace he maintains while riding this bronco of a bus. He has mastered the art of balance; no hands while exchanging rupees for small red, blue, purple or yellow tickets. He holds rupee notes folded once lengthwise like a fan through the able fingers of one hand to make easy change. With an old worn leather satchel strapped across his body for the coins he collects, he looks like a trolley conductor of a time passed.

School children board the bus in the afternoon. Girls' hair plaited then pinned up to make two ovals of silky ebony braids just behind either ear. Each time these small knobby-legged students come face to face with Shanti Bhavan volunteers, we are met with wide-eyed stares of wonder and curiosity that then give way to shy smiles. Laura takes out an iPod, which causes the children to poke each other and stare with delight at the device-- so completely out of place in this rural setting, yet the children know what it is and how lucky Laura is to have it.

The women on the bus are regally beautiful with single long oiled plaits down their backs. Each woman's hair may have fragrant orange or white flowers in a string decorating the braid. Silty yellow gold is normal everyday jewelry-- nose rings, earrings, bracelets and anklets. Small children on the women's laps have bangles on their ankles and most have ears pierced. Each very small child has a dark smudge on his or her face. I am told this is because young children are so pretty and cute they must wear a blemish since it is boastful to be too attractive. Long and lean women wear saris of vibrant rich color in floral or geometric trim. The shape of this garmet so perfectly emphasizes the flowing line and curve of the feminine body. The women who spot SB volunteers aware their friends beside them and smile. The smell of soap and sandalwood fills the bus air and mixes with the sweet earthy smell of cows and hay.

Though most on the bus are barefoot, women's feet are adorned with gold while the male agricultural workers' feet are dry and caked with white-grey dust from the nearby quarry. There are two types of men that ride this bus. One is a western trouser, short sleeve button-up shirt business man, who works at one of the small businesses on the way to Hosur. They have somewhat shabby wear but are marked to all by their cell phones, from which they play Bollywood music. The other sort of man has sun-dried and wrinkled skin with grey hair from age, stone breaking or calcium deficiency. These men wear doti, a piece of fabric worn on the bottom half of the body, with a simple shirt and a towel over the shoulder. They work in the fields, quarries and brick yards. Sometimes they have small pieces of whatever crop they were harvesting in their disheveled hair. Always the look of exhaustion and resolve present on their faces. Accustomed to standing; being shoved and crowded in, bumped and swayed; with gaze toward sunburst fields rushing by, they allow their bodies to be moved.

SB in ABC News

Check out the ABC news piece on Shanti Bhavan.

Class of 2011

Congratulations to Shanti Bhavan class of 2011!

I had the immense pleasure and honor to teach 12th grade Biology for awhile this year. As we prepared for the Biology ISC Exam together I learned a lot about just how special and incredibly intelligent each one of these students are.

These are the students of 12th grade Biology 2011:

Lilly -- She is the only girl on the school soccer team where she not only plays but scores winning goals. Lilly is a perfectionist with killer dance moves who rarely answers incorrectly and carries herself with a steadfast sense of confidence.

Abilash -- With aspirations to become a herpetologist but dance moves like Michael Jackson, Abilash takes everything on full force. He loves a challenge, rises to the occasion, and takes it all in stride with a sense of humor.

Arrun -- He could easily become the next great cancer researcher or Nobel Prize-winning physicist. When he is not scoring on the basketball court, Arrun is exercising his excellent study skills and challenging me to think of Biology questions he might not know.

Chaithra -- Chaithra has more personality than a Bollywood heroine. Chaithra lights up a room, usually first with song and later with personality and smile. When she is not enjoying one of her many friendships or singing the newest pop hit, she is studying Biology with me.

Thank you for all you are, 12th grade.

Best of luck in college next year!
 

Count the Mirrors

While lesson planning for a 6th grade physical science class I came across the following activity in the American textbook we use:

"A flat mirror is known as a plane mirror. Look around your home and count the number of plane mirrors."

Most of my students would not be able to complete this assignment at home. In some cases students might not have a home. And in the cases where there is a home, that space very easily might have no mirrors hanging on the wall. Students could however count the mirrors in their dorms here at school.

I have never, until now, read a textbook activity and considered the many assumptions writers and editors make there in the pages of the books. How do my 6th grade students feel when they read this assignment and realize there are no mirrors to count at home? Yes, textbooks are often written for the culture in which the books will be used. An American textbook would be, under normal circumstances, used in America. However there may be students in America who do not have mirrors in their homes. These students would be in the same situation as my 6th graders here in rural India when they read the words in this textbook. Do the tools of education assume a certain socio-economic background? If yes, are we as a society perpetuating the exclusion of entire populations of students? As the educators is it not our responsibility to recognize this?

I am trying my best to objectively observe my reactions to some of the students' life stories. This school is like any other in so many ways. Yet each day at assembly when the children sing I feel a special weight inside me. The stories affect me emotionally but that emotional response seems too little; too insignificant. Perhaps the stories scare me or worry me. Maybe I wish I never came across these histories. How should one carry the burden of knowing? How should I move through the initial emotional response and toward a contructive perspective? When I look at myself in the mirror I know people might consider what we are doing here at Shanti Bhavan good. But I feel I contribute only a small part. There is still much more to do.

Count the mirrors in your home. What do you see?

Holi!

Yesterday was Holi -- the Festival of Color. This festival involves a rainbow of brightly colored powder (originally made from ground up flowers), which is then thrown at revelling Holi participants. The color is sold in local markets (I have pictures of color piles at stalls in the Devaraja Market in Mysore). Though Holi is more of a northern India festival we celebrated it here at Shanti Bhavan after convincing our acting principal, Miss Beena, of the festival's academic and physical education value. The 11th and 12th graders were allowed to particpate with the volunteers.

Another volunteer named Rashmi and I were busy prepping 10th grade Biology students for their ICSC exam all weekend, so we arrived at the Holi battlefield a bit late. By the time we got there water had already been added to the mix. Immediately I noticed that there was a serious lack of ammo for the volunteers as the students had commandeered the water buckets and the color. We quickly realized we would be the hunted instead of the hunters. (It's only appropraite after all the tests and homework we gave the students, right?!) Before I knew it, bright blue and hot pink were walloped at me from right and left. One of my 11th grade Biology and Environmental Science students, Praveen, then took it upon himself to drench me in dark navy blue color after he chased me around and finally wore me out. In the end, the kids and volunteers were completely covered in tye dye color head to toe. In fact, we are all still washing the pink and blue out of our nail beds, hands, feet, and hair.

I am so glad I was able to spend Holi with the students of Shanti Bhavan. I doubt any of us will ever forget it. And a BIG thank you to Miss Beena. We promise all the blue and pink spots that were not reached with our scrubbing will eventually come out of the assembly courtyard walls. Also thank you to Justin and Lorenza who treked to Hosur to buy the color for the fun. Had we known that one color packet was enough for four buckets of water...well, we all would be a lot less colorful right now. (We miss you both already. You are amazing people and I know on behalf of all the volunteers, we are lucky to now call you our friends. Safe and happy travels to you.) Happy Holi everyone!