emiliesblog

Emilie, 17th June 2007
United Kingdom

Emilie's Blog

Sunday. June 17 2007

I rehearsed for India by carrying a bike laden with guitar, violin, printer and packing on the train to my
gran's house the day before I left England. A feat of logistics for me - but it paled in comparison to the
sights we see here. Bicycles whizz past, bells jangling for all they're worth, with five or more bags of
grain piled on the back. People stroll around building sites in the blistering heat with bricks stacked
eight high on their head. The strength and resourcefulness of the people is amazing.
As for me, it was more dumb luck than resourcefulness that made my arrival in India something of a
success. The NGO I was supposed to be working with had lost my details and failed to show up at the
airport, so there I was, stranded in a country I didn't know, amongst a people whose language I didn't
speak, without the first idea of what to do with myself. Fortunately, my neighbours on the plane were
lovely people, and I ended up heading off with one of them, to join the NGO she would be working with -
Prathomalo, or the First Light.

After this rather boggling start, I began to enjoy being in Kolkata. The views from Bishnu, our host's, flat
were astounding. India is like nowhere else on earth. The city is immense - one district alone stretched
out far beyond our sight - and so green, houses and palm trees jostling each other for space. The
roads are busy, and no horn is ever silent. The life here is as intense as the heat.
Having eaten breakfast, we went for a walk to the mall. It was only five minutes up the road from the
house, but by the time we had made our purchases - two fantastic flowery raincoats - we were
exhausted and had to catch a cab home. The afternoon passed gradually, in the cool of an
air-conditioned room, as we chatted about the project and got to know Wendy, an experienced
volunteer who was on her way back to England at last.
At three o'clock we braved the crazy Indian roads on our way to the train station. The train itself took
four hours to get to Santiniketan, our final port of call - stopping periodically because of some
unexplained disturbance or another. Santiniketan came as something of a shock to the system: while I
had been expecting the city, I really didn't know what an Indian town would be like. But there was little
time to take it in, as the cab swept us off to Bishnu's apartment in Guru Gudyan, a while up the road
and across a maze of dirt tracks, where we passed an agreeable evening listen to the songs of
Anander, a local baul (or musician), before turning in for the night at about 12 o'clock.

Monday, June 18 2007

Clemmie and I moved into the volunteer's apartment today. It is a fantastic building - we have our own
spacious room, sheltered front porch with washing line, and shared washroom, bathroom and rooftop
terrace for some tacit sunbathing. We spent the morning unpacking and exploring, before heading
back to Bishnu's apartment for lunch.
Shortly after lunch, we set off for the school, three to a moped. We turned a few heads on the way -
people on the sides of the road stopped and laughed. Clemmie rode pillion and I rode tailgate, thinking
all the while that I could easily spill off onto the ground as the moped careened down the busy Indian
roads. Nevertheless, we made it to the school without any upset -- only to find that the children were
missing. Drumbeats could be heard in the distance. Bishnu informed us that there was a wedding in
the tribal village, where all the children live, and within minutes we were back on the moped.
The wedding was an amazing affair. We drank a hot white alcohol from cups made out of broad leaves,
listened to the drums and met the people. Embarrassingly, however, we were the centre of attention -
people rushed to get stools for us, and the young bride (who looked as though she would rather be
anywhere else) kissed our feet and our knees as she came in.

Celebrations over, we headed back to the school, where a swarm of children poured out of the gate to
meet us, all smiles and hellos. Bishnu introduced us - "Hello Clemmie ... Hello Emilie ..." - and we
headed straight out into the field to play with the children. We played ball games to get to know their
name, but they were so long that I found myself forgetting them straight away. I taught them the hokey
kokey, and we went indoors and sang songs and learnt a few words. After two hours, my voice was
getting tired and I couldn't remember any more kids' songs, but fortunately it was time to go out and
play again. The football, the skipping ropes, the dartsboard all came out, and we ran around on the
sports' pitch until it was time for the children to sing their prayer song and for us to get back on the
moped and head off home.

That evening, we went to the house of Tarun, the head baul. It was like stumbling onto the set of
Arabian Nights. The stars were out, square Indian buildings backing onto the sky. Four musicians sat
cross-legged on rush mats, under an curtain of palm leaves, passing a pipe between them. The music
itself was intoxicating, and the evening passed all too quickly. I was delighted to be able to join in
occasionally, playing the small cymbals or singing when I could pick up the words.
The journey home was rather eventful, as the light on the moped had gone. Picture this: here we are in
India, on roads where everyone honks their horn. We are drunk-driving, with no helmets, no lights --
only a torch held over Bishnu's shoulder -- and three of us on a bike. Bishnu is blaring the horn to warn
people that we're coming. All of a sudden, the roadside police stop us. "Why so much horn?" We
hardly stopped laughing all the way home.

Tuesday, June 19 2007

Our second day with the children, and we divide up into groups. Clemmie takes the Red Group (3-6 year
olds) and I take the Blue Group (6-12). Clemmie teaches hers first, while I go out on the sports pitch
with mine and play games. We do the hokey kokey again, and this time I remember all the words. They
especially enjoy being able to run into the centre. I teach them the clapping game, "A Sailor Went to
Sea", and go round the circle playing it with each of the girls. Some of them are really embarrassed
when they get something wrong, but they all keep smiling and giggling and things seem to be going
well.
I teach the kids body parts, transport and other simple things -- things about which I know songs, more
or less. It certainly makes the lesson much easier if the children can join in all the time - otherwise,
their attention starts to wander at once.
Leaving the place, we feel like royalty. We took a cab today, because the moped cannot cope with
three people. The children all crowd around the windows, and wave good-bye until we are long out of
sight.

We pass the evening in Bishnu's company. The food is good, and we talk about our day. Although there
are no bauls tonight, there is still music - Bishnu knows all the songs, and he teaches me a few simple
refrains. I absolutely love Indian music and I'm glad to be able to take some home like this.

Wednesday, June 20 2007

Clemmie and I venture into Santiniketan town this morning, as Pari brought a rickshaw back for us
when she went to the market. It's the first time we've ridden by rickshaw, and I find it fascinating,
although it's painful when the rickshaw driver has to get down and drag us. Not knowing much about
Indian courtesy, we wonder whether we should get down or remain in the carriage.
In Santiniketan, we make a few purchases and take a lot of photographs. However, we spend most of
the morning hunting for a bank where I can finally change my dollars. We're shunted from bank to bank
by willing rickshaw drivers, until we arrive at State Bank Santiniketan. Spending almost an hour in
there, I emerge with a fistful of rupees at last -- but only after trying to explain to the guard that
although I am British, I was told to bring dollars to India; that my passport is issued in Guernsey - "yes,
Guernsey, an island" - and not London, and leaving him thinking that all people in Ireland write
left-handed. Oh, the joys of communication.

This afternoon, we go back to the school. We stay with our same groups. Me and Clemmie and the
children are already starting to get used to each other. While the boys play football, my girls all come
and make a big circle and demand - by demonstrating with spinning actions - that we do the hokey
kokey. We also skip together - or rather, they skip while I swing the rope - and I try and teach them a
few new songs, but it's getting harder to think of them.
In the classroom itself, I try to be more inventive. I put shapes to the Pizza Hut song ("A pentagon, a
pentagon, a triangle and a pentagon ... Big circle, big circle ...") and make up new words to "I knew an
old lady". Provided that the tunes are catchy, I don't seem to have too many problems finding words
that will reinforce what they've learned.
We cover colours, shapes, feelings and transport again, and go back over the things that we did
yesterday. I get the darts board out to test their numbers and find that they don't recognise them so
easily when they're not in the same place as on the chart. Nevertheless, they are picking up things, and
they definitely remember the songs now. A few of the older ones are mouthing the words along -
although when I smile, intending to encourage them - they button up all of a sudden. I have learnt a few
words of Bengali - just the days of the week - in order to teach the English to the children, and I think
they're quite pleased: they kept saying "balo, balo" back to me.

In the evening, Tarun and Anander come around to sing to us again. Bishnu insists that I join in with the
bauls, and I am quite happy to - although my voice is not a patch on theirs, of course. I sing the refrains
that I know, and I get to try out the small drum that Anander has brought. I really enjoy making music
with them: they love doing it so much, and the atmosphere is fantastic. And they seem very pleased
that I can sing in their language, albeit not very much. Anander arrived at nine, and the evening went on
until after midnight. Hopefully next time the bauls come, we will be able to record their singing and
make a CD to bring home with us.

Thursday, June 21 2007

We set off in search of a rickshaw at about ten o'clock this morning. Finding one before we even leave
Guru Pally, we ask him to take us to the crafts centre, Amar Kutir. He demands 150 rupees, but a
friendly old man, who spoke excellent English, got him down to 100 on our behalf. The journey is really
long, and we meet two dead ends on the way there. Finally getting to Amar Kutir at 12.30, we spend
about forty minutes browsing the trinkets and the clothes: I buy three Indian t-shirts, and both of us
choose some souvenirs to take home to our family.
On the journey back, we head uphill for a long way. We jump out to make it easier for the rickshaw
driver, and walk a good distance before he passes a group of Indian men on the roadside. There is
some kind of conversation in Bengali, and the driver stops immediately and insists we get back in.
After that, the ride is more uncomfortable, and we leave the driver with a hefty tip and the rest of our
water, as an apology.

We head back to the school in the cab, and give the children puzzles to play with and read to them
while the rest of the class is arriving. Once everyone is there, the groups split again, and I take my kids
out on the field to play games. The girls make a ring at once, and we do the hokey kokey and other
circle songs. I sing the occasional Christmas carol - "Deck the Halls" and "Rudolph the Red Nosed
Reindeer" - because they're good for dancing or doing silly actions, and although the children really
enjoy it, I feel ever so slightly out of place.
In the classroom, improvisation is the name of the game again. We're packed into the little building at
the back of the school, because the rains are coming. I start by singing four weather songs, in keeping
with the situation -- editing Jesus out of "Water of Life", in favour of "rainclouds". I do the same thing
with Craig David's "Met a girl on Monday ...", keeping the days of the week, but making up new words
and actions for the children.
We run through our repertoire quite quickly. I find it hard to keep the children's attention because the
room is very dark - those at the back can scarcely see the board - and they're all packed so close to
each other that squabbles break out for nothing. Fortunately, the afternoon ends early because of the
rain and the children stand in the courtyard singing a couple of prayer songs before they head off back
to the village.
Just before we leave, I take a few photos with my camera, and a couple with Clemmie's digital one.
This is a special treat for the children - I turn it round to show them, and they just mob me. I have to
press the refresh button three times before they've all seen enough. They hang onto my arms, trying to
find themselves in the picture, and squeal "yoni, yoni" - which I guess means "me, me".

At six-thirty, after a slightly traumatic drive home, we get back and spend the evening talking, eating
and making plans.

Friday, 22nd June 2007

Coming back to our place in the taxi, we usually pass a large pink building with "Art Gallery" written on
the side. Having nothing else to do this morning, we decided to go and explore it. It turned out to be the
works of one man only, a professor at the university -- but I enjoyed it regardless: the works spanned
four decades and were in all kinds of media, from bronzes and wood carvings to pastels and oil. The
artist gave us a personal tour of the gallery, telling us the stories of the pictures, which are all of
Santiniketan and the area surrounding it, and pointing out buildings where we could go to catch
morning prayers and rituals.
We decided we would definitely try and stumble upon the prayers at some point, and asked him to
write down the names of the places. Then, having got our culture fix, we headed back to Bishnu's for
lunch. We enjoyed another one of Pari's fantastic and immensely varied meals, and booked our train
tickets to Kolkata online.
After that, it was back to the school again. The children are really getting to know words and songs.
Before the class, we all play together. My playground clapping games are a hit (girls are girls,
wherever in the world you go) and now they practice between themselves while I'm going around the
circle playing with one at a time. In the lesson, we continue to cover days of the week, body parts,
weather - the usual. I'm finding it more of a challenge now that the monsoon has begun, because the
unpredictable rains can easily disrupt the class, forcing us to retreat to the small room at the back of
the school, where it's almost impossible to keep the children's attention for longer than a few minutes.
Although my white trousers (a colour chosen for the heat, forgetting that I'd be hard pressed to keep
clean!) end up absolutely filthy in the mud, I'd far rather run around with them outside and do action
songs, rather than remain in the classroom for too long with nothing much being learned. We get so
much out of our communal play, and I really feel I'm bonding with the kids here.

Saturday, 23rd June 2007

A ten-rupee rickshaw ride to the nearest ATM turned into a morning-long adventure today, as Rikki, our
young driver, took us around all sorts of places in Santiniketan we would never have discovered for
ourselves. We had asked him to take us to the Deer Park after the ATM, and he managed to get himself
an entry ticket without me really noticing how. I didn't mind paying the extra four rupees, however, as
he was great company - he laughed at us, we grinned at him, and there was the occasional gesture
and semi-English word. That's communication! We didn't see a single deer, unfortunately, but the park
itself was beautiful and made for a lovely stroll.
After that, we piled back in the rickshaw, and he took us around the lake and up to a place where a
river had eroded the land dramatically, so we were standing on the edge of a magnificent canyon. On
the way there, we had stopped at a shop, and he bought us all tiffin cake. Usually you feel like you're
employing a rickshaw driver - which is actually the case - but today we felt like he was our tour guide
and host. It made for a really enjoyable time. We took photographs at the canyon before moving onto
the Santiniketan Nature Sculpture Museum. A really clever idea - odd tree root and rock formations
had been collected, and made into a gallery where they are labelled such things as 'goat'; 'e.t.'; 'thumbs
up'. It's no passing resemblance - they look like they've been deliberately sculpted into shape.

We got back to Guru Palli around one o'clock, and had lunch before taking another rickshaw - this time
with a much more sullen driver - down to the train station in Bolpur. Here our four hour (heavily
delayed!) journey to Kolkata began. At one point, we were left stranded in a field for at least half an
hour, windows wide open (second class windows don't have panes) and lights on. I must have
collected a week's worth of bug bites in that time! By the time we arrived in Kolkata, the sun had long
set, and we were quite keen to find a hotel. We were hustled into a taxi, and charged a flat rate of 150
rupees -- there was nothing to be gained by haggling, because there was obviously some kind of taxi
cartel at the station. On our way to Sudder Street, where all the hotels were located, we saw a sight
we'll never forget. As we waited in the traffic queue, a man ran up and peeled off the rubber from
around a bus window. That in itself was odd enough, but we are accustomed to India being odd. It was
just as the traffic lights changed that the shock came. Suddenly, the man leapt up at the bus,
wrenched the window off its hinges, and ran away with it tucked under his arm! The desperation here
is appalling.
The Salvation Army guest house, where we ended up for the night, was friendly enough, but the rooms
were less than desirable, and one English lad who was staying there kindly showed us his bed-bug
bites. Still, at less than five pounds for two nights, it was nevertheless value for money!

Sunday, 24th June 2007

When we arrived in Kolkata yesterday, we found the beggars quite distressing. The poverty here
seems somehow more desperate - probably because there's no means of escape. But in the hostel
we chatted to people who were working in various relief agencies, and they told us how much was
actually being done for the city poor, and warned us that beggars on the streets were mostly putting on
some kind of organised sham- having made agreements with shopkeepers that they would ask for
certain products (baby milk was the one which got us, last night) before selling them on at another
price.
Knowing this, we were able to turn a blind eye to a lot of what was going on without feeling so guilty. At
least we're here trying to give something back to the country - so we feel like we're helping in some
kind of way. Hassled, but not harmed, by beggars, we made our way to the Maidan this morning, and
were stalked all the way across the park. It was quite the unnerving experience! But when we reached
the gardens of the Victoria Memorial, and had to pay our entry ticket, we lost him -- obviously, he didn't
intend to make any kind of loss himself.
Although white people are reasonably common in Calcutta, we were nevertheless followed and stared
at all day. Amusingly enough, while we were at the Memorial, a group of young Indians with cameras
hurried up to us and asked if they could take our photo. We thought we had come to look at the
attractions - as it turned out, we were the attractions!

We spent a lot of the day shopping, and in search of the Kalighat. Although we never found the elusive
temple, our quest took us through all the backstreets of Calcutta, and we saw a lot of the city that we
might never have done otherwise. Crossing the roads here is treacherous - although signs declare
"Pedestrian Use Zebra Crossing", these are the K^P notices, which also say other nice but utterly
useless things such as "Gift Sight, Donate Eyes" and "Healthy Mind, Healthy Nation". By the evening,
we were all touristed out, and we set off to find somewhere for dinner. We tried the
Lonely-Planet-recommended "Peter Cat", but with a queue that trailed out of the restaurant and round
the corner (almost as long as the one for Macdonalds!) we soon turned away, and ended up in a lovely
place called Oasis, just down the street. The service was excellent, the waiters attentive, and although
our meal came to about five hundred rupees, we still got more than we paid for.
After this, we headed off to the Park Hotel (set off the street, so we had a little trouble finding it at first),
where we met our host's son, Biba, and spent the evening with him, listening to his friends' band,
Crystal Grass. The band is fantastic, and the singer especially deserves to go far. Unfortunately, we
had to be back at our hostel by midnight, meaning that we missed the end of the set, but we really
enjoyed it all the same, and it rounded off our time in Calcutta perfectly.

Monday, 25th June 2007

Handed in our keys at eight-thirty, caught a quick coffee at the cafe on the corner, and took a taxi
straight to the station. The station was immensely crowded, but it was not too hard to locate our train.
(One platform change was announced, but even if we hadn't understood the thick Indian accents, we
would have been swept along to the correct place by a river of people changing platforms). The
Shantiniketan Express arrived in Bolpur ahead of schedule, much to our amazement, and we were
offered a lift back to Guru Palli by a friendly, English-speaking Indian who we had sat next to on the
train.
We got back here just in time for lunch, and then went straight on to our own apartment for a quick
shower before the taxi arrived to take us to the school. Today, we turned up laden with blackboards
and chalk - something which was going to entertain the kids for the entire lesson.
It was definitely good to see our children again. When we first arrived at the school, hardly anyone was
there, but it wasn't long before they came pouring in, and we sat on the floor of the porch and read with
them a while before going out to play in the fields. The children absolutely devour books and puzzles,
and the enjoyment they get out of them is incredible.
I feel like we're really getting to know the children now. Although we still play a lot of my games - the
hokey kokey is an all time favourite - they have no problems deciding what to do for themselves;
leading the dances, fetching the skipping rope -- and even teaching me a new game, one that Hanne
had taught them when she came. They're also quite happy to clamber all over me, fixing the catch on
my earring (a cheapo one that I had bought in the market yesterday) and laughing at my hair.
In the classroom, I distributed the blackboards and chalk -- and was astounded at how much the
children knew. Without any prompting, they wrote out the alphabet, first in upper case, then in lower.
Next were the numbers - one to one hundred. After that, I drew shapes on the board, and a lot of them
copied them out. But I also had a number of still lifes, and one excellent diagram of a plant, with
everything labelled in Bengali. Where had all this knowledge come from?
The mystery was solved when a middle-aged man turned up and introduced himself. He was the
village's primary school teacher, and took the classes in the morning. Although he'd tried to teach
them English, he'd had no success -- for obvious reasons, not being all that fluent in it himself. We're
lucky that we're able to teach them too - and to bring not only English language, but English books and
games and learning materials, giving their education a considerable boost. The children are evidently
poor -- the odd one has a change of clothes, but most of them wear the same thing day-in, day-out --
and this English school is an excellent way of helping them out.

Tuesday, 26th June 2007

This morning, we realised that we'd pretty much "done" Shantiniketan. What to do now? Well, the
weather was lovely, at least - so we took full advantage of it, sneaking up onto the roof of our
apartment and basking in the sun. I suffered for it pretty quickly - but at least I'll come back from India
a little less white and shiny! Since we were only spending the day around the house, we went out to get
bleach as well, and had a major washing session, blitzing all our travel-stained clothes.
In the afternoon, we went off to the school again. Bishnu left for Kolkata this morning, so we were
more or less on our own. Buddha was there, however, and with his help we managed to keep the
children's attention long enough for a proper lesson, and took them out in the field altogether to play
games afterwards. I thought the final prayer song would be something of a problem, because usually
Bishnu leads it, and we don't know the words - but three of the children had been designated lead
singers, and they sorted it out perfectly, even getting the others to stand in the right lines.
We were extremely flattered, as the children came up to us during playtime and gave us necklaces
and earrings they had made for us. We had a couple of problems, however! English people seem to be
built to a much bigger scale than Indians ... neither of us could fit the necklaces over our heads. The
girls tied them around our arms as bracelets, though, so we could still wear them. It's lovely to have
something so personal to take back with us to England.
Just as we came back after school, we were met at our door by a very enthusiastic little girl from next
door, Loba. Her English was fantastic, and she wasted no time telling us as many words in Bangla as
she possibly could. I picked up the odd thing, but most of it just went in one ear and out the other. Still,
it was ever so nice to meet her - we were invited into the house, and her mother made us tea - and I
gave her "something from England" (perfume) because she was so interested in everything English.
Later on in the evening, as we were reading in the apartment, the power went. With the fan off and the
candle burning, it gets too hot, so we moved out onto the front porch. We stayed there for a little while
before the neighbours noticed, and then they came across in a swarm, sitting on the front steps. We
went out to join them, only to be hit with another barrage of Bengali words. What they don't seem to
understand is that while I can repeat words back at them without too much trouble, it's a lot harder to
work out what they actually mean, especially since they have little more English than we have Bangla!
(I certainly sympathise with our kids a lot more now.) It was a pleasant way to pass a power-cut,
though: singing little snatches of Bengali songs, and catching the fireflies that flickered past along the
surface of the water. At about 8.30, they left, and we went back into the apartment to wait for the
power to come back on.

Wednesday, 27th June 2007

I went out by myself to get the water today, while Clemmie was doing the washing. On the way, I met
two students, who live a little way up the road from us. They introduced themselves, and we chatted all
the way to the shop. It was nice to meet people our age who had good English, but I didn't really think
I'd see them again.
After another morning spent reading and sun-bathing (will we never learn?), we headed into
Shantiniketan to use the pay phone, since we're having endless problems with the mobile. On our way
back, just before lunch - and much to my surprise - we ran into the two boys again. With no plans for
the evening, we thought we might as well invite them round - giving them Bishnu's address, since our
house has neither a name nor a street-name, and we weren't in a position to point it out to them.
The taxi arrived more or less on time today (having been forty minutes late yesterday), and we went on
to the school as usual. This time, to our surprise, there was no sign of Buddha. It certainly made things
a lot harder for us.
I was lucky that my kids were quite happy to skip and play football today, as I have managed to catch a
proper head cold - in India, of all places! - and didn't really feel up to leading too many active games.
Clemmie's little ones joined us for some of playtime, so that we could do the hokey kokey together (my
bigger kids are better at showing them how to make a circle and join in properly). After that, we went
into the school, and started on a lesson. We cover the same ground every time, and they learn more
and more. My class seemed smaller than usual today - maybe there was something going on in the
village, which would explain Buddha's absence - but it was full of those who actually wanted to learn,
and they were very quick and responsive.
I rounded off the lesson by getting out the blackboards -- the kids automatically write their name on the
bottom of their work, so it's a good way of getting to know them without asking too directly (I feel a
little embarrassed doing that after having known them for over a week). Shortly after, a couple of men
came up from the village to take them home. We didn't sing the final song, because without Buddha's
help, it would have been impossible to get them into lines.
This evening, our new friends from the university came round about seven - causing much more of a
stir than we had expected. I gave them Bishnu's address perfectly innocently, just thinking it would be
easier for them to find, and forgetting that the complex has guards on the gates. It turned out that the
poor lads had to make an entry in the record books, and they were fussing over that for quite some
time - when we were only going to stay in the flat for five minutes anyway. Almost as soon as the
record had been filled out, we left again, showing them the way to our own apartment. There, we sat
out on the roof (so as not to disturb the family next door) with a guttering candle, and just chatted. The
candle soon blew out, but it didn't actually matter, because there were storms going on all around us,
and the lightning constantly lit up the sky. It was an absolutely fantastic way to spend an evening - up
there, surrounded by the elements - but we parted ways before the rains came, so that they could get
back to their own place safe and dry.

Thursday, 28th June 2007

Having intended to spend the morning shopping in Shantiniketan and Bolpur, we ended up staying in
our neighbours' house instead. I was wearing a traditional top I had bought in Amar Kutir, and they
caught sight of it and chivvied us inside to have a look at something ... It turned out that the lady next
door works in handicrafts, making similar clothes. They pressed us to try them on, but - not being built
to an Indian scale - we found we were much too big. Once we had admired the clothes, they fetched
out the photo albums to show us - a wedding, a holiday, little else - and then served us up a dish of
spicy puffed rice. It seemed rude to refuse, although we were parched by the time we finished eating,
but we were later warned that we shouldn't accept any food from them, as it might contain black
magic! (We're told it's common around these parts.)
As we arrived at the school in the afternoon, we heard the sound of drumbeats again - another
wedding in the village. Along with Bishnu and a handful of the younger children, we went straight up to
the village to see it. It was a wonderful experience - although being somewhat under the weather, I
didn't have a chance to enjoy the tribal alcohol this time around - and a real privilege. I brought my
camera, and showed some of my pupils how to use it. It really took off! The one thing they had a
problem with was winding it on.

While we were in the village, it began to bucket down - the heaviest rain we have seen yet. It was a
magnificent spectacle, but what we saw when we got back to the school left us stunned. The whole of
the front had been washed away - paint gone, pillars eroded, floor missing. It is like so much else here:
although they have something, it's never much, and it's always fragile. The clothes the children wear -
the occasional kid has two sets, and the others swap around (which led to me getting confused with
names before I realised), but there are always big tears in the seams, and the zips are missing, and
the size is not quite right. The big beaming smiles - but with traces of blood around the teeth, because
there's no dental or medical care here. There's so much more the project could bring to the tribe, but
it's going to be an uphill challenge to get there.

Bishnu was back from Calcutta today, so even though Buddha wasn't there, we were able to maintain
order in the classroom. Song and pictures were the order of the day, as usual. My clothes were
absolutely filthy, because we had been playing out in the rain-soaked fields beforehand. I'm sure the
kids must find me quite ridiculous. But they are so lovely and so keen that nothing else really matters.

Friday, 29th June 2007

We finally got our shopping done today, and came back with all manner of gifts and trinkets, not least
of which were two stunning floral umbrellas -- a present from First Light. They were so fetching that I
decided I would have to get another one for my sister: when we go back home, they will be extremely
unusual and eye-catching. It is much better value shopping in Shantiniketan than Calcutta: everything
here is made for the locals, and so prices are much more realistic. Compared to home, of course, they
are absolute bargains.
This was my last afternoon at the school. I enjoyed every minute of it, although at playtime the kids ran
me completely off my feet. They were teaching me one of their very own games - I think they called it
"Chuu di" - which basically involved chasing people and shouting "Chuuuuuuu!" until you caught them.
Needless to say, I was rather poor at it, and kept getting caught! I brought my camera again, hoping to
get as many pictures as possible, and the kids were delighted. Suredhene and Suma took control of it
straight away, barking at the others to get them into and out of the photo when they wanted. Their
monopoly didn't last long, however -- everyone was clamouring to use it, three or four of them peering
through the viewfinder at the same time. We got through a whole disposable camera in one afternoon!
When the lesson started, I had a slight problem. Buddha distributed the blackboards at the very start of
the lesson, and I got the feeling I'd never be able to collect them in again. I let them play for a while, and
sat and read with the ones who hadn't managed to get a blackboard (there aren't quite enough to go
round), and when the book was finished, I made an attempt at collecting up the boards.
To my amazement, it worked. I actually had their attention for half an hour of Old Macdonald and Ten
Green Bottles, before it was time for a couple more photos and the prayer song. While the photos were
being taken, the girls tried to teach me and Clemmie more Bangla. After a while, though, they started
giggling. What was going on? I worked it out when the word for hair was nothing like the one I knew.
They were teaching us their own language too!
The children got into lines quite willingly for the prayer song.Those who lead it are getting more
confident. But seeing as it was my last day, I snuck onto the back of the big girls' line, folded my hands
just like them and sang along. Having heard the song every day, it wasn't hard to pick up - although I
had no clue what I was actually saying! Whenever Manju caught sight of me, I just wiggled my
eyebrows and grinned at her, and she giggled back and got on with the singing. I think they were quite
happy for us to join in, though - they were certainly gesturing at Clemmie to come down and stand, too!
Being more sensible than me, though, she turned that one down.
I was devastated to leave the school for the final time. I really want to come back here now - or rather,
never to have to leave. They were all saying "See you Monday!" and I had to say "No, no." "Tuesday?"
"No. England." "England? Eh ...." But Bishnu assures me I'd always be welcome - stay as long as you
like! - and I certainly intend to take him up on that.