A Rogue's Daughter

2011-12-29T20:37:00.000-09:00

As recently as three, maybe four years ago, I struggled withmy own perceptions of ‘my generation’. I found abundant ways to criticize my peers, and myself, for ourtrivialities, our banalities, our bizarre tendencies to interact in abstractways, our apathy. I was annoyed by oureagerness to wallow in premature nostalgia for the decade in which we wereborn. I was disgusted by ournarcissism. I hated the way we embracethe voyeurism that the internet allows us. I scoffed at the self-gratifying memoir-writing, blog-posting,accomplishment-announcing, trauma-glorifying proclamations we make. I sorrowed over the way we fomentedjealousy, arrogance and neediness by gorging on each others triumphs, setbacksand compliments. I felt angry that ourparents sheltered us, coddled us, told us that we could do anything wewanted, to the point that we all believe that we were really, trulyspecial. And, typical of all theaforementioned, I was even sad that we, that my generation, grew up in a timeof plenty, unchallenged by any outside forces or events to demand of us, and indoing so, define us.

It wasn’t until very recently, maybe three, four months ago,that I realized how grateful I am for all of this.

Last September, I moved to a new town, something that usedto be a regular habit of mine. I hadn’tdone that for several years. I had a hard time the task of finding a job in a strange place, somethingthat I have also done quite a few times before, albeit not during a recession. Suddenly all of the stories I’ve heard aboutthe unemployed became a little more real to me. I have to qualify that statement, because I have a few thingsthat diminish the specter of long term unemployment: I do not have kids (and the responsibility to provide forthem). I am not middle-aged. I have no debt (thank you,scholarships). I have three totallydifferent, viable resumes. The panicsthat I felt must have been a mere shadow of the terror that some people areliving. To wake up, and have maybe anhour or two of bright happiness with your family where you don’t think aboutthe rest of your day: an afternoontinged with desperation, filled with resume-submitting, phone-call making, andinternet-searching. This is followed bya sleepless night of panicked realizations and absolute, crushinghopelessness. Every day. Over and over again.

We are in the middle of a recession, staring at thepossibility of years more of it, with even further to fall. Am I happy that my generation spends a lotof their time waiting for their recognition? Feeling entitled and disproportionately special compared to the nextperson? YES, yes I am. For the first time, there is somethingdemanded of us. We have to crawl out ofour massive debt, and pay, for the rest of our lives, taxes to take care of ouraging parents, without any promise of the same resources to care for us. We have a fragile environment that we willcontinue to rely on, and resources to stretch thin. We are not going to have the life our parents had. To get through this, we are going to have to be more creative,more resourceful, more forward thinking and more self-sacrificing than we havepreviously been capable of. For thefirst time, we have a chance to prove ourselves and maybe, someday, probablynot in our lifetimes, earn the recognition that we are all accustomed to anddesire.

Will my generation be able to do it? I don’t know, but at least our own greatnessis one thing in which we all believe. Its a start, of sorts.

Here's hoping that we can live up to that.

Book Club

2011-11-02T11:33:00.000-08:00

Last month I had the privilege of attending a book club meeting – wonderful because I was invited by a distant family member that I’d like to get to know, wonderful because I don’t have a lot of human interaction to fill my weekdays, and wonderful because all of the women are in their 70s and 80s and have been friends for many years. I felt exquisitely lucky to be invited into a circle that familiar and established.

The book was "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot. I highly recommend it. The themes are compelling: doctor-patient ethics, racism, poverty, cervical cancer, the history of cellular biology (more interesting than you might assume). Of course, with topics that edgy, in a group of people who were essentially strangers to me, I had no idea what to expect.

One of the first things mentioned in the discussion was vaginal self-examinations: “Women didn’t palpate their own vaginas in the ‘50s, let alone talk about them.” It took me a moment to recover from the shock of hearing a graceful 80-year-old woman say ‘vagina’ over coffee and cake. The next youngest woman in the room had 50 years on me, so it was exciting to hear first hand accounts of growing up in such a different time. Especially when it was so honest.

At that point I still could not get a feel for their political or social affiliations. The eldest woman there had studied biology in college in the 1940s. By that point, she said, they still hadn’t discovered a cell’s nucleus. The ability to magnify was not far enough along. She talked about how quickly the science progressed while she was studying, and how far it had advanced today. She groaned, “And don’t get me started on stem cell research!”

All of the women shook their heads in disgust. Uh oh. Obviously this was a point they all agreed on. She continued, “I have some choice words about those politicians blocking those initiatives, but I don’t want to be rude.” Whew. She then related a story she’d recently read, about a boy who had the first stem cell trachea replacement. It had saved his life.

That woman not only had a degree in Biology during a time when few women were in college, but she went on for her Master’s in Environmental Biology from UCSB. Incredible.

We talked about political demonstrations: “We should put our bodies where our mouths are and head to De La Guerra Plaza” (in reference to Occupy Santa Barbara), and about capital punishment: “I don’t believe in capital punishment. He is just a young confused man.” This was said by a woman whose son had been murdered ten years ago, in reference to his killer. Several of the ladies disagreed, threatening to strangle the perpetrator themselves if they ever met him.

Who are these ladies? They were so educated, so progressive, so welcoming. And honestly, who casually uses the word ‘palpate’ outside of a hospital? What secret bastion of liberalism had I stumbled into? I must admit that I felt more interested in their personal stories than discussing the book. I was tickled to be there. I was hooked.

Our next book is T.C. Boyle’s "Tortilla Curtain" (YES! They invited me back!). Many of the ladies had already read it, but were more than willing to read it again. “After all,” one said, “he is a local boy.”

I knew his name, had I read one of his books? And he was local? The exhilarating sensation I’d felt a number of times since moving down here – the feeling of having access, to being so close to people, events, locations, rushed to my head. I’ve had a hard time describing what it feels like to grow up in Alaska. There is a sense of disconnect, as though everything that happens in the Lower 48 is abstract and sometimes impersonal. Events often feel as far away as they physically are, despite the immediacy of news and communication. The thing is, I don’t actually mind. Sometimes a little detachment can be refreshing. But now that I live in California again, in Southern California no less, I am trying to cultivate every experience I can to make it feel familiar, engaging and fulfilling. This might be a symptom of growing up in a small town, but the fact that the author of the book I am reading lives relatively nearby makes it all the more enjoyable. It makes the book feel more accessible, and it makes me feel connected, however tenuously.

That is, in no small part, thanks to those amazing women.

Alaska Wish List

2009-03-23T20:00:00.003-08:00

There are sooo many things I would love to do in Alaska. When I think about them I get that really giddy, excited feeling that happens when I start daydreaming about places I'd like to go. Only this is even better because its in my own state, and therefore, feels more likely that I'll go on some of these trips. When I write about them I want to put it ALL IN CAPS AND USE LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!! but really that just seems like shouting and doesn't accurately represent my enthusiasm. Anyway.

1. Float the Copper River

Oh this one hurts a little, because I've had a couple of opportunities to go on this trip but couldn't because I was working. Put-in next to the fish wheels in Chitina and take out at the bridge outside of Cordova. It would be great to do it over 3-4 days, maybe stop and kite along the way. Hopefully the weather would be glorious and not crazy awful like it can be and hopefully the Alaska Bar in Cordova would happily greet us.

2. Kodiak

I know little, but I've heard there are some good kiting spots here. Plus, its the second biggest island in the US. Plus, I heard there is a King Crab Festival.

3. Yakutat

I could be wrong, but I heard that its the most isolated place in Alaska? I'd love to get there by boat. And even though I don't surf, it would be awesome to see someone else do it there.

4. Take state ferries from Prince Rupert all the way home

and stop in Ketchikan, Craig, SITKA, Juneau, Hoonah, Petersburg, Wrangell, Skagway, Haines.

5. Hike the Chilkoot Trail

6. Float the Talkeetna

Fly-in, enjoy non-coastal Alaskan summer weather, booze cruise.

7. Visit Katmai

Where you can see the bears up close.

8. Visit Nome for the end of the Iditarod

9. Kite Lake Iliamna

10. Drive the Dalton Highway

11. Camp on Kayak Island

12. Flight-see in the Wrangell St. Elias mountains

Election Day

2008-11-03T20:46:00.005-09:00

In 2000, when I was 16 and could not vote, I was fired up about the election. In 2001, after 9/11, it was even harder to keep emotion out of it when I argued with some of my classmates over whether or not the U.S. should turn the Middle East into a sheet of glass. In 2002, when I could finally vote, Fran Ulmer, one of the two most inspiring politicians I've ever witnessed, lost the Alaska gubernatorial race to Republican Frank Murkowski. She was a brilliant woman. She lost by 15%. It was crushing. Then, in 2004, I sent in my absentee ballot while living abroad in England, only to suffer through the shock, devastation and humiliation as George W. was re-elected.

There are so many things that should not even be on the radar of political discussion: 'links' to terrorists, shopping bills, religion, vice presidential candidates from Alaska. And yet, there they are. And here we sit, arguing over them. I feel like I'm beating my head into a wall, and am still torn between either walking away or trying to out-reason them. But I can't just let it go.

I'm an empathetic person, yet I'm still struggling to see the other side in many cases with this election. I really haven't heard anything solid from the opposition that didn't include bogus facts from an email forward or that didn't use catchy scare words like socialism, elitism or terrorism. Honestly though, I haven't really heard many arguments that also included civility and reason, which makes it quite a bit harder to respect someone's choices when they are different than mine. I'm using all my powers of logic and reasoning to try to understand why someone might not see what I am seeing, which is that Barack Obama is, far and away, the stronger, more intelligent, even-handed and capable candidate in this race. Obama is a politician with integrity. I'm saying that without a hint of irony. I'm saying that about a Presidential nominee. I'm saying that about someone running for President in a political climate that has become warped to the point of nonrecognition since 2000. Political monsters puppeteering ruthlessly ambitious figureheads have created a win-at-any-cost style of tactics, and We, the People, allowed this to happen. We have eaten up outright slander; we have forfeited our dignity and many personal freedoms. Its a small wonder that talking politics, which I cannot help but do, makes me feel ill. I've been cognizant of these things almost since the first year I was able to vote, and not only have I failed to do anything seemingly substantial, I have allowed it to nearly cripple me with cynicism. But no longer. I heard an acquaintance yesterday disparage people who felt righteous for voting, and who pointedly planned not to vote. It is a beautiful thing that we are allowed the choice to vote or not, and I find it condescending and ignorant to scoff at someone for reveling in their right to choose. In this instance, it also seems hypocritical, since the person obviously felt righteous in their choice NOT to choose.

Any respect I might have had for McCain, earned by the things he has accomplished during his career as a public servant, has been eroded by the bitter ugliness of his campaign, and by watching the lows to which he has stooped. How is it putting Country First by jeopardizing our safety by putting someone grossly underqualified to run this country one step away from the Presidency? At least the GOP lost their best argument against Obama and his lack of experience.

Part of me wants to pull up points as to why McCain is the wrong candidate, but I'm exhausted and am really just here to vent. I just know that the humiliation I felt in not being able to explain to my British friends and coworkers why Americans voted for Bush in 2004 will be nothing, NOTHING, compared to what I might feel if Obama loses today. Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover it. The mess that we are in, that we have been sliding into for the past 8... well, since Reagan, really... is deeper than it appears, and what our next President does determines so much. Our lives will change whether we desire it or not, not to mention our children's lives. We'll be paying for Bush's mistakes for the duration, no matter whose tax policies are implemented. I'm worried for our armed forces and how they will be treated abroad due to our torture and treatment of detainees. The year is 2008 and torture has been sanctioned! I'm concerned that our personal freedoms will continue to be curtailed.

I don't even like to acknowledge it, but one of the worst things about this election is the way it has revealed some of the ugliest things imaginable in people I had respected. Not only have I felt a blatant lack of civil dialogue, seen a blind pomposity that intentionally disregards anyone in opposition, and heard hateful, impassioned words too powerful to take back, I've found a malignant racism at the stripped down core of many windy arguments. And it breaks my heart. It really, really does.

I can't end this on that note, because I am full of hope. I've heard some extremely intelligent conservatives speak to points that resonate with me, which is more validating than anything I could have hoped to find in a room full of my politically like-minded peers. There are people, the true victims of Bush's cabinet, whose kids were Left Behind, who had to foreclose on their houses, who cannot afford health care, who haven't given up hope, either. There are people who make over $250,000 a year who can define socialism as a political agenda (and don't want it) who are still voting for Obama and who love America enough to acknowledge that this is the best option out there. And I, a socially liberal, fiscally moderate young American, am trying my 'doggone' hardest not to dismiss anyone else for their political beliefs, and it is not easy. At times I've been so filled with disgust I can hardly breathe. Because Obama, who isn't perfect, still believes in those who deride him, still listens to those who criticize him, and doesn't turn his back on those who hate him. And that is something I can believe in.

150 Rupees

2008-04-07T10:09:00.017-08:00

150 rupees roughly equals about $3.75, and for arbitrary reasons, I've decided to compile a list of my favorite purchases we've made for this amount, in no particular order.

1. Becca's Nose Piercing.

Probably the best bang for your rupee of the whole trip. We all talked about getting our noses pierced here since it "enhances your beauty" so much and woman of all ages have theirs pierced. Yet Becca was the only one who actually followed through. She's a bold girl. We randomly walked into a silver souvenir shop in Udaipur and the man pierced it by poking the earring through with his hand. For sanitizing it he used this mysterious liquid called Dettol which, incidentally, is also used as a mouth wash, clothing wash, kitchen cleaner, 1st Aid antiseptic and shaving cream amongst other things. Then he stuck a pair of pliers up her nose to curl the wire end in a half circle. It might sound rough, but it looks great.

Becca and the Dettol

2. Peanut Butter.
Hands down, one of my favorite things about traveling is eating. And Indian cuisine is as diverse as the country is and amazingly delicious, but I've been sicker here than I've ever been anywhere else and, at times, eating the food that Ranjith cooks at the orphanage is a chore. The day after one bout of illness, which involved me throwing up all night, he promised me that he'd cook 'plain rice with vegetables with no oil'. For some reason this included fried cumin, pepper, mustard seed and several other seasonings along with ghee (a buttery substance). I'm not sure how frying vegetables before stirring them into rice follows his 'no oil' rule, but then again, his rules are fairly relative. And yes, 150 rupees is quite a bit to spend on a teeny jar of peanut butter, but after one month of eating nothing but Indian food, it tasted like heaven.

Sumathy and her first taste of peanut butter (on a banana)

3. 30 Cups of Chai.

On the train ride to Delhi we had our first chai experience, since Ranjith and Sumathy don't consume anything with caffeine in it and we never had any while at the orphanage. It was like drinking magic. I have tea all day everyday at home and had some high hopes for Indian chai, and they were fulfilled in every way, and initially, they were fulfilled 30 times by the four of us on our 36 hour train ride. At 5 rupees a cup, we saw no need to hold back.

4. Camel Riding Outfits.
We left on our camel adventure out of Jaisalmer on my birthday, but before we did, Becca, Kate and Ali surprised me with special outfits for the outing. We all wore t-shirts with roaring lions on the front and Aladdin-style pants. I was so excited that we got to look as cool as we felt. And technically I wasn't supposed to know how much they cost but when I started listing items that made the 150 rupee mark, they felt that this should be included.

Signs of an oasis in the desert

Loungin in the coolest pants around

5. Kingfisher Beer.

I never expected to pay $3.75 for a beer here but in Delhi there is a steep alcohol tax that jacked up the price on the 650 ml bottles of Kingfisher. We didn't hesitate to cough it up for our first alcoholic beverage in one month, and had plenty of time to enjoy the 60 rupee ($1.50) Kingfishers in Goa. Even though Indian beer is nothing to write home about, it was pretty heavenly in that moment.

6. A Sunset Boat Ride with Paradise Cruises.

This is probably my favorite 150 rupee purchase. While in the state of Goa we spent some time in their capital city, Panaji, a coastal city that is also bordered by a river. Meandering around we found a boat leaving for a sunset cruise with "traditional Goan dancing and fun for all ages". I was mainly excited for the theater-style popcorn and beer, and was unimpressed with the traditional Goan dances. The real treat of the ride, though, was that between each 'performance' a DJ got up on stage and invited different groups from the audience to dance to song. All the children got up for the children's dance, the couples for their own song, then the gents and finally the ladies. The gents stole the show in the indescribable way that Indian men dance - jumping, twisting, throwing their arms in the air and waving their hands, thrusting their pelvises and kicking their legs (is there anything they don't do?). There is definitely nothing like it at home. This video does not do it justice.

7. New Sunglasses.
My new sunglasses are not impressive in and of themselves, but I needed them in a hurry since we were vacationing on the beach and I lost my sunglasses at a bus station. To be more specific, I lost them in the restroom at a bus station. To be even more specific, they fell off my head and down the hole of the squat toilet I was about to use. Out of reflex I reached for them since I could still see them down the hole, but pulled my hand back. Maybe a thriftier traveler would have toughed it out and gone fishing for them, and I did debate it for a second, but in the end I decided that I would probably never feel fully comfortable putting them on my face no matter how many times I cleaned them. Plus there was no running water at hand to rinse them with.

The new shades

8. Indian Veg Meal in Delhi.

It was all vegetarian dishes, naan, rice and chai and cost less then $4.00 between the 4 of us. By far the cheapest meal we had and it was my favorite during our trip north.

Much more appetizing than it looks

9. My Nightdress.

Its not called a muumuu, its a nightdress. Its damn sexy. And, as they say, 'When in India, dress as the Indian housewives do'.

10. Beach Hut in Goa.
You just can't beat a cheap shack on a beautiful beach.

Back to Paradise

2008-03-18T08:13:00.014-08:00

We got back earlier this week from our two week break, which was so much fun - we traveled to Delhi by train (36 hours) and returned via plane (2.5 hours). I recommend both. In between we saw the Taj Mahal, celebrated my 24th birthday in the desert on a camel safari, met a Guru and shopped way too much amongst other things. Most of our time was spent on a desert 'road trip' through the state of Rajasthan with Jamil, the guide/driver we hired for his amusing taste in music (he has the dance club remixes of every major pop song of the last 10 years). That didn't stop him from trying to strike up an awkward intimacy with us. I guess the futility of any attempts to become buddy-buddy or buddy-boyfriend with four Western girls when 1. you're an Indian man trying to overcome the cultural differences in one week, 2. you're an Indian man who is also temporarily employed by said girls, 3. you're an Indian man employed by said girls and hardly reach higher than the shortest girl's armpit, was completely lost on him. Becca and Kate think he was 5' even, I think he was a little bit below, but either way, he did a good job showing us around and did no harm by us. The two weeks went by way too fast and sadly, Team Ranj is no longer unified as Ali headed to Indonesia to meet up with a friend.

Taj-tastic Team Ranj

My 24th (or the night before). Ok, Jamil might be over 5'.

ROAR! (Team Ranj's mascot is a lion)

Our mighty steeds.

Shopping for carpets in Jaipur.

After the desert, Chennai greeted us like a moist slap in the face - it had been raining for three days even though we are in the midst of the dry/hot season. It has been a hectic first week back with several trips to the hospital, a wedding, a fundraising trip to Sumathy's old company, plus Kate and I were knocked on our asses one after the other by several more of India's gut attacks.
But I have to mention more about the wedding because this one was particularly amusing. It had been a really long day at the orphanage, none of us had any clean outfits and we were not in any mood to go anywhere and smile awkwardly. We trooped up anyway and put on our least dirty salwar kamiz (a long tunic over matching aladdin-ish pants with a scarf worn to obscure the view of your boobs), and some bangles to try and look presentable. Weddings are a HUGE deal in India; families will spend entire fortunes marrying off their daughters and the shame of not doing it properly (with fancy enough food, a big enough wedding venue, new wedding sarees and jewellry for all female members, music, fireworks, etc, etc, etc) or not being able to do it at all is enough to drive people to suicide. It sounds like one of those dramatic phrases but seriously, people will kill themselves over it. I get the impression that that is more common in rural areas, but with the 7 million + people in Chennai's greater area there are always multiple suicide listings everyday in the paper. Weddings with over 1,000 guests are considered standard, 50,000 is not unheard if you're really important. Anyway, we rolled up in our autorickshaw looking pretty unimpressive in front of this towering wedding venue all lit up with Vegas-style blinking lights. Ranjith's good friend was getting married the following morning, and they celebrate the reception before the ceremony, when the bulk of the party occurs. And by party I mean the couple stands on an elaborately decorated stage and greets each guest and takes a photo with them, without smiling. I'm not sure why they don't smile. I guess if I had to hold a grin for four hours of shaking hands my face would get tired, too. I've seen the fruit of these cameramen's work at a few homes now - everyone has mountains of customized photo albums full of these pictures where the bride and groom's heads are floating in clouds with catchy English phrases like 'Great Day' and 'Have a Nice Day' written in fancy fonts on top. Other cameramen walk around and film the audience, who sip juice, watch this slow conga line of well-wishers, and pretend that this hot, blinding camera light is not two feet from their faces. We've been to three weddings now, and have been the freak side show attraction at each circus.
Ranjith ushered us toward some seats, where some people turned their attention away from the procession to eye up the three tall, sweaty and pale foreignors. I was given some delicious fresh-made juice, and tried to lean away from the four balloons the little kids behind me were rubbing into my hair. A couple of performers sang upbeat Tamil songs to a synthesizer turned up to a deafening volume. The lights were blinking, the women looked beautiful in gold-threaded saree's, matching bangles and bindis and their thick hair oiled in perfect braids, and there was a person standing in the doorway dressed up in a Mickey Mouse-like costume, except that the body had a huge belly and a shrunken head with eyes that looked like the masked killer in the movie Scream. Creepy wedding circus.
Then, to perfect the illusion, we were handed a small bag of popcorn and cotton candy. We started giggling uncontrollably at the ridiculous of the situation, Ranjith turned around, laughed and told us that only children are given those snacks. As soon as we had made a proper mess of ourselves with it, the camera guy swooped in and filmed us awkwardly eating it. Then, like the true VIPs we are (?), we got to skip the line and congratulate the bride and groom and have our picture taken. Then we got to cut in line for food, too, where the head of the catering company hovered over our us and our banana leave plates, making sure "are you enjoying it?" and "would you like some more rice, sambar, paysum?" The groom's father, also a good friend of Ranjith's and a ridiculously nice man, came over to meet us and make sure we enjoyed the ice cream. Of course, the camera man was there to film us with our mouths open again, enjoying even more food. Then it was back upstairs for another cut in line and a photo with the groom's father and the happy, but unsmiling, couple.
It is really amazing that we've had the privilege of going to all these weddings. It is also really amazing that everyone has been as kind to us as they've been, what with our faux-pas of smiling for photos, never wearing our scarves correctly, tripping over our sarees, not being able to finish all our food and that first time when I threw the rose petals on the newly-weds with my left hand (the dirty hand, whoops).

Entrance to the venue.

Creepy bowing mannequin out front.

Oh, and we did return the next morning with about 12 of the kids for more photos (too late for the actual brief ceremony) and lunch, wearing the same exact outfits, which were still the cleanest things we had.

Filth

2008-02-21T01:17:00.002-09:00

Before I came to the orphanage I was afraid that I would feel utterly overwhelmed by the amount of poverty here, and on a daily basis. The statistics you hear about India are terrifying in that sense, and I did not know what it would be like, especially since I knew we would be living at the orphanage with the kids and seeing some of these sad situations up close. My real fear, though, was that our efforts to 'help out' and volunteer our time and energy would feel... pointless. There truly is a mountain of poverty here, although you never face the enormity of it all at once. I did not think I would feel entirely pointless, of course, I was just afraid that we'd only be kicking around some pebbles at the foot of this mountain. Even though it is difficult to put into words exactly what we do each day and how it contributes in a positive sense, it feels like we are doing good. The real mountain in my way is something else we could have anticipated (and did, in some ways).

India is, without a doubt, the filthiest place I've ever been. We talked about it before we came, we heard the stories, we didn't really bring any clothing we are attached to. I've been to numerous places where the side of the road is the trash bin, and we aren't doing so many double takes when we see people taking a shit anywhere they like. The air pollution in Chennai is horrendous, but even that isn't a huge concern for us since the orphanage is on the outskirts of the city next to a small lake. The problem is in the actual orphanage. Imagine 43 kids, 19 of which are under 3 and not potty trained. Who do not wear diapers. Combine piles of yellow (thanks to the milk, rice and random vegetable diet) semi-firm poop and baby diarrhea with the orange dirt of the ground surrounding the buildings. Wipe it up with some old newspaper or baby clothing. Scatter it around with some small hand brooms. Disinfect once a day with an old mop and a small amount of soap, if that. Let the ravens poop here and there. You can't wear shoes. For the children: eat and sleep on these same tiles. Try not to get sick.

Earlier this week we realized how badly we needed a vacation during one of the multiple 'baby mayhem' sessions that happen daily. Kate, who has turned into 'Dr. Sis-tah' with the band-aids and gauze, and I had the singularly upsetting privilege of trying to clean some of the infected ears of the babies. The day before we arrived, four weeks ago, they had a special day where they blessed the new building and pierced all the ears of the kids. Those ears haven't been cleaned since, and the majority of the kids have terrible cuts from the earrings snagging on clothing. After sleeping on the floor their ears are badly infected, and I'm not sure if it is simply from the earrings or if it is due to their head colds since snot is oozing from both their noses and ears. The smell is unbelievable. Sometimes it makes me nauseated just to hold them on my hip because the smell is so bad. So Kate and I attempted to remove some of these earrings from their poor, mangled, infected ears. Since we have no children of our own, don't work in hospitals, and never had to inflict pain on small children while working for Parks and Rec, it was entirely upsetting to hold a child writhing in pain while you remove a piece of metal from an open wound. Good news is that now, four days later, most of their ears are looking healthy (and much less smelly).

Other good news is that the four of us are heading to Delhi tonight for two weeks of adventuring and whatever vacation we can manage (I wouldn't call traveling in India a walk in the park). We're so excited.

2008-02-18T01:47:00.002-09:00

Ranjith is either the most engaging/competitive person in the world or else he takes pleasure in the embarrassing the crap out of us. Before Ali and Becca (Kate's cousin) arrived earlier this week, we were asked to sing after dinner. I'm sure that the looks on our faces was priceless on its own, but hearing us "sing" the Star-Spangled Banner after stalling for 20 minutes was pretty hilarious as well. Using the same creativity at a moment's notice that led us to choose indiaorphanage@gmail.com and http://www.katesusanindia.blogspot.com/ as our email and web address, we chose a song that was 1. out of our vocal range 2. that they already knew and 3. we goofed on the lyrics (sorry, America!). They said they'd rather not hear our national anthem again. We squeaked out "Fire and Rain" by James Taylor, where Kate had to carry most of the weight since I kept forgetting the lyrics, then I busted out "Sitting by the Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding. Sumathy and Ranjith (who, of course, has won all sorts of awards for his singing abilities) sang us a few traditional Tamil songs which were, of course, beautiful. If only I was one of the those people who can't wait for someone to ask them to sing to show off their voice. We went to bed laughing at the situation as yet another 'only in India' moment. Little did we know that we would be called upon to sing at multiple occasions in the following weeks - as guests at a neighbor's home (we sang 'You Are My Sunshine'), in front of a crowd of 15 adult female visitors to the orphanage (a version of 'Amazing Grace' where Ali left Kate and I hanging) and finally in a taxi home where we found our voices and sang, without request, 'Because You Love Me' by Celine Dion. Beautiful things.

So. Badminton. Shuttlecock. Whatever. Ranjith and Sumathy both revel in this game and I've seen line-judging taken to new heights and record-long arguments on our dirt court at the orphanage. The best is when they get so intent on winning during our doubles games that they tell whichever American partner they have (me, Kate, Ali or Becca) to just stand in a corner and cover a 1x1 foot area while they proceed to annihilate their opponent. The whispered directions of "aim for so-and-so" comes up often, and I know I have been both directed like this and also on the receiving end of many of these attacks. I usually beg off when the mosquitoes get bad just so I can watch and laugh. We're definitely a great source of amusement for them, but its alright because we find it pretty hilarious too.

Another thing that Ranjith loves to do is prescribe his herbal medicines. We've been told that we could darken our hair shades and flatten our stomachs by eating curry leaves every day for a minimum of six months. When I had a sore throat I had the distinct pleasure of eating a 1/2 cup full of dry cumin seeds. It also seems that half of his herbal garden is "good for the digestion" and yet Kate and I, and now Ali and Becca as well, have had no such luck with this claim. He will call us into the office room, have us hold out our hands, and dump in them a sweet-smelling green oil that is "cooling for the scalp". I think our recent favorite, which hopefully he'll bust out on Ali and Becca, is the aloe leaves. He'd been threatening to improve our complexions since the third day we'd been there and finally, after lunch one day, he split open a few aloe leaves and passed us some small squares. We gingerly began rubbing our faces with them but obviously were not doing a very decent job because he came over, took my piece out of my hand and started rubbing it all over my face and eyes like I was one of the little kids. I started giggling while he did the same to Kate until he came back over with a fresh piece and started scrubbing it into my hair. After about 20 minutes Kate and I looked like a couple of rats that had drowned in a sticky vat of aloe. Kate asked "so, we can go shower now?" and he said "no, no, minimum 2 hours". So we got to go outside and paint the gate as little pieces of aloe guts would fall off as soon as we forgot it was there.

Brownie

2008-02-04T22:45:00.000-09:00

That is the name of the nasty guard dog that lives at the orphanage, who likes the children but no one else. If Kate or I so much as glance at him he starts growling. I'm not sure how he does it, but he manages to get loose sometimes, and the kids start running around and screaming "Sist-ah, sist-ah! Brownie!" This is a good time to run inside a room or high enough where he can't get to us. This kids love how dramatic it all is, but Kate and I are not too eager to find out what he would do if he saw us when he wasn't tied up.

So Kate and I did get sick earlier last week, I think it was the third day we were here, and so we had a day where we hardly left the bed except to be sick in the bathroom. We're not sure what it was, probably just getting used to the food. We felt fine the next day. The only bad thing is that, when you are served food by someone here, it is very rude not to finish everything in front of you, and ask for more. And they heap the food on. Normally when you get sick you don't have to eat the food that you threw up for the next five meals. That was rough, but we are pretty much used to the food now and I'm really starting to enjoy it. Everything except the yellow seasoning that I could taste every time I was sick. Ranjith showed us how to cook some things yesterday, which was pretty neat.

We were invited to a wedding this weekend so we will get to wear our new saree's. I'm so excited. The state we are in, Tamil Nadu, is very conservative, so no shorts, no tank tops. I think I forgot to mention that it is in the upper 80s most days with 95% humidity. But we stay pretty cool since we are in the shade most of the day. Mollie, I meant to thank you for the long skirt you gave me, it is perfect. The first night I wore it Dina, a 10 year old boy, really liked it. He said, "Sist-ah. Skirt, very super!" So thanks.

Hope everyone is well at home.

2008-02-03T04:36:00.000-09:00

Where to begin? I think that we are just now finding something that resembles a rhythm, and the shyer kids are starting to respond to us as familiar people, which is an amazingly gratifying feeling.
I just have to tell this one boy's story because I can't help it, he's a favorite. His name is Surya and he is 3 years old, and he is incredibly smart. He was very shy at first, every time you would smile at him he would kind of bow his head and rub his right hand over his right eye and the right side of his face. It looks like he's rubbing the sleep out of his eye, but its more of a nervous habit. Once he got used to us, he has the funnest personality - really silly and animated but also a very hard worker and he listens really well to the older kids. The thing about Surya is that, when he was just a few days old, he was left in a gutter drain, where he survived for over a week by drinking the sewage water. When he was picked up, the entire right side of his face was rotted flesh, hence the nervous touch to his weak spot. They had to do a skin graft from another part of his body to help the skin grow back, and there is only a slightly different-looking area near his hairline. Unbelievable. And there are dozens of stories that are equally amazing.
The evenings have been characterized by lengthy discussions with Ranjith and Sumathy, some badminton (or shuttlecock) tournaments where we have gotten our asses handed to us pretty much every time, gin rummy and any other game that Ranjith wants us to teach him so that he can master it and beat us at it. They are super competitive and he has a crazy focus, so when he learns something he has to be the absolute best at it. But he is such a generous and fun person that it doesn't make you resentful.
I'd write more but Vengay, our 13 year old guardian on our internet outing, is looking a little bored and the autorickshaw is waiting.

Day 2

2008-01-27T21:45:00.000-09:00

So I was pooped on less than 45 minutes ago.

I wish I could have written one more entry before I arrived so that I had a recording of my frantic energy and attempts to clear my mind of expectations and the like. I really wanted to try not to imagine this place as anywhere I had ever been, make the obvious culture comparisons and judgements and also not delude myself into thinking that I could ever "get a handle" on the place (which I won't). Right now I'm just trying to keep my head.

In a few minutes Kate, Sumathy (one half of the Indian couple who runs the orphanage), and our new friend Chris, an amazing girl from Idaho, are going to go get some sari's, which will come in handy since my only real pair of pants I brought have infant diarrhea on them. Okay, so I guess it made it a little less horrible since the little 4 month old girl who pooped on me is one of the most adorable creatures I've ever seen, and yes, this was only the first time it happened and I anticipate many more to come. They don't wear diapers, so walking barefoot around the orphanage (no shoes inside) is an adventure in and of itself.

So Ranjith and Sumathy run this place, called Bala Gurukulam, and they are the only orphanage in south India that takes in infants. These kids' stories of how they were found are absolutely heartbreaking. There are 43 kids, and I have never seen anything like it. The older kids (even the 5 year olds) take care of all the babies, and take care of the place. I just can't believe I'm seeing a kid barely out of diapers (or diaper wearing age, since they rarely wear them) walking around, wiping the noses of the toddlers or cleaning up vomit. Its incredible. And they are so happy. Its a miracle what Ranjith and Sumathy are doing. Apparently, as we've learned from Chris, who has some of the craziest travel-orphanage-leper colony stories I've ever heard, this place is the cream of the Indian orphanage crop. We are so damn lucky that we found a place that is actually legit, and two Indians that we can trust. I know it sounds horrible and one of my 'objectives' before coming here was not to make too many generalizations, but so much for that.

Kate and I are really excited and shellshocked. Still getting used to the no toilet paper (although we have access to a sit down toilet, which is exciting), eating off banana leaves on the floor using only the right hand, changing a 'yes' nod into the 'yes' head bobble and trying not to make eye contact with any men. But oh my God those orphans are amazing, and we are already so in love with them. Our jobs are basically to hold the babies a lot, teach the slightly older kids English, and comfort them if they wake up in the night.

So, basically, aside from the crazy malaria filled mosquitoes, the guarantee of having some lice of our own very soon, and the threat of hepatitus, we are safe, sound and well taken care of. I'll try to post some photos soon.

Passports and Phones

2008-01-23T12:06:00.000-09:00

I suppose its been pretty standard for me to start a trip feeling a little unprepared, but I can't say that I've ever been this close to leaving the country without actually having my passport in hand. Right now I'm supposed to fly out of LAX in less than 48 hours and my passport is probably in a FedEx sorting bin in Anchorage, eagerly awaiting a flight to California and a glorious and tear-filled reunion with its owner, preferably prior to my Friday morning departure. I could go into great depth about how this situation was only in small part my fault; I could rant about the ineptitude of the San Francisco office of the Indian Embassy; I could mention how guilty I feel about once again saddling my Mom with the extremely stressful burden of sorting out some random business-related thing while I am out of the country or on my way there (thanks again and I'm so sorry, Mom). But I think I'll take this moment to rant about what is, arguably, my favorite topic of late to get truly angry over.

Ah yes, Cingular. I so wish that it was something nobler, something on which I could justify spending immense amounts of time and emotional energy. But no, its Cingular. Today I ended our 2.5 year relationship via Customer Service Operator Michael Setzer and his ex-Marine supervisor, Rachel Smith. Like a proper lovers' quarrel, and like many of our quarrels past, we played a three day game of phone tag (although usually I was the only one to call back) and, as usual, I ended up caving in and paying a portion of an entirely unjust fee. Now I hope that I'm not the only one who finds it ridiculous that a $36 'shut off' fee is charged if you want to pause service while abroad. That's $36 in addition to your normal monthly payments. Maybe I'm just crazy, but even Michael Setzer was in agreement about this one. So then I turned into "screeching shrew" mode, saying how terrible my service had been, how past operators had promised the moon and never delivered, how I was terminating service and never EVER going to use Cingular again. And so Michael Setzer promised me the moon and seemingly, made a genuine attempt at it. I tried faxing proof of my Alaska residency (car title, pay stub, W-2, voter registration card) which would have, effectively, forced them to cease service and not charge me the $175 contract-termination fee. Mr. Setzer said he truly believed me when I said that I lived in Alaska, but since I had no way of delivering them a utility, gas or electric bill with my name on it (the only accepted proof of residency documents that the Cingular Relocation Dept accepts), his "Nazi" former-Marine boss said no to his request. This was my evening fun for the past two evenings, and tonight I accepted a proposal from Michael Setzer. I could pay half of the $175 cancellation fee right then or try to drum up the appropriate documents. Since I am leaving shortly and simply don't like being that angry, I totally caved and gave the bastards half the fee to end our affair. C'est l'amour.