Aisa hai ki...the thing is that

I spent a good portion of yesterday in front of my computer, hacking away at my rough draft which I have to turn in in only 10 days. It was a change of pace for me, as I almost never spend my days in front of a computer here, so my brain was a little fried by the time the program house closed and mercifully made me pack up my things and go home. It was still light out, (side note, Champa Didi just brought me chai...without asking it always just appears. If you stay at the program house all day it appears at least 4 times. One day, I asked for a big mug of coffee in the afternoon, and now if I am here around 4 o’clock they always bring me a mug of coffee.) so I decided to take a little walk down to Ganga ji to watch the sun set over the river. I talked to my folks along the way, trying to describe everything that was happening around me, and knowing that there was no good way to even explain the sounds they could hear, let alone the things I could see happening around me. I tried, all the same, and kept getting confused and losing my train of thought because I would be telling one story and then want to explain the mob of 30 men on the ghats leaning over each other to see a few playing some betting card game, and then forget where I was in the story, and then see some guys fixing a fishing net and tell dad about that... I don’t generally feel like I am overstimulated here, but when I try to explain things to people who haven’t been here, I am amazed how much is always going on.

It has been a shamefully long time since I last wrote. It has gotten to the point where at the end of the day, often I don't feel like I did or saw or experienced anything particularly noteworthy. Then, I talk to someone at home and describe my day, and once again remember that everything here is noteworthy to someone who isn't here, and though I’m sure there are hundreds of things that I should write about, my mind is in research mode, so I will copy a few pages out of my research journal to explain to you what my life has been about lately:

I met Rukmini the first time I wandered into the little labor colony by the program house, which I have come to fondly call “the hood”. I was sitting on a white metal folding chair which had been offered to me on my arrival, apparently the only chair in the neighborhood. A mob of kids surrounded me, staring wide-eyed, and behind them all the men who were coming home after work joked with each other and semi-tried to talk to me. A few women stood behind everyone observing the situation. I tried to explain in my broken Hindi that I was a student from America, and I was doing research on water The idea seemed to make little sense to them, but Rukmini, a thin, small woman with an angular face and an old but nice ciffon sari said in a strong voice over the bustle, “Water is a very big problem for us,” and I thought, “I want to talk to YOU!” Then she left, bucket in hand, to go get some water for dinner. The next time I came back I looked for her. I was supposed to go to a meeting at the City Water Works, but just as I got up to leave she came home and offered me chai. Staying and having a cup of Rukminis chai trumped meeting with some high up government official, so I sat again. She sent her youngest son, maybe 3 years old, to get 2 rupees (4 cents) of sugar for my chai, appologizing that she couldn’t afford any milk, so the chai would be black. She brought me the steaming cup with some biscuits, then went back to her home, leaving me to keep chatting with Chotelal and his friends. They all offered to bring milk from their houses, one saying they had dried milk, another saying they had real, fresh milk, but I thanked them and so no, at home I always drink my chai black.

When I went back to the hood with Sanghamitra ji, Rukmini again offered us chai just as we were getting ready to go. She invted us into her house this time- one room made of bricks with a low corrugated steel roof. I could see light through the places where the wall met the roof, but still there was very little ventilation. It must be like an ofen in the summer. Inside there was one raised wooden bedstand, and two steel trunks. She sat on the floor next to the door, boiling our chai on a one burner gas stove. Abover her, was a clothesline piled with all of her and her two sons clothes. Rukmini has two sons, and has lived with them in the hood for 2 years. She washes people’s dishes for a living, searching for work from house to house every day. She pays 300 rupees (6 dollars) monthly for rent. Two years ago she came here to be with her husband who was working here and sending money back to the village where her family originally lived, and she found that he was living with another woman. Now he lives nearby with his mistress, and she lives here taking care of her boys by herself.

While we asked her about her life and her family until the chai was finished. She handed it to us in two metal cups, appologising again that there was no milk, and excused herself to go bathe her sons while we were drinking. She never drinks chai with me. She always says she has had some already.

Last time I went to the hood I brought samosas with me for Rukmini and her kids. I had asked her if she would sit with me for awhile and help me with my research. She thought it was weird, but seemed okay with the idea when I said that I had to write a paper, and my guru would be angry if I didn’t have some interviews. When I got there she invited me into her house, pushing her sleeping son to the side of the wooden bed so I could sit down and have some chai. A girl who lives next door came and helped answer my questions, and eventually another neighbor and his wife sat on the ground outside the door to listen in and give their opinions. We sat and talked about water for an hour and a half, and once I had finished asking all my questions most of the neighborhood kids had come home from school or work and were sitting around listening to us talk. One of the girls noticed my recorder, and asked what it was. I told her that it could record sounds and I could listen to them later. She asked me to show her, so I demonstrated, asking her to say something and playing it back to her. Rukmini then asked if she could sing a song. I happily agreed, and then she was shy and said that she wouldn’t...but after a little coaxing she did, and that little bit of recording is one of my favorite soundbites I have collected in all my time here. I wish I could upload it to this blog somehow.

On a completely different note, I was talking to my dili dost (friend of my heart, literally) Claire the other day when our program house monkey showed up to beg for a banana. She comes daily now, because she has found that there are many people here that are sympathetic to begging monkeys. She makes very cute noises, sort of squeaking, sort of just making noise...it is hard to explain. The first time I heard her I thought that there was a gurgling baby (human) in the other room. She comes in the morning when people are eating breakfast,

and sometimes at lunch when she can look in the door (which is covered by a metal grate/door thing) and holds on to the bars, staring at us with imploring eyes. She's pretty picky actually. She really loves bananas, but we found that she is completely uninterested in toast. The other day I gave her a khir ka dam, my favorite Indian sweet, and she picked it up, smelled it, and dropped it on the ground. I was sad. Anyway, I sent Claire a picture of her, along with a

picture of a pile of baby cows I took while walking home one day. I thought those might be nice to include here.

The monkey just came to the window as I was writing this, so I took a video of her so I could introduce you all to her. Enjoy.

Up until now, there have been 5 packages sent to me in the mail that haven't arrived here. I thought there were only 4, but Claire told me about one she sent as a surprise when I was talking to her. I have been discussing going to the post office today to try to find out what is happening. Vimal ji, my Hindi teacher, coached me today on what I should do. "Start in Hindi," he said, "at least to practice. Act really mad, and make a scene. I know you aren't the type to make a scene, but you won't get anything if you don't. Tell them how angry you are and that if something doesn't get done about it soon you will call your embassy. Always mention the embassy. That will really scare them. Nobody wants homeland security involved."

I have a sneaking suspician that there is some postal official somewhere that has eaten a lot of nice American chocolates. I'm going to try to focus on that to make myself really mad so I can actually do something to get my packages. The American Embassy wouldn't want for me to go without chocolates, after all.

This picture is of Vimal ji. He was acting as the head FBI agent trying to lure Osama Bin Laden to Benares so we could catch him. That was an interesting day in class. Don't let this make you think that Vimal ji is not always this stylish and intimidating. He is. Don't mess with him. He'll use some really amazing English vocabulary word that you don't understand, and you'll be so stunned he'll be able to do anything to you. Anything. Watch out.

If any of you ever send me, or anyone else something in India, keep the tracking number...for sure. Everyone but Vimal ji says it will be impossible for me to find anything without a number, and I should just forget about my packages...but they also say that they should really be coming, so I'm gonna go act mad anyway. Wish me luck.