Curry Jar-Jar's Mind Junk : The Education of Chloe

I never anticipated that so much would occur on a daily basis while I was living here. For example as I walked some of the children home two weeks ago an elderly lady approached me and started speaking Tamil. Immediately I looked to the eldest child and asked her to translate. The lady was explaining that she did not bear a son therefore she would like to take a boy. I thought she was joking and so laughed and smiled as I shook my head; but she was being completely serious. The tone of the conversation switched instantly. I told the girl to tell her that we do not sell children. I could not believe that the old woman believed it to be a reasonable request. Afterwards I could not help thinking that the idea of an orphan going to a home whereby being the only son he would be treated like a king was not such a bad idea. Surely it would beat sleeping on the floor, eating nothing but rice and only receiving affection from foreign volunteers who sporadically appear for a period of about three months and then disappear?

 

So much of what I see and experience is a brave new world therefore I am increasingly finding myself (much to the annoyance of people around me) whipping out my notepad and scribbling away while in the middle of almost any activity; lest I forget. As a result however I look like a poorly-disguised spy. In addition to my incessant note-taking I have to tell you that I could happily babble away on this blog without any heed to a word count and consequently bore you all to death. So for this installment you will be relieved to read that I am going to exercise restraint (yeah right- you wish!)

 

On the January 10,  Ellie (another UK volunteer) and I were taken to our placement at the Love Care Centre (LCC), Kanchipuram which is two hours west of Chennai. Our arrival in itself was a surreal ordeal. Getting lost somewhere in translation she and I were blessed during a ceremony that can only be described as an Asian version of Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights topped off with a religious slant. The stifled laughs were almost too unbearable to withhold. Thankfully we were not held captive for long before we were dropped off at our apartment and literally hit the ground running with regard to commencing our work!

 

A girl named Kanika sleepily opened the heavy double teak front door decorated with an abstract Hindi floral design, and welcomed us in. The apartment is far more comfortable than I had dared allow myself to imagine. We have a kitchen with ample crockery and a fridge (luxury!), two bathrooms (well, basically they are both wet rooms with a few cut-off pipe-ends which equate to rustic showers), a massive open communal area where hangs a ceiling-chair (now this is quite difficult to explain but it is basically like a rocking chair combined with a swing that is suspended from the ceiling- I know it sounds peculiar but it has thus far proved very popular when any one of us has been in need of nurturing our sanity by gently swinging back and forth), four plastic garden chairs, seven beds and le piece de la résistance: a television and DVD player! I could not believe my eyes. A blinkin’ television!? It is never on because we barely have the time moreover it can only play black and white DVD’s (which due to the nature of Love Care Centre; are mainly Disney films), but most importantly there is no proper plug therefore when one does try to connect it to the mains blue sparks can be seen and heard! Ellie discovered this as we tried to watch a film one Saturday night and she nearly involuntarily electrocuted her hair to an afro-perm status! Ha.

 

Our apartment is situated on the rural outskirts of a very dusty Kanchipuram. Nationally famed for its silk saris and stunning Hindu temples dotted around the town; in Kanchipuram one can easily stumble across the silk-weaving process on almost any narrow side street. Comprising of little more than a wooden frame set approximately 50 metres apart the silk thread is detangled and then stretched by hand before being gathered and bundled off to the loom factories. It is wonderful to see a cottage industry so vibrant and intrinsically linked to a community. Cattle can often be found roaming the streets as can monkeys and packs of dogs.

Tiny lime, orange, mint, royal blue and baby pink cottages line the mud-road streets nearby and the early shrill (more like screeching some mornings) of herb and fruit traders echo through the communal courtyards that are hidden by cast iron gates and hanging vines.

In front of many of the cottages are smouldering piles of ash where domestic rubbish once lay strewn but was purposely burnt overnight. Packs of miserable-looking feral dogs scour the streets for food scraps. The herb traders barely earn ten rupees as they roam the streets for hours looking for customers. And some women never venture beyond the fringe of the courtyard vines but are bound by marital duty to their homes. But this is India. The land juxtaposed at every juncture with regard to its omnipresent poverty, wealth, beauty, suffering, traditionalism and modernity; and one quickly discovers that you can either embrace their culture- warts and all- or descend into frustrated insanity trying to understand; or heaven-forbid try to alter things.

 

Anyway- back to the LCC and our first taster of what we were to be doing for the next few months, and who we would be doing it for. Oh, but allow me to retract one more time to explain that we do not live with the children at LCC. Our apartment is a brisk ten minute walk from where most of the children live. Some seventeen young boys from the LCC do live above us in what can only be described as a rough concrete open cell with roof access and terrace toilets to boot, but the rest live in an apartment that is rented from a local.

Okay, A bit of history for y’all:  The LCC was set up in 2000 to provide a loving and stable home for children from disadvantaged backgrounds. The LCC also offers children the opportunity to receive a good education; which they would otherwise be unable to access. Presently there are over 90 children under the guardianship of the LCC. The children range from the ages of three to fourteen years old, and come from a variety of different backgrounds and parts of India. Some of the children were devastatingly affected by the 2004 tsunami and are now orphans; some children only have one estranged elderly family member due to HIV/ AIDS virus related deaths, and some children come from Manipur in the hope that they can escape the regional violence.

To be but brief the entrance corridor to the LCC is akin to what one imagines the opening of a Victorian workhouse to have been. A long dark and dank concrete corridor ensnares you as you venture into what seems the very soul of the building. There is no guiding light so you fumble along, and then are interrupted by a sudden wet concrete staircase with only a cold metal banister to hold. A slither of light manages to seep through the once-bright mint walls as you enter the kitchen area. The room then opens up into a dusty pink enclave of various pots and pans, children’s toys, clothes and other random clutter. There are no seats. No carpets. The walls are bare aside from the graffiti-style crayon scribbling. There is only one solitary window for the entire two-storey apartment. There is only one toilet/shower/washroom (there are two open toilets on the roof but I refuse to categorise them as sanitary rooms in any shape or form). The children’s washing hangs precariously on string lines in the main living area. There are no beds. Oh, and over 70 (yep you did read that number correctly) live and sleep here. And who looks after the children? - Only a warden named Selveraj and his young wife Marla (who has the task of cooking for all of the children). They work seven days a week and the concept of a lunch break, let alone a weekend off is laughable here.

Marla is a remarkable woman. She has oddly taken quite a shine to me (even if I do say so myself!) which I think is probably due to my teaching her a few English words while the children are napping (before I continue babbling I feel I must just convey how amazing it feels to communicate with another human being when you cannot speak the same language. It is a truly uplifting feat when just by employing hand gestures, facial expressions, and if necessary dramatic actions to communicate. For me it really hits home how much we are essentially all the same and can understand each other even if from completely different worlds). The unfortunate thing now however is that she cooks extra portions for me to eat; she is trying to fatten me up to become a good robust wife! Argh- how do I explain with hand gestures and broken- English that marriage is the last thing on my mind!? She even ensured that breakfast was once sent to the apartment when I tried to dodge it. Moreover she has also started to pinch my cheeks in affection. Even my Nannies refrained from such behaviour. To be honest I do not mind, but it does make me think of my own mum and then I start to miss her hugs.

 

The first time I was led into the LCC building I cannot deny that I found it very difficult to hide my shock and dismay. Never before have I been slapped into a reality so desperate. And then I was greeted by the tidal wave of children and their torrent of hellos. To begin with, they literally mauled me in my bewildered status! They tried to use my body as a climbing frame; pulled at my hair- they were exhausting! A young boy named Arjun bounced sprightly over to offer his hand in greeting and I stretched out my arm to shake his when… Shock! Horror! I spotted that his hands were absolutely smothered in warts! I froze. My smile dropped but I knew it would be very hurtful of me to show my reluctance to touch his hands so I shook his hand with an encouraging smile. 

In the days and weeks that have since passed I have just about settled into a routine with the children and many of them already are very dear to me. A typical day is as follows:

 

• 8:00am – Trudge along to the LCC and help administer medicine (mostly creams for Ringworm and scabies, throat lozenges and cough medicine, and occasionally eye-drops) 

 

• 9:10am – Realise that the children should have left for school five minutes ago and so start to rush them to gather their books.

 

• 9:30am – Drop the children off at school. Return to the apartment to chill for an hour before returning to the LCC to teach the Home school children.

 

• 10:30-13:00 – Teach the Home school children English, mathematics, geography, health...

 

• Free time to sleep, read, eat, natter, research future classes etc. (I am usually found dozing or making bracelets)

 

• 16:30pm – Collect the children and walk them to the park (where we let them go wild)

 

• 18:00 – Return to the LCC and ensure that all the children complete their homework

 

• 20:00 – The children sing songs and then we scoff dinner

 

• 21:00 – We finally fall out of the LCC after having completed the second round of medicines

 

Now people who know me back home have always known me to be strictly anti-children; so for me to confess that the children here at the LCC are melting my shrew-like heart; it will be a revelation for many to read. Despite their dire living conditions and tragic life stories the children are a pleasure to teach and be around. They are so polite, welcoming, affectionate and fun to be around. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would come to India to discover that I would be learning card tricks, the art of origami, bracelet threading or even wearing wild flowers in my hair (sneakily picked by the children from their neighbours’ gardens)

Their eagerness to learn new things and help with duties is astounding. Of course they are still children and so there are always little spats between friends, tell-tales, snatching of others’ belongings and spiteful nipping when they are frustrated but overall they are a world apart from the spoilt and demanding children back home. It is heart-wrenching to witness that many are so desperate for love. The volunteers here really do care about the children but that affection does not even come close in comparison to the love that only a parent can give. It has made me really appreciate my family and the upbringing that I was fortunate enough to receive. These children have little else than each other.

To see the sibling bond and protection that a boy named Arun-Vijay has over his younger sister Rohini is tender to observe. Moreover it so rare for brothers and sisters of such a young age to not hate each other and squabble incessantly! With my own two sisters I have only come to realize in recent years how much they mean to me, and that I should have realized it so much sooner.

The children also have an amazing resilience. They are so hardy (because they have had to be) and yet are so stunningly innocent. For example one day after school Ellie, Alpa (oh, another UK volunteer arrived) and I wanted to take the children to the park but hesitated because there were only the three of us to supervise all of the children. After deliberation we thought: Hell why not?! If we don’t take them they will not be able to go at all so off we all clambered. Now to get to the park one has to cross a very busy road. This made me very nervous as some of the children are barely four years old but I was soon taught that they did not need help crossing the road. If anything, they helped me cross the road! The children felt unable to go to the park without “supervision” and/or authorization and yet were quite content to get there on their own accord. I laughed at the whole saga because it would never have occurred in Britain. Can you just imagine the outcry if just three adults took over 90 children by foot (without wearing any shoes- because they do not own them) to a park over 15minutes walk away?! No consent forms. No health and safety checks. No coaches to transport the children. It made me ponder: was it ultimately naïve of us to take the children to the park? Did we endanger them? Or are we too protective of children in Britain today? Surely they need to become “street wise” sooner rather than later? And not be afraid of strangers? I am still undecided.

 

A few of the children’s personalities crack me up whenever I see them. Some of them are complete nut-nuts! During one of the children’s singing session I became aware of a lot of commotion behind me. I turned around only to see a boy named Kati contently sitting crossed leg…with a tiny bird standing in his palm chirping away gleefully! The LCC’s very own Birdman from Alcatraz! The surrounding children were of course amazed (as was I) and nearly became excitable beyond control. The things children get up to!

            There is a young girl named Radha who is simply off-the-wall. I know this sounds ridiculous but she is like a young female version of Norman Wisdom! Ha. The facial expressions she pulls and how she throws herself around reminds me of all the films my sisters and I used to (and admittedly still do) watch. There is also another young boy called Jesudos who amazes me. How he survives I have no idea. He is always attempting to beat up the older children but ends up bawling all the time because the older boys retaliate. He just does not seem to learn. Jesudos is the classic case of a child that is very intelligent but just does not want to study. If he goes to school with little more than a comb or a shoe in his rucksack we hail it as a miracle.

 

The school that the children attend is reportedly the best school in Kanchipuram. I do not like how the sister’s administer discipline. They frequently apply  a wooden baton across the knuckles as punishment for not wearing the correct school dress (because the LCC cannot afford all the fancy regalia that the school board dictates) the children are frog marched out into the school courtyard and ordered to stay outside in the midday heat for hours. How humiliating it must be for the children. A cruel reminder of how little they truly have: no shoes, a daily packed lunch of plain rice, a solitary ink pen that has nearly run-out and a tatty second-hand textbook. I cannot imagine how their pride must be crushed as they see other children arrive on bicycles with shining shoes, packed lunch bags stuffed with fruit and sweet goodies, an actual pencil case and hoards of books.

The children do not learn; they memorize words that they do not understand through desperate recitation. Perhaps I never, until now, fully comprehended the importance, and therefore the privilege of being a native English speaker. The emphasis on ones ability to communicate in English appears to be ubiquitous to Indian culture. But I cannot see the logic in ensuring the children can reel off English sentences in a robot-like fashion and yet not understand a single word in context. This I have tried to relay to my home school student Rachael. It does not matter if you learn slowly; ultimately quality will win over quantity. I simply refuse that she memorize her written answers, but prefer her to practice pronunciation for homework. She has just about accepted this.

To try and alleviate the children’s ostracisation from their peers we were able to purchase shoes for the children (alas socks were to come some three weeks later). The event of giving out shoes was a royal saga. The LCC could not afford to buy new shoes for everyone so we had to squeeze certain children’s feet into shoes that were blatantly to small, or too big for them. It was an awful time. To try and salvage some of the shoes already in the children’s possession I purchased superglue and spent my late evening with Ellie and Alpa in gluing the soles of shoes and placing them under our bed posts in the vain hope that the children would be able to wear them the following day.

 

But all is not doom and gloom here. Because India is a secular state, no sooner had I arrived in Kanchipuram did I partake in the Pongal Festival. I was told by a local that it is the Hindu harvest celebration. Cows are honored by having their horns brightly painted and their bodies adorned with flowers, sugar cane is eaten and every household decorates their porch with the most beautiful chalk patterns. The only down side- and this is where my Western acclimatization seeps in- is that most shops are closed for the duration! Eek! It made me reflect how back home we panic when Morrisons closes for one day at Christmas and Easter! Ha.

 

Our neighbors in Kanchipuram have been very welcoming. Each morning I am engulfed by enquiring children: Hello! How are you? What is your name? I am certain they all know my name by now but still insist on shaking my hand and smiling innocently.

I consciously take the time to stop and shake all the hands with a smile on my face and politely nod to their parents who shy away in the doorways. There is one old lady who sits outside the school every afternoon but has not quite decided whether she likes me or not. I find her amusing for she has no teeth and wear spectacles that are reminiscent of the late Ronnie Barker. She just stares up at me expressionless and watches as I walk home. I shall bide my time and muster the courage to politely approach her.

I have begun to sample local cuisine and am becoming quite partial to pori’s (they are like puffy Yorkshire puddings), delicious chapattis, pistachio barfi cakes, the succulent sweetness of the gulab jammon dessert, masal dhosas…the list could (and shall in the ensuing months) go on and on! Ha, but I think you get the picture.

Oh, and there have been two new arrivals at LCC: Sunita and Helena. They have settled in remarkably quickly and it is good to have more volunteers around to help, and of course good company.

 

I am hoping that if I write about the following that someone will be able to explain to me why it is that quite a lot of local women paint their faces with a yellow powder? I have thought about it a great deal and still cannot understand why, and for what purpose? 

 

A week ago I received my first parcel (consisting mainly of confectionary and protein pills- that are like horse pills and nearly choke me on a daily basis!) and batch of letters from home. I was over the moon! A wry smile crept upon my face that lasted for hours as I read the happenings of my friends and family back home. I love to receive mail when I am away. As I can often be found stressing; opening e-mails is never the same as actually receiving a handwritten letter. And I love to hear of everyday mundane things that people do or are thinking. Although I am obviously biased I have to sing the praises to my mother for her letter writing. Her letters are top-dog! She can spin a yarn about the Norwich bus being late by seven minutes into the most hilarious saga. Moreover the differences in our experiences with public transport made me laugh extra hard for after reading her letter I hopped into an auto rickshaw whereupon the driver decided to play chicken with his other driver-buddy! Like a rabbit in the headlights we speedily (and precariously) drove on the wrong side of the road to pass motorbikes, buses, trucks…! The soundtrack of shrills would have made good for a thriller film. I was relieved when I was able to step off and had survived to spin my own yarn. Give me the tame Norwich bus any day! 

 

Last night I was finally forced to sit down and admit that I was in dire need of nit-combing my hair. Oh the shame! Oh the humiliation! And, oh the ruddy annoyance! For one who (had) managed to sail through school and university without any whisper of the dreaded nit I was devastated to discover that one of the little darlings (well, probably all of them when I come to think of it) had passed them onto me. At first I was in denial and then I became paranoid to the extent where I would itch my scalp for just itching’s sake. I then thought: what the heck! If I get rid of them now then I will probably only get them again- who cares?! So I happily continued in that frame of mind for a few days until I spoke with my mother on the phone and she highlighted that I would need to keep my new personal zoo under control (and just imagine the potential embarrassment of going to a reputable establishment Chloe and your head is literally buzzing with lice!?! Thanks for that mum) so the following day I literally skipped class and dived into the nearest hotel swimming pool in the vain hope that the dreaded chlorine would blast them from my now-sabotaged skull. Of course it did not work, but looking on the positive side of the event was that I discovered that one can have a free hot shower at the poolside. What luxury! I could scarcely catch my breath as it was my first hot shower since my arrival. The water droplets camouflaged my literal tears of ecstasy because I had long ago accepted that I would never feel clean while here. The daily combination of heat, sweat, dust, the general grime at the LCC and not having access to hot water had forced me to realize that my feet and hands would probably always have a grubby tint.

 

If you have scrolled down to this page, then thank you for enduring my long ramble! Part three shall be coming shortly (and will be more upbeat) about my first road trip to Pudicherry, Chennai and Vellore. I just thought it best to describe the LCC and Kanchipuram in one foul swoop so you can understand in future blogs just where I am coming from…so until then, poyittu varukiren!

 

I never dared to foresee that the children here would have so little and that I would endeavor to reach out and appeal to people back home, but if you could spare anything for the Love Care students here I would deeply appreciate it (as would they a million times over). They literally have little more than the clothes on their backs and so anything you can give like school stationary, balls, storybooks, shoe laces, wax crayons, soap, nit combs, plasters, toys for the younger children…all will be welcomed and treasured! Please give what you can and send to: Chloe Strowger, C/o Sophia Chelladurai, MIG 348, 2^nd Main Road, Nolambur, Mugappair West, Chennai 600037, INDIA. Thank you!