Curry Jar-Jar’s Mind Junk: You say goodbye, I say hello
Hoorah! It is mango season at last. No longer do I have to suffer the infernal disappointment of ordering mango juice in the vain hope that it will be available, only to be informed (usually about 20 minutes later) that sorry- but we no have Ma’am. With that in mind I have gone a bit crazy with regard to ordering mango juice and ice cream just recently.
After saying farewell to Kanika, the children then had to say goodbye…to me! On April 4 I packed all my belongings and headed into Chennai to start my second placement as a wannabe journalist for the City Express.
As I waved the children goodbye for the last time as they entered the school gates it hit me hard just how much I had bonded with the children during the three months now passed.
Looking back I recalled my initial shock in meeting the torrent of children and how I found it difficult to hide my dismay at what little they could call their own or listen to their stories of aggrieved childhoods. Also how I had to accept early on that I could not solve all their problems. Spending quality time with the children was all that I could offer. Whether it was helping them learn English, letting the younger children use me as a climbing frame or simply lending a sympathetic ear; I consider my time with each of them to be precious because these intimate moments were what really mattered to them. No money could buy that.
My wish to experience the real India quickly mutated into a simple desire to let the children be real children- if only momentarily. Through hosting rooftop star-gazing parties, football tournaments and martial art classes; it was great to let them just be.
Not wanting to succumb to clichés; but without a moments hesitation I can proudly say that my time at the LCC enriched my life beyond expectation. I cannot over emphasise the sheer joy that overwhelmed me when Radha was finally able to recite the alphabet without skipping the letter “V”, the pleasure when Romeo started to develop his own artistic talent, or the time that Lakshmi overheard me say: You’re mental! to one of the other volunteers in jest; and then insisted on repeating it full blast in a cockney accent!? (I still cannot persuade her to desist from using the phrase when in the presence of her teachers- yikes!)
In the run up to my departure it was again, inspiring to see how diligently they would all study under the dim light in the main room for their final exams.
The children taught me the importance of loving and appreciating family, the inconsequentiality of material desire, and the wonder of small mercies. I eagerly encourage anyone who has ever been tempted to volunteer, and indeed even to those who have never contemplated it for a second because if you do not reach out and help those in need; who will?
In my last few weeks we went a bit crazy watching Bollywood masala films. The film Om Shanti Om was ace! A real visual and audio delight (although we had to watch it in black and white). I definitely recommend anyone to take a break from Hollywood and indulge in Bollywood; even if just for one Friday night.
Marla also kindly took it upon herself to teach Helena and I how to make chapattis and various sambas. She found it hilarious, and so did the children, as we covered ourselves in flour and made a real bodge job of it all. I tell you, it takes an awful lot of elbow grease to make the perfect chapatti and an awful lot of sweat to stand over the heat and cook up a perfect samba. But we got there in the end and now I can proudly announce that upon my return home I shall hold an open house eve and cook chapatti for everyone (Oops, I had better ask Mum if I can borrow the kitchen ha!).
The day before I left Kanchipuram, we celebrated Bradley’s 19th birthday. A week earlier Helena and I went to Chennai to buy a pair of new sandals for him as the ones he insisted on wearing were hilariously fowl. They were at least one size too big and the soles were almost completely separate from the shoe! We could not bear to hear him slouch along anymore and so took it upon ourselves to buy him some fancy new ones.
In the evening we headed into Chennai and a hookah bar called Mocha (one of a handful of places to socialise in Chennai). I had a really good time and savoured the company around me as I knew this would be the last time we would all be together. To celebrate in style we ordered two chocolate fondues, and winced when they were brought out. They were huge! I have never seen so much bubbling chocolate or assortment of cakes, iced buns, and marshmallows in which to dunk. We all literally dived into the chocolate but after ten minutes of scoffing we felt ashamedly gluttonous and could barely move. What pigs.
Not having enough money for a hotel to crash the night in Chennai, we jumped into an auto and asked them to speed to the bus stand to catch the last bus to Chennai. Oh, we so missed it. I was fuming. The prospect of spending over four hours stranded in a bus station made my blood boil. How could we have been so stupid and not left in time? Desperate, we asked a bus conductor whether there were any other buses leaving that pass through Kanchipuram. Praise be- there was! We sprinted across the forecourt and found the last bus leaving for Vellore and there began bartering with the driver to take a slight detour and drop us off in Kanchipuram. We thought at the time, and I still do now, that it was not such a major request as the road leading to Kanchipuram is barely five kilometres from the main highway to Vellore. But he would not budge. What to do? Take our chances and be dropped off in darkness at the roadside near Kanchipuram? Go all the way to Vellore, and then catch a bus back (how ridiculous) or kip on a rusty bench in the station?
Perhaps rather foolishly we hopped onto the Vellore bus in the vain hope that w would be able to persuade the driver (by appealing to his kind heart) that we were very afraid at the prospect of being dumped at a road junction at 1am. All our efforts were to no avail. Damn! So we had to just sit and watch the turnoff for Kanchipuram as our bus sailed by… five hours later we got into Kanchipuram! Five hours!!! Determined not to let the other passenger peacefully snooze their way to Vellore we insisted on singing “the wheels on the bus go round and round” at the very top of our lungs.
No sooner had I arrived into Chennai on Friday afternoon was I greeted by Paddy who filled me in on the latest gossip- they had been chucked out of their flat and had moved into a Bible College. Whaaaat? Taking a deep breathe and just sighing I moved my stuff into their new abode. The only accurate way I can describe the “flat” is to say this: remember the house that Edward Norton’s character from Fight Club moved into when he began his soap making business? Well, that is exactly what my new place is like. The toilet did not flush and there were regular electricity cut outs.
Sitting on the balcony (the flat has some redeeming features) on my first evening fiercely trying to read and get to grips with Wuthering Heights whilst the singing of hymns drifted up the stairs, I heard something scuttle. Looking up from my book at the crucial moment when Heathcliff returned from his three-year absence, I saw the source of the scuttling; a big, fat juicy cockroach. Brilliant. Determined to send a distinct message to the rest of his family I took Wuthering Heights, wielded it high above my head and- wallop! Dead cockroach. I cannot deny that it felt disturbingly satisfying and since then we have not had (or seen) anymore.
But all has not been doom and gloom. I am definitely the kind of person that tries to see the best in even the direst situations and just gets on with it. The first challenge I set myself was to conquer the bus network of Chennai. It is definitely cheaper (compare 15 rupees with 150 rupees!) and is a good way to see the different city districts. I was rather chuffed with myself when I managed to find my way to Besant Nagar to meet up with the others at a journalist professor’s house for pizza and beer one Saturday eve.
The evening was really interesting as we were able to meet actual Journalist students and interrogate them about Indian life and journalistic tactics. Unbeknown to me however, the night was still young at 9pm as we headed into T Nagar to meet up with a guy to celebrate his birthday of the following day. I had my first experience of Chennai nightlife in a club called Speed; heck, my first taste of any kind of nightlife in 2008! Ha, I was like a duck to water. The club itself was nothing to write home about, nor was the music but it was fun just to let my hair down and dance my way into the early hours of the morning. It was quite odd waking up the next morning with a slight hangover (never good when the temperature outside at 9am is 33 degrees Celsius) and the faint whiff of cigarettes on my clothes.
On the Monday I met the editor of the paper I was to be interning for, and was given my first assignment: to write a 300-word piece about my experience in the orphanage. Just 300 words! Ha, you can imagine my horror at the thought of having to cram all that had happened at the LCC into just 300 words. I did however, manage it and the editor thought it was good enough to be published- Wahoo! My first published piece. Fingers crossed that I am sent to cover some interesting and varied events across the city, and also apologies if I am unable to keep up to speed with telling y’all of my Indian shenanigans. I think my little fingers will drop off with so much writing, and doodling!