It's happened again. Blasts in Mumbai. Terrorist attacks. 3 of them within half an hour. Again, it is a major media story. Again, phone lines are jammed. And again, people are starting to go back to their lives as normal.
Personally, only one thing has changed: me. I am no longer sitting in the comfort of my home in Kuwait and watching the news of local train blasts, nor am I sitting tensed in a dorm in Toronto, following the latest on the Taj attacks.
This time, I am sitting in my house in Mumbai, in Dadar, 10 minutes away from the blast. And it feels wrong.
Those last two times, I was at a distance: far away to do anything, or to ask for more information than was available. But today, I am in the city. I am just a short walk away from the spot of the blast, I am craving some news about what has happened, and all I keep hearing is: don't get out of your house.
True, these messages are all from friends and family. True, they are all thinking about my safety. True, they are all probably right.
But despite being aware of that truth, all I want to do is go out. Perhaps it is the kid in me that wants to rebel against restrictions. Or perhaps it is the gossip in me that craves information. Or perhaps it is the human in me that wants to help others. I'm hoping it's the latter.
I know, I'm a 22-year-old kid. What help could I possibly offer? I would probably be more of a hindrance than anything. It's not as though I'll be the mighty rescuer. But I never thought that I would feel more helpless sitting in Mumbai than I would sitting 1000 miles away.
Yes, safety is an issue. A very valid issue. I'm lucky to have been sitting in my home, and not waiting for a bus at the stop where the blast happened. And I'm grateful for that. But there were others who weren't so lucky. And knowing that makes it a little difficult to sit comfortably in your own house.
But I think Mumbaikars know that. I remember when the train blasts happened, life in Mumbai was back to normal (according to media) the next day. Life here does not stop. Back then, I thought this was actually a sign of indifference towards terrorism - and indifference towards the cost of human life.
Now, sitting here, I understand the need for people to go back to normalcy. I need to feel like I'm doing something worthwhile in my life. What's the point of having a life if we spend it cooped up in fear? I want to get up in the morning, get on my bus, and go to school - if for no other reason except that it will give me an excuse to get out.
Again, that would be the reckless side of me talking. We all have an image of ourselves. I picture myself (aspirationally) as someone who can be of help to others when they really need it. This is a time when people do need help. But this is also a time when I am sitting comfortably at home. If I were out there, amongst the crowd, I would probably run. As much as I picture myself as the person who would rush to help others, I'm afraid that I might run.
I think I'm afraid of being afraid.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Dark Cloud of Helplessness
"I stand in the middle of a crowd, shouting at the top of my voice, but no one can hear me."
I always thought this was a metaphor. But standing in front of my 41 kids, trying to project my cracked voice over the combination of theirs gave an entirely new meaning to that metaphor.
I came to India because I wanted to come back home. I came to Teach for India because I wanted to transform the lives of kids. So far, all I have transformed is my voice. Actually, at one time it was a voice; now, it's just a croak.
Standing in that crowd shouting at the top of my lungs, I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. What if every day is like this for the next 2 years? Will I go in every day eager for a new beginning, and end every day questioning my decision to be in this classroom? Will I keep shouting at my kids and turn into the very teachers I used to detest, or will I just sit there helplessly waiting - hoping - that they notice the person standing in front of them and decide to quiet down? Because if this is the case, forget transform - I won't be able to teach them a single thing over 2 years.
True, there is a silver lining in each cloud. If winter comes can spring be far behind. Change takes time.
Heard all that.
But at this very moment, there is no silver lining, no sign of spring, and no time to waste.
I always thought this was a metaphor. But standing in front of my 41 kids, trying to project my cracked voice over the combination of theirs gave an entirely new meaning to that metaphor.
I came to India because I wanted to come back home. I came to Teach for India because I wanted to transform the lives of kids. So far, all I have transformed is my voice. Actually, at one time it was a voice; now, it's just a croak.
Standing in that crowd shouting at the top of my lungs, I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. What if every day is like this for the next 2 years? Will I go in every day eager for a new beginning, and end every day questioning my decision to be in this classroom? Will I keep shouting at my kids and turn into the very teachers I used to detest, or will I just sit there helplessly waiting - hoping - that they notice the person standing in front of them and decide to quiet down? Because if this is the case, forget transform - I won't be able to teach them a single thing over 2 years.
True, there is a silver lining in each cloud. If winter comes can spring be far behind. Change takes time.
Heard all that.
But at this very moment, there is no silver lining, no sign of spring, and no time to waste.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Reunions
"You meet someone, become good friends, separate, and never see each other again. What's the point of it all?"
This was my exact thought four years ago, when I was saying goodbye to Jenny, my roommate from 12th standard. I was pretty sure I would never see her again (still haven't, for that matter).
But in the last three weeks, I have met / spoken to friends from so many different phases of my life that I feel like I'm living someone else's life. I mean, my life usually consists of going somewhere, making friends, leaving them, never seeing them again, going somewhere else, and repeating the entire process. It does not consist of meeting friends from the past every other day, and I think this more than anything else has really made my transition to Mumbai so amazing!
From the TISB (Blore) days: Abhinav, Aman, Avi, Arjun (lot's of A's) and Rohit! Met them all after so long, and felt instantly like I belonged! Last seen: 4 years ago
From Kuwait - Neha. Still haven't met her, but she's moved to Bbay as well and I plan to meet her ASAP! Last seen: one year ago
From York: Sajil - our exchange student, wanna-be cool dude, chindi Gujju, cab lover - and still the same!!! Last seen: 3 years ago!
From dad's side of family: Sonu bhaiya (sorry :P) - Also moving to Bombay, and living very close to my school! The person I will go to when in need of advice. Last seen: 2 years ago!
From mom's side of family: Winky di (sorry again :P) Even though we met for about 2 minutes, she's always been my go-to person when in need of career in the media advice. And that's probably not going to change. Last seen: 2 years ago (or has it been 3 or 4?)
From TFI: Uma and Cigar. Got sloshed with the former last night, and plan to do the same with the latter soon enough!
And there are still more people on the list to meet! Hopefully, maybe that list will include Jenny's name sometime soon!
This was my exact thought four years ago, when I was saying goodbye to Jenny, my roommate from 12th standard. I was pretty sure I would never see her again (still haven't, for that matter).
But in the last three weeks, I have met / spoken to friends from so many different phases of my life that I feel like I'm living someone else's life. I mean, my life usually consists of going somewhere, making friends, leaving them, never seeing them again, going somewhere else, and repeating the entire process. It does not consist of meeting friends from the past every other day, and I think this more than anything else has really made my transition to Mumbai so amazing!
From the TISB (Blore) days: Abhinav, Aman, Avi, Arjun (lot's of A's) and Rohit! Met them all after so long, and felt instantly like I belonged! Last seen: 4 years ago
From Kuwait - Neha. Still haven't met her, but she's moved to Bbay as well and I plan to meet her ASAP! Last seen: one year ago
From York: Sajil - our exchange student, wanna-be cool dude, chindi Gujju, cab lover - and still the same!!! Last seen: 3 years ago!
From dad's side of family: Sonu bhaiya (sorry :P) - Also moving to Bombay, and living very close to my school! The person I will go to when in need of advice. Last seen: 2 years ago!
From mom's side of family: Winky di (sorry again :P) Even though we met for about 2 minutes, she's always been my go-to person when in need of career in the media advice. And that's probably not going to change. Last seen: 2 years ago (or has it been 3 or 4?)
From TFI: Uma and Cigar. Got sloshed with the former last night, and plan to do the same with the latter soon enough!
And there are still more people on the list to meet! Hopefully, maybe that list will include Jenny's name sometime soon!
Mumbai - the complex maze
I had heard about it. I had seen it in movies. I had even written about it. But hearing, seeing and writing are hardly enough for a city like this - the only way to experience Mumbai is by living it.
The first day I landed in Mumbai, I was thoroughly depressed. I mean, this was the metropolitan and economical capital of India!?!?! The city that never slept?!?! To me, it felt like the city that had never seen a broom, the city where curly hair is possibly the worst curse to bestow upon someone, and the city where the refreshing effect of a shower lasts for a grand total of one minute!
It's still all of that.
But knotted within these obvious superficial settings are people who are struggling every day to earn their living, who are so busy in their own lives that they have no time to poke their nose in yours, and yet who are always willing to help you out should you need it.
- In my school, where I've been teaching grade 2 for a few weeks, we have helper staff who maintain our classrooms. The eldest one (whom we call Maushi) saw that I barely ate any food (except wada-pavs) and offered to bring me lunch everyday! I now enjoy her home-made roti-sabzi daily!
- Our security guard (Hari bhai) is the most cheerful person ever! Every time I come back home, he greets me warmly. And he's really helped us settle down and try and find us a maid.
- A random guy on the bus helped me figure out which stop to get off at (considering the conductor had no idea!)
For a newcomer in the city, getting around is quite a daunting task. But every time I get lost (pretty often), I always find someone to point me in the right direction. In a world where we are told that nice people get nowhere, I've found that people respond to you nicely if you ask them nicely. Of course, that doesn't mean I've never been ripped off, but I'd call that more a result of my ignorance.
In this complex maze of a city, there are an incessant number of things to complain about. And maybe the things worth praising are few - perhaps so few, that you really have to hunt for them. Sure, the buildings in Mumbai have all gone from their original colours to black, and there is more garbage on the roads than anything else, but the people - they are simple. And yet complex (should I say simply complex?).
It's the people in this city that make Mumbai work.
The first day I landed in Mumbai, I was thoroughly depressed. I mean, this was the metropolitan and economical capital of India!?!?! The city that never slept?!?! To me, it felt like the city that had never seen a broom, the city where curly hair is possibly the worst curse to bestow upon someone, and the city where the refreshing effect of a shower lasts for a grand total of one minute!
It's still all of that.
But knotted within these obvious superficial settings are people who are struggling every day to earn their living, who are so busy in their own lives that they have no time to poke their nose in yours, and yet who are always willing to help you out should you need it.
- In my school, where I've been teaching grade 2 for a few weeks, we have helper staff who maintain our classrooms. The eldest one (whom we call Maushi) saw that I barely ate any food (except wada-pavs) and offered to bring me lunch everyday! I now enjoy her home-made roti-sabzi daily!
- Our security guard (Hari bhai) is the most cheerful person ever! Every time I come back home, he greets me warmly. And he's really helped us settle down and try and find us a maid.
- A random guy on the bus helped me figure out which stop to get off at (considering the conductor had no idea!)
For a newcomer in the city, getting around is quite a daunting task. But every time I get lost (pretty often), I always find someone to point me in the right direction. In a world where we are told that nice people get nowhere, I've found that people respond to you nicely if you ask them nicely. Of course, that doesn't mean I've never been ripped off, but I'd call that more a result of my ignorance.
In this complex maze of a city, there are an incessant number of things to complain about. And maybe the things worth praising are few - perhaps so few, that you really have to hunt for them. Sure, the buildings in Mumbai have all gone from their original colours to black, and there is more garbage on the roads than anything else, but the people - they are simple. And yet complex (should I say simply complex?).
It's the people in this city that make Mumbai work.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Post Birthday thoughts - continued
So just to be clear, the TFI line that I'm completely enamoured by is not "Bah screw it" - that was just a result of the clock turning twelve and cake appearing in front of my eyes.
The line I was talking about it: "What will I do about it?" It's the simplest question one could ask, yet the most rarely asked question. We always end up with "Why aren't they doing something about it?" "It's out of my control." It's also one of the hardest things to ask yourself, because it means taking responsibility for something that no one is forcing upon you. It means willingly facing numerous challenges and failures along the road less taken. And it also means getting off you comfortable backside and actually become a doer, rather than just a complainer.
I've always been the complete opposite of that - probably still am. I find the easier route of complaining so much more - well, easier. I wait for others to get things sorted, often because I don't think it's my place to butt in, and often because I'm just too scared of taking onus of something big.
But I've taken an onus now - I've taken the responsibility of 45 second-grade students who barely speak or understand english, who refuse to sit quietly and study, who ask to go to the toilet (including number 2) every 5 minutes, who incessantly fight with each other and drive me up the wall by their lack of cooperation and who make me question my own decision of taking up this fellowship.
So I did the thing that comes to me most naturally - I complain. Like I just did above. And as good as it makes me feel, it doesn't solve any problems within my classroom. At the end of the day, it is up to me to decide what will I do about it - I've taken a responsibility, and it's completely up to me to make sure I meet all its expectations.
I have no one to answer to - except for my kids, whose future might depend on not just my ability to ask that question, but also to answer it.
The line I was talking about it: "What will I do about it?" It's the simplest question one could ask, yet the most rarely asked question. We always end up with "Why aren't they doing something about it?" "It's out of my control." It's also one of the hardest things to ask yourself, because it means taking responsibility for something that no one is forcing upon you. It means willingly facing numerous challenges and failures along the road less taken. And it also means getting off you comfortable backside and actually become a doer, rather than just a complainer.
I've always been the complete opposite of that - probably still am. I find the easier route of complaining so much more - well, easier. I wait for others to get things sorted, often because I don't think it's my place to butt in, and often because I'm just too scared of taking onus of something big.
But I've taken an onus now - I've taken the responsibility of 45 second-grade students who barely speak or understand english, who refuse to sit quietly and study, who ask to go to the toilet (including number 2) every 5 minutes, who incessantly fight with each other and drive me up the wall by their lack of cooperation and who make me question my own decision of taking up this fellowship.
So I did the thing that comes to me most naturally - I complain. Like I just did above. And as good as it makes me feel, it doesn't solve any problems within my classroom. At the end of the day, it is up to me to decide what will I do about it - I've taken a responsibility, and it's completely up to me to make sure I meet all its expectations.
I have no one to answer to - except for my kids, whose future might depend on not just my ability to ask that question, but also to answer it.
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