Recap

Consider this entry as an attempt at redemption for a five-month backlog. It’s just that I have blogged very few and these are crap written hastily or just for the sake of writing something that badly needed revising.

Since my arrival in India, I’ve worked with my NGO, turned a year older, went on a 6-week in-country orientation with new VSO volunteers, survived Christmas and New year’s away from home, worn a sari, gate-crashed a wedding parade, traveled to the South and explored a bit of the north, took a 50-hour train ride, met people from all over, bid goodbye to a few, lost weight, lost my money, lost my temper, lost my mind, gained an immense amount of patience, and loved and hated India at the same time.

First, work has improved. I started out resisting almost everything about it, primarily the slow pace and my lack of a permanent chair (as in a seat to put my ass on). The NGO I work with is a center for children with special needs so imagine me right smack in the middle of these kids and I didn’t even know how to handle them. I eventually became a familiar face to them and them to me. I get out of their way and try not to get too close or too familiar, and by far I can work amidst the noise and the office traffic. They are part of my everyday life now.

Things have gotten better as well since my work plan has been approved and we now have fixed schedules of activities and set deadlines. This makes me really happy. If I am not reading the papers at three in the afternoon, it means I don’t have idle time and work is moving. It’s also motivating to see the other staff in the organization cooperating and recognizing my role as a volunteer. They don’t see me merely as that girl who monopolizes the computer. (I have learned the value of sharing – it involves a lot of self-restraint but it pays off).

Second, a six-week in-country orientation (ICO) from November to December with new volunteers, including language lessons (which I still struggle with – just last night dining with my Hindi teacher Aarti, I told her something that literally translates to “You are quickly!” when she paid the bill.)

The ICO taught us about the Indian culture (castes, religion, etc.), Indian NGOs, social issues like sexual harassment and disability, program monitoring and evaluation, and even cooking Indian dishes. We also went on an exposure visit to an HIV/AIDS shelter (with a very sensible sign on the wall: Trust God but take your meds).

I went to the ICO with seven other volunteers, one of whom is now my flatmate Melanie, a 23-year old Scottish girl who is working for the rights of the deaf community in India. Neil and Maricor have gone down to Orissa, Heike and Ken are in West Bengal, Tania returned to Chattisgarh, and Tom shuffles from Gazhiabad to Delhi. In summary, let’s just say that apart from the lectures and the language lessons in the ICO, there had been a lot of card games, alcohol, parties, dancing, shopping, and dining involved. We weren’t a very rigid bunch.

Neil, Maricor, Tania, Tom, Melanie, mysef and Ken
(Heike was a week late waiting for her visa)

Third and I should say probably the best thing by far is the travel. I’ve gone to five different states, from where the holy River Ganges runs through in Rishikesh (Uttaranchal), to the Taj Mahal in Agra (Uttar Pradesh), Jaipur (Rajasthan) down to the beaches of Goa and the backwaters of Kerala in the south. This would entail an entirely separate blog with corresponding photos so I won’t expound. Let’s just say that exploring new places still gives me a high which makes it all worth it being here.

By the River Ganges, Rishikesh

Hunger pangs

The old volunteers say that once summer comes, you tend to lose your appetite, eat less, and therefore make yourself more prone to illness. Eff it… I am ALWAYS hungry. Not even a high-carb breakfast or lunch could put peace in my digestive system. I am ALWAYS famished. My thoughts are pre-occupied with food particularly those I miss from home. I see myself in the mirror and my eyes reflect meat dishes, chocolate cakes, chips, Yakult, buko juice, halo-halo, lechon, Black Meiji, wasabe, sushi, Bazooka bubble gum. I dream of these with a glazed look in my eyes and feverish longing while at work.

More recently I just found myself munching on cheese on my bed, close to midnight. Normally, any hunger pang felt in the ungodly hours would easily lose over the desire for sleep. These days, sleep has abandoned me, thanks to the heat. And a humble bow to the 40+ degree weather which has successfully managed to suck out all of my energy and render me hungry every hour.

As of last night, The Blue Flat’s kitchen is richer by about eight cans of corned beef, sent from home through my mother’s friend who was recently in Delhi. Gluttony. I was up early this morning (quite unusual, it being a Sunday) because I was excited to open one of the cans. I’m guessing I may open another one tonight.

Air cool!

Nothing could be more annoying than someone who complains a lot. So to avoid annoying myself, I stopped complaining about the weather and did the logical thing to do: buy a cooler.

I have never used a cooler, it’s never been heard of back home because people use either a portable electric fan or have an airconditioning unit installed. I asked several people from work what it looks like, how big it is, how much it costs and where’s the best place to buy it.

After work, I went to Lajpat Nagar market with sheer excitement. I told myself tonight will be the end of those hot, restless nights when sleep used to elude me and sweat would wet my sheets. I bought a beige and brown combo cooler (which won out over the purple-as-a-yam and the orange-as-a-jailbird-uniform), took it home and carried it up three flights to the flat with the anticipation of a groom for his new bride.

I was freakin’ disappointed. One, it was supposed to blow cool air which it didn’t. The air coming from the supposed cooler was only a few temperatures down from the hot air coming from the ceiling fan. Two, it was leaking. You’re supposed to take out one of its “doors” on either side and pour about a bucket of water in just beneath the fan. Out of sheer excitement, I didn't put the "door" properly from whence the leak came.

The following night, just when everything was fixed (fixed the side door, switched on the “pump” button for half a minute then switch to “fan” mode just like the sales man instructed back at the shop), we got a power cut. [insert scream and curses here] I mean, come on – I just want to get some sleep!

As an epilogue, a friend told me that the bloody cooler was supposed to be installed by the window from which it could get fresh, cool air, and not on the floor where I nonchalantly placed it. Now it blows cooler air – or so I think. Placebo is still good otherwise I will be very much tempted to just throw it over the balcony.

This ain’t Joe’s apartment

The other night I woke up around midnight (again, hot and hungry) thinking it was the holocaust. I have never seen so many cockroaches per square foot congregating in the kitchen. I am not exaggerating when I say that there were at least a dozen on the floor, not counting those around the trash can. And I have never loved and appreciated insect spray until that time. It was mass murder.

It turned out that they snuck in from the drainage pipes whose cover was let loose because we had a previous drainage problem. We would have these occasional, pesky unwanted guests every now and then but at that particular night, the creepy creatures brought in new recruits. I’m guessing this was how they let the word out: “Hey, I hear the inhabitants of the blue flat don’t wash their dishes at night. Why don’t we hang out there tonight? Call the gang. We’re going to rock their kitchen!”

Oh excuse me creepy crawlers, but this isn’t Joe’s apartment. You got the address all mixed up. I was never a party pooper but you creatures of the holocaust and the loads of bacteria and viruses attached to your little legs are not welcome in the blue flat. Ever. And that sealed drainage should be an indication. Tell that to your gang. And don’t even think of flying as an alternative.

Blame it on the weather

I will never stop talking about the weather simply because I can’t help it. If you’re one of those people whose moods succumb to the rise and fall of the mercury, welcome to my planet.

It still baffles me how a country can go from zero degrees to 43 in such a short span of four months. I used to hate winter. It rendered me practically immobile: the only place I can fully relax is huddled directly in front of the blower. I couldn’t wash my hands as often as I would like because they froze and dried up like prunes. Going dancing was not as appealing because it would entail a freezing ride on an open-aired rickshaw. Taking a shower took ten minutes tops, otherwise I would start shaking. Work would be disrupted every now and then because my knees would buckle, begging for more coverage under my jeans.

And then summer came and I longed for winter again, something I never thought I would have the desire for. A friend once said that it’s easier to keep yourself warm during winter than it is to keep cool in the summer. I disagreed vehemently (you can tell that he said this during winter). Now I understand what he means.

Coming from a tropical country, I know I shouldn’t complain because compared to the English and Irish and Scottish (fellow volunteers who have slaved here in India like I do), my body should be more acclimatized to the heate. But come on, 36 degrees in Manila is a long stretch from 43 in Delhi. Here’s what I mean:

the mattress is burning. It is freakin’ hot. Like it just came out of a brick oven. It’s an inedible, rectangular pizza and I am the greasy topping.
the bathroom walls and floor are warm. It’s a virtual sauna minus the luxurious perks.
sweat – buckets full. Will not go into the details. It could get graphic.
open-aired rickshaws. As much as they allowed the cruel gale that went straight to your skull in winter, it is a giant, mobile hair dryer in summer.
drinking water – whoever said that you should drink at least eight glasses of water a day has never been to India. One liter you say? How about three. Including those you gobble up in the middle of the night.
hunger – every hour, on the hour. The heat just zaps out all your energy prompting you to crave for every imaginable edible thing. Including your colleague’s lunch.
everything you touch or sit on is exponentially warm. Including the toilet seat.

My flatmate Melanie had a brilliant idea the other day. She said that she’ll put the lining of her mattress in the freezer for a short while then retrieve it just in time for bed. I thought it was pure genius. But the fridge took the best time to be lazy and refused to fulfill its purpose of keeping food fresh and churn ice for its dehydrated masters.

She also had this plan of breaking an egg on the pavement and see if it would really sizzle. But Delhi hasn’t reached 46 or 47 degrees yet, which locals say it would. And the air is still dry, the onset of the monsoon coupled with humidity would be worse. Which would predictably lead to any, or heaven forbid, all of three things: prickly heat, road rage, more weight loss. Blame it on the weather.

Here’s to loraine!

Just saw off Loraine, now an ex-volunteer who was based in Delhi and will be going home to Yorkshire tomorrow morning. We met up with Anjo, a Filipino volunteer whose placement will be ending as well in July. I asked her a slew of questions:
1. First thing you’ll do when you get back home: take a proper bath and soak up in the tub.
2. What you’ll miss in India: the color, the vibrancy, the cows
3. What you won’t miss: haggling with rickshaw driver

Before we left the club (which was virtually empty, with the floor manager prompting us to leave since they were closing at midnight), we requested a last Bollywood song for Loraine. Then we proceeded to Tapas at Vasant Continental where yet another creep just won’t quit dancing with us, even though he was blatantly told to fuck off.

It’s quite sad when you see the friends you make in India are one by one going home because their placements are over. They would usually be on the “going home mode,” wrapping up their work and disposing of their household items.

I’m going to miss Loraine and her fabulous bling-blings, her Bollywood moves on the dance floor which left every Indian man gawking, and her advise about my work. Wish you well Loraine and don’t be a stranger!