Today was one of those days that just clicked. After a pretty normal school-day, I hunkered down in the women’s staff room to wait for my Indian dance class at 6. That’s right—this was one of the exciting events of the day, but we’ll soon come to that. I decided to wander over to the computer lab and do a little e-mailing before it closed down. I turned on a computer, but ended up having a long and interesting conversation with one of the male math teachers.
This wouldn’t have been so odd back in the US, but here males and females are quite segregated—you might have noticed that physically they are separated on the bus as well as in the school staff rooms. So the male teachers simply avoid me. They’ll greet me with a short, "hello," but I don’t even think they’re really meeting my eyes during the passing. This is very typical of educated males in India, as they respect the rules of the society; it is a token of respect that they do not treat me differently than an Indian woman. It would be uncouth to begin a personal conversation with a female teacher, and I imagine this is particularly true for young, foreign, female teachers.
But in the privacy of the computer lab, after hours, we managed to have a great back-and-forth. I was particularly delighted because he wanted to hear about the US educational system, my topic of expertise. I had been feeling a little frustrated with the seeming lack of interest by the female teachers, with whom I share most of my idle hours in the staff room. During breaks, the female staff room can get a little . . . well, shall I say, estrogenized? It seems that someone is always upset (and by this I mean angry, not sad) about something. Whether it’s about the principal, the students, or with each other, I really can’t say—although it’s certainly all three at some point during the week. These Hindi verbal battles are rarely directed at me, but let’s just say they don’t really make for a relaxed working environment. Emotions are certainly on the surface here, and they come out enforce sometimes. But, in any case, it’s always a little disappointing to me when I finish my lunch and realize that I’ve again sat through 20 minutes of conversation that I can’t understand.
So, getting back to the story, having an educated conversation with a male teacher was really a pleasure. Our talk even concluded with him giving me some advice about cultural presentations in Hyderabad. He didn’t offer to take me to anything (that would be crossing the line, I imagine) but he did write down two places that have performances every evening.
I was then called away to meet an English teacher from a neighboring KV school, who is also my exchange teacher’s close friend. She had come to the school explicitly to meet me and seemed to genuinely want to know how I was fairing in India. She promised to take me to some places in Hyderabad and perhaps even on a day trip outside of the city. She also expressed an interest in observing some of my classes, and then ultimately doing some team-teaching. It’s so nice to again be a respected professional; I had forgotten how hard my standing was won at RHS, and how much I appreciate their regard. I am really hoping that she’ll follow through with her intentions, as this could be a really valuable cultural exchange—exactly what my Fulbright is all about.
They started closing the school at 4, so I took off to find the row of stores located on the compound. (Have I mentioned that my school is on a military compound?) As I was walking by a nice park, I heard a car pull up and a man’s voice say, "hey hey hey!" I nonchalantly looked the other direction, into the park, as if remarking on the beautiful gardens. The owner of the voice didn’t leave, however, and then I suddenly heard my name. I turned to see Mani and Rani (my facilitator), smiling at me. I jumped into their car and they happily took me home with them (they live on the compound) for a snack of fried eggs and toast and even a little homemade wine.
Mani dropped me off at my dance class, which is taught by a young female teacher, Archana. She also teaches at my school, and this is how I was connected with her. I walked in to watch about 10 little elementary school girls do Indian dances for me. I was amazed at their display of fine motor skills at such a young age. The finger patterns involved in Indian dance are just beautiful but also challenging, as I was soon to discover. After a few dances, the teacher dismissed the students and turned her attention to me. Archana is a lovely young woman, the first woman who is approximately my age that I have met so far. She began by teaching me the beginning and ending stretch/prayer that is done to thank Brahma for allowing us to beat our feet upon the earth. The movements include a thanks to the gods (signified by joining fingertips above the head), to gurus (signified by joining palms and touching them to the forehead), and then to elders (signified by joining palms in front of the chest).
Then we did a few basic steps, and I think she was encouraged about my ability. (She admitted afterward that she had been nervous about teaching me.) The two older students then guided me through some of the more advanced steps of a dance. It got a little overwhelming at one point when one person was correcting my hand movements, another reminding me about my feet, and then the third critiquing my facial expression. "No, no! You are too happy, you must be serious, with little smile. You are showing Brahma!"
I must admit that I didn’t get all three pieces moving in tandem, but I think I’m getting there. The best part was that Archana would explain to me the history of the dance and the meaning of each movement. The dance I was learning was explaining how the guru (teacher) is lifted to the level of a god. (Pretty appropriate dance for me to learn, I think.) During the dance, all three of the primary gods are depicted: Brahma, the maker of the world; Vishnu, the operator of the world; and Shiva, the God in charge of death. Each hand motion signifies one of them. I felt like I was in an Indian painting.
They wanted to see some American dance towards the end of the class, and I must admit I was at a loss. How many years of dance have I taken, but I couldn’t really show them "American" dancing. . . I guess maybe I could have started grinding or something but, no. Instead I asked them what kind they’d like to see. "Salsa!" was their response. I chuckled, but didn’t point out that this was not a very American dance. Luckily, I had learned the basic salsa step during my TAing days in Chicago, so I did a little bit of that and then threw in a few spins and they loved it. They wanted to see another kind of dance, and I finally decided to show them a little bit of what they might see in the club. . . at a hip-hop show. If you’ve seen me dance, I’m sure you can imagine. Needless to say, they were quite amused (and impressed, of course, by my flashy moves!)
I took the bus home that night. It was around 7:20, and the city had come to life in a new way. Most stores here are open-air stores, and they close with a sliding, metal garage door. Everything was open on my way home, and I enjoyed peaking into each lighted box. Each store was a portrait, a frozen moment in time.
I have moments sometimes when I just feel too incredibly fortune to be here, and emotion fills my eyes. It is at these times that my center catches up with my environment and I am fully present and aware. This was one such moment. My experience came together last night.
This wouldn’t have been so odd back in the US, but here males and females are quite segregated—you might have noticed that physically they are separated on the bus as well as in the school staff rooms. So the male teachers simply avoid me. They’ll greet me with a short, "hello," but I don’t even think they’re really meeting my eyes during the passing. This is very typical of educated males in India, as they respect the rules of the society; it is a token of respect that they do not treat me differently than an Indian woman. It would be uncouth to begin a personal conversation with a female teacher, and I imagine this is particularly true for young, foreign, female teachers.
But in the privacy of the computer lab, after hours, we managed to have a great back-and-forth. I was particularly delighted because he wanted to hear about the US educational system, my topic of expertise. I had been feeling a little frustrated with the seeming lack of interest by the female teachers, with whom I share most of my idle hours in the staff room. During breaks, the female staff room can get a little . . . well, shall I say, estrogenized? It seems that someone is always upset (and by this I mean angry, not sad) about something. Whether it’s about the principal, the students, or with each other, I really can’t say—although it’s certainly all three at some point during the week. These Hindi verbal battles are rarely directed at me, but let’s just say they don’t really make for a relaxed working environment. Emotions are certainly on the surface here, and they come out enforce sometimes. But, in any case, it’s always a little disappointing to me when I finish my lunch and realize that I’ve again sat through 20 minutes of conversation that I can’t understand.
So, getting back to the story, having an educated conversation with a male teacher was really a pleasure. Our talk even concluded with him giving me some advice about cultural presentations in Hyderabad. He didn’t offer to take me to anything (that would be crossing the line, I imagine) but he did write down two places that have performances every evening.
I was then called away to meet an English teacher from a neighboring KV school, who is also my exchange teacher’s close friend. She had come to the school explicitly to meet me and seemed to genuinely want to know how I was fairing in India. She promised to take me to some places in Hyderabad and perhaps even on a day trip outside of the city. She also expressed an interest in observing some of my classes, and then ultimately doing some team-teaching. It’s so nice to again be a respected professional; I had forgotten how hard my standing was won at RHS, and how much I appreciate their regard. I am really hoping that she’ll follow through with her intentions, as this could be a really valuable cultural exchange—exactly what my Fulbright is all about.
They started closing the school at 4, so I took off to find the row of stores located on the compound. (Have I mentioned that my school is on a military compound?) As I was walking by a nice park, I heard a car pull up and a man’s voice say, "hey hey hey!" I nonchalantly looked the other direction, into the park, as if remarking on the beautiful gardens. The owner of the voice didn’t leave, however, and then I suddenly heard my name. I turned to see Mani and Rani (my facilitator), smiling at me. I jumped into their car and they happily took me home with them (they live on the compound) for a snack of fried eggs and toast and even a little homemade wine.
Mani dropped me off at my dance class, which is taught by a young female teacher, Archana. She also teaches at my school, and this is how I was connected with her. I walked in to watch about 10 little elementary school girls do Indian dances for me. I was amazed at their display of fine motor skills at such a young age. The finger patterns involved in Indian dance are just beautiful but also challenging, as I was soon to discover. After a few dances, the teacher dismissed the students and turned her attention to me. Archana is a lovely young woman, the first woman who is approximately my age that I have met so far. She began by teaching me the beginning and ending stretch/prayer that is done to thank Brahma for allowing us to beat our feet upon the earth. The movements include a thanks to the gods (signified by joining fingertips above the head), to gurus (signified by joining palms and touching them to the forehead), and then to elders (signified by joining palms in front of the chest).
Then we did a few basic steps, and I think she was encouraged about my ability. (She admitted afterward that she had been nervous about teaching me.) The two older students then guided me through some of the more advanced steps of a dance. It got a little overwhelming at one point when one person was correcting my hand movements, another reminding me about my feet, and then the third critiquing my facial expression. "No, no! You are too happy, you must be serious, with little smile. You are showing Brahma!"
I must admit that I didn’t get all three pieces moving in tandem, but I think I’m getting there. The best part was that Archana would explain to me the history of the dance and the meaning of each movement. The dance I was learning was explaining how the guru (teacher) is lifted to the level of a god. (Pretty appropriate dance for me to learn, I think.) During the dance, all three of the primary gods are depicted: Brahma, the maker of the world; Vishnu, the operator of the world; and Shiva, the God in charge of death. Each hand motion signifies one of them. I felt like I was in an Indian painting.
They wanted to see some American dance towards the end of the class, and I must admit I was at a loss. How many years of dance have I taken, but I couldn’t really show them "American" dancing. . . I guess maybe I could have started grinding or something but, no. Instead I asked them what kind they’d like to see. "Salsa!" was their response. I chuckled, but didn’t point out that this was not a very American dance. Luckily, I had learned the basic salsa step during my TAing days in Chicago, so I did a little bit of that and then threw in a few spins and they loved it. They wanted to see another kind of dance, and I finally decided to show them a little bit of what they might see in the club. . . at a hip-hop show. If you’ve seen me dance, I’m sure you can imagine. Needless to say, they were quite amused (and impressed, of course, by my flashy moves!)
I took the bus home that night. It was around 7:20, and the city had come to life in a new way. Most stores here are open-air stores, and they close with a sliding, metal garage door. Everything was open on my way home, and I enjoyed peaking into each lighted box. Each store was a portrait, a frozen moment in time.
I have moments sometimes when I just feel too incredibly fortune to be here, and emotion fills my eyes. It is at these times that my center catches up with my environment and I am fully present and aware. This was one such moment. My experience came together last night.
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