Kate's Corner: A Walk on the Wild Side

Hey all. So, after a long hiatus, Kate's Corner is making its much-anticipated comeback on Alice's blog. I tried to back this comeback about two weeks ago, but as soon as I began typing, I became violently ill. Apparently, there's a darker force behind the corner. But that's behind us, so here it is. Finalmente.

I am calling this edition Kate's Corner: A Walk on the Wild Side in order to increase the overall edginess of Ms. Minor's blog, which I currently feel to be lacking.

So, time has passed, my friends. But here are some moments that have stood out and that no one--even the guy who knows none of us and apparently found out about this blog while at a chinese restaurant---can do without.

Ms. Deepa Sivarajan

In an attempt to include Deepa more in this post (the last was a little alice-heavy), I thought to include a rather snappy dialogue that took place in our last weeks of travel. It involves Deepa and Man.

Deepa: I live in the USA.
Man: You have an Indian Face.
Deepa: Yes, my father is from Chennai, my mother is from Kerala, but I was born in the US.
Man: You have an Indian Face.
Deepa: Yes.
Man: Your Face. It is an Indian Face.
Deepa: Oh.
Man: (indicating Alice and I). They do not have Indian Face. (indicating Deepa) You. (indicating face) Indian Face.

Well, you learn something new everyday.

Problems with Trains
Though it’s hard to top Alice’s first adventure, the three of us never stop having fun on trains. Going back to Chennai from Delhi, we learned a lot about blending in, as we were the only members of our car (about 40, I’d say) not enlisted in the Indian National Air Force. Though it goes without saying, we were quite the hit. Our seats were dead center, so any trip to the bathroom involved running the gauntlet of well-wishers who wanted us to eat their soup/play their guitars/tell them how much it cost to buy a red rose in America. To make matters worse, Alice and I both had to use the bathroom an inhumanly large number of times. We also made a go at locking ourselves in the bathroom quite frequently—three times, in fact. This really increased our anonymity.

FRUIT
Fruit has been mentioned here and there on this blog, but now we’re coming clean. We miss fruit. We spend a lot of time thinking about fruit. We often manipulate the children to get them to talk about fruit. We spent an entire religious ceremony scheming about how to claim a second fruit cup. We just started teaching new English classes, and as our new students filed into the classroom, we greeted them with the three essential questions—“What is your name?” “How old are you?” and “What is your favourite fruit?”. We considered asking only the third, and identifying our students by their respective answers, but there was too much overlap. Sometimes we go to town and get wild and buy huge masses of fruit in one go. Most recently we went so overboard that one of our pineapples fermented. Shucks.

In the Jungle
Our first major undertaking at the Children’s Home was an attempt to get a large number of youngsters to sing and dance to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” for the Annual Day Celebration. Feeling on top of our game, the three of us spend an evening teaching the subtly complex dance moves (A spin. A hop. Some wiggling. Oh, how we tried). All is well, until several children appear to be dead. They are lying, splayed out on the floor, unresponsive to human voices. But we’ve never gotten so far in the song before, so we shoot for home, and continue to dance and wiggle around their lifeless bodies. Eventually, one by one, they come to. It seems the threat imposed by the three of us and the general jungle atmosphere kick-started a long-dormant “play dead” reflex in some of the kids. But we may never know.
(A side note: After three weeks practicing the song, we give the children masks on Annual Day, which are so thrilling, that not a single one of them remembers to sing.)

Vietnam
One of the biggest perks about living at UCH, is the opportunity to go engage with Mother Nature in the great outdoors that surround us. Sometimes we engage well. Sometimes our engagement is sub-par, at best. A couple weeks into our stay here, Alice and I aren’t in the mood to walk all the way to the ocean, so opt for swimming in the backwaters. Deepa, the enlightened member of our group, reads on shore as the two of us plunge into the water that is a) Significantly warmer than air temperature b) Six inches deep c) Sitting above mud that is undeniably terrifying and d) Possibly made of (or shall we say, strongly supplemented by) fecal material. We don’t hear about d) until several days later. But Alice and I, flat on our stomachs, press onward, pulling ourselves through the mud with our elbows. The whole scene is very Vietnam War. We emerge on the other side, scratched and tired, and spend about ten minutes hobbling around the sand bar, as we each have only one shoe. Thus concludes our adventure. I have no idea why we did this.

Shame
The shame concept has certainly made it onto the blog, but given its prevalence, I thought I’d delve a bit deeper. Currently, at The Children’s Home, shame is in vogue. This manifests itself most clearly when the children forcibly strip one another—lifting each other’s skirts, pulling up shirts, and generally undressing their peers. The general ruckus is always accompanied by a shyer, earnest girl, who will helpfully point out, “Auntie. This! This is shame.” I am grateful for these reminders on the boundaries and intricacies of shame, so we don’t forget, and started stripping each other on our morning walks through the village. But, seriously, shame is no joke. Alice was walking home, wet from swimming, and a village girl barricaded the path until Alice agreed to take her offered duputta. There was a moment last week when I hid myself under a desk because I heard a man in the hallway and was wearing a wide-strap tank top. And then there’s Deepa. Read on…

Rabbits
About a week back, I was teaching English class to a group of about 10 local fishermen, when I noticed, lying in the center of our circle, were Deepa’s underpants.

Shame.

They have bunnies on them. Shame, Deepa, shame. I was using the unemptied backpack we had taken to Madurai, and they must have fallen out. Luckily, I was able to snatch them up before anyone noticed. Otherwise, Deepa would probably have to fly home.

Let There Be Light (and wind)
Last week, Alice and I came across a character of the highest esteem. This would be, of course, The Very Helpful Boy. It all began in the community hall, as we were waiting for our English class to turn up. TVHB began to turn on fans. And turn off fans. And turn on more fans, while simultaneously (with the other hand) turning off fans. And turn off fans for a moment, and then very quickly turn them on again, and then, when you least expect it, turn them off. And then on. And all the while (every five seconds. no joke.) asking, "Auntie, fan?", "Auntie, good?". Finally, someone who knows the fastest way to a woman's heart is through an expertly arranged fan configuration. I have never met someone so desperate for approval And then he starts on lights. Alice and I sit, for—I kid you not—thirty minutes, as TVHB turns switches on and off, in what can only be described as the display of the century, a spectacle of wind and light.

Nothing Like a Good Old Fashioned Bus Ride
As mentioned above, I became quite ill while last typing up the blog in Madurai, but the story continues from there. That night, we took an overnight bus back to UCH, which was, as can be expected with our transportation exploits, one step short of fancy free. It's all fun and games until the Austrian ladies get on board. You see, one of them has a suitcase. This suitcase cannot be kept on the bus, but must be stowed beneath in the storage container. The storage container will not open. We sit, as the storage container continues to not open and the bus driver gets into a verbal/physical fight with the various forces responsible for the closed nature of the storage container. Ninety minutes later, the suitcase—roughly the size of a large cat—is placed on the floor. All is well again until we get to the rest stop. Our rest stop, ideal for resting, is in fact, The Gates of Hell. The smell is expectedly foul, there are two huge loudspeakers projecting human screaming, and the bathroom line is longer than that wall in China. We wait. And wait. And the bus driver starts honking. Then the bus begins to move. We sprint back, leaving the French lady alone in the bathroom (in these situations, each woman for herself), as her boyfriend gets down on his knees and begs the driver for mercy. He stops the bus. Lucky, this time.

Well, family, friends, Alaskan stalker, Man from the Chinese restaurant…that wraps up this editor of Kate's Corner. Email us all. Send us things. Try to one up Leslie Minor in the care package category, but give up immediately, because it cannot be done. Seriously though, send us a line...hearing from any of you (except for Cassie the Alaskan) would be nothing short of wonderful.

Love, love, love
Kate