Daily Class Schedule

8:30am Catch bus out to village. Make nice with friendly bus conductor who is obviously proud to call us his daily customers.

8:50am Get off bus at water tower, walk ~half mile into Kanjar part of Chandi Kehri village. If its been raining, an eight foot wide stream raises in a mud bank that cuts across our walking path; makes for an early morning adventure trying to successfully cross it and get to class unmuddy.

9:00am Greet parents ("Namaste") and hug the excited kids who run out to see us. Set up tarp for the class to sit on, tattered black board, retrieve school supplies (notebooks, boards, chalk, tooth brushes, etc) from neighboring storage shed that is also used to house the village reserves of bootleg moonshine.

9:15am Walk with Rick and a few students out to well to fill a metal pot with water (bannee) for the kids to drink during the day. Later, a bore well would be installed in the village.

9:20am Brush teeth! Followed by morning exercises (head shoulders knees and toes, etc).

--First Lesson--
Rick and I teach half the class English letters, simple math, or simple English vocab. Sometimes we play games like around the world or whatever else we can come up with to entertain.

11:30am Walk the smaller children to other side of village for government subsidized meals at nearby public school. Get harassed by local school children. The purpose of our transit school is to instill skills and confidence within the Kanjar children in order to set them up for success at this neighboring public school. The rural public schools in India are run notoriously bad and I always wonder/pray the kids make it through to the school and benefit at least somewhat.


--Second Lesson--
Sohan or Sarochi Tailor teach Hindi or tell stories. The kids start getting antsy so we usually just end up playing games. The kids love to dance, hit each other/me, cheer, throw things, smile, jump around/be lifted into the sky/on trees by one of us ("mierdacool, mierdacool") and all kinds of things kids generally like to do.

~2:00pm Recess. Marbles, dodgeball, cricket, gaparti are always popular choices.

~2:30pm Try and hail a ride back to town. Can take awhile as the rare passing bus is usually packed to capacity and a half; though we always find a way to either squeeze in.

Portents and Pushkar

Two good omens destined our third weekend to be a good one before we’d even boarded our bus. I don’t whole heartedly believe in omens, but these just gotta count for something: we boarded a jeep for our morning commute and were waiting to drive off when a man walked by with a goat on a leash. I privately wished he’d get in the jeep with us and, as if the whole universe conspired it, he picked up his goat by all fours and packed into the back seat. I had a stupid grin on the instant I realized this was really happening and after a few ‘baaaahh’s Rick and Saroji couldn’t help laughing either.

At school, a massive rain storm came through and all but sapped whatever will to carry on our tattered thatch roof had left in its dried bamboo frame. Though roof repair, however badly needed, was put on the back burner as we canceled class in lieu of a nice mud fight. Back home, another good omen came in the form of a cow giving birth literally right in front of our house. Neighboring residents and random passersby gave the new mother water and food and chased away any birds, dogs, or other cows intruding on the young calf’s personal space or gifts.

The brown basin is supposed to be a lake:

Pushkar is one of the holiest of Hindu pilgrimage towns. They (Hindu legend) say that Brahma dropped a lotus flower in the desert and created a lake where it landed and devout Hindus are expected to bathe in at least once during their lifetimes. They (other travelers) also say the whole place is just great and the shopping is great as well. Today, Pushkar is a tiny town with 13,000 people and over 1,000 temples. A sublime atmosphere enshrouds the ghats (pools of holy water) and 52 temples lining the small artificial lake. The very closely surrounding mountains reenforce the whole secluded blessid setting the place has going for it. Pushkar is an amazing town. So amazing, in fact, that today’s Pushkar has taken on yet another dimension: backpacker’s haven. The community is loaded with tons of very holy things, quiet mountaintop views of far off forests and desert, and tons of very touristy things; all within walking distance!

The only tuktuk we took the entire time was the one from the Ajmer bus station, over a mountain or two (the little tuktuk that could), and into a pin drop quiet Pushkar at 5am Saturday morning. While looking for a hotel, we stumbled onto the legendary lake (it was dry but the surrounding temples and things still gave it a mystical sort of aura) and then upon the ghat where Ghandi’s ashes had been spread (“The Ghandi Ghat”).

We finally settled into the Paramount Hotel and sat watching out on the ‘Best Rooftop View in Pushkar’ as the fog lifted off the mountains and the tiny city of Pushkar was unveiled around the lake in the valley.

Later that day, we’d be conned by one of the local priests who basically drag tourists down to the lake and have them say a prayer, bless them, and then ask for a hefty donation. Having already read about these schemes (and not being a fan in general of profit off spiritually charged places) I politely allowed my forehead to receive a big red dot and went along with the priest as he had me stick rice to the red paint on my face, recite a prayer, throw flowers and water in the ghat, and chant softly to a coconut. But as soon as this was over and he asked, “ok now friend you must reach into your pockets; reach into your pockets and give whatever you can grab, just faith into grabbing in your pockets friend and give,” I turned on my game face. I gave him 100 rupees and tried hard to ignore the stories of the many other foreigners who’d just earlier given him 50, 80, 100 dollars (or euros, we will accept euros too friend) and refused any of his gifts (which were no doubt going to be followed with second donation pleas).

Pleased with myself for hopefully ruining a religion profiteer’s moment, I promptly went out and over spent on more Indian goods. One of the dress stores in Pushkar has a video feed running directly from the factory (sweat shop?) making their merchandise!

Also in Pushkar, at the delicious rooftopper ‘Rainbow Café,’ we met the first American we’d seen in India. His name was Dan, a 31 year old duuude from California. He told us he’d lost his job in January and had been traveling around Asia ever since. He’d had a blast in Australia, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Vietnam, and Thailand, but said India was the most varied place he’d been. It also turns out his former job is my current dream job: working in third world development at the World Bank in DC, about which he had some pretty cool advice to give. The guy had a really Californian way of talking and sounded tohtally bummed about his girlfriend, the bills, and an impending job search all conjoining in calling an end to his current world travels.

^I didn't know the Adidas logo was a trapezoid.

We climbed a big hill and sat outside a temple with an old saddhu man and his dog and watched the sunset over the town, my new favorite place in the world.


The day after we’d returned to school, our wait for the morning commuter bus was interrupted by a four man fist fight that broke out three feet behind us. I had wondered before whether or not Indian men were good street fighters, and based on the flurry of lower palm-to-back of head targeted blows the four various aged men were throwing, I can reliably say that they are not. One even picked up a nearby bicycle to try and use as a weapon. It wasn’t until he’d heaved it to about shoulder height that he must’ve remembered that bicycles in India weigh upwards of forty pounds (like the ones in America did a few decades back) and that it only made a useless and awkward obstacle weapon in an already quite awkward four-way fisticuff.

That night, our power went out (happens often) because a semi driver had backed into the power line outside our home (doesn’t happen often). While not as funny as the time we’d seen a monkey in Bundi swing on a line and rip it down towards the street in a shower of sparks, the near riot uproar of our angry neighbors was funny in its own way. The whole incident and, at the very least, the bicycle fighting guys were probably bad omens, but as I don’t whole heartedly believe in omens, I think we’ll be fine for the time to come. Hell, I had rice stuck to my forehead and sang to a coconut in Pushkar, which I believe cancel out at least a few of the bad omens.

They don't call it WORLD Wrestling Entertainment for nothing

Finished up the Jaipur weekend by waking up early Sunday morning and hailing myself a private bicycle rickashaw. As the Nike shop was closed, I decided to go back to the historic old city/bazaar area (which my friendly driver happily accepted for twenty rupees, I think he was happy to have scooped up the only tourist that was awake and out in Jaipur at that hour). He took me the entire length of the path we’d walked the day before, and at under fifty cents, I’d say it was well worth it. Not a bad deal for the bike guy either – only having to cart around one tourist, weighing less than 150lbs.

During our makeshift tour, I basically read off all the Indian names of the sights I hadn’t seen from my map and he’d take me there as soon as he could mentally decode my seemingly horrible accent ("Can you go now to the jaemah mass jheed?" ...thirty second pause as I repeat and repeat..."oh jaemah mass jheed, yes yes") and wait while I took pictures and struggled to bargain with shop keepers. It was a good arrangement, and he even let me pay him whatever I felt by the time we’d gotten back to Evergreen. This gave me a fantastic (and still unimplemented at time of posting) idea to hire three separate bicycle rickashaws and have each of the three members of our group get carted off to some far off destination, promising to pay the first peddler to arrive quadruple fare ($2?) and the losers a normal fare plus a few rupees for the effort.

My other Jaipur inspired transportation game idea involves the mob of tuktuk drivers which inevitably forms whenever a traveler shows he’s interested in taking one (and sometimes even when he isn’t). I’d need a translator to explain it, but I would begin calling out progressively larger prices, staring around 10 rupees, until the first driver accepts the current floor offer. None of the other driver’s would earn fare if they were under bid by one of their comrades and I would call the auction off after reaching a certain unannounced reservation price and everyone would lose out on the fare. I know tuktuk drivers make well below $5 a day, but it never fails to insult when one tries to scam you by saying a certain ride will cost nine or ten times you know what its worth. It may only be a few quarters you’re getting schemed out of, but those rupees seem to add up quickly, especially when you spend a weekend in Jaipur. It’s the principle of the matter, isn’t it?


We ate lunch at a chic restaurant overlooking one of the main streets (meal at a nice restaurant in the city: US$2) and met three British girls outside of the Jaipur zoo. We collectively decided to avoid the zoo and its Rs. 90 foreigner entry fee (locals Rs. 5), and instead sat out in a park next to the gigantic Prince Albert Museum. Needless to say, a large crowd slowly assembled around us and passersby on the sidewalk would climb up onto the park fence and gawk in at our extraordinarily average conversation. We had become a zoo exhibit outside of the zoo. We talked a bit about England and the states and the novelties of India (the stares, the sneaky taking of photos, the wondering how we were so interesting) as people kept focus on us, snuck camera phone pics, and beggars and families and normal park goers alike slowly surrounded us in quite amazement. And it’s not like Jaipur is even that detached from the West; its basically India’s preeminent tourist city. We took a tiny horse drawn carriage the half mile or so to McDonalds for dinner.


Before heading back to Jhalrapatan, we had a few Kingfishers at an Indian bar. Like all bars here, they are very discrete – no large neon signs on the outside. The customers, it goes without saying, are all male. There’s usually some cricket playing on TV, but as the West Indies vs India match was under rain delay, good ol American Pro Wrestling was on instead. In addition to sitting next to an old man on a rickety carriage who fed our one horse power engine some grass after taking us to McDonalds, I think I’ll file watching WWE in a dark and quiet Indian bar under my memory’s ‘Only in India’ moments.

We got back to the house early Monday morning and practically reset off for class the minute we entered the door, allowing just enough time to fill our water bottles. During the next week of IDEX class, the older kids would be introduced to ‘Around the World’ and two team do-a-math-problem-on-the-board races and whatever other activities we could remember from our old elementary days.

While Magnus departed our camp to go back to the mountainous north, where the weather is cooler and the hash cheaper, and Rick fell ill midweek, leaving me to entertain the kids alone, I learned via email that the combination of slowly cashed checks and using my card in Jaipur a grand total of one time had conspired to cause me to overdraw my checking account for the second time this year. Finding myself insolvent for the third summer in a row, I believe I’d hit the low point of my time in India, and yet I really didn’t feel a grain of anxiety. I should probably put here that I was relaxed because during my time abroad, I’d truly found myself and had connected enough with my person to not be concerned with petty everyday issues which would have formerly wrecked me. Or perhaps I could say I’d adopted a more Eastern outlook on life after realizing the hollow pageantry my life in the West had centered upon and wasn’t phased by a few mere setbacks of that self. But really I just felt like my bank was half a world away and I wasn’t in dire need of money anyways and I’d actually taken a liking to the crippling isolation I’d been able to find in India (for the first time since first starting at Iowa and not really knowing anyone.) Not that crippling isolation’s necessarily a good thing, but it’s always good for the old soul to get some quiet in every now and then and probably the reason I came to India. And as far as that goes, what a good vacation it has been.

^Another scene I'd only until recently seen in history books. Did I mention Chandya Kheri reminds me of old time Iowa? There was one modern John Deere store in Bundi (John Deere who, if I remember correctly, got his start by selling innovative new plows like the one above) and I saw John Cena of the WWE wearing colors and clothing alluding to the Deere brand during one of the televised Monday Night Raw programs here. So it's not that different after all.