This one is about my daily life...

“The here and now, the quotidian, was beginning to acquire substance” (Anita Brookner, Hotel du Lac).

I’m growing accustomed to questions about food, all of which I’ve eaten without a problem (minus yesterday’s green chili incident which was easily solved with a lopping ladle of rice and lots of explanations “That! Look! That is green chili. Spicy. Green chili!”). I am frequently put on the spot in front of audiences of classrooms, teachers and meetings. “This is Cate from America. She is here for one year. Introduce yourself Cate!” I repeat my mini-mantra, smile and throw in an attempt at pronouncing a word in Malayalam, which always induces appreciative laughter.

I live with two of the best tutors there could possibly be, Ammachi and Eeche, the cooks at the hostel. They spend their day in a massive, dirt-floored room, chopping vegetables with huge knives, stirring huge black pots over an open fire, and avoiding the mice that scamper from one burlap sack to the next. I sit on the end of a bench and ask questions, “endu etah?” (What’s that?), “Chaia kudicho?” (Have you had your tea?). They laugh at me and mock my pronunciation, all the while shoving pieces of unidentifiable food under my nose or into my mouth and watching my reaction. “Ishtamano?” (Do you like it?) They are sarcastic, insensitive and rough. But they are honest. Instead of, “No, Ma’am, wear what you prefer to our day trip to Trivandrum,” they motion wildly for me to put up my hair, with demanding expressions making me feel ridiculous for not having done so previously. When I forget a word I had previously learned, they quiz me until I say it. When I say “sukhamano,” my favorite word, they make a riddle of that being the only word I know. There are no formalities and no niceties. My pride is shot to pieces the minute I walk into their domain and I usually leave with a handful of food an only a few more words in my Malayalam notepad. Mainly it is a good reminder, in between engilsh classes, that I am not the teacher here.

I have yet to teach a full week of classes. Strikes are common (twice in three weeks), sometimes resulting in cancellation of classes but always complete with a protest. At around 10:00 one morning last week I heard the loud resonating chanting of a group of students, mainly men. I could hear them approaching and was, honestly, filled with a tinge of fear as they came closer to the English department. I joined three other teachers who stepped outside the office to watch. It was only six young men with two flags and very loud voices. I could not believe that such a small group of people warranted a strike. What are they striking against? I asked the teachers and students that day. None of them knew. They could tell me that the entire political party of which the young men were a part called a strike that day, which legally requires the principal to honor it.

The other night I stayed up late playing Ludo and Snakes & Ladders with Ammamma and Ambily. Ammamma cheats. She rolls the dice until she gets the number she wants or she gets caught in the act. After which she laughs and gives into our frustrated demands. “Hey! Ammamma rolled twice! I saw it!” Ambily, only partly as a result of Ammamma’s cheating, loves to control the game. For a few minutes I realized that Ammamma and I weren’t even touching our game pieces. We would roll the dice and she would count the spaces and move our pieces. Telling us whether we could “kill” the other persons piece or not. “Ohhh, Ammamma is cheating, kill her piece. You must watch her.”

That night sums it up for me right now. I feel comfortable in my surroundings but the challenges still exist. A game of Snakes and Ladders helped me realize that I have friends here, which is a wonderful feeling.