Joy

Usually there are moments every day where I feel exuberantly joyful. There is something newly refreshing about joy during my stay in India. Maybe it is because my joyful moments in India are always directly associated with a very simple interaction with another person. Today was filled with those moments.

It was a busy day, beginning at 7:30 and ending after dinner at 9. Here are just a few bits of my day…

I started with my favorite breakfast at 8:00. Puttu, param, and panchasara. Imagine something between grits and couscous, made of steamed rice flour and fresh coconut flakes, add some sugar and mush some banana to make a delicious concoction.

I spent the morning at the Lower Primary school, which is always equal parts exhausting and fun. Today it was my post-lunch lesson with the Lower Primary school teachers that was truly meaningful. They asked me to do two spoken English clases for them each week. I bring a short article from The Hindu newspaper and we discuss that along with some basic conversational tips. Today these teachers must have had their favorite breakfast too, because they were hilarious. I asked, “what will you do today?” One of them responded along with a list of other future tense misshaps, “I will go home with my husband.” Everyone burst into laughter. I didn't understand. “Jealous,” Salama Miss said. Apparently the husband of Achamma Miss, the headmaster, is out of town and they make fun of her being lonely and jealous of the other happy couples. “Why is he away?” I asked. “To make more money. Two months in Dubai.” They laughed at that too. In answer to the question, “What will you make for dinner?” Achamma Miss retorted, “Salama Miss makes canyee because she’s poor.” Canyee is rice boiled and served in the rice water. I'm not particularly fond of canyee. Salama Miss laughed, “I’m poor. Always canyee.” I turned to Beena Miss, “How are you?” “I’m suffering from chikungunia, pain in my joints,” she said. This is a shock for me. Chikungunia is a very serious viral infection passed by mosquitos and is a big problem in Kerala right now, especially for the poor. It is painful and there are only antibiotics that take a few weeks to work. She laughed, “I joke now. I go to bed and cry.” Their honesty and laughter was refreshing.

It was the evening spent with the kitchen staff that I most enjoyed. The kitchen is my new favorite place in the hostel. I now help to make chapatti on Monday nights. Last Monday I rolled misshapen circles with a rolling pin. “America! Australia!” They laughed that my chapatyi looked like countries instead of circles. Today I did the first step of separating the huge blob of dough into tiny balls to be rolled. This time they laughed at my overly ambitious dough-balls. “Othiri!” (too much!) they said.

I asked Ammachi, the 70-year-old, bent-backed woman with silky skin draped over strong bones, “Evide orangio?” (where do you sleep?). “Va,” she replied, motioning with her hand to follow her. She led me to the back room, behind the kitchen, where three beds without mattresses were located, seemingly unused. As I tried to ask, “Where the heck are your mattresses?” the power went off. It was completely dark. I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. I squealed in surprise and groped for Ammachi’s perpetually shaky hand. She led me to one of the beds, hacking in laughter all the way. I sat down and she held my hand. “Yelli?” (mice?) I nervously asked. She said yes. I squealed again, in the pitch black, and raised my legs from the potentional onslaught of furry friends. Her enjoyment of my vulnerability increased and I realized that I too was enjoying this moment with her. She kept repeating “Yelli! Yelli!”and pretending to be scared. Ammamma came with a flashlight and I ran for “safety.” Ammachi slowly followed, I think she was still laughing and muttering “yelli!” Ammamma said, “You learning?” I said, “Yes!” The power returned.

After dinner they asked, “param venom?”(Do you want a banana). I accepted, I hardly ever say no. Usually they hand me a banana, this time they pulled out a white plastic bag of newly purchased bananas. Not really sure how to grab one from the dangling bag, I took one handle to peer inside. Ammamma handed me the entire bag to let me grab one and I seized the opportunity. I pretended to take the bag and make off with all the bananas. They started to squeal and I laughed. I put the bag on the table and I took one banana. They said, “Randu!” (Two!) and I said, “Madhi, onnu” (Enough, one), and smiled at them. They’re getting used to my antics and they’ll know who to blame for missing bananas.