Shopping

Indian markets range from the new "western-style" malls, with entrance fees and high-end shops with internationally famous names, to the local cluster of small one-room storefornts or outdoor stands. Kira and Ben took me to one of the former, for the experience; it had a construction worker's camp (jhuggi, which means "hut" in Hindi) behind it - clearly the people who built the mall could never afford the entrance fee. I shop at various of the local clusters: medication vegetables flowers in my neighborhood or some of the local markets that locals use, paper goods and clothing in the larger and more upscale Khan market. There, and at other markets, the merchants have had meetings about how to protect themselves and customers in case of terrorist attacks - but the chaos is such that it seems hard to imagine any organized evacuation. Most people worry about terrorism in the abstract; it isn't a constant here as elsewhere.
Serojini Market is the biggest and most chaotic local market with every kind of shop imaginable but not the best food market; that would be INA - more or less under one roof - with incredible vegetables and groceries, fish (with live catfish swimming in a big bucket), and chickens so fresh that they cluck ... until hauled into the shop and butchered on the spot.
Old Delhi is a whole other world, with whole streets devoted to one kind of goods or another: brass merchants, spice merchants, paper products, auto parts, jewelry - my favorite is the extraordiarily colorful wedding saree street.

It's not every day

that you meet an elephant by the entrance to your school. But on Friday, this one was waiting for the doors to open, and arriving students were wondering whether the elephant was coming to their class. He was definitely not scheduled for mine.

Celebrating in New Delhi

Finally, the new century has begun.

Happy Hallowe'en from Fireman Jude

Happy Diwali!

Thousands of tiny diyas and hundreds of giant sparklers, with enough firecrackers to simulate a surprise military attack: it's a good thing the Morgan/Yeo clan and I spent the first three nights of Diwali in Goa near the beach.









You need to gather energy for all this. But we accomplished some major breakthroughs: Jude got over his fear of tourist speedboats on a trip to see dolphins, Kira and I went up for our first parasail, and Pippa has begun to smile and converse.

Our hotel was resplendent with diyas; the giant sparklers were fun to watch, and although Jude loved the dueling Bengali drums,









Pippa was appalled. We watched the Hindu Puja (prayer service) before Pippa could register her opinion of the drums and other loud noises with loud opinions of her own.

When we got back to Delhi, the city was lit like Christmas and my neighborhood was decorated with diyas and electric lights. All night long, the firecracker invasion continued - and today people seem to be resting up from all the celebration. (Oops, I take that back - they rested until sundown, then resumed lighting the skies.)

Diwali at AES

For several days now, the elementary and middle schoolers have been making diyas (small clay candleholders) and rangoli. For the older students, potters came to school and helped them learn how to shape diyas from clay; then they were decorated and dried in the sun. Younger students simply decorated them. All students have made rangoli by many of the entrances to school buildings at some point. The various school offices have holiday boxes of nuts and dried fruit, and some Indian faculty and staff have strung lights, made rangoli, set out diyas. And on Thursday afternoon, when literally hundreds of children come from the shantytown behind the school to be entertained by AES students in games and activities, they were welcomed by more than the usual orangeade and snacks: a full range of rangoli greeted them by the entrance.

Diwali mubarak! (that's half Hindi, half Urdu ... the standard greeting; gives you a clue as to how many-layered multi-cultural everything is. Great when it works well, deadly when it doesn't.)

Moving toward Diwali

Friday was Karva Chauth, a special day for Hindu wives - or even fiancees: they dress in their finest, decorate their hands and lower arms with gorgeous henna designs, are allowed absolutely no work but may hang out with other women and play cards, and they must maintain the strictest fast from sunrise to sunset (happily the sun sets at about 6:00) - not even water is permitted. All this is to ensure the health and long life of their husbands.

In the markets we've being seeing signs of Diwali for some time: gifts of sweets in special containers, lots of red and gold, the special candle lamps that will burn all night in honor of the victory of light over darkness. Diwali is celebrated for five continuous days, with the third day being celebrated as the main Diwali or as 'Festival of Lights'. There are fireworks and all those little candle lamps are lit to drive away evil spirits.

Homes and businesses are renovated and decorated, entrances are made colorful with rangoli, like this one drawn by AES students,

in traditional motifs in colored rice to welcome Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and prosperity. To indicate her arrival, small footprints are drawn with rice flour and vermilion powder all over the houses.

This is a religious festival, but has the excitement we associate with our December holidays: lots of celebration and gift-giving. There are craft fairs and charity fairs, full of things to give, special treats, decorations and wrapping and cards, and nourishment for the tired shopper.

The official religious part: Ganesha is worshipped at the beginning of every auspicious act; Goddess Lakshmi is worshipped in her three forms Mahalakshmi, the goddess of wealth and money, Mahasaraswati, the goddess of books and learning and Mahakali. Kuber, the treasurer of the gods is also worshipped. I don't understand a word, but see Hindu symbols everywhere - little pictures on the median strip fencing, a tiny shrine set between stones in a wall ... .

Walking to work

So at 7:00 or 7:30 I setoff for school. As I leave my apartment in the back of 9 Kautilya Marg, I am saluted by the military guard standing outside the building across the drive - Ben's father, retired UK Air Force, figured out that the person living there is a retired Indian Air Marshall. The guard calls me "Ma'am;" almost everyone I meet does - you get "ma'am"ed to death here!Crossing the four lanes of Kaulitya Marg is made more interesting by the wanderings of the neighborhood cows - bullocks, actually - huge, pacific and they rule the place. There's also traffic to consider.

Once I get to Rajdoot Marg, a quiet street with a fenced and treed medium strip with a small children's play area in one block, there are four quiet blocks to walk before I hit real traffic again, though there may be a cow or two cruising slowly. I pass a number of people who now know me as a teacher at AES (word gets around, and teachers are highly regarded here) : some private security guards by the more upscale housing, a lady streetsweeper, several Indian fathers and a grandfather bringing their children in the opposite direction to one of the four local schools - a public elementary and middle school and a Catholic elementary and middle school. Mostly they bring the children on bicycles, carrying one or two in front and one on the rear fender. School has importance; not everyone can afford the uniforms and books. Parents are proud to manage to send their children to school, and the students glow when they talk about it. Little kids like to practice their English, but grown-ups sometimes don't speak any, so we greet each other either verbally or with the Indian folded-hand greeting.

Halfway to school, I pass a Hindu temple, itself behind a power transfer station and a community center; most mornings my walk is accompanied by chanting and rhythmic bells - and sometimes an exceptionally exotically dressed man collects flowers from the median strip for temple garlands. Once I get to Pansheel Marg, where the Embassy is, the traffic is heavy and lights seem to be for the weakwilled (but traffic stops for cows; once I saw three cows, one lying down, block a four lane road, made six lanes by Delhi traffic, and no one so much as honked at them). There's a crossing guard for students - a high risk job if ever there was one. The entrance to the school is guarded; no one gets in without ID - but inside of the walls, the ambiance is calm, all gardens and Indian sculpture. It's a pleasant daily routine, one that feels neighborly and - traffic aside - like home.

Arrivals!

The morning after I arrived in India, at the crack of dawn, my grandson Jude woke me up with, "Come on, Babu(shka), let's go see baby Pippa!" So we did, with his dad Ben. Jude is proud of his baby sister, and tells her she is "brave." When she cries, he tells her, "It's okay, baby Pippa" and has taken to imitating his parents and calling her sweetheart and honey.

Having a c-section in a foreign country, never mind India, takes courage, and the experience had its odder moments (see morgan-yeo.blogspot.com), but mother and daughter are doing well. Kira's students were delighted to see her during a brief visit to her swim team's last meet, and her classes miss her. But I am loving being in the classroom and terrifically impressed by the syllabus Kira has created.