Little reflections

So, I was talking to dad via the skype earlier this week and in between asking me frustrating questions about coming home and legal issues he mentioned that there's not enough of the little, day to day things on the blog. Well, I think that I'm hitting that rut that a few of the other bloggers have sunk into. It's the one where living in India is neat and exciting for you, my audience, but has since become very much everyday life for me. That said, I guess there are still a few things I can talk about.

One thing I have noticed is how when you go somewhere you always try to fit in as best you can with the locals. On the other side, whenever someone visits you try to make them feel as much at home as possible. I see this every day on my morning walk up to school for breakfast. I take the road down to school and as I'm walking up the ramp to school there is inevitably a man sweeping the leaves and monkey poop away. As I pass I quietly (it is in the morning... Cindy can testify to how talkative I am at that hour) say, with the slightest of nods, "Namaste," the typical Indian greeting. He smiles and tilts his head in the Indian fashion and says, "Good morning, sir."

Another thing that I never really understood was getting kurtas. When I first arrived, I was very much encouraged to go to the tailors and have them make me a series of kurtas to wear as it will help me to dive into the culture and fit in. Well, I'm not sure if the style of shirt I wear is really going to detract from the fact that I'm a tall, bald, pasty white guy walking through the bazaar. It's all compounded by the fact that I think I see more men wearing western style shirts than kurtas at any given time. Honestly, the only people I recall wearing kurtas regularly are some of the teachers here at WS and they're all white guys too.

And I suppose I should at least make mention about Friday. I've started taking my advisees out in pairs for dinner so that I might get to know them more properly. I thought this first time out went quite well (except for the bill, but then again, it's probably the only thing I'll spend more that Rs 200 on all month...) and I really got to know the two kids much better than I had all of last semester. Well, last Friday was also the sixth anniversary of mom's death. It's funny, I can't remember her birthday for the life of me but I'll always remember that date and that morning in particular. So, I had gone all throughout the day without thinking about it, constantly looking at my calendar to see what class I had next and writing the date down for attendance slips but all through the day I never made the connection. Then, when I was sitting having dinner with these two advisees the girl asked me what I was wearing around my neck. So I pulled out the cross that dad had gotten all of us and she asked to see it so I took it off and gave it to her. She started looking at it and flipped it to the back and noticed all of the dates. I explained to her it was my mother's name. She then asked what 'D' and 'M' meant. I explained those where for 'Death' and 'Married' respectively. She then looked about more closely and I heard her muttering something about the dates being done in the American fashion and then saying, 'March sixth.' "Oh," I said, "I guess that was today." She got this really scared, almost terrified look on her face and sheepishly gave me back the chain. I told her it was OK, death's just a normal part of living. I guess that I should be thankful, I'm not sure I would've remembered at all if she hadn't asked to see it. This last Thursday we had a devotion given during assembly that was all about remembrance. If we don't remember things, what happens to them?