Livin' (Just Enough) for the City

For the past four-ish weeks it has rained on Bombay, every day. The heat in the monsoon is manageable and the humidity lifts palpably after each short, violent shower. The rain itself is welcome in a city where many people go without potable water, and the erratic downpours arrive with so little notice that you have to stand at least a little in awe of nature's veracity. The problem with the rain in Bombay is that the rain hits buildings that are mildewed and decaying and seeps through the walls into places where people are trying to live. The rain contributes to the puddles, which become knee-high and chest-high floods due to a complete lack of drainage, especially in the slums where we work and our students live. Worst of all, the rain dampens and disperses the heaps of putrid trash and sewage that fill what seems to be every unoccupied centimeter of land in the city. What's that inside your shoe as you wade from the train station to your school? Don't ask, and for the love of God, don't look.

The monsoon has a way of toppling your defenses. Fresh off the bus from Pune, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the other Fellows and I were simply giddy about the move to the big city. We pitied the fools who were placed back in Pune, where you can't get a drink past 11 on a Saturday night and the only means of transportation are overcrowded buses and overpriced rickshaws. TFI set us free from training after our first week here and we all dispersed to our respective homes or temporary lodging. We reconvened for a meeting a few days later with more complaints than we could verbalize: I can't find an apartment within my budget and above my living standards...I nearly fell out the open door of the local train...I carry an umbrella but arrive to school completely drenched every day...My school is in Asia's largest slum and today I was trapped there for hours because of the flooding. None of us were lookin' too cute. The boys all smelled like hell. I came down with a fever one day and didn't get up for two-and-a-half weeks. In the haze of illness and fatigue, the things that had enlivened a sense of adventure in me were now assaulting my senses. Every time a stray piece of trash found its way between my foot and my sandal I wanted to projectile vomit. Making my way around the city alone took the wind out of my sails in a serious way...negotiating with rickshaw and taxi drivers (who, despite what you read, do not tend to speak English), asking 17 strangers for directions on the train and going with the majority opinion, being stared at shamelessly by every. single. person. all. day. long.

My school, on the two days I've been well enough to attend thus far, became the best thing about Bombay. Its name is Shivner Vidya Mandir School and it is in Asalfa Village, on the northeastern-ish side of the city. Asalfa is a slum that feels...friendly. The lanes are well-swept and the shopkeepers are helpful. When I arrive in the morning everything is quiet, and it becomes noisy only at midday when the morning school shift ends and the afternoon shift begins. There are 27 schools in a 1 km radius of Shivner, and the area is flooded with kids. The front entrance to Shivner is famously elusive, and the other Fellows at my school have not been able to navigate their way through the crowded homes to find it, so we use a back door that resembles the entrance to a public toilet. Our day starts at 7:30 AM and ends by 12:30 PM to accommodate the afternoon students. The school is small and one-story, with a paved courtyard at the center surrounded on three sides by about 12-15 classrooms (and on one side by a dump). Our classroom is just big enough to fit the 55 students and 2 teachers in our 2nd standard class. It has one table, a chalkboard, an overhead fan and three rows of double-bench desks that are too high for some of our kids to write on. The infrastructure in our school is much better than some; we have tiled floors and a ceiling that doesn't leak when it rains. The floor and walls, however, are caked in a layer of mud and whatever else is tracked in, and a carpet of flies perpetually covers the floor. The school is an English-medium school, but our principal does not speak English. The kids in our class range from 5 to 10 years old and most cannot read, write or speak in English. They are, however, completely adorable, and they add a little spice to my monsoon. I've been recuperating in bed the past two weeks, feeling sorry for myself and counting all the days of school I've missed so far, but things are looking up: it hasn't rained today.

Pictures coming soon, I left my camera cord in Wisconsin.