The girls over at Alice's blog continue to do a crack up job relaying their young adventures in India.
I've included the following excerpt...there's more where that came from...
And at dinner tonight Wally related in vast panoramic detail how the book/movie Passage to India (I recommend it) was actually about the intersection of the "little r" reality with the big "R" reality when the English woman and the Indian doctor have their strange encounter at the caves. I like that movie--it's a strange classic...onward to Alice's blog where Kate is infusing us all with laughter and light.
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Shame
The shame concept has certainly made it onto
the blog, but given its prevalence, I thought I’d delve a bit deeper.
Currently, at The Children’s Home, shame is in vogue. This manifests
itself most clearly when the children forcibly strip one
another—lifting each other’s skirts, pulling up shirts, and generally
undressing their peers. The general ruckus is always accompanied by a
shyer, earnest girl, who will helpfully point out, “Auntie. This! This
is shame.” I am grateful for these reminders on the boundaries and
intricacies of shame, so we don’t forget, and started stripping each
other on our morning walks through the village. But, seriously, shame
is no joke. Alice was walking home, wet from swimming, and a village
girl barricaded the path until Alice agreed to take her offered
duputta. There was a moment last week when I hid myself under a desk
because I heard a man in the hallway and was wearing a wide-strap tank
top. And then there’s Deepa. Read on…
Rabbits
About a week back, I was teaching English class to a group of about 10
local fishermen, when I noticed, lying in the center of our circle,
were Deepa’s underpants.
Shame.
They have bunnies on them. Shame, Deepa, shame. I was using the unemptied backpack we had taken to Madurai, and they must have fallen out. Luckily, I was able to snatch them up before anyone noticed. Otherwise, Deepa would probably have to fly home.
Let There Be Light (and wind)
Last week, Alice and I came across a character of the highest esteem.
This would be, of course, The Very Helpful Boy. It all began in the
community hall, as we were waiting for our English class to turn up.
TVHB began to turn on fans. And turn off fans. And turn on more fans,
while simultaneously (with the other hand) turning off fans. And turn
off fans for a moment, and then very quickly turn them on again, and
then, when you least expect it, turn them off. And then on. And all the
while (every five seconds. no joke.) asking, "Auntie, fan?", "Auntie,
good?". Finally, someone who knows the fastest way to a woman's heart
is through an expertly arranged fan configuration. I have never met
someone so desperate for approval And then he starts on lights. Alice
and I sit, for—I kid you not—thirty minutes, as TVHB turns switches on
and off, in what can only be described as the display of the century, a
spectacle of wind and light.
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