How I found peace at an Indian McDonalds

A California Nightmare: McSpicy Paneer Burger

You'd think in the city of light (Banaras) you'd find peace everywhere. Actually, this is a gross misunderstanding.

A couple weeks ago, I was in Delhi at a conference where someone was talking about Banaras (Varanasi) as THE place to go to find peace and harmony. I said, "Uh... have you ever been there?"

He replied, "No, actually."

"I wouldn't say that Varanasi is THE place to find peace exactly... unless, of course, you mean a different kind of a peace--the kind of peace that no one really is looking for."

I returned to chaotic Varanasi after this Delhi trip, away from the air conditioned conference and buffet catering, understanding that Varanasi offers a different kind of peace. A peace that you cannot see, hear, taste, smell or touch. Actually, most of the time I can't even feel it.

That is until yesterday. At McDonalds.

OK, yesterday was somewhat typical of a Banarasi (Varanasi-like) day in the sense that you can't get simple things accomplished without multiple snafus of various magnitudes.

In the morning, I got roped into a video interview with the vice principle of Asha Deep School for a documentary being made. The journalist (documentarian?) and I got to talking about how difficult it is to get anything done in this hot, humid weather.

It's hard to imagine that just a week earlier that it rained, making the air so cool that I had to wrap myself in the shawl I got for the Allahabad trip to the Sangam, which feels like such a long time ago. Where has that weather gone? It's fallen and died in a deep, dry hole somewhere with Persephone, eating pomegranate seeds.

So as I was saying... a typical Banarasi day. The journalist put us in front of the camera and just as she started to ask questions... CLICK. The camera automatically turned off. She said, "This has never happened before." Then it was like dominoes: The fully charged battery indicated as empty, the totally empty memory card indicated as full, we needed to change the batteries in the microphone, a mangy puppy kept trying to sneak in, a squeaky door, a beat up truck with a super loud motor. All while we were sweating; since we couldn't turn on the fan during the recording.

Make Shift Shoot: Photo from an earlier interview

Even so, we were able to pull off a relatively short interview, locking in topics like caste discrimination; the lowering of the poverty line; drugs and the tourist industry; the big, fat annual day show; and education. We watched the time since we knew we should try our best to beat the noontime sun. From noon to four in the afternoon, the sun can kill you. Bake you. Fry you. Get under your skin and eat you.

So after the interview, I put on what I think of as my Banarasi astronaut suit: First, I plug up my ear canal snug with my iPod  earphones--sealed shut from dust and noise pollution. Then, I wrap my face and head with a "gamchaa"; kind of a scarf for Banarasi men. Think of it as a male-veil or a scarf for studs. Finally, I put on my sunglasses bought across the street from Manas Temple for 90 rupees ($1.75)--probably NOT UV protected. Oh, well. Then, I roll down my sleeves, get on my noble steed (i.e. a borrowed bicycle), and ride into the blazing sun, heat, noise and swirls of dust. I call it an astronaut suit, but I'm the one that looks like an alien.

Look, it's no joke. Earlier in the week, I went to my friend's house for a funeral reception at his home (the 13th day after the actual funeral ceremony). On the way home, the roads were in the middle of construction. The amount of dust in the air was UNBELIEVABLE. Even though I had my male-veil to protect me, I was coughing non-stop for three days afterward. THREE DAYS, just from dust.

Irony Kills: This is the poster I designed.

Ironically a few days later, there I was helping that same friend design a science poster on none other than "Particulate Matter and Its Impact on Human Health." I looked at him with bitter irony as I pointed out on his poster my own symptoms from inhaling tablespoons of dust on the way back from visiting his home. He listened unfazed, since he was having to take the same route multiple times. That's when you realize it's stupid to feel sorry for yourself.

So, peace at McDonalds. Is that what this post is about? Yes... almost there. Keep reading.

Yesterday. Hot, sweaty, malfunctions. Oh yeah, the journalist mentioned that she had done hundreds of shoots, but this was the first time she experienced so many malfunctions. She had talked with others and they had said they experienced the same--surprising malfunctions while shooting in India. "It's the heat," she claimed.

So have I established the fact that it's hot, dusty and chaotic around here? It is. And I had planned to say more, but let's fast forward a bit and get to the end.

... so that is why I think my friend proposed that we go see a movie. After, of course, one or two chaotic moments getting to the theater in the evening, we finally got to the air conditioned shopping mall and sat in our seats for the film. During the film, there were things that would put Americans into a frenzy; like people talking loudly on cell phones (which, for Americans, is justification for homicide) and a guy going up and down the aisle asking for orders from the snack bar DURING THE MOVIE and not in a whispery voice. However, I ignored those things--focused on enjoying the movie, the overpriced popcorn and time with my friends.

Somehow afterwards we ended up at McDonalds. (YES, FINALLY AT MCDONALDS!)

I pointed out to my friend how there are probably only three things on the Banarasi McDonalds menu that are the same with the US menu: The soft drinks, the french fries and the Filet-O-Fish. The rest of the menu reads like a McDonalds lover's California nightmare: McVeggie Burger, McSpicy Paneer (cottage cheese) Wrap, McAloo Tikki Burger. I ordered a spicy paneer burger myself--a huge slab of fried cottage cheese with special sauce, of course.

The restaurant (I know McDonalds calls itself that, but really... is it a "restaurant"?)... As I was saying... The "restaurant" wasn't to max capacity, but it was still pretty crowded with kids and mostly young guys who had no clue how to form something called "a line" or how to order in a way that makes sense, however the manager taking the orders showed extreme tact and patience.

I can't exactly remember what my friend said, but something like, "This place is driving me crazy." Lately, "[Fill in the blank] driving me crazy" has been a bit of a mantra for my friend. "These kids are driving me crazy." "These mosquitoes are driving me crazy." "This typist is driving me crazy." "Banaras is driving me crazy."

This is the kind of the peace we want.
That's why it is marketable.
That's why I delete this message
every single stinkin' week!

Then he mentioned that his mother noticed this and how she said (something like), "You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you are looking for peace from things outside of you. You need to have internal peace."

You know how you've heard something like 50 million times and it's like you know it but you don't actually know it? Yeah, that's when I slapped the table and said, "Your mom is totally right!"

We talked about how we have everything (food, shelter, friends), yet we are still not at peace. Later, my friend pointed out a little girl quietly twirling in a swivel stool. I joked with him, "THAT is inner peace!" In the chaos of McDonalds, the girl found something that she could enjoy, and it didn't matter what others were doing or thinking.

In fact at times, it is sad to see people grabbing at external sources of peace and happiness, as if they are enough to satisfy us. This includes myself, I guess.

So in the middle of chaotic Banaras--in her dust, heat and mayhem, we're stripped of external sources of happiness. We are Persephone wondering when will and how can I and why is it so freaking hot?

And we have to look for the kind of peace that we didn't want to find.

The kind that says, "Nothing is enough until nothing is enough."


Related post: The holy uncaring cow of peace

Life beyond chow mein at the school's big, fat annual program

Every year, Asha Deep School pulls off probably the biggest and fattest school program in Varanasi (Banaras) on one of the most popular ghats on the Ganges River. And I got to sit in the middle of it.

First act, a kattak dance, at Asha Deep School's annual day show on Assi Ghat

The school's program was a couple of days ago. Traditionally, every school in India (mostly the prestigious ones) have a show of their kids doing music, art, dance... translation.... BOOOORIIIIIING.

But Asha Deep's annual program is one of the most over-the-top shows in Banaras: fire, loud music, hilarious drama, fire, unicycles, juggling (did I mention FIRE?) right on Assi ghat. So it attracts at least a thousand people. (Am I exaggerating? I don't think so.) The kids are trained by a circus group from Europe called Performers Without Borders (PWB), which raises the cool factor of their annual day show by about a million compared to other schools. (Did I mention FIRE?)

The school's vice principle, Siddharth, was worried that the kids wouldn't be ready. He had run around and around the city just to get permission for the kids to do the program on the large new ghat area. Of course the day before the program, we saw that someone else had put up huge bamboo scaffolding on the new ghat area. Siddharth then pleaded with the police, but they said that since it was a government program that put up the scaffolding, they could not take it down. Ugh, for the first time the government decides to set up something early. Now, we had to scrunch the stage onto the the old ghat.

But this brought on another problem. The old ghat is the site of the nightly aarti (worship of the Ganges using fire). Our program was planned for 5 to 8PM. Aarti runs from 6:30 to 7:15PM. So, who got assigned to make a slideshow during our 45 minute aarti break?

Me.

So I thrust myself into making of a slideshow/video. The goal: A fast-paced, silent 40-minute video of Asha Deep's greatest moments that keeps the audience in their seats. The product? Uh... a barely 20-minute video of whatever photos and spliced up old videos we could find that at times made you dizzy since clips were shifting and spinning in overdrive. It was perfect... if the whole audience had ADD. (Side note: We ended up showing it twice, meaning stopping our program twice, because the aarti pundit did not show up on time!)

It was approaching 5PM and the dance guru had not yet arrived. Siddharth frustrated said, "We are starting. We are going to start without him," even though the guru and our dancing students were the first act. Surprisingly, even with the craziness that is Banaras, Asha Deep's annual program on the age old Assi Ghat facing the sacred Ganges River starts nearly on time. Let's not talk about ending on time, but starting... they're pretty good at that.

The sound was up, the kids were on stage, out of nowhere the dance guru was on the tabla (Indian drum) and we were starting. They opened the stage curtain (which is something that usually no outdoor performance in India has--an actual stage curtain)... so as I was saying... the stage curtain opened and there were our girls all in beautiful, bright, shining, colorful saris and flowers in their hair and the guru struck the tabla, the girls struck the stage floor with their bell-chiming feet and we were off.

It was one performance after another with hardly a breath in between. Each performance was neither too long, nor too short. One thing I like about the Asha Deep's annual day show is that they choose songs that make the audience's hips move... maybe a bit too much. Like, is it kosher for Radha (the cohort of Krishna) to move her "sexy body"? Hmm.

Since the first time I saw Asha Deep's annual day performance on Assi a couple year's ago, I recognized the brilliance of it. Usually, annual programs are within a school's walls, so that it is exclusively for school faculty, students and their hobnob.

However unlike these exclusive schools, Asha Deep's kids come from slums where their lives are constantly on display; so Asha Deep's program puts the kids back into their element, but this time not as poor kids on the street, but confident students in the coolest annual day show ever. This, I believe, was the brain child of Asha Deep's principal, Connie. These kids perform in front of hundreds of not only their family and friends, but tourists, ghat workers, their neighbors, foreigners, police, priests, etc. In front of everyone, they show what they can accomplish. And, it's impressive.

One of the small highlights for me was one of my classroom headaches--Suraj. Suraj is one of the most talkative students in school. He just can't stop talking. I suddenly got slotted to teach 8th grade English. (I'll talk more about it in another post.) Suraj is in 8th grade. Compared to the other students, Suraj's English isn't very good, so he's spewing out Hindi left and right during my "English" class.

I had to put my foot down with him. (OK, if you know me, putting my "foot down" actually means, like, not smiling or not letting the kids eat me for breakfast... maybe just nibble me for breakfast.) We did get through the lessons though.

After class I talked with Siddharth and the issue of Suraj came up. I mentioned that he's a bit of a handful. Siddharth chuckled a bit as if he was glad. I looked at him funny. He said, "You know, I let Suraj play around in class a bit when I teach. Suraj told me once that at home in the slum he has to manage the chow mein stall. At school he likes to play around because it's the only chance for him to act like a kid."

Ack! My heart hurt at that very moment.

It was Suraj's time to recite a poem on stage at the annual program. The hilarious and confident former students, Anil and Kaushal, announced the next act, calling Suraj "chow mein walla" (the chow mein man).

"Now Suraj will recite a poem," announced Anil.

"Suraj? The one who sells chow mein on the corner?" interjected Kaushal.

Suraj appeared from behind the curtain. Lights were on him. He recited a poem by Kaka Hathrasi. Here's my unofficial translation slathered with liberal-er than liberal poetic license:

Moving in a stopped train, eating choo-choo
Donation of rupees ten, a nice seat for you
Every stop this ritual offering to Lord Ticket T.
All hail, all praise to dishonesty!

Unemployment, starvation, inflation pours
Beaten, worn are these words, stop the noise
In this moment, what we need are people's blood and pleas
All hail, all praise to dishonesty!

The poem, of course, went on, but you get the idea. Since Suraj served every line with a side dish of sarcastic wit, the audience laughed after every stanza. Not too bad for a kid who serves Chinese food on the street.

Suraj on stage, reciting the poem

Suraj also played the "hero" of a play brilliantly put together by the vice principle, Siddharth. This skit was a topsy-turvy Bollywood drama where the "hero" and the "heroine's" roles were reversed. The girl "eve-teased" (cat called) the boy on the street. The mother of the girl went to meet the boy, asking him to walk around the room and show her his fingers and feet. (I thought this was an over-the-top gesture for the play, but according to my friend, yes, parents of the boy do at times ask the potential bride-to-be to show her hands and feet and walk around the room in real life!) The mother of the bride then demanded a dowry, later almost shutting down the wedding because the dowry wasn't enough. The girl arrived with her party of females dancing down the street to the boy's house.

As the wedding ceremony came to an end, the father of the boy told his son that he no longer belonged to his family; that the boy must not shame his home, but be faithful to the traditions. The boy then wailed, crying, telling his father that he would do what was necessary. The audience was already on the edge of their seats, chuckling and smiling from ear to ear. I noticed that mothers and women were particularly interested as they crowded forward, squatting down in the "blocked off" front area for a closer look. When the boy started crying, the whole audience burst out in laughter.

The boy ended up at the girl's house with his wife and mother-in-law constantly barking commands at him. In the end, it was Suraj on the floor with broom in hand, saying, "My life is now a living hell."

With all sincerity, Suraj then explained that this play was just for fun, but he asked the audience to imagine if it really was this way; and actually, how it is this way for many women in our society.

Not bad for a chow mein walla.

If there was one "mantra" of the night it was that Asha Deep School doesn't just teach kids how to be better students but how to be better people.

And this is the brilliance of the annual day show of Asha Deep.

It proves to their parents, neighbors, relatives and friends that these kids are not just poor, slum dwellers, but they do have a chance to be more.

And it shows the audience, that they themselves can be more, too.

Update: How to donate to Asha Deep in India, contact me to donate from the US or other countries


Related posts:
- Tips for working with the underpriviledged
- How to teach computers without computers
- Good morning, Sunshine

Good morning, Sunshine

This morning, opened the gate to the school and was greeted by this.

Good morning, Sunshine

No further comment, your honor.

How to teach computers without computers

I have worked as a graphic designer, designed my own websites, and have created graphs for scientific experiments, but this was all before I had ever taken a computer class. I have even taught a computer class having never taken a computer class. The only time I have taken a computer class was a little more than a year ago during my Master's, and that was taught without using any computers.

So I sympathized with the kids today when we started the computer class with no electricity.

Kids mesmerized by computer. Eh... just learning Word.

I realized how difficult it is to really teach computers in a place that has irregular power outages. Without a computer how would you explain the difference between "Save" and "Save As"? Teachers from Banaras, however, are used to this.

Sanjay, the regular teacher, lets his words do the teaching. He gives great elaborate Banarasi-type analogies, which have dubious relevance to the subject at hand, but puts the kids in stitches. For instance, he was explaining the difference between portrait and landscape, and how you don't put paper landscape into a printer. As he explained, it's like trying to ride a bicycle in a narrow gully and then suddenly another cycle comes rushing the opposite direction. Then, what happens? You both get stuck. You can't fit two cycles in such a narrow gully! That's like portrait and landscape.

Uh... kind of. The kids may not get the point, but they had a good time laughing.

It was like when my biodiversity professor tried to explain how ecological niches are like seats in a rickshaw. You can sit more than three people, but eventually some may pop out. My classmates laughed hysterically as he explained it half in Bhojpuri. Anything half in Bhojpuri is hysterical, especially when trying to explain science.

So I in a sense I took my own Indian university experience to heart and taught computers without using computers on the fly, as there was no electricity. Today's topic? HTML.

I was drawing the icons for Internet Explorer, Chrome and Firefox, creating hyperlinks and images... all on a blackboard with a crumbly piece of chalk.

At the end, one of the students looked up at me and said, "You are a very good teacher."

The electricity finally did come back and we did eventually hit the computers (see above). We do have plans at the school to upgrade the computer classroom with a new battery backup and some new computers, so we can actually teach on computers when there is no electricity. I was thinking that solar hook ups may not be a bad idea, but that maybe a little over the top.

I was also thinking about what the child said to me--"You are a very good teacher"--not because it reflects my educational prowess, but because it shows to me that these kids want to go to school to learn something.

I've seen this multiple times these past few days. I explain something to a child, and out of self-realization they smile. When they learn something, really learn something, they are happy. In a world of energy depravity and growing up in marginalized communities, education is seen as a means to a practical end--a good job and a good marriage.

It's nice to be there when learning is suddenly not those things, and for a moment they're just happy to know.

Tips for working with the underpriviledged

I arrived late at Asha Deep School, since I was sick, but the nicest thing was when I opened the gate, I was greeted by none other than... bharatanatyam--the traditional Indian dance.

Greeted by dance. Kids preparing for Annual Day, learning baratnatyam kattak.

At this school, you can find kids dancing and juggling while also learning computers, math, English and Hindi. The kids are getting ready for their annual program on Assi Ghat in a few weeks.

The next couple months, I will be volunteering at Asha Deep Vidhyashram (school). This was my first day back. Actually, I've helped out at Asha Deep for the past few years and have written about it in my other blog, so I can say that I have some experience working with NGOs and underprivileged children. Coming back to Asha Deep, I keep these tips about working with NGOs in mind:

1. You'll end up doing what you didn't expect to do. This is probably RULE NO. 1 for all NGO work.
2. You'll end up doing what you don't want to do. This may be RULE NO. 2.
3. You'll end up doing what you cannot do. This may be RULE NO. 3.

Follow these rules, and you will go far in any NGO. ;-)

This first afternoon at Asha Deep, we laid out some "plans" for my work there. Here are some of my objectives:

1. Be a translator (Hindi-English) for a speech therapist who will take one of the girl students to get a cleft palette operation with Smile Train at one of the local hospitals. Today in fact, I may need to translate for the girl's parents to explain the procedure. (I'll explain more in another post.)
2. Help structure the computer class for older children.
3. Help structure adolescent health/development curriculum.
4. Put together a few environmental science classes.
5. Did someone mention putting together a Women's Forum in the the slum area?

So it seems, Rules No. 1, 2 and 3 are in play here. 

I guess that means I'm on the right track.

UPDATE: Sorry, the kids were not learning bharatnatyam. They were learning kattak.