It has been an entire week since I have written, and I have been itching to do so each day. I go to sleep at night, penning fantastic stories in my mind that I promptly forget each day. So finally, today, I have free time. In fact, from here on out, I will have free time every day, because today is my first day on my new, selfishly me-oriented schedule.
I woke up at 4:30 am to wish my husband a happy birthday, but was so excited for my day, I found it hard to go back to sleep. Eventually I did, and I settled into my routine of waking up, eating a quick breakfast and gulping down as much water as possible (since I do believe we sweat half our body weight each night), and headed off to the gym.
My husband says I am a creature of habit, and desperately in need of a routine to be happy. I do believe that is true. Every day, after the gym, I stretch on a bright orange yoga mat while watching exactly one episode of The X-Files (I’m up to season three already). I eat some lunch, watch the end of the episode, and then shower. Usually at that point I had worked on stuff for teaching, went to teach, came home, ate dinner, prepped for teaching until 11:00 pm, and then watched Two and a Half Men and went to bed. And repeated the next day. The only variable is what flavor ice cream I eat on any given day.
But I still wasn’t happy. Something about doing all that teaching, 8-10 hours a day with the prep work… it just wasn’t exactly how I planned to spend my free, unpaid time this year. Yes, teaching kids is worthwhile, but I discovered it wasn’t the way to my happiness. At least, not when I spend each night googling information about random countries like Sri Lanka, compiling it into a reading comprehension worksheet, and then making sure a 10 year old, mostly Urdu-speaking child could read and comprehend it.
So, as I said, I finally get to start my selfish me-schedule today, minus the daily episode of Two and a Half Men, which has been suspiciously absent from the channel line-up since Charlie Sheen was fired…. The wheels that got the schedule (the me-schedule, not the TV schedule) in motion started spinning nearly a month ago. As everyone who has been reading this knows, I haven’t been too happy with this teaching position, and had been considering quitting for awhile. Of course, I didn’t. I am (1) a non-confrontational wimp (except when I am cut in front of in line), and (2) I don’t like disappointing people. So I continued with it, becoming less and less happy, and spent less and less time on the googling each day. But then my husband’s job got incredibly busy.
His case is consuming so many hours that he hasn’t been home in Mumbai for the entire month of March (save a pair of layovers totaling about 30 hours, most of which he slept through). So, as a dutiful wife desperately missing her husband, I travelled to Bangalore each weekend instead. Some weekends he was so busy that I mostly slept and read books while he continued in the office. But we did have lovely meals at the Leela Palace, with the best hazelnut ice cream you could possibly imagine. It was even topped by a piece of sculpted chocolate. Amazing.
The upshot of this is that I was missing at least two days a week teaching, and I was resentful of the teaching job, because it meant I couldn’t stay longer if I so desired. As this case seems to go on infinitely (as far as typical cases go), it was no longer worth it. During my three days in Mumbai, I worked twice as hard to make lesson plans covering five days, making me even more irascible (great word, I picked it up from Anna Karenina and use it every chance I get).
Finally, after the second weekend of Bangalore travel, I got my nerve up, called, and quit. Despite my many attempts at a clarification, half the people still think I am MOVING to Bangalore, which I am not. But I do plan to spend more time there. So no, I couldn’t quit for my own goals. But I could quit to see my husband.
Regardless, I gave my two weeks, and they are now up!
I know it was the right decision because of how happy and calm I am. Certainly, I felt a little guilty. I am abandoning these children. I genuinely like and will miss about half of them. They also have no teacher. But they had no teacher before I came, either. This class is at a weird time and is far from the train. It is hard to find someone who will do all of that work for only $111.11 a month…. But overall, I am just happy and relaxed.
As evidence for or against that happy and relaxed state I claim to have achieved, see my actions for my last day of school. I had an incredibly busy morning planned- I needed to get my lehnga blouse fitted for a weekend event, the copy machine at the school wasn’t working, so I had to make a few hundred Xerox copies of future lessons to leave for the students, I had an appointment with a potential car insurance guy, and of course, my personal training session at the gym. It isn’t hard to do all of that with a driver. The tailor’s is on the way to the gym, and my driver can have the copies made while I am working out. Pick up the altered blouse on the way home, shower, and be ready for the 1:00 pm meeting with the car guy.
But you should never make plans here, because they always fall apart.
My driver texted me early in the morning, saying he couldn’t come into work. Well, what he actually wrote was, “My uncle elder son is off today terefor i am on leave today” which confused me. I wrote back, asking his meaning, and he just called. Apparently, his cousin (his Uncle’s son) died that day, around 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. And my driver had to take care of the body. So he was taking the day off. Ironically enough, just the day before I had been asking him about Muslim funeral practices.
My poor, poor driver. He has had the worst possible month. His mother, who had heart bypass surgery last year, has been back in the hospital. She stayed for about a week, and seems to be okay now. His wife, just days before the text message was sent to me, was also admitted to the hospital. I’m still not entirely certain what is wrong with her. Something in her women’s area gives her pain while menstruating (none of the women here use birth control pills, which eliminates those cramps, and thus every single female complains about cramps, even to me, a relative stranger). He calls it a ‘bubble’, if that sheds light for anyone else as to what the problem could be. But the pain was much, much worse this time. It is so bad, she can’t keep food down. I tentatively asked if they were worried about cancer or something similar, but he said no. He told me he’ll bring the medical records for me to see, but I haven’t seen them yet. They seem to make any visit to the hospital last 7-10 days here, so she was still in the hospital when this cousin died.
So I was sympathetic, and also, sadly, slightly suspicious. I mean, who has this many health issues in a row? I had promised him I would give him an advance on his salary (to pay for all of the hospital bills), so I met up with him in the evening. He looked so amazing! He was in his traditional Islamic attire. He had an all-white dishdasha complete with a white kufi cap (sort of like a bigger Jewish yarmulke). I’m so used to seeing him in jeans and novelty T-shirts that I didn’t even recognize him at first. His son was accompanying him. I was so excited to finally see this kid. Despite being 12 or 14, he didn’t look a day older than 9 or 10. He had a round face, smiling, and was utterly adorable. The three of us walked to the bank together (I refuse to carry that much money alone), and it was so evident how much my driver cared for his son. He kept making him walk to the side, in the middle, away from the cars. It was very sweet to watch. His son was incredibly shy, though. I shook his hand, and tried to get him to speak. My driver had warned me he was shy (though he said he doesn’t stop talking at home), so I wasn’t surprised. So I mainly just smiled at him (which even made him shy away!).
As we walked, my driver told me details about his day. The cousin had died around 3:30 in the morning. He apparently had to go over to the house, prep the body, and take it to the site. I’m not entirely where the ‘site’ was, but my driver had to personally carry him, on his shoulders. It sounds sort of like the pallbearers we are used to seeing in America. But the American pallbearers don’t carry the body for too long. It sounds like my driver had to carry it for quite a distance. Either they don’t exist, or cost too much money, but they didn’t have a hearse for the body, and no taxi driver would let them put it in their car. So they carried it. My driver told me he couldn’t ever remember being in so much pain. His shoulders just ached.
As a side note, as these activities took place a week ago- his wife is again in the hospital. He is supposed to hear something further today….
But that was the end of my day. Let’s go back to the morning, when I had just gotten his text message stating that he wasn’t coming in today. I hopped out of bed, worried, mainly because I wasn’t sure where to make the Xerox copies, knowing I had to do it so that my students would have lesson for a week or so, even after I left the teaching job. I don’t live too far from the gym, nor the tailor, so I decided, for the first time since moving to Bandra (aka, 6 weeks ago), to actually walk outside by myself. I went out, walking on the street, enjoying the views. Women sitting on the street, with baskets of fish, cats prowling and meowing around, were smiling and chatting and smiled at me as I walked past. The autos honked and swerved around me. Basically, I was treated like everyone else, not the sideshow freak to stare at. Yes, Bandra really is the place for the white folk to live. I was relieved to discover this, and relaxed, enjoying the fairly shaded walk.
While walking, I kept my eyes peeled for a copy machine. Yes, the shops all look like tiny abandoned buildings, but they are actually thriving businesses. I found one, and mentally tucked away its location for later. After five minutes or so, I came upon the small open corner of a building where the tiny little old tailor with sparkling eyes sits at his sewing machine. Various articles of women’s clothes adorn the white walls, and two other men are cramped in the tiny space, chatting over coffee or tea. The tailor gave me a huge grin when I walk up, and I asked him to measure me and fit the blouse. The cost? 50 rupees, or $1.11. And it will be ready to pick up whenever I want. I tell him I’ll pick it up at noon.
Grinning, I hail a rickshaw and head to the gym. This isn’t too bad or hard at all, I thought. I began to immediately wonder why we decided we needed a car at all, but of course it will be wonderful come summer, with the air conditioner, and during the monsoons, with the windows that successfully roll up. Plus, despite my grumbles, our driver is amazing and knows where everything is, pays our bills for us, etc. So it would be a very tough life without him.
I arrived on time for my personal training session, and went upstairs to run for 10 minutes as my warm-up. When I came back down to the main floor, and hunted for my PT, Trainer V, I was distracted and cajoled to enter into their fitness contest they were holding for the day. I eyed them suspiciously, but their enthusiasm was convincing, and I reluctantly followed them to an empty bench and mat which had various weights scattered about.
The contest was simple. Fastest time wins. It started with 30 weighted stair-steps onto one of those plastic aerobics steps. With five or six trainers around me, shouting personal encouragements, I started stepping as fast as I could. Of course, once I started, I enjoyed it. After the 30 steps we quickly switched to 30 push-ups, then 30 sit-ups, then 30 squats. 30 shoulder presses. I did pretty well up until they made me jump over a bench 30 times. That was exhausting. It was a flat bench press, and I stood with my hip perpendicular to the length of it. You put your hands on it, and jump side to side, OVER it. It was exhausting. And after that, I had to do 30 up and down jumps. Not easy jump rope-like jumps, but jumps where you try-to-kick-your-backside jumps. Those were really hard. We also did a ‘burpee’ but it was different from what we call burpees in the US, so I lost some time as they explained to me their version. It ended with 60 seconds of plank, which I am utterly amazed that I finished in one go after the rest of the events. Regardless, after 7 minutes and 15 seconds, I was done, exhausted, and breathing heavily.
My trainer finally found me, after I was done, so that was disappointing he didn’t get to watch! Some one kindly passed me their homemade version of Gatorade, which was just as gross as the real thing. But I drank it gratefully and watched the next female competitor, mentally comparing.
Her sit-ups were much better than mine. Have you ever seen the movie Bend it Like Beckham? Have you seen the scene where they are doing sit-ups? They were like that, where they come fully up. I guess we always do ‘crunches’ in the US, which I thought were better for your back…. But my push-ups were much better. We both did girl push-ups, but rather than a flat plank from head to knees, she was bent at 90 degrees and only lifting weight from the hip to chest, rather than knee to chest. I looked around, but no one else seemed concerned about her form. In fact, my trainer, just like an obnoxious kid on the playground, got down and started counting the wrong numbers! 16, 14, 10, 21, 19, etc. Just when you think our worlds are similar, you find the differences! Everyone was laughing at him, not annoyed. Her bench jump? She stood at the end and made baby jumps, not actually jumping over the bench!
It really surprised me that no one was correcting form. Now I wonder if my form was okay in all of the events. I feel like in the US we’d have been told to do it right and they wouldn’t count until it was done…. Of course, that probably holds true for my sit-ups, as well! But here no one cared. They thought the short cuts were funny.
But- here is evidence for the fact that quitting my teaching job was a good decision- I wasn’t annoyed at the cheating. It just amused me! After watching one other person, I was convinced that there was no way I’d be able to place, having actually done the proper form rather than racing. But I wasn’t mad. Just satisfied I had tried my best. What a difference in mood from other days!
Days later I could still barely lift my legs. So it was a good workout. Later, I found out I placed second in my age group. I asked them how many people were IN my age group. No answer. But at least three since the top three were listed….
Exhausted from the gym, I had to finish my busy goals for the day. I hailed another rickshaw, went home, showered, and headed downstairs to pick up my blouse from the tailor and make the worksheet copies. As I exited the building, I ran into K. who was accompanied by the car insurance guy. K. is our landlord’s go-to-guy. Confused, as it was only noon and our appointment was for 1:00 pm, I escorted them back in to the building.
Now, the gym story was evidence for my good mood. This story is further evidence of my irascible nature. I was a bit grumpy, because I had told the tailor I’d be back at noon, and I don’t like going back on my word. But it is India, so I figured he wouldn’t mind. I brought K. and Insurance Guy upstairs. I have probably mentioned this before, but we’ve had a right struggle trying to find car insurance. It seems like it should be easier to get people to take your money. So I was overjoyed that I would finally get this done.
They sit down. I offer water. It is declined. Insurance Guy pulls out a bunch of paper work. Tells me it will cost about $180 for the car. It is expensive (for India), but I say fine. I’m sick of running around. Where do I sign? I write the check, etc, and then he says, “the car is still in the previous owner’s name?” to which I reply NO. What kind of idiot is he? Who buys a car from someone but doesn’t transfer ownership? Maybe I am the idiot, actually. Maybe that is normal behavior here. I don’t know. But regardless, he tells me he can no longer give me my old rate. It is now an extra 250 rupees, or about $5.56. I just lost it. I said, “No, you already gave me that rate. Look at my driving record in the US. You’ll see I have no accidents (pretty easy, since I don’t own a car!), etc”. I argued. Finally, I told him to get out of my house. I don’t want it anymore. They both try to say no, we will work this out. My voice got louder, “I don’t trust you. I’m not paying this extra money. And you, K. I’m not at your beck and call. You don’t show up yesterday, you show up an hour early today. Get out! GET OUT! GET OUT!”. I swept up my folder of car information, turned my back on them, and dramatically put it on a shelf that is probably out of reach for the general height of the Indian population. I stared at them, fire probably shooting out of my eyes, until they opened the door. I grabbed my purse and bag of student lessons waiting to be copied, and followed them out the door. Yep. We took the same elevator. I didn’t look at them, ignored them, and marched out of the elevator first and walked down the road.
I immediately called my husband. By this point my firm attitude was crumbling, and I was nearly in tears when I told him what had happened. I was just so disappointed that we lost the insurance, again. I should have just paid the darn money. But at the same time, I was SO incredibly happy to finally bellow at the top of my lungs and release some of my anger. In the end, my driver told me that cost was way too expensive, so it was good I didn’t pay it. So I guess it turned out okay, as long as they don’t pay the $20 hitman to get me knocked off. Apparently those killings are on the rise again… A poor 74-year-old man was just killed by a hitman…who needs to kill a 74-year-old man?
Anyhow, I walked along the road, picked up my blouse, and headed to the copy shop. I spent about 300 rupees, or more than the disputed car insurance money, on copies of paper for my students that I will never see filled out… regardless, I was done, and headed home to relax a tiny bit before my last day of school.
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