Just when I am ready to 'quit' on India it always surprises me with a hot cup of chai, a friendly embrace, or someone actually showing up on time. After two weeks on interviews, dancing, singing, chai and embracing the children and women of Rajeev Gandhi Colony, a slum on the outskirts of Jodhpur, I taught my first English class to a group of eager young women, and my fellow South Korean intern gave a workshop about basic cleanliness to the children. Perhaps it is the color of my skin and my foreign gestures that attract the women and children to the small center where we hold the classes, curious what this tall white girl has to say as she awkwardly adjusts her shawl around her kurti, and her baggy salwar suit pants scuff the dust on the floor. They probably can't understand half of what I'm saying but I tell myself to just keep smiling and laugh whenever it gets awkward. My class is over before I know it since most of the women show up late. I'm slightly relieved but already worried because we spent half the class learning names and I'm afraid I'm not going to remember them for tomorrow's class. Simply learning the names seems like a foreign language to me!
My NGO partner, Jo Eun, who speaks a little Hindi, is a big hit with the little kids. She tells them to wash their hands often, shower with soap, and brush their teeth while I act out these motions. I stepped aside for a moment to video the class, noticing how all the little boys crowded the front and responded to Jo Euns questions loudly while the girls sat in the back, straining to hear or quietly chatting since the prospect of moving to the front appeared too daunting a task. I took the opportunity to pick up some of the smallest girls and hoist them high on my shoulders so they could see what Jo Eun was doing up front. With my support and nudging more of the little girls start to inch forward and reproach the boys for hogging the stage. It was to little avail in the end, as the little girls and I were stuck in the back till Jo Eun finished, but I promised myself I would not let this happen again. In this short moment, you could see how women in this neighborhood have grown up believing they are inferior to men, and are suppose to melt into the background rather than take the lead or be at the forefront of any event.
I was now an instant companion to many of the little girls, who were all fighting to grab my hand, show me the henna on their hands, and crawl into my lap, talking softly to me in Hindi. It did not matter that I had no idea what the were saying, they continued to smile and ask me questions in Hindi, while continuing to play with my hand and making it impossible for me to stand up. Eventually Jo Eun and I made eye contact, signally it was time to go. This became a monumental task in itself, as the girls refused to let go of my hand. So with a crowd of children, Jo Eun and I walked to the edge of the slum. The boys were showing off, flipping and kart-wheeling in front of us, as the girls calmly circled around Jo Eun and I through a chain of hand holding. Just as we came to the road where we were to catch the bus, a little girl in a green dress, who I recognized from my last visits because she had worn the same dress, stared at me and spoke softly in Hindi. I looked to the village helper who worked with us and spoke only a few words of English. “She say, you tomorrow come back?” I glanced again at the small girl staring at me with anticipation in her green eyes, feeling her hand wrapped loosely in mine. Definitely I thought and then nodded my head vigorously towards the little girl and the village helper. I had to rely on body language, which didn’t seem sufficient but it was all I could do. I knew at that moment it was enough and that it was as if for a short period of time this girl and I spoke the same language.
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