So it seems I am back abroad, in the heart of Southern India. I am volunteering in Prema Vasam, a home for children both disabled and not. After my twenty hours of plane rides and a scary taxi ride to my hotel (it was nighttime), I finally got to bed. When I got into my room I immediately began sobbing and wondering what was the quickest way to go home. Do I beg my mother? Do I send Avy a pic of me with some sort of sacred-six-breaking substance? I lay there plotting until I was embraced by the sweet release of unconsciousness. I woke up in the middle of the day by a phone call from ELI, the program directing me through India. Vibha was here to give me a tour of Chennai.
It was a lot less freaky in the day time, which was a relief. We visited stores and temples and churches, and I was entranced by the Indian culture. Culture is part of daily life here. Women wore bindis and beautiful saris, people draw amazing little designs on the ground in front of their homes, classical Indian music could be heard everywhere. I was so impressed with the colors, the smells, I could go on forever. But of course I was still in a bit of a mood from the exhaustion and loneliness when I got back to my room. I think I’ve seen enough of this place, I think to myself. I’m ready to go home now. It hits me at that very second that I will be here for more than eighty more days. I was ready to leave after one. But moods pass, as they do (my African sisters know this from experience). By the next day I was ready to start my work at the orphanage.
Prema Vasam is very deep into the suburbs of Chennai, surrounded by construction of condos and other buildings. Cows are walking down the street at their leisure and there are little pools of dirty water filled with garbage. I’m ready to tuck and roll out the car when we arrive. We drive through the gate of Prema and stop next to their big building. Prema Vasam has three stories and a big common room on the first floor where children have physical therapy. When I walk inside I am greeted by all the special children and women singing a welcome song. They had this elaborate garland of flowers placed over my head and a woman painted a quick circle between my eyebrows. I was not expecting this! They’re all smiling at me and I smile back because I don’t know what to say. One of the women leads me into the office so I can meet the administrator, Selvyn.
Selvyn is a short, mildly eccentric man with a big mustache and glasses. He told me how he started this place to educate Indra, a thirty year old smart woman in a wheelchair. He explains that she’s the real heart and brains of this place. When she was fourteen, she wanted to study but wasn’t able to because of her disability. Selvyn told her that he would help her, and now she’s a college educated woman with a masters in special education. Selvyn found a boy around this time who no one would take care of, so he took him in and named him Prem. He is the first child of Prema Vasam, which means place of love in Tamil. Selvyn took an oath of celibacy that night to dedicate his life to taking care of unfortunate children.
My first few days was definitely overwhelming for me. Every meal volunteers are supposed to help feed the children, which is hard at first. I wasn’t even used to eating with my hands, let alone feeding someone else with my hands. I still burn my hands and get food everywhere, but in the beginning I was a mess. I was also jet lagged the first week and a half, so I slept all the time and had little appetite.
In the mornings after I feed the children, I help in the special school. They have trained professionals teaching the special children here, they are all lovely people. I mostly help with the little kids, but later I moved on to physical therapy. There I befriended a toddler named Barnika that had a rare condition that made her bones very fragile and often break randomly. I learned quickly that we were kindred spirits. She is so funny and intelligent for a three year old, we get along so well. She has spiky black hair and huge anime eyes that light up so big when she smiles. Another baby I hang out with is Goutammy, a two year old who can’t hear and can’t really walk. She’s both cute and demanding, often ordering me to pick her up and walk her to wherever she points. I really wanted her and Barnika to be best friends but Goutammy does not like her so much. Whenever I put together they just hit each other, which is playful only on Barnika’s side. At one point Goutammy seemed ready to gouge Barni’s eye out, so I stopped pushing them together. It’s sort of like when you hold two puppies together and try to make them kiss but they just end up flipping out.
Chocolate and cereal was a big part of my life here. Literally the only times I would go outside is to go to the grocery store and buy chocolate and cereal. I really don’t get out much. You really never have to leave the building if you can help it. The UV index is always on the “extreme” level so it’s probably best to be a shut in anyway. I bought dozens of these things called kinder joy’s, which were eggs full of chocolate and had a toy inside. The kids were quickly made aware of this and often asked me for the little toys. Kids quickly saw me as a pushover here, and didn’t take no for an answer. Yesterday I’m pretty sure someone came into my room and stole a full sized chocolate bar but I’m not entirely sure. I’m still investigating.
There were many volunteers that came in and out of this place during my stay. They were all these worldly travelers that have been all over, usually Israelis that just left the army. Naturally I hid from them and often blew them off to hang out with my baby friends. Typical Kate, I know.
Last week I had really bad pinkeye, so I would hide in my room and listen to podcasts all day. By the end of the week I was addicted to podcasts and I began to sound like Ira Glass. It was the best of times.
In the afternoons, all the schoolchildren come home so I play with them and help them study. I am so bad at helping them study it’s terrible. I am the most distracting human being and also the most unhelpful. So there is this girl named Prank with curly short black hair. There is this running joke that she is a boy, and she’ll get really mock annoyed. “Look at that naughty boy,” her friend Malathy says. “No, I am girl!” Pryanka would say, showing me her skirt. “Ah,” I would say, “You are boy with skirt.” We would go on and on. While we were studying.
So one day a boy jokingly brings me a watermelon. “For you,” he says. I immediately put it under my shirt and tell everyone I’m having a baby. I’m not sure if pregnancy humor is a thing in India, but I went with it anyway. “It is Pryanka’s,” I announce to all the children staring at me with mixed amusement and horror. I give birth to the watermelon and as I held it all fifty or so kids were staring at me. Moral of the story is I am terrible at making kids study but good at making them laugh and watermelon pregnancy bits get mixed reviews with Indian children. Also, Indian notebooks have pictures of Canada on them, like their idea of exotic.
Next week I leave on a lovely vacation to the nation’s capitol with my mother. I’m excited to go, but sad to leave. Being here teaches you so much about love and patience, I can’t imagine not seeing these people again. I guess I’m just going to have to make the most of my last week!
Happy pi day,
Kate Maher