I should probably begin this blog with a brief explanation of the title- Saamne, the Hindi phrase for "in front." I had some trouble coming up with a title, so I started off by thinking about the themes of my experience here. Language was one of the first things that came to mind, as it is probably the most noticeable difference one is confronted with in any new country. So I began thinking about Hindi, or at least the little that I know of this brand new and seemingly impossibly complex language, and I remembered something Ben told me when I first started struggling though pronunciations. Unlike the choking, back-of-the-throat sounds of French, which I think the language component of my brain is tempted to default to, Hindi sounds should all come from the front of your mouth, very delicate, very fluid. In my clumsy western mouth the constant rolling tongue (or attempts at least) and puffs of air tend towards harshness, but when spoken well Hindi is meant to be very light, leaving nothing of its composition to hide.
While I have only been here for two weeks, I think this idea of keeping things in front has already cropped up a lot in my daily life. One of the first things I was warned about when I came here was not to expect privacy, and it is true, that is not a concept that exists the way we Westerners are used to it. It takes getting used to, but you don't lead two lives here, a public and a private one, rather everything is done in front of the public eye. There is this extreme openness that you would never find with the incredibly restrictive nature of Western social guidelines. There is no feeling of obligation to "entertain guests," because the idea that they are in "your space" doesn't exist. People drift from room to room, pop into conversations without hesitation, and speak their mind without second-guessing themselves. Much like the language, there is a perpetual fluidity to Indian social life.
In the last week or so, this phrase has taken on a third meaning for me, as I began volunteering at school. It is one thing to talk about it, but another entirely to experience the almost surreal feeling of standing in front of a class, speaking to a group of more than twenty Indian school children, who understand only a fraction of what you are saying to them. I have been working at Golden Jubilee School (oh yes, quite the feel good name) in Jalna, a town about thirty minutes from my home on the Mahyco compound. It is an English medium school, so I am not entirely out of place, but I have been spending most of my time with the younger kids, who haven't learned English yet. So here I am, a very strange center of attention for a group of kids that are only just now starting to catch on to my mantra of Samaj mein nahi ai, English bolthi. But to my delight this language barrier results in not dismissal, but the loving understanding that only a child could provide. They continue chattering away to me in Hindi, steadily feeding my mental list of vocabulary words, and occasionally pausing to point out with a glow of pride the words they know in my language.
So there you go, perhaps an unnecessarily cryptic title, but I think an apt representation of my three roles here- language student, social butterfly (or perhaps more of a caterpillar at this point), and teacher (once again, at this point perhaps more of a playmate/novelty). More blog posts to come soon I hope, I do have two very busy weeks to catch up on after all. And hopefully I will get some pictures up here soon too, as well as new background, believe me this one isn't permanent.
While I have only been here for two weeks, I think this idea of keeping things in front has already cropped up a lot in my daily life. One of the first things I was warned about when I came here was not to expect privacy, and it is true, that is not a concept that exists the way we Westerners are used to it. It takes getting used to, but you don't lead two lives here, a public and a private one, rather everything is done in front of the public eye. There is this extreme openness that you would never find with the incredibly restrictive nature of Western social guidelines. There is no feeling of obligation to "entertain guests," because the idea that they are in "your space" doesn't exist. People drift from room to room, pop into conversations without hesitation, and speak their mind without second-guessing themselves. Much like the language, there is a perpetual fluidity to Indian social life.
In the last week or so, this phrase has taken on a third meaning for me, as I began volunteering at school. It is one thing to talk about it, but another entirely to experience the almost surreal feeling of standing in front of a class, speaking to a group of more than twenty Indian school children, who understand only a fraction of what you are saying to them. I have been working at Golden Jubilee School (oh yes, quite the feel good name) in Jalna, a town about thirty minutes from my home on the Mahyco compound. It is an English medium school, so I am not entirely out of place, but I have been spending most of my time with the younger kids, who haven't learned English yet. So here I am, a very strange center of attention for a group of kids that are only just now starting to catch on to my mantra of Samaj mein nahi ai, English bolthi. But to my delight this language barrier results in not dismissal, but the loving understanding that only a child could provide. They continue chattering away to me in Hindi, steadily feeding my mental list of vocabulary words, and occasionally pausing to point out with a glow of pride the words they know in my language.
So there you go, perhaps an unnecessarily cryptic title, but I think an apt representation of my three roles here- language student, social butterfly (or perhaps more of a caterpillar at this point), and teacher (once again, at this point perhaps more of a playmate/novelty). More blog posts to come soon I hope, I do have two very busy weeks to catch up on after all. And hopefully I will get some pictures up here soon too, as well as new background, believe me this one isn't permanent.
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