7
May

Rules of engagement

We started when they were itty bitty. There were rules about when they went to the doctor, when they are supposed to sleep, when to wake them to feed them, how much to feed, what to feed them. We quickly tossed a bunch of those “rules” (hello, my doc told us to wake Woo to feed him every three hours! He was already gaining a pound a week, he was good). Out went the old, and we started a few of our own. Most of them were arbitrary and told in jest to infants that could not understand them.

As both lils got older, they did start to ask about things that are governed by rules; when you can drink, when can drive, when you are allowed to vote. We gave them the correct ages for all of these, and started making up a few of our own. Rules about how old you must be to ride your bike down the slide (eight), which is the highest stair that you can jump off of (the third), and when you can become a vegetarian (twelve). Lots of these values change to suit the situation that they arise from, and the lils like to review them regularly.

Moving to India has meant that there were a large number of new rules thrust upon the lils. They have adopted many of them, but still fight and question a few. We knew it was only a matter of time before the started coming up with their own rules. Surprisingly, it was Goose that came out with a rule for us all.

Each bedroom in our house has its own attached bath, and the lils love to use any toilet other their own when they need to go. This often means that they use each other’s. A few weeks ago Goose reached her breaking point and adamantly decreed that anyone who used her bathroom had to sit down. She was apparently tired of her brother messing up her toilet, and had figured out that this was the only solution. It’s worked too. Woo follows the rule, she is happy and we have peace again when it comes to the toilet. Well, we did have peace. Tonight Woo instituted his own rule… Everyone who uses his toilet has to stand when they pee.

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30
April

They’re super to me

There are many writers that I read who make use of writing prompts for their posts. For the most part they do this very well. The posts are thoughtful and heartfelt and always seem to match the theme perfectly. I am not one of those people. My few attempts to write according to a prompt have never felt natural, so they end up forever in the draft pile, wallowing in their contrivedness (yes I just made up a word).

This week, I was tagged by Nicki of The Perils of a Working Mom to come up with “7 SuperShots”, each of which had to match a category, I was intrigued. I post many pictures, and take many more, but I seldom take the time to talk about why a photo is meaningful to me. It’s something that I have been wanting to do more of, so this is a good place to start. My 7 SuperShots:

A photo that . . . takes my breath away.
Taj Mahal at dawn
I was fortunate enough to go to the Taj Mahal twice this past March. Once to experience it with Willy and the Lils, and once more to have the time to pay more attention and maybe take a few more photographs. This was taken just after sunrise on the second trip. I was the thir person to reach this spot, right after my friend Chris. We planned to be there at that magical moment when there was no one else there, and were lucky enough that the fellow that was there first let us get our shots too. It’s the entire experience of the Taj Mahal that takes my breath away. This photo is one key part of those experiences.

A photo that . . . makes me laugh or smile.
I've got you
I have numerous photographs of the lils having fun, playing, growing and learning, but this is one that never fails to brighten my day. It was Goose’s first ever time on the merry-go-round, and there were only child sized seats on this ride. She was nervous, so Woo was quick to jump up with her and throw his arm around her shoulders. It was a gesture that said “I’ve got you, sis”. She was fine after this.

A photo that . . . makes me dream.
Big tree
I remember when I was a child, and play was just play. We were fearless and focussed on having fun. All to often I see that is missing from the lives of young people. I want to make sure that my lils play for the sake of play, and and do silly things like wrapping themselves around a tree like a rope. This picture shows them doing that with some new friends. It makes me dream of my childhood, and for what they can make of theirs.

A photo that . . . makes me think.
Water
One of the things that has troubled us all since arriving in India is the garbage that is everywhere. It’s on the street, in the parks, in the water. This is a little lake in one of out favourite gardens. It is actually one of few public spaces that we visit where rubbish bins are obvious and plentiful, but still we see this on the shores of the lake. I think about how this came to be such a colossal problem, how it can change, and what I can do to help change it, but mostly I think about how sad it is.

A photo that . . . makes my mouth water.
Garlic aplenty
It’s fresh and plentiful, and the a good chunk of the basis for some of my favourite gravies here. I love going to the local markets in Bangalore. The sights, the smells, the sounds… They are packed and chaotic and full of great things, like these chilies, tomatoes and the garlic. And so much more.

A photo that . . . tells a story.
In this together!
It tells the story to me. They are little, nervous, anxious and excited. It’s the first day that either of them has ever gone to school, and they are in it together. When every one of them isn’t sure, they grab each other’s hand and forge ahead together. I love that they support each other, and that they find comfort in one another.

A photo that . . . I am am most proud of (aka my National Geographic Worth Shot)
Serenity
I don’t in any way feel that this is worthy of National Geographic, but I am really, really pleased with the shot. It was taken in the main city market, amid all the noise and frenzy. This woman was sitting on the ground stringing together one of the long garlands of flowers when a beam of sunlight fell upon her through one of the cracks in the roof. She just sat there, drinking it in, lost in the serenity of the moment, oblivious to everything. When it passed, she just resumed her work. I walked away, but I still think of her, and how peaceful she was.

I think that I am supposed to tag people now to carry this on. I’ll get on that ASAP.

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26
April

Blank

India requires that you fill out an immigration form and be processed by an immigration officer prior to leaving in the country. I recently travelled alone to Singapore, so I had to fill out the form and do this by myself. Although I have done solo cross border travel a number of times, I was a little nervous. This was my first time leaving India on my own, and I don’t know the system, or what the “right” answers are. Filling out the form just might have included a text or two to Willy.

Little did I know that it was one of the questions that I was confident in the answer that would trip me up. The question asked my occupation. I left it blank, as that is the most appropriate answer. The two immigration officers we incredulous, asking “what do you mean you don’t have a job? You must work!” Had the form asked what my profession or title was, I would have gladly responded with Victim Advocate, but it asked what my current occupation was. After explaining several times that I was not currently employed, and having them finally agree that leaving the response blank was the appropriate action, I was let through. I was a little surprised that they were not prepared for the fact that I was not employed, but I was through. The rest of my weekend was fabulous, I had so much fun in Singapore.

My return to Bangalore left me in a funk that has lasted all week. I first thought it was just the shock of the going from neat and orderly Singapore to life in Bangalore that is nowhere near neat or orderly. I’ve slowly come to realize that it’s not that at all. It’s that damn blank.

I have been on an unpaid leave for the duration of my stay in India. The understanding when I left was that my job would be mine if I wanted it upon my return. I agreed to this, with the caveat that I would not force my agency to let my replacement go if she was as great a fit for the position as I thought she would be. Sadly, changes to the way that the agency is funded* meant that my replacement was laid off a couple of weeks ago. If there is no job for her, there is no job for me. I knew this and was upset by it, but it really hit me this week.  That blank just made it real.

 

*Thanks Harper government.

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18
April

Wordless Wednesday – stray cat

Classic pose

Catching bugs

Nap interupted

Yes, it is comfortable to sleep this way :)

New pillow

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13
April

It was bound to happen

There are numerous establishments in India that ask men and women to enter (and generally be scanned or wanded) through separate entrances. Our local shopping mall is one, women to the left, men to the right.  Many of these places have separate, curtained off booth that women enter if they require a more intense scanning, which is generally just a quick scan with the wand. I assume that the practice is to protect the modesty of the women, but I am not really all that modest, so I find it a little inconvenient, mostly because the women’s line is always much slower than the men’s.

All of the airports that I have been through in India follow this practice when it comes to security screening.  You can enter the airport with a companion (or stranger, really) of the opposite gender, but you must segregate for screening purposes. This has bothered me each time that I travel, as it means that my belongings are left on the scanning belt and processed quite quickly, where I step away from it to wait in line to be waved through to the curtained booth to be scanned and have my boarding card examined, then step the pickup location and gather my belongings.  This process takes at least three minutes, and has been longer than ten minutes (especially if I have a lil with me, they tend to charm the scanners).  My belongings, which frequently include my camera and all my lenses, and the various iThings that I carry, would be both difficult and expensive to replace while I am hear.  I would hate to have someone accidentally or maliciously walk away with my gear.

Willy travels more often than I do (Mumbai this week), and I know that this bothers him too.  There seems to be little effort made to reunite travellers with their belongings, as he found out this morning.  He took a flight that left Mumbai at dawn, so he was being processed through security really, really early.  He was held up after depositing his belongings because his web check-in boarding card was missing a stamp from the airport.  When he got though, his bag and his laptop were the only items left at the end of the conveyor belt.  He grabbed them and got on his flight.

When he landed he hopped in a cab and headed to the office.  As he got close, he pulled out his laptop to get things started on his day and realized that it wasn’t his laptop at all.  Apparently a person that made it through the line up faster grabbed the wrong laptop and flew off to who knows where. Willy started to get stressed, trying to figure out how he was going to either get his laptop back, or rebuild all the data onto a new laptop. As luck would have it, the owner’s name, company name and employee ID were accessible from the login information, and his company was quickly contacted. Unfortunately, he and Willy’s laptop were in Hyderabad.

Willy is now on his way home from the airport, having flown to Hyderabad and back today. A waste of a day, but he is lucky to have gotten it back relatively painlessly. As a result, I know that I will be watching and checking my belongings just a little closer when I travel in the future.

5 comments

12
April

Six months

Today marks the six month anniversary of our arrival as a family in India.  We are halfway through the year that we committed to, and a big part of me says I can’t believe that we have been here this long, and a much smaller part says that it can’t possibly have been just six months, it must have been so much longer! India, so far, has been a wonderful but chaotic experience, filled with many great experiences, learning many new things, meeting fabulous people and making truly great friends, but also a great deal of stress, many tears, and some pretty lonely times, especially for me.  That being said, I would not change a minute of it.  It has really been a great six months.

A little while after we arrived, a lady that Willy met told him that she would never recommend Bangalore as a first ex-pat posting, it’s too remote, too isolating, and too hard to settle in. He nodded and smiled and then relayed the comment to me later. I initially agreed, but then later came to realize that it’s not true in our case.  If we hadn’t come here first, we might never have come.  This might be our only posting abroad, and I would not have wanted to miss the last six months that we have enjoyed in India.

The people here are truly the nicest people that I have ever met.  We have learned so much about the mesh of cultures that make up this vast nation, yet we have only barely touched the surface.  We have travelled, together and apart, to places that most Indians never get to see, yet there are so many more places I want to get to.  The food here is enough of a draw, and I haven’t yet perfected the dishes that we knew we love, and have learned to love.  I have taken many photographs, yet I don’t feel that I have done the people and this beautiful country justice.

There are things that bother me about this city, life in India. The traffic, the pollution, the waste, the garbage everywhere, the poverty, and the fact that there seems to be little value placed on such a large segment of the population.   There are also annoyances that affect me personally, like the fact that is takes weeks to have a simple thing fixed, that nothing ever happens as it should, where it should or when it should, and little things that become symbolic and big, like the fact that I can’t get a bank account or credit card here.  We’ve tried several times, and failed at each turn, so we’ve given up.  It’s their loss really, given that I am the spender in the family.  I am also somewhat frustrated by what I have failed to accomplish in my time here.  I had big goals, and I have barely progressed on any of them.  This is partially a result of some of the struggles that we have had to face, but mostly because of the struggles that I have had with settling in.

I frequently get asked about what I miss the most from home.  For me, the answer is simple.  I miss the people that mean so much to us, our family and friends. We are very connected to them, yet we are almost as far away from home as we can get.  If there was just one thing that I could somehow bring with me, it would be them.  We have been so fortunate to have friends and family come to visit, and this has eased this ache quite a bit, but we now face six months with no planned visits, nothing concrete or booked. I know that is in all likelihood going to change, that we will have some visitors, but I can’t get my hopes up.  Sure, I also miss wine, cheese, Greek food, great breads and baked goods, stable electricity, clean water, diversity in climate and a few other things, but those I really can live without.

We are at a crossroads, and now is the time when we start to think seriously about what we do in October.  We can either ask to stay in Bangalore, or we can go home.  We’re both on the fence, but one of us is leaning towards Bangalore, and one is learning towards Ottawa.  I am feeling like home is where I want to go, and Willy can see us living here for a while longer.  We don’t have to make a decision today, but we really do have to make one soon.  Regardless of what that decision is, we have six more months to fill with learning and exploring.  We want to see more of Bangalore, more of India, and more of the south Pacific.  This is our focus for the next six months.

5 comments

11
April

Wordless wednesday – Every day

 

 

 

 

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9
April

The value of a life

We got a call late at night last Wednesday. It was from our driver, who was distraught, and let Willy know that his neighbour had died, that he may need some time off. Willy told him to take the time that he needed, and hung up, concerned. We were surprised when Subbu arrived the following morning to take Willy to work. He explained it simply by saying that it helped to stay with routine. He was clearly shaken, and on the way to Willy’s office explained that it was his neighbour’s seventeen year old son who had died, and that he had committed suicide because his grades were poor. We were both shocked and saddened to hear this. Almost a week later I am still troubled. How could this happen, how could he think that this was his only choice?

My first instinct was to blame the parents. I’ve never met them, nor do I know anything about them or their family; I made some big assumptions. I do know that there is tremendous pressure in India for a child to improve their standing, to do better than their parents. I have read several articles that allude to parental pressure for success, including one that told not of a suicide, but of a twelve year old girl whose father forced her to beg on the streets when her grades were not to his expectation. I have also observed parental expectation first hand throughout our community. Success is not enough; the children are expected to excel, to surpass their peers too. That being said, I am wrong to solely blame the parents. While they may have had some expectation that their son do well, I am certain that they did not want to see him take his life.

It is widely reported that suicide rates in India, especially among youth and female youth in particular are extremely high. There are numerous media reports of children as young as eleven taking their own lives, often because they feel they have done poorly in school, they have actually failed or received a low grade, or that they worry that their parents cannot afford to send them to the post-secondary schooling that they will need to complete to better themselves. It saddens me to think that so much emphasis can be placed on schooling and marks for these children.

In the recent past, the Indian government has put into place measures that help families send their children to schools, and to help those in the lowest class improve their standing. What they haven’t done is help to teach those who hold positions of power the value of a human life. We frequently see labourers performing their tasks in very unsafe conditions. It happens in the community we live in, for example the man who sprays to protect us from the mosquitoes. We know that he is using a toxic chemical, and close up the house the minute that we hear his fogging machine start up in the distance. He rides by, and is not wearing any sort of protection from the harmful chemicals that he is breathing and coming into contact with. There is no way that he cannot be harmed by the chemicals, yet he has nothing to offer any protection. He may have chosen not to, but in all likelihood he either doesn’t know the risks, or hasn’t ever been given anything to wear. His employers need to ensure that he is protected, that his health has value, and they haven’t.

I am fortunate in that I am not poor, and I live in a country with ample opportunity for both of my children to follow their dreams and be successful, on their own terms. This has been a sobering reminder to me that I need to not only teach the lils to want to do well and succeed in life, but that success must also be defined in terms of their happiness; and that a life has value that cannot be diminished by a failure to achieve a milestone, or a belief that they may not meet anyone’s expectations.

2 comments

4
April

Wordless wednesday – Fly like an eagle

Fly Away

Building a nest

Gliding

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3
April

You teach them to read…

I didn’t quite think through some of the ramifications of teaching Woo to read when we started out. Actually we didn’t exactly teach him, we supported as he pretty much taught himself how to read.  We did help him, as did N at day care, but he lead the process and progressed at a much faster rate than we anticipated.  He amazed us by reading his first words by his third birthday, and chapter books by his fifth.  He is rather advanced in his reading as a result, and we try to keep up with him.

He doesn’t just read books, he devours them. There aren’t really libraries like we have at home, so we have developed a pattern of visiting the closest bookstore about once a week.  He sits and methodically goes through the books, selecting all that strike his fancy, and letting us filter down until there is a pile of three to five new books.  Thankfully books here are reasonable, or we would be broke!

We had a dry spell recently, when we didn’t get to the bookstore for a few weeks.  During this time he read and re-read many of his books, but also turned to the kitchen, and started to read my cookbooks.  They now sport many a bookmark on recipes that he would like for us to make together, which actually helps with meal planning.  A couple are still missing, but I am sure they are tucked away in his room.  This also led to some fun experimenting in the kitchen, with only one real failure, the apple milkshake, and one jar of oddly matched spices that he mixed up for me to use in recipes that call for curry powder*.

My sister and brother-in-law gifted him with the entire Roald Dahl collection for Christmas this year, a completely awesome gift.  He was intimidated at first, and decided that he didn’t want them.  We quickly realized that he was a little lot overwhelmed by the size of the collection and the sheer number of words, so we tucked them away in our room.  He still knew where they were, and would come to flip through them most mornings, so I offered to read one to him in early January.  I chose The Giraffe and the Pelly and me because it was the thinnest, and looked silly enough. He was hooked right away, and read ahead in the book after I left him, then finished it on his own a day or so later.  He now comes to our room every week or so to select a new Dahl treasure to read. He asks us to read parts of them, some of the time, but he tends to burn through them quickly on his own.

The book that he chose most recently was George’s Marvellous Medicine.  He read it with much glee, and then asked that I read several chapters with him one night at bed time. We started with George’s creation of this magical medicine, the chapter where he basically throw everything, the good, the bad, and the poisonous, into a pot to serve as medicine for his evil grandma.  He is enjoying this a little too much, and warning bells go off in my head. We spend a long time discussing why that would be a dangerous thing to do, and how Woo should never consider touching half of that stuff, let alone feeding it to anyone, before moving on to the moment when Grandma gets the meds. He seems to understand that the book is silly fun, and should not translate to real life.

This morning I woke to an eerie silence in the house.  I knew that the lils were up, as I had already been shown the marker manicures that they gave each other.  When my queries as to what they were doing were met with silence, I headed down stairs to the kitchen.  There were spices everywhere, a pile of wet tea towels, a bottle filled with murky liquid, and two lils, looking both guilty and pleased with themselves.  I looked at the bottle closely, and it appeared to be mostly water and chillies, with dashes of oregano, nutmeg, and rosemary for good measure. As we cleaned and talked this through, Woo repeatedly assured me that this was not a medicine like George had made, it was merely a potion. I shudder to think how close Goose was to getting a dose of that spicy potion!

He has now moved on to The Twits, where Mr. and Mrs. Twit play horrible practical jokes on each other.  Tonight Willy discovered that in chapter four, she serves him worm spaghetti for dinner. I can see where this is going… Maybe there is something to be said about selecting age appropriate reading for your lils.  It’s not about the difficulty of the words or that the content is too mature for them, it’s so that parents can be prepared for all the naughty things that they learn!

*Curry powder seems to be a pretty North American thing, so I have a mixture of spices that includes coriander, cumin, turmeric, chillies, cinnamon, sugar, ground ginger…. That I use in some recipes.  Guess he thought my mixture was lacking!

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