Shishur Sevay

'Twas two days after Christmas...

'Twas two days after Christmas and I finally have a chance to write.... a short chance as we are leaving for the planetarium later today, but this is a start.

I am struck by the degree of relief I feel having the license.  I sleep better, am more relaxed, funnier, happier.  It was such a terrible way to live.

We had a wonderful Christmas.  The girls' main education about Christmas came from Home Alone 2.  On Christmas Eve they asked Seema why Santa Claus would come to "girls like us."  She said that I had heard them call, and had come from America and I'd brought Santa.  Well, the next morning I really felt bad that there was no manifestation of a living Santa so I took cotton from a roll of bandage cotton and fashioned a very large beard, and a mustache and taped them on.  I was still in my nightgown, but I took our brass bell, put a bag with the books I'd gotten them over my shoulder and called out, "Merry Merry Christmas!"  They were hysterical with laughter.

People came to visit over the day.  Gibi's kids and husband came. There was just a flow.  I'd gotten hit by Christmas spirit unexpectedly so I'd bought some music, and mostly played Harry Belafonte singing Christmas songs... We were Hindu, Muslim, Jew singing Christmas carols....  Our closest Christian friend was on duty and couldn't join us.

I really missed my children in the US.  We talked on the phone.  We just all accept this is how it has to be right now... Mom needs to be here, and they have really come to understand that.

IT IS NOW FIVE DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS and I have spent hours and hours trying to add pictures, and then a few hours ago lost a long post which I'm trying to reconstruct but will save into draft more often.  After two days, probably at least 12 hours, there are four pictures in an album, 29 December 2007.   My internet, and I already have two providers, is acting like the old dial up in terms of speed.  So I keep losing data because the upload times out and I go to "cannot find server" and I have to start all over again.  Then just when I think I have something right, I discover that the thumbnails have decided to square off again and someone's head is missing from the picture, so i delete (10 min) and start again.  Last night I met with another broadband provider and he will install tomorrow.  He says his is much faster.... why do i still have doubts.  It's frustrating because I feel I'm in the middle of high tech abilities and technology that is for "export only".

We went to the planetarium and the kids loved it even though we missed the Bengali show and had to listen in English.  But we have been studying the solar system in class here so they understood some.  The staff and teachers are pushing for a picnic in the country, just a quiet day... but I have Science City on my "next" list.  Science City here is wonderful for kids, with rides also, and huge picnic areas, as well as IMAX type theater and a lot of hands on activities.  The kids know so little of the world beyond their streets or rail lines, and what they have seen in movies.  And they are curious.

But, the picnic may still win out, because that would take us near to the village where Bubbi, my cow lives, and we would visit her again.  When I have better internet I'll upload some of those pictures.

I've been re-thinking pictures, and i will put some up with the blog.  I've had conversations with people who seem not to understand what can be done for orphans, who hold negative stereotypes, or for whom orphans are just a statistic.  My girls left their friends behind in the institution they left.  I wish I could take them all.  But at least we can talk about the plight of orphans, and the potential for good lives if they are cared for. 

I don't know how our girls will "end up."  But whatever their futures, their present is better with food, shelter, education, fun, discipline, and love.  And it shows, in their smiles and ours.

We are mourning Anjuli (Didi) Woodward

Didi means big sister.  Anjuli stayed with us for ten days in October.  She was born in Kolkata, adopted as an infant from International Mission of Hope (IMH), and loved returning to India to visit and to volunteer.  She loved being in India and she loved being home with her family.  On this trip she bought carefully chosen Christmas presents to bring home to her parents and each of her brothers and sisters.  Anjuli died two days ago, driving to work.  She hit ice, spun out of control, and went into an oncoming truck.  She died instantly.

Our girls and our staff are sad, tears are flowing.  Gibi is especially shaken as Anjuli, like she and others here, were part of the world of IMH.  We have become the unofficial stopping place for adoptees wanting contact with their pasts in Kolkata.  For Gibi, Anjuli was one of her children, as well as a young women she came to know well on this visit.

Our girls have had many losses in their lives.  Last night we talked about that, about holding in your heart the people you loved and who have left.  We have set up a pandal with Anjuli's picture, flowers from our garden, prasad, candles... and on one side of her picture are Lakshmi and Ganesh.  On the other side is a small lighted picture of Mary and Jesus, a gift from one of our teachers.  We had prayers for her last night.  Tonight Seema will come and read two Bengali poems from a collection I found.  One is about the loss of a mother; the other about the loss of a Didi.  Tomorrow night we will have songs for Anjuli, and then begin our Christmas.

We have our license!!!!!!!!!

This is the big news....  We have been granted a license -- for only three months, until the renewal process begins again, but now we are better prepared for the battle ahead.  We received the license because we were able to gain support from high places; some of the doors we knocked on were opened for us.  We are not alone.  And, most important, we do not have to live in fear that the Government will order removal of the children.  I slept very well last night.  For now we are safe.

It is Friday morning, today a school holiday for EID, then school tomorrow morning, and then ten days of vacation.  It is cold this morning and the children are in dresses, sweaters, and leggings.  Last night we sat up watching movies and celebrating.  The children were more aware of the threats than I knew, as one of the staff had told them some time ago.  So last night we celebrated our win, and our safety.  The celebration is still going on this morning, as we slept in late. My older daughter happened to call from the US, and all the girls got to talk to their "Didi."  Classes here will start at 9:30 this morning. (The vacation is only from  their outside school.  We rarely cancel our classes.)  They will have their usual three hours of Bengali, math, and history, then lunch, then two hours of English, and then another two hours of Bengali reading.  In the evening they will have dance.  They will not have homework because of dance class.  There is no time to do it.  But this is their complaint, as the LOVE homework, and ask for it each evening.  Some of our massis have good education, and they help the kids.  I think they really enjoy that.

As for me, I have a big day planned -- things that have fallen behind because of the consuming aspect of the fight for a license.

1. I want to hire a full time physiotherapist -- I have to start the process.

2. We need speech therapy for two of the children.  I have to start that search too.

3. I have to get air tickets to Chennai as I'm going to an ASHA Trust conference in January for two days.  I'm very excited about this as I've worked with ASHA since 2002, and it remains an exciting organization dedicated to education in India.  I've tried online but the sites keep timing out.

4. SHOPPING -- I love to shop.  That's a confession. Well, actually it's the daydreaming I do when shopping more than anything I buy. My list for today: socks/slippers for the kids for use in the house; an exercise DVD for me to do with the kids;  (The little ones especially will have a good laugh watching me.) slippers for me; 2 new bookbags as two need repair; a new hairclip because the one I wear all the time just broke; a CD newly released, Christmas in Kolkata -- done with Indian instruments; and then, Christmas presents.  Christmas is secular as well as religious here.  Yesterday we were invited to a Christmas party at Imrose's school and the kids had a great time. They were on the shy side, and incredibly well-behaved.  Anyway, I've decided to give each girl a book of her own.  They will love this, as they are forever taking books and putting them in their lockers, or hiding them under mattresses.  That's where I look when I can't find a book....  So, this will be nice.

It is 9 am now.  The Special Ed teacher has arrived to start classes with the four little ones.  They have four hours in the morning with this teacher, and then four in the evening with a mother of a CP child, who also teaches them, and works with them, and sings to them. 

The big girls are still watching the DVD, Sound of Music.  I bought it for them when they started learning scales in singing class.  But of course it has special meaning to me, as I lived with the fear of losing the children, and ongoing fantasies as to how we could run, hide, escape those who threatened to put them back into institutions.  The misuse of power knows no national borders.  But then, that is also true of those who protect.

We have our license!  I am smiling.  I am very very smiling.

p.s. a haiku I wrote some years ago:

To defeat evil,

Pretend it is not there,

Act because it is.

I am very very smiling.......

If You're Happy and You Know it Clap Your Hands...

So we clap our hands and stomp our feet and yell Hooray!

That's the song that is often in my head, and then I found it on one of the Barney VCDs that Poomina loves, and sometimes we play it over and over again.  The big girls are learning it now in one of their classes, so sometimes we sing it on our way to school.  Other days they sing Bengali songs from their dance class and I hum along as I try to put the words in my head.  In voice class they are learning scales but with Bengali words.  I got a copy of The Sound of Music, so they heard the scales there too -- as I try to teach them about universality... different parts of the world, same and different at the same time.  A popular song in the nursery school set here is We Shall Overcome, in Bengali.  Our mime teacher took us through the song in English, Bengali and then Hindi.  Same and different everywhere.

Yesterday i went to my favorite bookstore, Crosswords, a smaller version of Borders or B&N.  I found a collection of 500 Bengali poems for children.  I know enough to see if words are simple or not, and this looked like something our children could read now or soon, and others can read to them.  I want them to know poetry, in Bengali, and then one day in English.  I want them to be able to write poetry in Bengali, to say what their hearts say about their pasts, and their lives altogether.  I brought the book back and the Bengali staff loved it, they were thrilled.

Last evening we were filling out their applications for dance examinations, and talking about names.  They all understand about need at school to say, "My mother's name is Dr. Michelle Harrison" because I have to sign for everything, and that's what their papers now say.  But for dance, they only wanted fathers listed so we practiced, "My father's name is Dr. Michelle Harrison."  But these occasions always start discussions about their families, siblings, parents, violence, who has died, who was murdered, who was taken away by police, who went hungry.  Two days ago all the kids got MMR injections.  So last evening one the girls informed me that living on trains you didn't get injections.  She still isn't sure she wants to be here -- is constantly assessing her situation.  She makes me laugh a lot.

Anyway, I want them to keep alive their memories through poetry, words in their mother tongue -- just an image in my mind -- trying to find a way for them to express themselves and make themselves known.  They think a lot.

I also picked up a really nice illustrated encyclopedia of history for children.  They love looking at pictures, asking questions... they are interested in everything they see.  They have a history class for a half hour six days a week.  It's not in their school curriculum, but in ours here.  And i bought a small book about railways of the world, since they love trains... (the place you don't get injections) and several of them grew up on tracks and in stations.

It's Sunday morning at ten.  The mime teacher didn't show.  Some of the girls are watching Lagaan, some are helping in the kitchen, laundry has already been done, and it hanging on the lines on the roof.  One of the massis and I just cleaned out one of the storage closets... just a Happy Day at Shishur Sevay.  So I clap my hands, stomp my feet and yell, Hooray!

The Question of Names and Pictures

So, here is the dilemma I struggle with.... the use of names (easily changed as I've done so far) and pictures -- which I haven't used so far.  I still don't have a clear answer for myself after months and months.  The tensions I feel are between privacy for the children, v. the danger of invisibility.  The same questions come up over the website, which is currently stalled as "Under Construction."

I am generally opposed to the use of any children's pictures online.  So, I use the measure of, "would I put pictures of my two daughters online?"  The answer is no.  In fact, I leave their names out too.  It is for them to identify with what I write, if they so choose.  So why would I use a different standard for my children here?   

Well, I know my readers are interested.  But in a way, so what?  Before photography we wrote stories with no pictures, stories about people that moved us, to feel their presence, to feel we knew them.  As I will write more about the children -- coming out of a period of self-absorption regarding the legal problems -- I must write in ways that serve to connect them with the reader.

ON THE OTHER HAND -- when I am feeling frightened about the government trying to close us, and trying to put the children back into a prison-like institution, then I think, "These children don't have the privilege of privacy, because their lives and futures depend on people identifying with them and caring about them."  A picture is a wonderful way of making that connection, of making the children real.  My mind is constantly busy.

Orphans are invisible -- but then again, I am giving them voice -- a non-illustrated voice.

What about the web page?  Why do I want a website?  We need a website for a certain level of credibility (in perception) and so we can be found easily.  We want a website because we are learning so much about care of the children and especially educating them.  We are proud of what we are doing.  We need a website for gathering support from others interested in the welfare of orphans.  Money is not a critical issue.  I've written over and over, "I am an anxious mother."  As such, I could not have started with without enough money to raise these children.  I hadn't counted on the children with handicaps, but we will manage, and I know many people want to help.  This is why we are small.  At some point, if we want to expand, we will need funds.  But my fantasy anyway is that we will have a wonderful and effective model of care, and others will follow. 

The question I ask myself over and over, to counter my impulse to show off how beautiful they are, is, "How will putting up their pictures benefit the children?"   I don't have an affirmative to that right now.  For the present, I think we are safe.  Right now the children have everything they need.  They are secure, healthy, being educated intensively, and in a quiet way, just being kids. 

Then again.....  and I go round and round.

4 December 2007 - an "average" day

A quick rundown of an ordinary day..............

Up at 4:30 to get kids ready for school.  One massi is usually on duty for the night.  We do this together.  Ganga wakes when i do, and chirps a sort of "chirp-humph" louder and louder until I pick her up.  As soon as others are up she is happy to go with her Didis to watch them get dressed.  The girls do a pretty good job of getting themselves into uniform -- after our hard work of getting them up.  They love their winter uniforms and by the time of breakfast they are in uniform, leggings, scarves, socks, gloves -- all of it.   Shoes stay outside.  I shower and dress while they eat breakfast.  By 6:10 we are out the door.  It used to be 6:am but because of "winter" the time is shifted ten minutes.  This morning we also took Ganga with us in the stroller. 

I love the mornings, the walk to school -- saying hello to head teacher.  i used to be intimidated by her, seemed I was always "getting it wrong" but now we are comfortable with each other.  last week I was made President of the Mother-Teacher's Association, the Indian form of the PTA. 

**********************************************

(Now the next day)

The above is as far as I got last night when I got a phone call about a meeting today, and then made a call to find out yet another avenue, and it seems some meetings on the part of people trying to help are happening today (the 5th) so I was VERY tense.  I'm getting better though.  I slept, interrupted by a sick baby who needed medicine, but then slept the rest of the night.  All of this is what my ORDINARY life is like here. I have constant interruptions, caused primarily by my always being underfoot, or rather at the computer which is the "everything" room.  So I laugh at myself when I get irritated at being interrupted.

Also yesterday:

1. A teacher called Gibi to say she wasn't coming back.  This was a total surprise, and it looks like she is going through some major personal crisis that no one seems to know much about.  So, we will look for another teacher.  Our Special Ed teacher will also fill in.

2. The washing machine takes two hours for a one hour cycle.  The repair man came.  The problem is the water pressure, so we will move the machine down to the first floor today, and put it in the outside bathroom.

3. I posted a blog about the politics here, which affects me a lot -- on my mind a lot.  I'm actually writing a lot about my early life... and politics, and trying to decide what to put on the blog.  I know I have to learn how to categorize blog subjects or an index but i don't have time.

4. I talked on the phone with my older daughter.  It was her birthday in the US and we had sent her flowers.  She works late and calls me from the car on her way home.  We talk several times a week.  I was a single mother, so the phone was always a big part of communication when I wasn't home.  It still is.

5. I chatted online with my younger daughter in the US.  She works at night, which is day here, so when she has down time, we chat.  It's funny.  I love her night job. 

6. A homeopathic doctor came to see the handicapped children.  He is evaluating each one, and giving us medicine.  This doctor has taken care of me in my migraines, for which allopathic medicine has little to offer.  Maybe he can help with the spasticity of the handicapped children.... I do use antibiotics for infections, probably I over-use them.  But remember, I'm an anxious mother before I'm a doctor.

In between all this I talk to kids, check exam results for a list, sign exam books, buy fruit from the fruit man who comes each day.  Vegetables I buy in the morning on my way home from school.  I give hugs and scoldings throughout the day.

And i worry, and wonder how to make my "nerves of steel" even harder, how not to worry, how to "let go" at times because others are working on this too.  My eating is OK, but I do not exercise, which upsets me, but I haven't figured out what to do. 

So now it's the end of the 5th December, and this average day was similar.  We had a meeting with the local councilor. I put together more files. The two other meetings planned for today were canceled because of schedule conflicts... (so I wait and try to be patient).   The plumber came and we moved the washing machine downstairs.  A former staff person came to visit.  This wasn't the right job for her here, but she has found a really good job, and I'm happy and relieved. 

As I write now the time is 8 pm, and the night massi has just arrived.  The younger children have been fed and are watching Damu, the Bengali movie about a father who wants to find an elephant for his daughter.  The older girls have just come downstairs from Spoken English class and are eating supper.  Then three girls will clean and wash the classroom and stairs; three others will clean up the kitchen and the downstairs floors.  The remaining three did the lunch clean up.  Then they will all shower and change into night clothes and begin the slow process of going to bed.

 

Kolkata was burning last week

I have so little time to blog... though I want to a lot.  So I'll try to make this short so I can finish it and send it... and maybe add pieces later.

Yesterday's The Sunday Statesman had three articles on the editorial pages, each one having a lot of meaning for me.

The Dual Danger, part 1 by Sandeep Pandey.  I know of Pandey because he was the founder of Asha for Education in the US, a volunteer organization of mostly NRI's with a commitment to education in India.  I've been a part of ASHA for several years.  He writes of seeing a "face of Left fascism" in the operation of the current government.  For me, having grown up in the era of McCarthyism in the US, the spying on individuals, the persecution of communists, Leftists, and the general atmosphere of fear -- "Loyalty Oaths" as entrapments - these are familiar but ominous.

On the next editorial page, the headline read, "CPM's parallel Governance" which proposes there is a "government inside a government" that is actually ruling in West Bengal.  This is exactly what we are discovering as we try to make our way through this nightmare over the licensing and the security of our children.

The last of the three is "Taslima and the Bengali Literati" questioning why the "intelligentsia" of Kolkata were silent when she was hounded out of Kolkata by fundamentalist mobs whose "sentiments she hurt" by writing about women in Islam.  The intelligentsia were not the only silent ones.  In fact, even the liberal left caved in to the mob violence.  That was what upset me most, that people in the government who I assumed would protect her instead conspired for her removal.  She was spirited out of Kolkata by the "government within the government" which was the theme of the first of these three articles.

Well, this is the political atmosphere of my life in Kolkata.  One would think we were removed from all this, but the politics and alliances carry down to the smallest units of governance.  If we had simply gotten our license, and then the renewal, all this would be of interest, but would not feel so critical or relevant to my life.

I am reminded also of Academia in the US and what can happen to Ph.D candidates if they find themselves with a recalcitrant or hostile or jealous adviser.  Their degrees and careers can literally be ended; the truth will be buried under the guise of "non-interference" which is a way of everyone else avoiding responsibility.

Saturday evening Gibi and I passed a small group of women demonstrating on behalf of Taslima Nasreen.  They were standing as a group on the corner of Rash Behari and Gariahat Aves, only partly blocking traffic.  We parked the car and went back just to say hello.  They invited us to join the demonstration.  I said I couldn't as we were on our way to meet someone.  But I can't be in a demonstration.  I am vulnerable myself.  My children are vulnerable. 

Three recent major events have shaken the surface calm of Kolkata:  1. the police complicity in the death of a Muslim man married to a Hindu woman, each educated and professional.  For this the city banded together across religions.  2. the second is the CPM (socialist party) murder of farmers in Nandigram who were fighting to protect their land from forced seizure for industrialization.  This resulted in splits across political parties, but with general non-sectarian alliances in support of the farmers. 3. Taslima Nasreen, exiled Bangladeshi writer, who has been living in Kolkata.  A fundamentalist group was able to stir the passions of some Muslim groups, and this created a split along religious lines and boosted the power of those committed to violence in the name of religion.

In the end, and in a very reductionist way, we have a city torn by police and government brutality, but the only issue that can be "safely" raised is persecution of a woman for what she wrote.  Murder is less crime than truth.  For this, Kolkata was burning last week, to punish the truth.