Thursday 24th February
In the morning everything looks less disgusting. One really can get used to anything. I take a shower in the bathcloset, feeling better. The itching has gone, thank good Lord on the heavens. Or Vishnu, or Allah, since those seem to be more popular here. As a heathen I should be thankful to all, as I don't know whose jurisdiction I fall under. Perhaps it is allocated by district - whoever has the majority in a given area of my presence has to provide me with the guardian angel and all such. I pack my $3,000 worth of random equipment into my rolling laptop suitcase and we set out. I can't decide whether it's safer with me or at the room, but I'd rather fight for it than have it stolen behind my back. The sea is at the end of our street. It does not smell like sea. Luckily it does not smell like much at all. You can see the Gateway to India monument on the left, which was built to welcome King George, or Leopold, or Henry - I forget which. Right next to us is the fantabulous hotel Taj. Tara recounts the story behind it for us. A local rich Parsee was not admitted into one of the chi-chi hotels nearby, so he decided he can build a better one. The best hotel in the world. And he did. Except the construction workers had the plan turned around and the grand entrance with a beautiful park and a swimming pool is facing the street. The hotel's butt is facing the sea. The butt is still very nice.
I calm down and on we go up and up. Road is carved into the mountain, serpentines are very narrow. Driving is much like in the city - the only precaution is increased honking. The view opens under us - fantastic mountains and deep valleys of rainforests, mostly untouched by anyone.
The road ends when we come to the plantations, it is dirt road from now on. I shake off all my pretense and hold on to anything available. People up in the small villages are marked by lifelong hard work. They are shrunken and dry, bent towards the land they are working. They look at us with suspicion. We take the last curve and descend towards the school. It is gorgeous. White buildings with red slate roofs are perched on a mountain side. The view is breath-taking. As we get out of the car, life on campus stops. They have been expecting us, in fact they cancelled school for three days because of us. Normally students would be in the classrooms, even though it's Sunday. They study for twenty five days non-stop, then go home for five days. They have classes from eight in the morning until ten at night. We are encircled by curious students. Two of them take a lead, they will be taking care of us while we are here. We proceed to meet the faculty. Most of them are very young guys, probably handpicked by DC Ravi himself. Students are mostly from Kerala and mostly Christian. Devotedly so, although that doesn't make them uptight or in-your-face converters. Just kind and considerate to the core. I have never encountered such a thing in a student body of any sort. We are taken by the faculty to the cafeteria for lunch. There we'll discuss plans for the next few days. We walk in, I freeze and a cold sweat pours over me. I didn't realize I will have to eat with my hands. It's rice for lunch. And not the sticky rice that would at least cooperate with my new clumsy feeding vessel. It's the Basmati rice, where every grain is neatly separated. Few deep breaths. I talk about work, while trying to shake off the rice and the sauce that now cover my arm almost up to my elbow, probably much of my face, and all of the table. Everybody slurps and smacks and I cannot think one straight thought. Everybody is finished with their lunch, while I have barely made a dimple in my pile. They politely wait for me another fourty five minutes or so, finally I give up. We agree to meet in the evening. Sudeep and Nidhin, our students-caretakers, take us to the guesthouse. It is all the way on the top of the campus, one has to climb there on a steep path. It has a stunning view. I review sheets for tomorrow's workshops, brief moment of panic when one document just won't open. I retype it at the speed of lightning. Then we meet with faculty again for a few hours, come up with a schedule, print out materials. In the evening I have to face the dinner again. Second time it is not so unnatural to dip hand into delicious spicy sauces around. It comes with naan, that is easier than rice. I am offered silverware (I assume it is because otherwise they feel obliged to wait for an eternity for me to finish), but I refuse. After all, it is the best training for my worliness and street smartitness. If I can eat with my hands, I will survive anywhere. Resolve. Sudeep and Nidhin come to fetch us - they have rallied troops of students to meet us in the Activity Center. That is a nice open hut with a roof, with pleasant breeze rushing through, overlooking the mountains. Here they gather every evening to study, chat, sing, work on projects, practice for art shows. The informal gathering does not translate into Indian. We have an effect of a student repellent - they disperse in a thin line around the walls of the center. We say a few words and try to mingle with the students. That is quite a challenge. I am terrified just thinking about tomorrow's workshops. If they won't participate, I'm done for. Sudeep and Nidhin escort us to the guesthouse (it is too dangerous for us to walk alone those 80-100 meters aparently). I left a light on and windows wide open. How smart and worldly is that? My room is filled with fist-sized tsikadas, there are a few giant spiders and a plethora of buzzing and crawling insect world everywhere. I attempt to work on my computer. There is a bird up near the ceiling. It is chirping and fluttering around. I am convinced I see a tarantula on the ceiling, too. I try to convince myself that those don't live in India, but it doesn't help much. I shut the lights off, keeping only my computer on. The screen attracts attacks of all sorts, something rather large hits me in the head. The brave adventurer dives for cover. I spend good fifteen minutes under a sheet and a blanket contemplating my next move. I shut the computer off, listen to the buzzing quiet down. The rainforest outside is alive with all sorts of sounds. I shake the last bugs off my bed, wrap myself in the blanket tightly (if tarantula bites me through it, will I die instantly?) and I stare into space paranoidly for a good while before I finally fall asleep.
