Landour Language School, Mussoorie

At the end of the first week of our arrival in India, we traveled North to Mussoorie, a hill station in the Himalayas where British officers, not too long ago, took refuge from India's heat.  Nicknamed the "Queen of the Hills," Mussoorie is a quaint little town complete with fabric shops, tailors, cobblers, cafes, bookstores, and sweet shops.  For three weeks we took Hindi classes at Landour Language School.

10 AM tea break at Landour Language School, and all ten of us are present!

Our group of ten ETAs split into two ability levels for classes, beginner and non-beginner.  I went with the beginner group.  Even though I had some knowledge of Hindi, I only knew some very basic phrases, and I didn't know the grammar behind any of them.  So I thought it best to go a little slower in order to get a more solid foundation in the language, especially since I will be using it long after the completion of my Fulbright grant.

Overall, I had a great experience at Landour, and the classes were super intense.  Prior to attending Landour, I had virtually no knowledge of Devanagari, the Indian script in which Hindi is written (English is written in Roman script), but by the end of our three weeks I was able to stumble my way through paragraphs written in Devanagari.  Ah, the joy of literacy!  And how delightful to be able to read Hindi street signs and metro maps upon returning to Delhi, and directions at the train station in Aligarh.  It was as if a whole new world had opened itself to me at once.

Saying goodbye to Principal Ji, one of our Hindi teachers.

The teaching style at Landour, which included a lot of information but lacked much practice, was not ideal for everyone, but I think the teachers did a great job for the short time we had.  Admittedly, I had an advantage being that I had my Hindi-speaking husband to help me study at home, but I also did a lot of studying outside of classes--of which we had four per day, five days per week, all ending by noon.

Mussoorie was green and beautiful, but it would have been much nicer had it not been monsoon season.  I presume it was from a combination of the high altitude, the cold, and the constant humidity/fog that all ten of the ETAs--plus my husband--managed to get sick during our stay there.  Poor Nick missed about the first week and a half of classes.

SOME THINGS ONE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MUSSOORIE IN MONSOON SEASON:

1. Nothing dries.  Except for maybe your underwear.  Thus, even if you choose to wash your own laundry instead of giving it to the dhobi, at least give it to the dhobi to dry, or you'll discover #2: 
   

   

   Outside our front door in Mussoorie.

   
   
2. Everything gets moldy.  Your clothes, your suitcase, maybe even your backpack.  And if it doesn't get moldy, it will at least smell mildewy.
   
 
3. Monkeys are everywhere.  So are their close relatives, langurs.  One day I nonchalantly walked outside while eating a sweet so as not to get crumbs in our room, and was jumped on by a monkey.  Scary?  Yes.  But also a little funny.  The monkeys leapt and bounded across our tin roof for the next two and half weeks.

A few more pictures from Mussoorie...

The kuttha that was waiting for us everyday when we walked back "home" after classes at Landour.  He always sat on top of that wall--except, of course, on the day I took this picture.

Trying to feed a calf on our way down to the market, but the calf would have none of it.

A nice view walking down the mountain to the market.

Contrary to popular belief, more than 70% of Indians live in rural areas.  Mussoorie, of course, is largely a tourist destination, but it's also very green--not how most people picture India.

All dressed up and ready for dinner with the rest of the ETAs.
(And I'm happy to report that I can now drape my sari much nicer than this.)

Another view of Mussoorie.  Puzzle picture perhaps?

FUTURE ETAs:

You might consider purchasing some salwar-kameez, the kind of Indian suit that you (girls) will be expected to wear to school.  Unless, of course, you want to don a sari.  Visit the fabric shops and have your clothes custom-made at a tailor's shop while in Mussoorie so you're all set for school when you return to Delhi.

Landour Community Hospital

I am not an expert on the health care system in the US, but I do know that it is surrounded by much controversy.  It was mainly this controversy, primarily over health insurance and bureaucracy, which contributed to my amazement with my first encounter with the medical system in India.

Last week I became one of many who have become sick while staying in Mussoorie—not surprising considering the high altitude, cold temperatures, and monsoon rains.  If it had been up to me, I would have likely stocked up on Dayquil and Nyquil and let my head cold run its course.  But when my husband woke me from one of my marathon naps and told me to get ready and that the taxi was coming, I did not have much of a choice but to go along.

Landour Community Hospital, Mussoorie

We ended up going to Landour Community Hospital, a missionary hospital here in Mussoorie.  I was a bit skeptical of going to the hospital for a head cold, but I was absolutely amazed at the efficiency and affordability of this place.  For 200 rupees (about USD $4.49) I was able to see a doctor.  At most I waited about 15 minutes to see her.  It wouldn't even have taken that long had there not been some other emergency she was attending to.  Mind you, this was all without scheduling an appointment ahead of time.  Shortly after taking my blood pressure and listening to my breathing, I was diagnosed with an upper respiratory infection and given two prescriptions: one for an antihistamine, and one for Vitamin C.

We then walked to another counter in the same building and paid 14 rupees (USD $0.31) for three days-worth of medicine.  (Here we also found out that I was charged 200 rupees for my first-time visit because I was a foreigner; Indian nationals are charged only 50 rupees.)  The final counter was that of the pharmacy, where we collected our medicines and then returned to our guest house.  For once it cost more to travel to the doctor than it did to actually see her.

India might be notorious for bureaucracy and chaos, but they certainly seem to have their health care system down pat.

Wedding, Two Flat Tires, and Finally in Mussoorie

Well, a lot has happened since my last post.  The most exciting thing: I am married!  Last Friday when the rest of the group took a night train from Delhi to Mussoorie, my then-fiancé and I took a night train to Aligarh, where our wedding took place.  The train ride, which was supposed to take two-and-a-half  hours, ended up taking about four.  That delay was only a preview of the events to come later in the weekend.

Receiving blessings from our parents and stand-in parents.

(L to R: My friend Shobhitha’s Aunt and mother; my mother-in-law; Robert; John; my father-in-
law)

Our extremely last-minute wedding preparations (including having my wedding sari blouse fitted and sewn) began Saturday morning and didn’t stop until Sunday morning.  Around noon my then-fiancé returned to his home village to perform some pre-wedding rituals.  In true Indian fashion, even our wedding began later than scheduled, about six hours later.

One thing that puzzles me about India is the utter fascination with anything American.  Specifically, at our wedding, one of the drummers was wearing a t-shirt that sported the Playboy bunny logo, and one girl was wearing a shirt that said “Damn” something or another.  My first reaction was, Why in the world would they wear something like this to our wedding?!  But my more rational analysis was that people are so fascinated with anything American that they wear “American” clothing even if they do not understand it.  I guess it’s no different than thinking that Arabic script or Japanese characters are beautiful, only to find out later that the words you were admiring were something obscene.  Anyway, I am confident that neither of these persons would have been wearing this clothing had they known what it really meant.

We had planned to join the rest of the ETA’s on Monday morning for our first day of intensive Hindi classes at Landour Language School in the Himalayas.  Our plan was to take a Sunday night train from Aligarh to Dehradun, and a taxi from there to Mussoorie, but our train was canceled due to a fatal accident that occurred earlier that day.  Disheartened by the tragedy but glad for the time to get some much-needed sleep, we ended up taking a taxi from Aligarh to Dehradun, and then to Mussoorie, on Monday.

Two canceled train tickets, twelve hours in a taxi, and two flat tires later, we finally reached our destination – 7,000 feet above sea level at a guest house in the Himalayas.  We slept quickly, woke up Tuesday morning for a quick breakfast, and made the five-minute walk from our guest house* to Landour Language School.

So far the Hindi classes have been fantastic.  The intensity of this three-week course is exactly what I was hoping it would be.  The classes for the ETA’s are five days a week for about four hours a day.  We finish around noon, so we have the entire afternoon to ourselves (and study, of course).  My husband and I walk to the language school together each morning, and while I am in classes, he works on his PhD research in one of the common areas there.  So far it’s working out okay for both of us.

We haven’t had much opportunity to enjoy the free afternoons yet, however, as I have come down with an upper respiratory infection (i.e. a really persistent head cold).  I guess the altitude and the rain will do that to a person.  To be sure, several of my fellow ETA’s and other Americans staying at our guest house have come down with colds as well.  Which brings me to my next post, about medical care in India.

*My husband and I stayed at a different guest house than the rest of the ETAs; their walk was much longer and steeper than ours.  I am sure you can read about it in some of their blogs.

HEADLINE: Terror strikes Mumbai again with series of blasts

"Three bomb blasts rocked India's largest city, Mumbai, in congested areas during the evening rush hour Wednesday, killing at least 21 people and injuring more than 100 others."  Read full CNN article here

Terrorist attacks in Mumbai are not uncommon.  Fortunately we are all safe and sound, but high security alerts have been issued for both New Delhi and Kolkata - the two cities where ETA's are placed.

HEADLINE: Kalka Mail train accident: 69 dead, rescue operation over

Read full NDTV article here

We were supposed to be traveling by train the night after this horrible accident happened, so our tickets were understandably canceled.  Thankful to be safe and sound, and also to have had an extra day to recover from the weekend's wedding festivities.  Thankful also that the death toll was not higher than it was.

Registration at the FRRO

That stands for Foreigner Regional Registration Offices.  Anyone staying in India on an Entry visa for longer than six months is required to register at the FRRO in the region where they are staying (ours was Delhi).  Last year's ETA's blogged horror stories about their FRRO experience, so I was pleasantly surprised with how smoothly the process went for us this year.

Fortunately we had an Indian citizen, who works part-time for Fulbright, assisting us with the process (e.g. making enough copies of certain documents, putting documents in the proper order, etc.).  He was also kind enough to put all ten of our names on a queue list at 6 AM this morning so that our applications would be processed first when the Office opened at 9:30 AM.

Thankfully these preparations allowed us to bypass much of the chaos that would have ensued otherwise.  Despite some expected confusions (we are in India), the process wasn't bad at all.  It ended up taking only 1.5 hours for all 10 of us to get registered.

Abby was number 10.  And just as Abby finally convinced the official that, yes, although she was born in Tokyo she is still an American citizen by birth because her parents are American citizens, the power went out.  Fortunately all she had left to do was get a final signature, which happened within minutes.  Thank goodness it waited till we were finished!

Welcome to India!

Now read that title again, with a strong Indian accent this time, so that "Welcome" sounds more like "Velcome," and you pronounce every vowel and consonant with the same precision you did when you were learning Spanish or some other foreign language.  Come to India and, ironically, your English will be improved, guaranteed.

Of the fifteen ETA's that are in India this year, twelve of us were on the same flight out of Chicago yesterday, July 3rd, the day before America celebrates her independence.  (There were supposed to be thirteen of us on the flight, but one unfortunately missed her connecting flight.)  Having met at the Pre-Departure Orientation (PDO) in Washington, D.C. one week prior made it easy for all of us to recognize each other at the airport.  We all congregated at the gate from which we were to depart.  One big blob of Americans amid a whole lot of Indians who were, I imagine, either returning to the subcontinent after a temporary stay in the US, or making their annual trip to visit their extended families in India.  Someday, I think to myself, my husband and I will be making this trip.

It was there, from our cozy little pile of people and luggage, that we watched the expected departure time for our flight to Delhi change from the original 4:40 PM to various other in-between increments until reaching the final departure time of 7:10 PM.  I was just glad that this flight was not canceled as was my flight home from the PDO in DC.  But, even if it had been, something would have worked out.

And so continues my preparation for India.  Another reminder of two of the most important items you cannot fit in your suitcase: Patience and flexibility.  Five years ago, one of my dear friends, who happens to be Indian American, kindly asked me why I walk so fast.  And, believe it or not, when I finally considered her comment and consciously slowed down my pace, and breathed deeply, the calmness and patience came with it.  This is part of my trick for adjusting to life in India.

This is not to say that I never walk like a crazy person anymore.  Sometimes I have to just to keep up with my mother.  But the pace of life in India is generally more nonchalant.  And you'll probably find yourself slowing your pace for one reason or another, be it the contagious nature of nonchalance or the high temperatures and humidity that impair your ability to do it any other way.

When we finally arrived at the airport, I rushed ahead to get through Immigration and to claim my baggage.  Not that it was terribly busy when we arrived, but I was eager to see my soon-to-be-husband, whom I knew would be waiting for me at Pillar 15.  My nervous excitement must have been a foil to my fellow ETA's who are leaving behind their (romantic) loved ones back in the States.  The feeling of leaving for an unknown period of time is one that I could relate to all too well.  But, fortunately for me, I now found myself on the opposite, happier end of the spectrum - reuniting with my loved one after almost one year.

From the airport the whole group of us traveled to the ridiculous Taj Mahal Hotel.  And by ridiculous I mean marble fountains and banisters, and being welcomed with leis made of fresh, aromatic jasmine flowers.

More on my conflicting feelings about the Taj in an upcoming post...