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.

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.