It's 5:30 AM. Today, is going to be a long day.

We visit another school in the outskirts of the city and more like in proper Haryana (a state on the border of Delhi). This school is already very different. We pass by closely packed one room houses and plastic tent and pepsi stand shelters that make up a slum. I imagine that some of my students live in homes like these, and I realize that it takes a lot to squash a child's happiness and energy. I know some of my group members have been getting frustrated with their students, but it's hard to get frustrated with them when you know they have such a stressful situation to deal with at home.


We meet the head of the Arpana Tuition center. It's different from Nai Disha in that it doesn't run an primary or secondary level school. It's like an after school tutoring center that people pay a small nominal fee for. The differences are immediately striking - the students are considerably more disciplined because they are beaten into straight lines and arrows by their government school instructors. Our kids on the other hand run around as free as any American student. The headmistress/ founder tells us a lot about the place and its origins - apparently the surrounding community used to be a slum outside of AIMS/a nice area in Delhi and due to complaints, the slum was dismantled and the community was moved to single room government housing development. Prior to this, the Arpana project had spent a great deal of effort to establish a repertoire with the community leader and had set up an easily accessible tuition center. With the move, they faced difficulties building and buying facilities to restart their program. Eventually they were successful, even though, not surprisingly, they ran into a whole host of problems dealing with bureaucracy and the government and its corruption. At some point they got the ball rolling again.


Shakuntala maam tells us of a story about one girl that had saved up money and approached a tailor to be taught tailoring, but the tailor refused to teach her. Somehow she persuaded him that she would be a committed student - and with financial help from Arpana, she began her apprenticeship. In a few years she became a skilled tailor and earned some money on sewing wedding related clothing and material. All the while, at home, she had an alcoholic and unemployed father, with a mother that was working very hard to feed her husband and two daughters. Her father was very discouraging of her entrepreneurship but she plowed on regardless. At some point her parents found a suitable marriage match for her and finalized it the point of engagement. This girl was not too fond of this guy, and so she told her parents that she wouldn't marry the guy. Her father flipped and told her that there was no chance she could cancel the engagement because he'd already dished out 2000 rupees for the premarriage dowry. She asked him what he had gotten all up in cahoots about when she could and would rather pay him that money back and do what she wanted to do. She ended her engagement and worked on. Eventually, she found the right man for herself and with the help of Arpana, she's conducting herself a decent wedding in a couple of months. In the meantime, despite her issues with her father, she decided to spend most of her savings to buy a home for her mother and sister. She didn't feel it was right to leave them behind.


Next, we head over to the community hospital, where AIMS doctors rotate through at least once a month each. I isn't clear whether the hospital are run on this volunteer staff entirely, or whether it is some sort of combination. The hospital is certainly inspiring: the people are friendly and they seem to have their work in order. After that, a few of the mothers accompany us to show their homes to us. We step in a one room home of a resident--Aishwarya. She hefts a big-eyed, small nosed infant on her hip, but there are six more family members that are out and about at the moment but call the room their home as well. What is amazing to see is that all of the residents have immunization cards that have been administered by the hospital we've just visited. On the card is a detailed list of immunizations that have been taken and that still need to be taken. Krithika, my good friend/trip member, and I are pleasantly surprised at the detail and follow-through with the immunization cards. Considering the way our guide interrogates one mother about why her baby hasn't had the latest round of shots, it seems like the community prides in its ownership over these cards, and the health of themselves and their kids.


On our way back to the cars, Krithika discovers that our guide is a migrant worker originally from Tamil Nadu, a southern state in India. Embracing one another, the two converse in Tamil and hold hands all the way back to our meeting point. While I gaze at a towering smoke stack, seemingly distant because of a thick shroud of smog, I gather that the women had migrated from Tamil Nadu eight years before and has since seen limited improvement in her life. For a moment, I wonder if there are any migrants from Andhra Pradesh and my ears perk up, hoping not to hear Telugu in the streets and makeshift shelters.

After the first days successes, Fili and I found ourselves a little better prepared for the second day. We went in to Nai Disha's administrative center (which had been the original site for the school until they'd gained so many kids, they had to move their class sessions to a government school nearby) and spoke with Sangeeta maam about the kids' access to medical services. Sangeeta maam tells me that Nai Disha has always been more concerned about this because they value holistic support and fortification of their students. And since Dr. Daga, a professor of medicine at a university in Delhi, is one of the founders and board members of Nai Disha, it seems natural that Nai Disha has had a special interest in the health needs of their students. What's at first a simple question regarding the mysterious ambulance program, turns into an interview about Sangeeta maam's opinion Nai Disha and its position in providing the students basic medical checkups and how far Nai disha has come in reaching its goals. Apparently only a year or so after the inception of the program, a student, who was well-liked, abruptly stopped coming to school. When the absence grew prolonged, Sangeeta maam and others inquired the family and found out that the girl had died. This event had apparently spurred the organization to search for and implement some basic checkup schedule, which would give some warning to the administrators and family members that students are ill. Since the girl had died of TB, there was an additional scare of risking other students to exposure.


Nai Disha succeeded in enlisting Shakuntala Singh and her mobile medical van. She comes every other week with an intern from a local medical college and they distribute vitamins and cold medicines and mild antibiotics for certain problems. They keep track of what they've given and the medical history on yellow cards that they pass to the kids and take back from the teachers --the whole system seems to work out all right. I'll get to meet them on Wednesday.


In class today the kids are much more excited and attentive, since they know me and Fili a little more. The night before, Fili and I had blasted out a plan that included simon says and the body parts, the nutrition diamond or pyramid, drawing healthy meals and lunchboxes, introduction of the tobacco avoidance material (because it would be easier with a hindi speaker around), and forming a presentation on tobacco avoidance. We start out with a recap on nutrition and surprisingly the kids have remembered Salman Khan and protein and breads and carbohydrates -- in fact, while they're shoving kaddi and chawal into their mouths before class, they tell "hey look didi (sister) im eating daal, im eating protein, im gonna have muscles like Salman Khan."

They get bored of the review and I introduce the Simon says game and they start hoping around and accusing each other of being out. We eventually break for the tobacco avoidance portion of the day.


Surprisingly all the kids are very familiar with the notion that smoking and using tobacco is harmful for you and that it causes cancer. In fact one of the kids explained that his mother had died because of tobacco related cancer. They don't seem phased though. I give them a sheet drafted by the Public Health Foundation of India and have them the read it in English and then translate it back to me in Hindi so that I know they've understood. While Fili is here, we get them to organize a small presentation. I pick Muskan and Jyoti to narrate because I want to make them feel like they're important contributors to class and education--and since their parents will see this presentation, I want them to know that their girls are worth educating. I make sure everyone has some sort of part, but Fili and I can't get Devashish or Kanchan to participate - I don't force them or anything or make them feel bad, it's their choice and maybe they have a really good and terrible reason not to want to participate.


By the end of the day, Fili and I are exhausted but smug--we'd finished everything we'd set out to accomplish for the day. I'm sad that I'll be losing Fili to a wedding--but I hope that since the kids have gotten used to me, they'll be good for the rest of the week.

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We head over to Nai Disha bright and early. We're met by its administrative heads, Sangeeta Malik and Savita Ghai, who seem to glow with the same anxious enthusiasm we're probably exuding ourselves. In the next few hours we meet their teaching staff, who present their goals, their successes and concerns, and their tasks for us--but nothing prepares us enough for the kids.

Our route to the actual school's location (a rented out government school facility) takes us through a narrow alley currently undergoing massive road reconstruction. With the way the car is driving, with little children scraping its sides, we won't have any children to teach when we reach.

Naturally, the kids rush over to see what the calamity is and I find myself shooing them away with a smile. At the far corner of the courtyard, Nai Disha teachers are serving kadi and chawal (yogurt and lentil based curry and rice) and every child receives a generous helping of both. With one arm resting on the pillar beside her, one teacher looks like she's ready for a break, and I offer to take the ladle from her. Sangeeta maam comes over and tells me that the nearby temple makes the food during school days, but I'm not sure how she manages to feed the kids on the days the temple can't bring food around. Kids come back for seconds and thirds, and I'm happy that I don't have to turn them away. The reservoirs of kadi and chawal seem bottomless.

Behind me the students are sitting--Indian style--in two rows facing each other, chattering with their friends beside them. Then, a teacher picks up a spoon and bangs it on a metal plate, signalling the end of lunch. The students scramble to their feet, rush over to the sink, wash their plates and run over to form lines in the courtyard. I shoo the stragglers to join their classmates quickly.

It is common practice in Asian schools to have a morning assembly where a teacher addresses the entire student body and has them recite prayers, school mottoes, and the national anthem--similar to how we recite the pledge of allegiance before we begin school (do we do that anymore?) I join in with them because I happen to know their prayers and songs. They begin with the Gayathri mantra, the most powerful and central prayer to Hinduism--but it's reciter is essentially praying for and inviting illumination to his or her mind from a divine source. I'm too excited to focus as I normally do when I recite the prayer myself, and I peak to see every child's eyes shut closed and face scrunched up in concentration. They follow it with a Hindi song I can't currently recall the name of, and then the Indian national anthem -- the only song that brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it or sing it. We end with a battle cry--"Jai Hindi" or Hail India.

In the classroom, Filisha, my teaching partner, go through the attendance list--the classic name switching games and fake "not here"'s proceed. I guess kids are kids anywhere you go.
We spend half of the day having each student introduce themselves -- their names, their favorite color, hobbies, their aspirations, etc. I'm incredibly relieved that Filisha is with me because she speaks Hindi and it seems much easier to break in with the students in a language they do understand, especially with cheeky prepubescent fourth graders.

Finally, we get to break it off to take the kids outside to play steal the bacon or the dog and bone as its called in India. We go over the importance of running and exercise, but the kids seem much too preoccupied with the equality of the distances between each side and the "bacon" in the center. One of them, Aakash Kumar (a compound name like Mary Elizabeth), runs into the center to sketch a circle around the "bacon" so that it stays in the same spot from round to round -- he seems to be the class leader and is the most confident in trying to speak English, which is not half bad.

At some point, Fili and I herd them back inside and settle them down. Fili and I exchange a brief glance of hesitancy before embarking on the daunting task of teaching these kids about the food pyramid or diamond and nutrition. Surprisingly the kids seem to know what we're talking about and shotgun all the answers with smug and bored looks. So Fili and I decide to up the ante *thoda sa* (a little), and have them learn scientific terms like proteins, carbohydrates, and lipids. We attach popular actors like Salman Khan (who's known for his hypertrophied muscles) to concepts like protein to help them remember. Before we loose them completely, we have them draw what they think is a healthy lunchbox. I try to get them to label foods that are healthy and unhealthy - some get the idea and even diversify their lunchboxes. Others have lunchboxes full of fruit. I'm not sure whether these are the foods they can access or are the foods they think should be in there or are the foods they want to be in there. But with fourth graders, I'm learning fast that you keep your expectations, tasks, and questions reasonable and concise.

By the time we've gotten them to submit their artwork, which they all seem incredibly exhilarated to show us, school seems to be over. I try to make sure that I take a second to focus on each piece and compliment their work--even the too-cool-for-school kids light up with the encouragement.

Later that night, when its Fili and my turn to discuss our class with the rest of our group, we can't help but feel a little smug that our kids can pronounce and explain the word carbohydrate.

Amitha