This is what it's all about

       The work is finished; the last part of each student’s project is turned in. Certificates are granted. It’s time for a large round of applause for the students involved.

        Two weeks ago, many of these 18 to 21-year-olds (for the most part) hadn’t used a camera for anything more than snapshots. Most others had not touched a videocamera, and none of them had experience on the Internet.

        Today, all 35 students have played roles in creating a website, which can be found at http://stxavierbpj.org/.  I urge you to visit, learn a lot about St. Xavier’s College in Ahmedabad, and, even more, marvel at the accomplishment of these students in completing these projects.  I can guarantee you that Marquette students will get tired of me bringing St. Xavier students up when the M.U. students whine about how hard they have to work on their projects.

       As a bonus, you will learn a lot about the students, the college, and the issues facing the Gujarat state of India. I edited their stories, and learned much from each of them. Even the choice of subjects shows you something of the character of the students and their college: projects on the differently-abled, tribal medicines and education, communicating, tissue culture.

         I didn’t intend mentioning any students by name because it’s so hard to pick some out and not mention all the others I’ve gotten to know so well during the past two weeks. But two of them performed so wonderfully over the past 24 hours that I have to mention then. Boris Gomes and Aman Shah stayed until 2 a.m. last night getting the web site working. This came after helping their teams with their projects. The two of them were our webmasters, aiding the wonderful Carole Burns who not only was up until 2, but back in the computer lab at 6 this morning finalizing things.

         I leaving India just after posting this (well, I’m leaving Ahmedabad for a flight to another Indian airport where I get to wait 10 hours before catching flights to Amsterdam and Chicago), but I didn’t want to leave without saluting the students.

       I’ve come to know and appreciate their drive and intelligence, to learn of their dreams and hopes. I know the boisterous ones, the shy ones, the loud ones, the quiet ones. I’ve learned who is an athlete and who is an artist. I appreciate the quiet determination of  some; the playfulness of others. But I know this of all of them: Like Marquette students, they represent the future of the world, and it’s in good hands.

        And I’m going to miss them.

A final day of preparing for presentations

     Thursday dawned bright but chilly. Ahmedabad’s climate is listed as either “arid” or “desert” depending on where you are looking.  It has trees and grass, but it looks very much like Milwaukee in mid-August – and we are in the middle of winter right after the monsoon season. So there’s dust everywhere.

      Although the sun is bright and it’s been around 80-85 degrees during the day, the temperature dips rapidly when the sun goes down, and sweaters become almost a must.

       Not a whole lot of fun today since it was the day the students finished their projects. There was much angst, flurries of activity, and not a single team hit the 4 p.m. deadline. We finally took a break for lunch with only two teams having completed all three parts of their projects: a magazine story, a slide show and a video. The problem was the video. We were forced to use a Microsoft software, which we should have recognized meant all sorts of unforeseen problems.  We are very lucky we brought Carole Burns, who is a genius with computers.

      Still, the biggest problem wasn’t due to Microsoft; well, it was in a way because the complexity of MovieMaker delayed one team so long that a team member who is a reporter for the Times of India got called into work and his team can’t finish their video since parts of it are on his personal computer.

      Despite this setback, the projects look wonderful. Tomorrow I’ll post the class website so you can see for yourself.

      It’s been a long day – I’ve worked about 12 hours. Carole is still in the lab, and I’m going to make a couple more checks before calling it a night.

      And, of course, I have to pack. We leave immediately after presentations tomorrow.

Ashley is happy

       That smiling face belongs to Ashley Niederinghaus who finally is happy.  As you may remember from earlier postings, Ashley’s been unhappy since the beginning when her luggage didn’t show up. She began to get less unhappy as we saw various animals, including cows, donkeys, camels (they made her almost happy). But she wanted to see an elephant.

       So there she is, astride an elephant. The entire Thorn contingent, Dr. Bill, Vincent and Miriam, all also got atop the elephant. I declined.

       Ashley’s also happy because, after ten days, her luggage is in Ahmedabad. We’ll pick it up at the airport tomorrow morning.

Of a great sweet . . . and a trip to the doctor

    And now for a sore subject for one of the students, who will remain nameless since I wouldn't want to single him out, but a warning for anyone who might travel to India.

    They're called "Water Balls," and, according to Vince, they are delicious. They are simple. You take poori, a puffed bread, and fill it with sweetened water. Pop it into your mouth, and a great sweet, he says. You buy them from street vendors.

     The problem, of course, is they are filled with water. "I'm Indian, and I don't eat them," Father Vincent said. 

      Well, Vince did. After two plus days of agony, he headed for a doctor, who gave him medication and put him on a yogurt diet. I think when doctors in India see Americans walking in their doors, they know to get out the stomach medicine.

     Actually every member of our team except for Carole and me have been sick at one time or another. Vince was just worse. 

    But none of us are going to eat "Water Balls." Except Vince.

You can't run from aging

I'm growing older in India. As my wife pointed out, I'm older in India. Thanks to the time change, I celebrated my birthday today 12 and a half hours earlier than I would have back in Milwaukee. And since said wife blabbed about it on Carole Burns' blog, I walked into a classroom of St. Xavier's students singing "Happy Birthday." (It says the students are reading the blogs.) Later many of them walked up to shake my hand and wish me the best. Then the word got around since the Jesuits at the residence where I'm staying offered up the same greeting. It was thoughtful on all their parts.

LATER, the Jesuits had a birthday party for me with chocolate cake and fig and honey ice cream (it was delicious, as has been all the ice cream I've had here), then I went back to the lab at 8:30 since students were coming in to work on their projects. Again, a cake, singing, handshakes and applause.

Reality bites

     It's 5  a.m. Wednesday morning, and I wake up to the soothing sounds of heavy vehicles racing past on the busy street right outside my window. Oh, well. It's better than the gunshots last night.

     But then reality steps back in. Checking my email, I find a request from a student about whether I'd offer him an independent study; from another asking if she could just delete items from a blog she created for a class and then just use it for another purpose; from another asking for a letter of recommendation (oops, make that two others asking for letters); from another wishing me a good semester since she's not really going to take a class we had talked about; and a thesis proposal from a graduate student.

     Classes start Monday, and India will just be a memory.

In the news today . . .

     Today’s story, courtesy of the Ahmedabad Mirror, was titled “Goons Thrash Bank Defaulter,” and told of a man who was beaten by four “recovery agents” for a bank. Seems he had missed a couple of credit card payments so the bank send representatives over to persuade him to pay up. I’m going to miss the Mirror.

How about a tale of traffic AND monkeys?

Seems like just about every post is about animals or traffic, how about both at one time? Tonight I watched a monkey attempt to cross a busy road. He stopped, looked both ways, then raced across the street so fast that I couldn’t catch him on film. I was impressed because he looked both ways, like my mother taught me.
I had my own brush with traffic. While on a walk with Carole and Vince, I decided I needed more photos of traffic so I raced across three lanes (lanes, by the way, are problematic in Ahmedabad – the road may stretch across two or three marked lanes, but traffic may be five or six vehicles across, depending on the kind of vehicle). So here I was happily taking traffic shots, including the one above of an intersection, when I decided to rejoin the saner two on the safety of a sidewalk. I waited until traffic slowed down a bit, I thought, then ventured forth. Immediately the path I was planning, behind a rickshaw and between scooters and cycles, was blocked by a new batch of vehicles coming around the bend. So I took the safest way – walking in front of a bus. I figured it was bigger and thus slower and probably had brakes. It worked, although I had to take a lot of grief from my companions.
This was toward the end of another long day as our students race to finish their projects. There are only two days left before they present their projects in front of invited guests like the principal (that’s what the call the head of St. Xavier’s) and a deputy editor from the Times of India as well as the faculty and guests from the community. Each of the eight teams will have 10 minutes to present their project, all the projects will be posted to a website so the world can see (I’ll put up the URL when we are closer to presentation time). Our two webmasters are busily designing the site. I think it looks pretty good, at least in design. We will see how it looks with stories and photos included.
And the thing to remember is that none of these students had worked with digital media before last week. I’m very impressed.
Immediately following the presentations our team will be racing for the airport to catch a plane, which was moved up nearly five hours. After an hour and a half flight to Hyderabad Airport, where we get to wait 10 hours until 3:30 in the morning before catching another 10 hour flight to Amsterdam where, after a 4 hour layover, we get to take an 8½ hour flight to Chicago, then a bus to Milwaukee. That’s gonna be fun, you betcha.
As is usual, we packed two other activities into the day – a visit to the first ever magazine written in Gujarati for the tribes in the state, more than six million people. It was celebrating its sixth issue. The magazine was the dream of Father Vinayak, who designed its business plan while studying at Marquette. I told the staff my belief in the value of magazines like this, which enable groups like India’s tribals to maintain their cultural cohesiveness while adjusting to the modern world. This is a worthy publication and Father Vinayak should be very proud of it.
We then went to visit Loyola school, which has 4,000 students in its 12 grades.
Finally, a very tired group of Marquette representatives came back to crash, once we made sure the squirrel had left Carole’s room. It had invaded the room through an open window shortly before we left for the night’s activities. Still, she thought it was preferable to the lizard that had visited Ashley’s bathroom a couple of days ago.

Cows, no. Camels, no. Monkeys, yes!

When I first heard of St. Xavier’s College, I was told the campus was overrun with monkeys. I get here and . . . no monkeys. I wait a week . . . no monkeys. Ten days . . . no monkeys.
Suddenly Tuesday morning we get a call from Boris Gomes, one of the students who have been working to develop the class website. There are monkeys near the church. The game is afoot!
Carole, Vincent and I are off in search of monkeys. Sure enough, as we approach the church, I see a monkey sitting on a fence near a tree. I approach, camera in hand, and the monkey’s gone. Now it’s in the tree. Despite the fact the monkeys are more than three feet tall with a longer tail, they are very fast.
Carefully, I focus on the monkey in the tree. Success. We have a monkey photo.

We walk toward the church, the monkey forgotten. Suddenly one comes racing by, chased by a dog. It leaps atop a fence where the dog can’t go and stops.
Snap, another monkey picture. I’m told that when Provost John Pauly was here a year ago, he didn’t see them on campus. Sorry, John. We got a monkey. You have to come back.
Now, off to pursue an elephant. I think I’ll skip hunting for a tiger.

A note from the classroom

Despite my inability to properly pronounce Western names much less Indian names, I took attendance from the 35 Indian students at the Backpack Journalism workshop Monday. Much hilarity ensued.

Of editing, web sites, and Catholic films

     Today is Monday, and we're back instructing. Actually, the teams of students are swarming the campus like locusts. At tea in the Jesuit Residence (yes, tea time lives), three of the fathers said they had been approached by multimedia teams working on stories, including Father Vincent (the principal as opposed to Father Vincent the science teacher) had been approached three times. There seemed to be a bit of an air that the students were getting annoying.  It's heartwarming to bring good old American journalism to an unspoiled part of the world.

     Most of my day was editing the biographies being prepared for students for the website that will accompany the final projects of all eight teams. It wouldn't have been all that hard except that Indian English follows, well, the English style, not the American version I've spent my lifetime learning. So I had to leave Journalism capitalized, as well as Bachelor's degree and even Basketball (it was being emphasized in the story so it should be capitalized; I checked with a St. Xavier's journalism instructor, honest). But the hardest thing was allowing punctuation outside a final quote mark. I certainly hope none of my Marquette students are reading that I allowed such a thing since I hammer them to death about it.

     After classes were over, Carole Burns and I met with a St. Xavier journalism instructor and two students to discuss setting up a web site for the school's monthly magazine. While we were sitting there, Carole set up a home site for when the students are ready to fill it. We will be training the two, Carole on technical issues and some web design while I will teach them some editing for the Internet techniques.

      After a little break (while I blogged) we went as a team to tour a Jesuit Communications Center, Gurjarvani, which creates and publishes both audio and video projects featuring the Gujarati and other local languages. We had a good discussion of creating digital products. After dinner at Gurjarvani, Vince and I walked to the market for sodas. It was a good walk (the temperature was 70 at 10:30 at night -- the weather here is so boring, for the four days we have left in this visit, it's going to be 82, 82, 83, 83 and sunny each day, of course).

On the road with another blogger

There's a problem in traveling with another blogger, but I have to strongly recommend Carole Burns' blog. She has a good eye for humor, getting off some lines that make me envious, and, now she's stealing one of the best lines of the trip. As we were headed back to Ahmedabad Sunday after a day of averting disaster on the roadways by a camel's eyelash (had to get in an animal reference), a plaintive voice from the rear of the van asked: "Do you have to get a driver's license to drive here?" 

A day of sightseeing; a night of work

           Before we ran into the herd of camels Sunday, we had the great experience of visiting the Adalaj “stepwell” or vav. This magnificent structure stretches five stories underground, and, frankly, I can’t do justice to it with photos. Built in the 1490s, this exquisitely-carved with a blend of Hindu and Islamic detail structure leads underground to a well (see top photo for some of the detail).

     The vav was both utilitarian and ritualistic. People considered the water holy since the water was significantly cooler than surface water, especially in the hot summer months. What I found most interesting was the light wells, which allowed the large structure to be lighted naturally throughout the day.

     We then headed for the Shrine of Our Lady of the Camels, where Father Vinayak celebrated a special mass. The shrine has an interesting past. It was a Jesuit mission to the Hindu local camel-based economy, hence the name. It clearly reaches out to other religions with its Hindu-like design and little touches throughout reading out to non-Catholics.

     Finally, we ended the day’s sightseeing at a site some would think religious, the ashram of Mahatma Gandhi in Ahmedabad.  It was Gandhi’s residence from 1915 to 1930 when he formalized his philosophy. As I said, the ashram prompted almost religious feelings. I was especially touched by the many Hindu families with parents showing small children around and talking to them about India’s greatest leader.

     Pictured is Gandhi’s room with the furniture he used. In it, signs said, he met with leaders from all over India and the world. Every visitor looks through the wire-protected doorway into the simple room.

     All in all, it was a great day for sightseeing, but reality struck quickly for the workshop faculty. Bill went off to work on tomorrow’s lesson, Carole to download video the students shot yesterday, and I have to get to work on grading (writing blog items is a great procrastination tactic).

News story you're not likely to see in the U.S.

     The strangest news story I’ve seen on this trip (and I’ve seen some woozies) came in Sunday’s Ahmedabad Mirror. Headed “33-yr-old woman dies after manja slits her throat,” the story told the tale of a woman in the city of Paldi killed by kite string (manja). Apparently she was on her way home from teaching an English lesson when a kite string got tangled around her neck, slitting her throat when she attempted to untangle it.

      Seems that Gujarat celebrates the festival of Uttarayan January 14 with a huge kite festival in which tens of thousands of kites are in the air, competing with everyone else’s kite. But just having kites in the air isn’t enough. Manja laced with glass is used to cut your competitors’ kite strings. Thus the fate of the poor woman from Paldi.

Camels, camels, and more camels

Sunday, the Excellent Adventure team turned to camels. At least, we found camels. Ahmedabad is located in an arid area of India, and we were on our way with camels on the brain from the archeological site called a “stepwell” or vav located in Adalaji 18 kilometers from Ahmedabad to the aptly named Jesuit mission Shrine of Our Lady of the Camels in Kadi.

     After posing with a camel yesterday, Ashley had declared she was “almost happy” but wanted to see a camel cart to make her closer to “happy.” Sure enough, we spotted one on the road outside the stepwell. It had passed the entrance to the site when we saw it, and was headed out of town. Ashley and I walked quickly after it, but it soon became obvious that the blasted long-legged beast was moving quicker than we were, so we set off running – I can’t imagine what the locals must think about crazy Americans. After about a quarter-mile, we got ahead of the camel cart and both of us took pictures.

     After we rejoined the group, Father Vinayak told us that we would see lots of camel carts because the area we were entering used them for field work, milk, and pulling carts. Sure enough, we saw lots of camel carts as we sped by on our way to the chapel.

      Then, suddenly, the road was blocked by a herd of camels (see above). I’ve never seen so many; we later found out that the herd comprised 36 animals.  Like a flock of kids, the driver pulled over, out jumped all seven of us, cameras in hand, racing after the camels, which were being herded into a fenced-in area where they immediately began munching on trees.

       The camel-drivers (two are pictured with Father Vinayak and his ever-present cell phone) allowed us inside the huge pen (about three football fields in area) where we got right up to the camels. Vinayak proved quite adept at mimicking the drivers’ camel calls, while the rest of us just enjoyed the incredible experience of standing within a few feet of that many camels, which are a lot bigger in person than they look in pictures.

       One of the sights that I’ll fondly remember is standing watching the animals when one moved away from the trees and began moving gracefully toward another area passing within three feet behind Ashley and Kellie who were both looking at digital photos on their cameras totally unaware of the 7-foot-high, more than a thousand-pound beast walking past.

         Another can be seen in that picture above of Ashley chasing after the camel herd. If you'll notice the road is dotted with small round objects left by the camels, and she was hopping madly around them.

A choice for my next career

       After a week riding around, I think I want my next job to be an Ahmedabad rickshaw driver (the motorized rickshaws are those green and yellow carts above behind Miriam Thorn in sunglasses and Ashley Niedringhaus's back).  Either that or I want to be a crash test dummy.

Sunday afternoons with Father Vinayak

     It’s Sunday, which means no classes and the dreaded Father Vinayak tour of Ahmedabad. For more than a year now, I’ve heard tales of how he harried last year's Marquette team (Bill Thorn, Carole Burns, and then Dean now Provost John Pauley) from place to place in a tiring pace.  Actually they enjoyed it, I think, but all of them would admit to the sightseeing being at a brutal pace.

     In about five minutes, we’re to be off again. I don’t know the entire schedule, but I do know several stops are planned, most of them outside Ahmedabad, including one I’m really anticipating: a visit to Mahatma Gandhi’s ashram.  I’m sure the others are going to be fascinating because Vinayak is a thoughtful guide. I do know he plans a special mass for the Catholics in the group, and there is an ancient stronghold on tap. 

      Just in case, though, I’m taking the heart shaped aspirins for my back after all the walking.  And, of course, you’ll get details later.

I ♥ these aspirin

    One of the adventures that isn’t so excellent in traveling outside the U.S. is dealing with medications, whether it be a simple thing like searching for a pharmacy in India then seeing a “Chemist” and remembering from innumerable British mysteries that was the store I wanted to the, in retrospect, hilarious pantomime I went through in Mexico trying to describe a fever thermometer in Mexico (I’ve since learned it’s una fiebre termómetro).  With me speaking no Spanish at the time and the pharmacist speaking no English, it was a lost cause.

    Once you do find medications, don’t count on them looking or acting anything like a similar product in the U.S.

     So I wasn’t surprised but was amused when I finally found some aspirin for a back that’s decided it doesn’t really like me standing on my feet for seven hours a day then sleeping in an unfamiliar and decidedly stiffer mattress. It was small, gray and heart-shaped. Plus it was only 50 milligrams.

     Still, it made my back feel better so I love it.

Ahmedabad has its poverty as well as its glory

     India is many things – far more than I’m going to be able to experience in this busy two weeks – and it’s a place that both meets and exceeds the stereotypes I’ve built up over the years, not only from fiction like the Phantom comic (which mixed lions and tigers, but had Indian settings), Rudyard Kipling or movies like “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom” but from talks with several friends who immigrated to the U.S. from India.

     I’ve talked about many of them, but I think I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about one that a visitor can’t help but notice: poverty. The World Bank puts the poverty level at 29% (others much higher – some close to 50%). But we saw dramatic examples, including the village of shacks of squatters along the river Sabarmati pictured. I hope the Internet doesn’t mask the haze of smoke and pollution along this region. It shows up well on the screen of my computer. This makeshift community lines the river bank for as far as the eye can see in both directions.

      We saw other signs of India’s poverty. One was a number of beggars plying their trade along traffic at one of the stoplights that were actually obeyed. Miriam noted after one of them had pawed at her arm that she left streaks of dirt (or it might have been the little boy who also was grabbing at her).  In my ride to the market on New Year’s Day, Purvey Desai, who teaches economics at St. Xavier’s, had explained how the beggars were a small industry in the city with many of them making quite a good living out of looking poverty-stricken and hungry or dirty.  Actually I haven’t fallen victim to beggars since alcoholics outside the old Rescue Mission used to hit me up on the way from my parking lot to the Milwaukee Journal and then I saw the line of women with babies at their breasts on the walk into Tijuana, Mexico, and discovered that they borrowed babies to look more pitiful. It’s a shame because the con artists probably keep people from helping needy people

      Several neighborhoods were filled with groups of naked and dirty children and people were sleeping in the street.

      Poverty is a fact of life, even in one of the world’s fastest growing economies

And, as promised, more on cows in traffic. This was perhaps my favorite. Talk about showing no fear, this cow walked down the most crowded street I've seen without even glancing at the traffic, both vehicle and human, flowing around it. I wonder if cows believe in the Hindu term "Kismet?" 

It's not just cows

     As you read this blog, you’ve noticed my cow theme, and probably wonder if  that’s all I care about. Hah. Cows, even cows walking blithely through traffic, are passé. Not the animals in the attached pictures, though: donkeys and camels (we spotted five during about a half-hour this afternoon. Ashley, who was on a roll Saturday, said after seeing the camel that she was “mostly happy.”  She needs an elephant sighting next.

      Sounds like another Excellent Adventure’s afoot.

Don't let them sense fear

     As promised, here’s one of the comments about sights we saw on our Saturday market trip.  Of course, the most memorable sight on a motorized rickshaw trip from the fringes to a crowded and busy place like downtown Ahmedabad must be the traffic. (By the way, are you seeing a theme in my blogs: lots on traffic, crowds, and cows – more on the cows later.) To say the traffic is crazy is understating it; it’s exhilarating, frightening, unbelievable, and just about every other adjective form of any of the above plus a dozen others as well. On our trip today, Ashley held a video camera out a side of the rickshaw as we motored along. I can’t wait to download the images.

     For now, I’m posting two pictures. One is of us overtaking a bus with not more than an inch between the mirror and bus. I’d have had a better shot, but pulled the camera back inside the rickshaw because if I'd waited two seconds, I'd have lost the camera and a hand. Ashok, our driver, is either the most skilled or the luckiest of all drivers to survive the day. Sure, there was the motorcycle we clipped, but, hey, we couldn’t stop. That would have been dangerous.

     Oh, about the headline. That’s the unofficial credo of our little group when crossing traffic. Just walk into it without looking or faltering, and, whatever you do, “Don’t let them sense fear.”

To market, to market, to buy . . . . a kite?

     Saturday is a half-day of schooling at St. Xavier’s, and we have an open lab for students to work on their projects.  Not surprisingly, the first few in are among those who have really grasped the concept. Video and still cameras fly out of the lab, only to return at noon.  The teaching team spends time boning up on the editing program that will be used. Because St. Xavier’s lab is PC-based and we can’t use our usual Mac-based editing programs we needed to learn the editing program. It’s not really much of a problem because virtually all these simpler editing programs are similar; the only difference being where the commands are located.

       Interestingly, when students come to the lab they gravitate toward Miriam Thorn. She plans to be a teacher, and the students seem to realize they’ll find a natural leader in her.

      After lunch, four of us decided to head for the ancient market in the old Walled City part of Ahmedabad. We arranged a motorized rickshaw ride for the trip. Four of us crammed into the back seat of what is nothing more than a golf cart with a body on it. Miriam, the smallest of us all, sat on Ashley’s lap while Carole took the middle, sort of half-standing and half-sitting, while I was busting out the left side.  On the trip, Ashley held a video camera out the side, capturing the chaos of Ahmedabad traffic while I used a still camera to capture some images along the way. We had hoped for several sights, and, frankly, we saw them all.  Most of all, we saw the kind of confusion and massive crowds that are the stereotype of the nation with the world’s second largest population.

     I’ll write about some of the specifics of our sightseeing in a few future posts, but I’d be remiss without talking about the shopping. At one point as we walked down the street, Ashley said, “I’m in sensory overload.” I felt the same way. We were inundated with smells, sounds, touches, and sights. The market had shop or stall after shop or stall with just about everything one might want. Buddhas, dishes, padlocks, children’s toys, kites, chairs, women’s underwear, baskets, blankets, scarves, saris, (Ahmedabad is India’s textile center), food, spices, whatever one might want. And there were usually many stalls or shops devoted to whatever you might want. The photos are just two of more than 200 I snapped of traffic and the market. They give you a hint, and only a hint, of the variety we found. They cannot come close to showing the richness and diversity of the market.

      And the only things we bought were 15 kites, costing a total of 45 rupees -- just a smidgen less than $1 American.

      It was yet another wondrous day. And it ended with our reconvening with the rest of the team to talk about plans for next year and possible futures for this program, which has – in my view anyway – been incredibly fruitful already for students at both colleges as well as we faculty fortunate enough to be part of it. Quite tiring since, despite my talking about our breaks, involves a lot of work with planning every night (my night, for example, will be grading papers; probably not everyone’s idea of a hot Saturday night on the road) and contact with students from nine in the morning until past 4 each afternoon.

On Friday, we had video, aspirin and cows

       It's Friday so the students are being introduced to video.  While half of them are out shooting, the other half is downloading their still pictures they took the other day and selecting their favorites for critiques. This half also learned Photoshop. I'm sort of amazed at how fast we are pushing them, but they seem to be taking it like little ducks take to water.  The speaker at the kickoff described this generation as "digital natives" as opposed to mine, "digital immigrants." It sure shows in adaption to technology. In the afternoon, the two groups flipped roles.

      One of the problems that you feel quickly is how important technology is away from home. Thank heaven that we have Carole Burns, whose attitude of rolling with the punches as well as her competence keeps me from worrying. Computers don't have necessary programs? No problem, she'll add them. Camera batteries won't charge? Not to worry, she'll buy another kind. Video batteries won't hold a charge? She'll take care of it. Students freeze up the computer? Easy work.  I'm confident that the students will finish their projects on times, and that they'll be wonderful. 

       After the day's classes ended, Carole and I headed off on foot in search of batteries. We ended up walking down the road that passes in front of St. Xavier's for about six blocks until we hit an area with businesses. Along the way, we have some close encounters with India's most famous residents (see photos). That first cow took a real liking to me (maybe it was the yellow Marquette/St. Xavier polo shirt or maybe it was the camera). That picture, by the way, wasn't using a telephoto lens -- that blasted cow was about two feet away when I snapped this. 

      Anyway we found a bunch of stores. The second one we went in was a Japanese electronics store with the usual assortment of junk and high-tech. But Carole found batteries.  With trepidation, we crossed the road (that's the crossing used in the previous post; Carole swacked me when I was shooting it since there was a gap of perhaps 10 feet and we didn't dash into it since I was shooting the picture) to explore a flea market and bunch of small shops. I was searching for aspirin since my back is objecting to something. I found a small store that sells timed-release aspirins that look like nothing I've seen before. Little red, heart-shaped pills.

       Afterward we kept walking. By now we had taken several turns, but -- because I'm a cocky, not-so-smart man -- I said I was sure that if we took this one street for five or six blocks, we'd run into the big street at the end of the block near St. Xavier's. Hah! I was right. We found our way back.

Why did Steve cross the road?

     Can't answer except that the Steve in question was me, and the road was in Ahmedabad, and crossing the road was indeed an adventure. As I've whined several times, traffic is unbelievable so crossing the road becomes an exercise in walking quickly between vehicles (see photo).  That's not to mention that traffic flows on the left, as in the British system.  I well remember the first time I crossed the road here, showing extraordinary ingenuity, I must say.  

     There were eight lanes, and they were jammed. I was standing there totally befuddled by the traffic when I spotted an elderly woman launching herself from beside me using a walker. Hah, I thought, a shield.

     And so Steve crossed the road.

A new year, a new Buddha, and two new priests confirmed

    Thursday, New Year’s Day.  Today was a free day so we luxuriated in slothfulness (with some planning for tomorrow). There were two high points for me. One was a shopping expedition, and the other a mass.

     The shopping trip was for a Buddha to add to my collection. One of St. Xavier’s teachers, Purvey Desai, volunteered to take me shopping to find them. We started out in a shop in the modern side of Ahmedabad where I showed her what I wanted. We exchanged some dollars into rupees at a bank, then hopped aboard a motorized rickshaw and headed for the “walled city,” the ancient fort that has been turned into street after street of wholesale shopping. It was a place of my dreams – swirls of humanity, vehicles and vendors covering the entire area. Just about anything one might want was available, along with one of the greatest traffic jams I’ve ever seen (except that it really wasn't a jam -- everyone was moving with each vehicle within inches of each other and pedestrians cutting through at sudden angles -- it was just a mass of humanity and vehicles). Exhilarating and exciting. This is what I’ve come to India for.

       Soon we found the street of metals (each street was devoted to one kind of product. It might be shoes, textiles, produce. This one was merchant after merchant selling metal products, wonderful copper bowls that my wife would love, but were too big to bring home on a plane. We headed into a shop where I looked at its collection of brass Buddhas. They ranged from about two feet high and about 40 pounds to about four inches high and just a couple. I found one I liked (about eight inches and, just guessing, five pounds), and the bargaining started. The price was about $50 U.S. Finally, I bought it for a thousand rupees, just a bit over $20. While there, Purvey picked up two brass Hindu goddesses for fifteen hundred rupees. She had done the bargaining for me, since it was conducted in Gujarati, the local language.

      During the trip I learned much more about Ahmedabad and the Indian education system from my guide, who had volunteered her time today. She teaches economics at St. Xavier and at another college, and told me a lot about the city and the school.  I loved the hustle and bustle of the market. I will go back there before we leave.

      In the evening we were invited to join in the final vows of two Jesuit priests at an Indian mass with music sung beautifully in English, Hindi, and Gujarati. The ceremony was beautiful and touching even though I’m not Catholic. The vows are serious -- vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience -- and I’ve gotten a great deal of respect for the priests with whom I’ve been living this week. Tonight's ceremony has added some richness to my visit.

Some thoughts on food

Food has been spectacular. Most of my favorite Indian dishes have been served in the Jesuit Residence, although one was a Pakistani stew that tasted very much like something I eat in Milwaukee. The difference is that a typical meal here at the Jesuit Residence involves rice, a form of taco, a salad, and platters containing up to four types of food that we normally get as an entrée. It’s followed with fruit (for lunch, I had mango and tangerine, skipping the bananas because I had that for lunch), and something sweet, often ice cream.  One of the fathers told me that Indian ice cream has been voted second only to that of Italy. I believe it after eating the black current and chocolate straws ice creams.  The only thing I have to fear is walking down streets and passing venders selling wonderful looking and smelling foods. We eat three solid meals a day (mornings’ offering are eggs and a kind of ham; lunch and dinner are substantial meals). There is also high tea at 4 p.m., a custom we should take up (although it involves sweets here, and I guess I’m going to have to go back on the diet when I get home).

India's a system built on politeness

India is far different than I thought it would be. That might well be because I’m sequestered in a college environment, and I realize that India is a huge collection of communities.  Although there are lots of people around, it’s not as crowded as, say, Manhattan except that the sidewalks are much smaller so it seems crowded.  As I walk around, I notice that people do stare. It isn’t often they see people who look like me.  Whenever I’m in this situation, I realize how people of color must feel in much of the U.S.

 

I’m struck by how this system works on politeness.  It isn’t being deferential to foreigners, although I’ve certainly seen much of that. It’s more that the system works because people understand that they cannot function without others, and that getting along revolves around everyone’s vested interest in getting along.  Take traffic, for example.  The roadways are where I’ve seen the “chaos of India” that I’ve read about for so long. They are crowded with pedestrians, cyclists, animals, buses, trucks and automobiles. Horns are constantly honking as the many entities of the road swerve around, in front of, past, behind, sideways to, and just about every other path they could take. There is no way to adequately describe the traffic here.  Ashley and I plan to take a motorized rickshaw and a couple of video cameras around just to capture the flow of traffic.  But the point is, as Bill Thorn observed today, it works. All of these vehicles – from the bicycle to the scooter to the rickshaw to the camel wagon (yes, I’ve seen two so far, along with a donkey cart) to the SUV – weave and swirl their way down the same streets, through the same intersections without hitting.  Father Vinayak says there’s only one rule: To not hit each other.  I believe it. He was driving us over to a shop today heading down a street, when he came to an intersection where all the traffic was headed our way. He turned, but I asked Carole, who was along for the ride, “Did you see a one-way sign?” No. There wasn’t any. So how does everyone know it’s one-way? “Just don’t hit each other,” I guess.