bad day

Well, as it turns out, an attitude adjustment and the rejuvenating effects of vacation don’t last long in India. That’s the only preface I can give for what is to come. But I do find it important that, for the sake of my readers of course, I provide examples of both the good moments and the bad.

It started with a bad day at work yesterday. I’d been asked to write a report tracking the activities and services provided by rural agricultural and animal husbandry service centers set up by our organization. With little direction or support, I wrote what I thought was a comprehensive report – but according to the higher-ups was lacking in financial detail, which I was never asked to retrieve. So, I spent the entire day calling people, communicating with them in broken English, trying to explain which information was required. Those who were in the office would respond by staring at me blankly, then without consulting any papers or documents would say, “Oh. Fifteen hundred rupees.”

I had to question the accuracy of the information and thought about my role as the reporter, legitimizing all this information and sending it off to people sitting in a fancy office in Switzerland who will say, “and this is the work we are supporting in rural India!” It seems I am not in a position to really be as honest as I would like to be in portraying the work I see here.

At lunch, I tried to hide my anger when the organization’s top administrator forgot to introduce me to a visiting guest. As if I didn’t already feel somewhat useless and unappreciated working here. And while I love the silly banter with my favorite colleague about shopping for cotton Capri pants in Ahmedabad, I wished to work in an office where I could relate to people in a more meaningful way, where I wasn’t forgotten, and where I felt I was actually contributing. 

In any case, I finally packed my bags and walked home angrily – kicking stones as I walked, rolling my eyes at the street dogs who sprawled themselves into mounds of dirt and yawned at my exasperation.

Even dinner at our favorite Thali restaurant did nothing to lighten my mood. As the waiting staff hovered around our table offering more chiapptis and oily subzees, in typical Thali fashion, I stared at my plate and ate, not even laughing at their insistence waiters that we eat more.

I went home right after dinner, locked myself in and indulged in a ridiculous pastime comfort – watching Father of the Bride, Part 2. The credits rolled while the opening scene displayed beautifully decorated rooms in a cozy California house. When I woke up the next morning and realized I wasn’t in that lovely house, with the large oak tree outside – I refused to get out of bed and face the reality of still being in India.

I pressed snooze on my cell phone and contemplated my morning routine. I thought about going to the gym, but didn’t want to face all the men that would stand watching me there. I thought about taking a bucket shower, but couldn’t deal with even the thought of heating the water on my stove. I thought about doing some yoga, but my entire spine was sore right up to my neck from 5 months worth of sleeping on a lumpy mattress with a lumpy pillow. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep.

But I couldn’t sleep – my neighbor to the back of my house – whose kitchen nearly infiltrates my bathroom, has a baby with a loud cry who was as unhappy as I was, but much more expressive about it. As he cried and screamed and fought with his mother, my neighbor upstairs began his morning tongue scraping routine. Tongue scraping is an Indian habit of oral hygiene and involves using a wishbone-shaped piece of metal to scrape the grime off of one’s tongue. Typically, it makes a person gag – which then leads one to clear the mucus out one’s throat, chest, and lungs – at least, this is what I can gather from the noises I hear from my loving and respectful upstairs neighbor.

So, this morning, it was a symphony of crying, gagging, mucus extraction, and dogs barking that welcomed me out of my happy state of unconsciousness back into India.