Mumbai: The First Week

Everything’s moving so fast. New city, new school, new kids, my city, my school, my kids, new friends, new home—no home—gotta find a place to live. Gotta settle in, settle down. Gotta learn—kids, school, classroom, co-teacher, rules, the local train. Gotta settle in, settle down, gotta learn, gotta live, gotta do it now Gotta do it now.

New City (My City)

Sunday evening, 11 June, 19 Fellows and 4 Staff Members pulled up to St. Pious College. Unload bags. Enter the hostel. They’re going to lock us in at 10:30 pm, they say, no in or out What sort of college is this?

I stayed in Gurageon. Crashed in Andheri. Visited Juhu Beach. Living now in Kandivali. I’ve seen so little, but this is home now, home. Gotta settle in, settle down. Gotta learn this city.

New School (My School)

Wednesday, 14 June, just the fourth day in Mumbai, I visited my school for the first time. Let’s call it Hilltop School. It is located in Kandivali, a little bit off a main road. From the main road, one heads down a street which leads to the slum. Climb up. Up and up. Up the narrow lane. Pass the open doorways, women washing sarees, dogs. Turn left at the mosque. Pass the children coming home from school. Climb up the slim stairs, climb up to the top. And there, one will find the school.

It is a nice school, a solid school. Two levels of classrooms. Outside walls painted a nice shade of light blue green. Working fans, working lights. Roof doesn’t leak. Nice school.

I walk into my classroom. Immediately struck by how wide the aisles are. Unlike summer school I can actually walk down the aisles! Small chalkboard. No teacher desk. Two feet between the chalkboard and the first row of desks. There’s a window too – opens right into the community. When class was going on I learn that people look into our room from this window and watch class - but they don’t seem to bother the class too much (only one parent actually spoke from the window).

2 hours and then I leave. That’s all I’ve seen, all I know. So much more to learn. So much more to know.

New Kids (My Kids)

They walk in. One by one. Two by two. Three by three. My adorable, lovely children. And I know not a one of their names. Not a one of their personalities. Not a one of their smiles. And yet they are my kids. Mine.

Many greet me by name and hand me pictures they drew for me printed with “Welcome Nicole didi.” My kids.

My co-teacher gave me the data.

Looking at the data, looking at the kids: Ages range from 5 to 10. For some this is the first classroom they have been in. Most can barely speak or comprehend a word of English. Some can’t even write their names. Some don’t even have the motor skills to use a pencil properly. Most can understand some math. And there is one girl - let’s call her B – who is far above the rest in English (can read, write, speak) and has a good grasp of math. 3 levels of kids. Remediation. Average. Enrichment. And how to differentiate? How to differentiate?

Yes I have data – but that’s not everything. There is so much I need to know, want to know.

A New Friend

Sunday night I arrive in Mumbai. I text him, a friend of a friend of my mother. Let’s call him F, for “friend” F’s gong to help me, my mother says. I’ve never met him. Never spoken to him

Instant reply – Meet tomorrow at 7? – Ok – Ok. Fast fast. Gotta be fast here. Tomorrow. I’m going to meet F tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes. We meet. Talk. I’m surprised. We talk “business,” yes, but also we get along on a human level. F’s nice. Friendly. A writer. Intellectual. I’m surprised.

Over the past week F has been utterly invaluable in helping me find a flat – but more importantly, he is actually becoming a friend to me. Yesterday I even cried in front of F. And he was ok with that. Helped me. I never thought I would find a friend in such a distant connection. A friend of a friend of a friend seems to be becoming purely a friend.

New Home (No Home)

1 person. 1 room. 1 BK / 1 BHK. Living alone.

F and I start looking on Wednesday. We have found options. Some good. Some not so good. One an absolute dream. And then the brokers tell me, no, actually I can’t have the room. “Society” doesn’t like that I’m an unmarried woman.

Bachelor. I’m a bachelor. Unwanted by “society.” Homeless.

But I’m staying at my coteacher’s apartment right now. It is a lovely space (just like her J ). My coteacher is being incredibly generous in letting me stay here, eat her, food, use her internet. A lovely person. But I’ll write more on her later.

For now I just have to keep up hope. There is one option I can take – not the best, not the dream, but it is something. We’ll work the system. Shake the tree. See if any apples fall.

A New Beginning

In an hour I start teaching my new kids. Maths and Phonics. I’m nervous, excited, nervous. Excited. I don’t want the butter in the butterflies. I’m on a diet. I just want to fly.