fit for a king

not many homes provide a stellar view of the sun rising over the himalayan foothills, a perfect vantage for monkey-viewing and an arena to rid oneself of a deep-seated fear of spiders. a cozy single room filled with music (remember, simon and garfunkel define home as “where your music’s playing”), the wonderful smells of my cooking (which reaches the extent of pasta, ramen and french toast), and the quick pattering of mice feet in the ceiling, king’s chambers truly is fit for a king. or queen.

a few mornings ago i drank my coffee as i watched about 8 monkeys fighting over a loaf of bread on the roof top below my porch. i felt like i was at the zoo as i watched a mama carrying her baby on her chest, teenage monkeys swinging acrobatically from the roof to the porch below and the true power of the giant alpha male, forcing the poor peons to allow him to feast on the loaf of bread and then allowing one of his concubines pick the lice off of his fur as he lounged in the sun. above is a photo of a monkey playing with my water bottles as i cooked at my stove. while the monkeys have been known to interrupt my favorite activity—porch sitting—by stealing my breakfast off of the plate i feel lucky to live in a himalayan-style zoo.

the other most common animal in the zoo during the monsoon season was, as many of you have heard, the plate-sized spider. to construct an analogy, snakes are to indiana jones as spiders are to courtney humm. living amongst the great beasts during the monsoon forced me to turn fear into rage as i annihilated spiders with my weapon of choice—a broom. this is me on one of my first spider-killing adventures, accompanied by the fearless cole blume, who wrote in a blog entry that i “vanquished [my] enemy with a vengeance" (coleblume.blogspot.com). however, i was happy to put aside my spider-hunting days when the monsoon, and thus the spider season, ended.

quidditch finals, 2005 (subtitled: eye of the tiger)

for a week prior to sports day, the quad took on a new air as the band practiced "the eye of the tiger" each morning. every time i went to the copy center (located in the quad) before school i felt a layer of invincibility build around me, though i had to overcome the desire to run up the ramp to the high school, flailing my arms in the air like rocky balboa.

sports day provided me with another chance to play pretend. as cole and i approached the field, situated 500 feet below the main campus, i imagined quidditch players mounting their broomsticks and lee jordan announcing the match over the loudspeakers. the field with elevated bleachers (because they are built into the mountainside) even seems to foster the spectating of that beloved snitch-chasing game.

the students, donning their colors, sat according to house (eagles, merlins and condors) in bleachers adorned with banners and signs. the condor women's staff relay team (3/4 of which is pictured in the pyramid configuration) in typical condor style came in third (a.k.a. last). however, the benefit of coming in third when there are only three teams competing is that the losers also garner a medal. i think the reason we lost is because none of us had amazing, golden six-inch nails like flo jo. the day ended with the awarding of the "house cup" to the eagles captains and a trip into hogsmeade for a pint of butter beer at the hog's head and some bertie botts' every flavor beans from honeydukes sweets shop.

mama bear comes to town

i started calling maria kelly, my college advisor, role model and diva, “mama bear” when she used to drive 14 of us around in a big st. olaf van during ed 170—a class i took during interim freshman year. having her (and her sister brigdget) here at woodstock for a few days showed me how special it is sharing “new worlds” with loved ones.

cole and i cooked maria and bridget our specialties (french toast and pasta) and took them to all of our favorite restaraunts. on a particularly tough, stressful teaching day, maria and i “centered our chi” (one of her true catch phrases) by leaving school early to go shopping and piercing our ears in the bazaar (that’s a picture of us in front of the store). when we entered the store, I asked the man behind the counter if he did piercings. he grabbed the piercing gun anda pen and said, “where do you want it,” before I could ask, “how much,” (approximately 85 cents) or, "is it clean?"

being with maria simply inspires me. at one moment, during morning assembly, i found myself between maria and shonila, two of my guru/diva/idols whom i respect beyond words. it's having people like that around.

serendipity in room 20 (subtitled: suddenly everything has changed)

people have told me that my life is a movie. if you reside in that camp, this story will only lend credence to your belief. as many of you know, i have said that i would love to remain in india for the rest of this year. two thursdays ago i arrived at work and discovered that a high school social studies teacher had resigned. to make a long story short, i met with human resources on friday and started teaching 4 new classes today. my student teaching courseload included two sections of ap microeconomics (both classes are pictured here) and one section of ap american history. this morning i transitioned to a full courseload-- two sections of 9th grade world history, one section each of ap american history, world history and comparitive politics. in true maria kelly fashion, i read story books to my classes (including yertle the turtle, chrysanthemum and frederick) and then we created classroom constitutions. looks like i might have to become a real grown-up. but the operative word is clearly, "might." the brightest moment (so far) in room 20 occurred as i was rearranging the desks at the end of my first day. two of my students came in and asked if we could have a dance party (since i already had my music on). we turned it up so loudly that probably 4 teacher came to check on us. maybe i'm not really a grown-up after all. these photos are of my final days as an economics teacher in room 24.

quarter break (subtitled: high on the mountain top)

a few weeks ago, in celebration of quarter break, cole, our friend brian and i made the 15+ hour sojourn to dharamshala. dharamsala, situated in the himalayan mountains, is nothing short of magical. home to the exiled dalai lama, dharamsala boasts a large, friendly tibetan community, breath-taking mountain views, wonderful cafes with mountain air flowing through the windows and bob marley playing on the stereo and delicious italian food (if you think i am a sell-out for eating italian in india, you do not understand the culinary cravings that result from being abroad for an extended period of time).

the shop owners, completely opposite from the pushy vendors in much of india, often offered tea; one man (pictured with some of his textiles) asked me to eat lunch with his wife and son, who bring lunch to his shop daily. the beggars in dharamsala are much different than those in larger indian cities. rather than asking for money, they desire something much more basic—food. while i purchased milk for the mother with beautiful eyes and her baby, the little girl held my hand in the store they would not have been allowed to enter unaccompanied by a foreigner.

while at the buddhist monastery where the dalai lama lives i met a woman (pictured below) selling lucky bracelets. a group of indian men offered to buy me a bracelet out of kindness (also pictured below) and then asked if i would pose for a souvenir photograph. i loved returning to a buddhist community after being surrounded by buddhism and monks in saffron robes for 2 ½ months in thailand. let’s face it—buddhism rocks.

cole, brian and i also spent a day hiking to the snow line in the himalayas. during our approximately 10 mile hike we encountered multiple “pit stop” stands run by tibetan men who lived in the small huts constructed of stones and served hikers tea, juice and other goodies, prayer flags strung between trees, hearders coaxing (and sometimes kicking) their sheep and goats down the mountain, a group of tibetan men and women dancing at the top of a mountain clearing, a small village near the snow line and my first view of a glacier.

sometimes in india it seems like all one billion people that populate the country are surrounding you. one of those times was our train ride home. apparently, we chose the sunday prior to navratra, a hugely popular hindu festival, to return to mussoorie. it became evident why we were unable to reserve assigned sleeper seats on the train. the train, packed with pilgrims journeying to haridwar (see “a weekend pilgrimage”) overflowed with people. kids, rolled into the fetal position, slept in luggage compartments, families distributed food as they knelt on the ground near the bathrooms, feet and arms poked out into the aisles, making maneuvering with a backpack nearly impossible, sadhus slept in the area between train cars, men shared seats with large lanterns, and two to three people shared many bunks. the ticket collector found one seat for the three of us to share. after making our way through the train we arrived upon our seat, currently inhabited by a young woman. the four of us ended up sharing two bunks, cole and i scrunched on the top and brian and meenu (our new friend) sharing the bottom. each time the train made a stop, the smells from the station and the nearby bathroom on the train wafted up to our bunks, occasionally rousing us from sleep. but, maybe oddly, we all loved our indian train ride.

introducing ms. humm (subtitled: i've got soul, but i'm not a soldier)

may i formally introduce you to ms. humm, born august 17th following a brief escapade as miss courtney. ms. humm closely resembles one court/ courtney with her loud, booming voice, extreme enthusiasm and obsession with music. however, a foul mouth and occasionally dirty dance moves do not characterize this new identity. ms. humm may also be known as “mrs. humm” (an especially frightening misnomer) or “the hot new teacher” (possibly equally disturbing). though it has always been my goal to maintain the same identity across roles/ boundaries, i have been known to use the “teacher stare” once or twice (according to my kids). sadly, i am also sporadically mistaken by teachers and students as a high schooler. the other day i was looking through my gradebook and a colleague approached me from the side, "whose gradebook is that?!" "uh, mine."while a member of ms. humm's class you might be referred to as a change agent, a.k.a. a member of the relatively small educated class in the world's population that is responsible for critically questioning and revolutionizing society when necessary. you may also be asked to teach the "dance move of the day" during our short dance parties that punctuate 120-minute class periods. or you might just have to take on the persona of frederick douglass or tecumseh in historical charades, interpret the brillant lyrics of dave matthews' in the context of the indian removal policy of 1830, or debate from the perspective of a landlord or a female factory worker in the industrial revolution. but, no matter what, if you're my student, you'd better look alive.

you may know that i dream of rock stardom. "rockin' it" for an audience and feeding off of their energy. however, while i was teaching economics i realized that teaching is just like being a rock star. allow me to explain. we've all been to concerts when the performer is unaware of the audience and trudges through the concert like a soldier. the audience derives no real fulfillment and the singer appears to hate his/her life. simply stated, it sucks. but we have also experienced those amazing concerts when the band and audience are feeding off of each other's energy. the dynamic in the arena is indescribable, everyone can't help but feel a part of something amazing. my love for music and concerts has made me a crowd member for much of my life. but for the first time, during my economics class today, i felt like the rockstar-- full of vigor and feeding off the excitement of the students. cyclically, they became increasingly engaged and enlivened as well. you can go to work every morning, unenthused and unaware of your students, coworkers, whoever. and that's when kids are annoying and everything in the world is irritating (especially loud chewing and sniffly noses in the teacher's lounge). or you can go to work each day filled with energy and passion that can't help but arouse everyone around you.

classes like that feed my soul, affirming my decision to teach. georgie, one of my students, took the picture of me teaching economics. when she handed me my camera, she said, "i don't know how the pictures turned out, but i left a present for you" (included below). how can moments like that not feed my soul?

ganesh and the guru

shonila, my host teacher guru, continues to awe me with her wisdom and strength. the guru has rebuked richard gere and refused to marry when asked by the suitor's family to pay a dowry. "if he needed things, he could have gone to the bazaar. i lost all respect for him that day, and i will never marry someone i cannot respect." when she said that in class, i felt compelled to stand and promptly burn my bra. her friends dub her "anglo indian," too western to truly be indian and too indian to be a westerners. either way, she is too fabulous for words.

next to the guru, ganesh, the hindu elephant god, is the indian figure with which i am currently most enamored. ganesh is the son of parvati and shiva, though ganesh was created out of the dirt parvati produced from bathing. during another bath, shiva returned to parvati while ganesh was guarding the door. confused at the boy who would not allow him to enter, shiva lopped off the boy's head. extremely distraught, parvati demanded that shiva save her son. shiva set out in search of the first living being that was sleeping with its head facing north. consequently, an elephant fit his description.

ganesh is sometimes called the god of education because he creates and removes obstacles in people's lives. he represents patience, devotion, truth, wealth and wisdom. he is also believed to be the destroyer of pride. during our visit in haridwar, cole and i ran into the procession of the ganesh chaturthi, the festival honoring the god. the parade displayed the temple statue of the elephant god on a pull cart accompanied by tubas, drums and about a hundred dancing followers. i guess you could say i am becoming a ganapatya (ganesh worshipper). and you all thought i was a heathen!

persistence of memory

i spent last weekend in punjab chaperoning 19 high school seniors with cole and shonila (my host teacher). punjab, bordering pakistan, is the only indian state with a sikh majority and boasts one of the strongest economies as well. the region is rich with history; however, in india, history and the underlying tensions/implications never truly diminish.
jallianwala bagh is the site where over 2,000 indians were killed in 1919 by british officials during a peaceful demonstration that marked one of the first main events in the independence movement. without provocation, the british began firing after blocking the only entrance to the park. now the park has been converted to a lovely respite from the dustiness of amritsar. however, the eerie feeling of the massacre somehow remains. this is a picture of cole and i with two men from the fundamentalist sect of sikhism. the fundamentalists envision themselves as soldier saints and have five emblems (kakkars) to denote the brotherhood. men abstain from shaving or cutting their hair, kept twisted under the turban. only the fundamental sect still bear swords.

sikhism is the third most popular religion in india (following hinduism and islam). the religion was founded (primarily) as a protest to the caste system in hinduism by a guru in amritsar. the city is now home to the golden temple, the holiest site in sikhism. the history of the temple is tumultuous; however, now the temple is a peaceful pilgrimage site for sikhs and others alike. sikhs donate their crops (wheat, rice, etc.) and service to preparing food for over 10,000 people daily. the picture on the left captures those preparing food and those awaiting the free meal of roti and dal. unlike the secular flurry of queuing in the hindu temple in haridwar, the golden temple was truly a beautiful experience. visitors must cover their heads and discard their shoes and wash their feet before entering the temple. upon entering, we joined the groups of people circling the sanctuary which is covered in gold and located at the middle of the lake. under the eaves surrounding the walking path people slept, flies buzzing on their bodies, to avoid the oppressive heat. others took a dip in the holy waters. the chanting of the holy text of sikhism is continuously playing over the loudspeakers, read by four priests who are seated in the golden sanctuary. while we were waiting in line to enter the sanctuary, i made three small friends who guided me through the temple (the little one's nickname is "happy"). they thought that what little hindi i know was hilarious, and giggled each time i spoke. when we entered the sanctuary, the priests were surrounded by people either reading from copies of the holy book or reciting the text from memory. as we parted ways, the oldest of the three boys, pointed at me and then to himself and asked, “we are friends?” after i replied yes, he gave me his prashad (blessed/ holy food that is mix of flour, clarified butter and sugar).

the persistence of memory in india is evident in the sikh museum. (history tangent): an extremist group of sikhs overtook the golden temple in the 1980s, protesting for a free sikh state. indira gandhi sent troops into the temple, causing extensive damage. however, the caption in the museum notes that the sikhs quickly, “got their revenge,” alluding to gandhi’s assassination by her sikh bodyguards that impelled a state of emergency during which sikhs across india were gruesomely murdered.

stemming partially from this awareness of history is an intense indian nationalism. the wagah border is the perfect illustration of this fervor. each night at the indian-pakistani border there is a ceremony full of pomp and circumstance to lower the flags and close the border. picture this: thousands of people packed into bleachers, screaming not for a football or soccer team, but for their country, as a similar group gathers in the bleachers on the pakistani side.as the ceremony drew nearer, the crowd began pushing, and i thought to myself, “this is how people get trampled at rock concerts.” the guards pushed and hit people from the crowd, yelling all the while. crowd control seems impossible in a country of over a billion. and though the entire population was of course not at the wagah border, the chaos of the everyday in india is a constant reminder of the gigantic populace. following the ceremony, cole and i posed with one of the indian guards. i think he gives president thomforde a run for his money in the height department. but it could just be that stylin' hat.