The first brick on the Yellow Brick Road

Think of India 15 yrs ago. Now take a step back into the past. Now one more. One more. That's where I live! Hello from Ubon Rachathani, Thailand. Granted, they have internet and all, but the attitudes...

Why am I in Ubon? I followed the ultimate travellers' dream, did my TEFL course in Koh Samui, had a great time and despite all my doubts about teaching, I thought I might be ready. The course and Samui are for another blog. But knowing that it's difficult for Indians to find teaching ESL jobs in Thailand, I took the first job I got.

This school has had teachers from India before, and when an Indian student from the TEFL school I studied at (who is working at the school) contacted the Course Director regarding openings, she put me in touch with her. I didn't get the job I initially applied for - at the international program, but the day I got back home, I got another offer from the school - for the Government program.

With all the excitement of getting the job so quickly, I didn't look any further and took it. It didn't take me 3 months, or even 1 and 1/2, like I was prepared for and now, suddenly, I was not completly prepared.

The school asked me to come early so we can get the paperwork done, but the holidays began and everything stretched out. The department head finally told me that they won't be able to get some papers and I'd be able to get only my contract before I went to Bangkok. However, one of the foreign teachers was really really helpful and pushed to get all the papers done. Between him and I finally managed to get all the documents get my visa changed to a "Non-B". Once that is done, we will need to apply for a work permit and then a teaching licence. From what I've heard so far, the school is very lazy with the paperwork.

The place I've found to stay at is very very basic - way more than I expected and is kind of depressing (I guess it'll get better once school starts). It's called a "mansion", but what that means is it's like one of those lodges with just a room, a bathroom and a space to hang up clothes. Unfortunately for me, the open space my room faces the back of a set of buildings and so I don't get any sunlight. (It was slightly cheaper though). It is also above large tanks of water and plumbing I can hear them all night long. The good thing is that nothing beats this place for location - just about 7 mins from school. I think what bothers me was that I am missing conveniences that I didn't even think of looking for when I looked at the place (how much we take for granted!) - like not having a flush on the toilet!! (I'm okay with the bucket, so this is okay) or hot water (this I really miss). But I'm sure I can work around it. Live and learn :-) Also not knowing the language is right now a big issue as I can't ask for anything or figure out what anything means. There are notices all over the apartment, the contract has times mentioned on them - and I don't know what any of it means.

The good thing is that my colleagues (all the foreign teachers I've met so far) have been really nice and helpful. They have been very kind and some have gone out of their way to help me - from getting a room, to ordering food, to buying groceries, figuring out how to get started on a lesson plan, to pushing for the paperwork. They have all also been through these issues and are very understanding. Apparently, once I get a hang of it, the lessons/teaching/school work is rather relaxed. I can't wait to get to that point :-) I'm really nervous to start with though. The school has decided not to use the usual books and think we should do something more relevant since I'm teaching M6 (12th std) - who will then go to university. I do have some books for reference though. I better get cracking on my homework and start off with the lesson plans when I have the time. School starts 20 Oct.

The Devil or the Deep Blue Sea

Water is creepy; creepy as hell! Particularly if you don't have a taste for it.

I don't really have hydrophobia - I will tolerate, even enjoy, a spray if I'm on the sea. But I do not often go seeking water. I have lived all these years drinking less than a litre a day (though I now consciously drink more water than I used to). I hate the rain and will avoid a shower if I possibly can. (Give me a good old bucket bath any day!) I will sit on the beach, but more for the sun than the sea. I may have gone scuba diving once, but I bet even the instructor's wife never held him as tightly as I did.

So with that introduction, you can imagine how I felt when my physiotherapist suggested hydrotherapy. Have you ever stood in a pool and looked down? The ground looks unsteady, constantly moving; there is no sense of depth; you are being pushed off the floor; can't feel your own weight. Now imagine all of that when you have no natural balance; when your kinesthetic sense is just a bit off. And you are on a treadmill.

I dislocated my knee about 14 years ago, but didn't bother with any of the exercises my ortho suggested then. Many years, a few recurrences and some months of difficulty climbing steps later, I was scared enough to go back to my ortho, who then referred me to a physiotherapist for a patella realignment. I thought, "If I'm struggling now, what am I going to do in the next 50-60 years", given the curse of longevity that runs in my family.

After a few months of regular, on land, physiotherapy, just when I thought I was on my way to being back to good, I relapsed. We couldn't put a finger on what caused the relapse, but after a week of neglecting to do my exercises, I was back to shooting pains when I climbed stairs. To be honest, the only reason I skipped working on my knee that week was because I was travelling and did a lot of walking and stair climbing.

So when I went back to my physiotherapist, she suggested doing the exercises in water. The impact on my knee would be less, she said, but the effect the same. Hydrotherapy once a week and I continue my exercises on land the rest of the week. Since it was biting the bullet and getting my feet wet now versus wondering when I'll stop being able to move in the next 50 years, I agreed to go with the plan.

Getting to therapy that day was a huge step in itself. I left home early so that I could pick up something appropriate to wear. It was when I was trying out various clothes and saw the beads of sweat roll down that I realised how nervous I was. I was getting into water after I don't know how many years.

It wasn't a deep pool - just 4.5ft, but I was a fish out of water. Once I got in, all I felt was the air being squeezed out of my lungs. I tried not to look down and focussed on following the instructions. Looking down made me dizzy. I don't know what effect the whole thing had on my knees, but by the time I was out, I had a backache from not letting go. And my legs were shaking.

My therapist seemed satisfied with my progress though and booked me for a session next week. Hopefully I can stay in the pool longer than 20 mins this time.

Wish me luck!

WOW! That wasn't so bad!

For a long time, I've been following The WOW Club on Facebook - they are an all women travelling club of much acclaim. The tours they organised always seemed awesome, the places they went to exotic, their travel pictures amazing; but they were always just a little too expensive for me. I stress on for me, because my style of travel is different. I'm a DIY kinda person and they are luxury, organised, 4*, A/C coaches and guided tours kinda people. They do offer the benefits of luxury and the advantage price for a mass booking.

I've always kept away from them, primarily for their prices (like I said before) and also 'cos I've always been afraid of the constraints of travelling with a large group. An all women group, at that (pardon my prejudice). But when they advertised for Uzbekistan, I jumped and grabbed it with both hands. The price, as I saw it, was amazing! And I thought to myself, "There is some chance that I may never go to Uzbekistan alone. I'm not really sure what type of country it is".

So I booked with WOW. I was really excited but I was also very weary. I didn't know what to expect - both from the group and the trip itself. I was a little thrown off because I didn't have to do ANY work - no research, nothing. I just had to show up. (I did do some research though. Just to put myself at ease.)

I'm not going to lie - there were ups and downs. Lots of ups and lots of downs. There were times when it felt like there were more downs, but thinking back, I recall more ups. The good thing was that, unlike other group tours (and I have been on one other), we weren't catered Indian food at every stop. Of course there were people who missed Indian food, but those people brought their own fare. And shared.

The ladies I travelled with, and out guide

There were all sorts of people, really - the attention seekers, the "I'm so cool, I'm going to drink and party at every chance I get", the loud and fussy who had an issue with everything - including the similarity of the architecture of the monuments, the embarrassingly insensitive questioners, the laggards who made everyone wait, the speedys who couldn't be bothered to wait (if there's anyone who is more irritating than those who make you wait, it's those who just don't wait for the group to catch up), the uber knowledge seekers who inundated the guides with questions, the quiet and polite who had no expectations, the compulsive shoppers, the many many photographers and the party-poopers (me) who avoided joining in the games as much as they possibly could. Overall, nice people and a good fun gang.

I was assigned a nice roomie; she was about my age, fun, willing to participate in my randomness and explore the city with me. I made new friends; found a friend's mom; was bellboy (Tip: Never carry too little luggage when travelling in a group, esp if you are young. What surprised me, was the amount of luggage most people carried. I had just one backpack and my purse. But most people had two suitcases - for 6 days!); shopping buddy; had people who looked out for me; gained a beautiful pair of earrings; and a reputation of someone who can really eat.

The tour itself was nice and comfortable, though it didn't offer much time to do anything other that what was scheduled. The "WOW Buddy" who accompanied us didn't do very much, but the guide from the local travel company, who was with us through the trip and was our go-to-guy, was amazing. He was patient, sweet, answered our every question/request and put up with us. The places they took us to were excellent (though I still feel that the things I did without the group - planned by either them or me - were the highlights).

On the whole, I was proven wrong on two accounts: 1. I would totally visit Uzbekistan by myself (maybe I'll do the next post on the place itself), and 2. Travelling with The WOW Club wasn't so bad after all.

Another First

I donated blood for the first time in my life this week. All my life, I'd been laughed at when I wanted to donate blood - I was always underweight. This time I was just over the minimum requirement (45 Kgs) and was all pumped up for my blood donation.

The most painful part was not the donation itself, but the fact that NO one believed I was fit to donate blood even after all the tests proved I was! (Okay, this is not true. The most painful part was my arm AFTER the blood donation. I couldn't bend it all evening, and the needle puncture still hurts as I type this. To be fair, they did have to jiggle the needle a bit after I moved my hand).

It was an impromptu decision - my company has organised a blood donation drive that I found out about about an hour before it started. I had just started working there and didn't have my email set up yet, so didn't get this information. The colleague who sits next to me wanted to donate blood and I just joined in. It was her first time too, and we derived strength from our excitement. She was soon disqualified (due to just below required Hb) and from then on, I went solo.

My colleague was very kind and hung around for a bit to give me moral support. But she soon had to return to work, having no excuse. She sweetly introduced me to one of the other guys there before she left and came back in between to check on me to see if I was doing okay and take pictures.

Picture credit: My Colleague

(PS: I DO have skinny arms!) 

By this time, my Hb level was tested and proved I was well fed, my weight met the approval the the doctor present and my BP was accepted, though not very happily. All this not without my being expected to be unfit at every step. 

The first thing the camp doc did was to ask the women who wanted to give blood to get their Hb level tested. When my turn came, the nurse(?) looked at me and said, "She'll be anemic". And though the machine proved I had a decent Hb count, they were not convinced and squeezed my finger for more blood to do a less accurate copper sulfate solution test - which I passed.

Step 2: Meet the doctor. He looked at my eyelid, checked my weight (and reduced a Kg for the shoes while some of the boys giggled that my shoes added 2 Kgs to my weight) and checked my BP - which didn't register. So he advised me to drink some water or juice. I'd already drunk a large glass of water before the process started and was beginning to feel the pressure on my bladder. Still, I drank another glass as instructed and waited, got my BP checked and he passed me though my BP was just slightly high. Excitement does that. 

I'm pretty sure the doctor only let me donate blood 'cause I'd put my mother's name down as "Dr ...". I did add the "Dr" as an afterthought and good thing too! He looked at me skeptically and asked me once again if my mother was a doctor, just to be sure.

My piercings and tattoos were old enough to be approved and I sailed through to the next round - the actual blood donation.

I was treated like a fragile little bird. The nurses very sweetly directed me to a bed that didn't have another one adjacent to it, covered me with a pretty sheet so I was comfortable, made sure the squishy ball was soft enough for me to pump and that I was comfortable. Then very gently, the needle went in and I was instructed to keep pressing and releasing the ball.

Everything went well till I decided my hand was hanging out and I should move it to a more comfortable position. I shifted my hand ever so gently and didn't think the change was noticeable. That was when the guy in charge (the head nurse?) asked me if I'd moved my hand and then they had to jiggle the needle around :-(. Ultimately, they told one of the nurses to sit and hold my needle/pipe down in position while I completed my donation.

When it was all done, I was dying to get up, but they just wouldn't let me. I felt alright. There was no giddiness or weakness and while I complied and stayed lying down, I desperately needed to empty my bladder. They checked my arm and since I was still bleeding, they they kept me lying longer and advised me to drink more fluids. *Sigh* Finally I got the all clear, and ran to the loo before opening my pack of juice. Whew, the relief! I then finished my work and walked back home.

I felt awesome the rest of the day. Like I'd done something huge. Like I was a hero. I was excited all evening. Or was I just light headed?

Up-Cycling

Sometime ago, I showed a close friend of our family some pictures of a bicycle I painted for my sister and later that night he sent me this mail...

"please share the photos of your effort-

want to send to ... (his daughters)-

send also the pics of the details of the handle bar etc- if you explain the art it would add more value- like the guide at Belur temple!!"

...which led to a rather detailed email that inspired this post.

Initially, my sister just wanted me to paint the cycle because my father, who passed away 17 yrs ago, had bought it for her. This was her first and only adult sized bike. It is one of the few things she is attached to and took with her after she got married. But due to disuse, the cycle was beginning to rust. In fact, if we want to make the cycle usable now, we will have to change the rims as parts of it has rusted. So she came up with the bright idea to have it repainted so she can keep it as a piece of art, maybe with the plants she has upstairs.

The project started some months ago when I took the cycle to their terrace, got the wheels removed and sanded out most of the rust. But because of bad weather (scorching sun and a little rain) not much work got done there and we put the project on the back burner. Finally, we brought the cycle back to my house, gave it a base coat and kept it in a room in the back yard.

I started off with painting it, but ran out of paints in the middle, misplaced my paint brushes, then mildly injured my hand. The project took a nose dive. There was no hurry to get it done. Suddenly, one day, I was bursting with the mood to paint and in the last few weeks, the momentum just picked up - just in time for my sister's wedding anniversary.

The front mudguard was the first to be done as it was easy to dismantle. I tried removing the back wheel, but realised it needed a lot more re-assembly and decide to leave it assembled while painting. Instead of painting each part separately, I just wrapped some parts in paper while I sprayed the others. The back mudguard was the last part to be done as there were so many things that had to be covered to paint it. 

The designs were chosen to be simple and subtle since the colours contrast quite vividly. Therefore, I used green on green, blue on blue/blue-green and a darker orange that looks subtle under a yellow bulb, but contrasts well in sunlight or tube light/white light.

The seat was made to look completely different, even in terms of the design style, as if the cycle wasn't kitschy enough. 

The handlebar with the bell lent itself well to look like a snail in a garden and the grips already had a skeletal look built into it, so fish bones worked themselves in easily.

I tried to keep as many of the original fittings intact, including all the reflectors. The only new addition was the seat cover, as my sister misplaced the old one (after the project started and it was given into her keeping). She however thinks her husband may be the culprit :-D. I don't think the poor bloke knows he's the fall guy.

There is a whole other story about what happened the night we wanted to surprise them with the gift, but we'll keep that for another day.

It the end, it turned out much better than we imagined and my sister and brother-in-law were thrilled to have it. Yay!

Just smile and wave, boys

There comes a time in your life when you understand and adopt the wisdom of Skipper's (the Penguin from Madagascar) "Just smile and wave, boys".

When you are younger, in college, in your 20s, you fight for your ideals. You argue logically to defend your decisions. You get flustered that no one listens to you. AND NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO YOU. And your arguments get more fervent. Then you go home and vent to you mom, who is the only one, who by this time, has accepted that trying to convince you otherwise is futile. And nobody listens to her either. You are pronounced guilty of being a burden to your parents, whether they worry or not; and they are blamed of not brainwashing you enough.

No matter how logical your arguments may seem or how many facts you use to support it, the same stupid issues of how you choose to live your life will always be brought up by someone. Not just one someone - Everyone who thinks they are looking out for you will bring it up.

Slowly, as you near 30, it will peter out, but there will still be those one or two people who will insist on advising you, though you may have told them in no uncertain terms, that you are not interested in listening to them. That's when you adopt the "Just smile and wave, boys" attitude. You smile and nod and mumble something noncommittal until they think you agree with them and go away.

I recently was told, for the millionth time, by someone I know (who was earnestly being well meaning), that she wanted me "married and with children" soon. Then you hear the stories. "Give up these romantic ideas about marrying for love. I wasn't in love with my husband when we got married. I didn't even particularly like him. Even now I sometimes wish I wasn't married to him. But my sister, who was in love with a boy since she was in 11th std ( 11th grade), said she wouldn't marry unless I did. So I married the first guy that was introduced to me, as both our families didn't have any objections. Can you imagine how much I should have been worried about change and adjustment? I had a PhD and the Govt was willing to fund a documentary based on my research. I left all that, got married and moved to a new country!"

And all I'm thinking is, "So, basically, your sister is a bitch who forced you to spend the rest of your life with some random dude so that she could happily marry the man she loved? And you think she cared for your happiness like you "care" for mine? Seriously?!"

What these people don't realise is that when they were my age they made their own decisions, about their own lives. Sure, they may regret some of it now, but when they made these decisions, they believed they were mature enough to do so. Why do they not believe the same of me? Why should someone else's idea of "settled" bind me? Have I given any reason for anyone to believe that I am immature, don't know what I'm doing or cannot take care of myself?

It is impossible to get this category of people off your back if you try to fight them. They believe they are your well-wishers and will shove their opinions down your throat. Nothing you say will be acceptable to them and given half a chance, they will try to run your life. "I've ordered food for you. Eat!" "Do you really think you want to take that job? I mean, do you think you can do it?" (Why the **** would I apply to that job, in the first place, if thought I couldn't do it)? "I know this boy in London (or Singapore) who you can marry instead of working."

By this point, all you want to do is get away as quickly as you possibly can. Your best escape is to "just smile and wave", while you make your own plans.

"I learnt everything from... cartoons"

I have a night shirt that says this:

(Of course, I wouldn't go back in time). But this is what I perceive is people's perception of me. 

The date a cartoon character part got me thinking - what cartoon character would I date? Kermit? Roger Rabbit? Tintin? (Personally I'd pick Richard Feynman, but he's technically not a cartoon). Maybe Mickey Mouse. I don't know why, but I have always found him fascinating.

I love watching cartoons. I still watch them and contrary to popular belief I don't think watching TV kills your imagination. I mean, without Discovery Channel, how are you going to dream of visiting all those amazing and exotic places you have never seen? And it lets you know that there is so much more than you think and that it's okay to open your mind and go wild.

One of my earliest famous quotes was, "I learnt everything from cartoons". This was when I was about three-and-a-half years old and my sister just came back home on vacation from boarding school. I'm told she was extremely surprised and wondered where I learnt to speak so much English and I apparently said, "I learnt everything from cartoons". This may not be untrue.

I had the advantage of spending my very early years in a foreign country - in Oman, in addition to having "hip" parents. Being in the the "Gulf", in the days when TV programming in general was very limited, gave us huge exposure to a variety of children's shows. We got shows from all over the world - American, British, French cartoons, Arabic children's shows, educational cartoons, war cartoons (lots of American war cartoons from the 40s) - in Arabic (original and dubbed) and in English.

I never learnt any Arabic, but I certainly did learn most of my English from there. These cartoons were our first exposure to "western" culture. And music. I'm not a huge fan of Tom and Jerry, but I must give it credit for not only our early education in Western Classical music but also to exposure to jazz. Tchaikovsky, Chopin, Bizet - all the greats. I learnt every Beatles song I know (well, almost) from The Beatles cartoons. Taught my niece and nephew to rock to Bohemian Rhapsody by The Muppets (watch the video here). Taught them rock (the good music from my days) in general through both The Muppets and Alvin and the Chipmunks and pop through Sesame Street.

The Beatles

We learnt random facts: Apples contain Arsenic (GI Joe) (actually it contains a cyanide compound, but now you know to believe those grandma's tales about apple seeds being poisonous); the scientific name for a platypus used to be ornithorhynchus paradoxus; how a phonograph works; omelette du fromage.

Cartoons are your first exposure to stereotypes, politics, war. We've watched so many American war shorts, learnt those songs, sang along - all without specifically thinking it was propaganda. (Personally, I just thought they were just being patriotic!) And as you grow up, you learn to appreciate social/political satire. Not just language, you learn nuances, word plays. You learn to read between the lines of the caricature.

Oh, Apu!

Everything I know in Spanish, I learnt from Dora. I learnt practical jokes from Woody Woodpecker. I learnt to envy the mind so brilliant, that which came up with Meet The Beat Alls. And I learnt that cats are the coolest (ThunderCats. Swat Kats. Top Cat. KlondaikeKat (he always gets his mouse) ). 

So boys and girls, the next time you see your kids watching cartoons and you want to join them, give in. And always remember Garfield's words, "If it's on television, it must be true".