First Year Jitters All Over Again

            I’m taking a break from Carnegie Mellon next semester, interning part-time and taking classes at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. I didn’t anticipate being overly nostalgic, but I also didn’t expect to be so nervous. After all, DC is my hometown and I am totally and utterly convinced that this is the right program for me. 

            But, to be honest I’m kind of terrified. For me, this is truly the beginning of my venture into true adulthood. And so I’ve been trying to reflect on previous experiences and gain some wisdom from my previous new beginnings….

I will never forget my third night at Carnegie Mellon. It was orientation—a non-stop, loud, regimented week of activities meant to bond us to our colleges and dorms and brainwash us into remembering spirited chants until we are 80.

We had all broken out into college groups for dinner and entertainment. True to form, the humanities students had the most formal activity. For us, it was dinner and conversation at the beautiful Carnegie Music Hall, while the scientists had a tour of the aquarium, engineers a game night at Dave and Busters, and I’m sure equally cool plans were arranged for the computer scientists and artists among the class of 2014.

           

I was excited, but anxious. With no way to impress via my ski ball abilities or to bond over how cute penguin waddles are, how was I to make friends? But I did. I just sat at a table with a bunch of other kids and started talking. And I kid you not; it was a scene from a movie. Laughter and conversation as slowly the hall emptied out around us until suddenly we realized we were the only ones left.

            “How wonderful!!” I thought, elated. One evening had confirmed that this college was indeed the place for me. And all my worries about my being the only social fiend in a sea of awkward, antisocial CMU student went flying out the window. We headed from the hall, merrily talking of IM sports and informally planning to form a humanities powerhouse team. Right as we were discussing my position of either sweeper or striker, a call of “heads up” came from beyond us where the athletic, cute CMU frat team was practicing for some sort of soccer tournament. And the ball came rolling towards me slowly, so why not show off a little?

            I took two steps to clear the ball all the way back to them, aiming to playfully pass it to the cute one smiling at me. And…

planted my foot in mud, slipping up in the air like a cartoon character victim to a strategically placed banana peel. I’m sure I was suspended for at least a full minute, before hurtling to the ground in front of my new friends and those I had been trying to impress.

            No one knew what to do or say. My cheeks were flaming and I wished I could just sink through the dreaded mud that had been the problem in the first place. And then, I started laughing. Hysterically.

It only made things worse. The others didn’t know whether to feel pity, make a joke out of it, or help me. So with tears streaming down my flushed face and an oddly springy step, I headed home to shower and try and get mud out of my best skirt. And I wish I could say we did form that soccer team and dominate the league, or even that we all met up again. But, frankly as soon as I see any of them coming, I head down a different hallway, avoid eye contact, hope they mistake me for another average brunette on campus. More than three years later, I think about that interaction with mortification wishing it had been different. And then I wonder what difference it would make.

Knowing me, my clumsiness would have won out eventually and they’d get to know me for my true, overly gregarious, spontaneous, clumsy self. And perhaps that’s the message I need for this next beginning looming just ahead in 2013.

I'll Be Back

Before you get too outraged, I do want to offer an apology to those if you who were waiting for some type of summary blog. But here’s the belated quick version:

I left India on July 29^th and arrived in the US via a ten-day vacation in Bretagne with the Elliott women (and Uncle Steve). From there it was a four day turn around with just enough time to do laundry and repack my small suitcase before it was off to a week-long Foose beach vacation. Afterwards, it was time to head up to Pittsburgh, move into my new house, paint my room and get it organized, and start training for work. Since then, I’ve been running around campus as is my tendency, attending my six classes, working at the Career Center, and in general just pushing myself to the limit—and missing India almost every day.

            Re-entry is always hard after a study abroad experience. Coming back from after my junior year was terrible frankly. I was about 30 pounds heavier than when I left, totally immersed in Chinese language and uncomfortable with my English, and very unsure of how I was going to go back to another year of high school with the big college decision looming ominously. This time it is different.

            While I felt I came back from China a completely different person, I have returned from India a stronger, more focused version of myself. And frankly, it’s a pretty wonderful feeling. I have a renewed sense of purpose in my academic and career path, I am connecting with strangers more easily, and expressing my feelings more clearly. And the most tangible part of my growth is a renewed connection to written reflection. I find myself jotting notes in the margins of my notebook to try and magically realize into stories or essays later. Yet, without the presence of an audience (even an imaginary one), it is difficult to motivate myself to actually complete one. So with the aid of my fear of letting anyone down, ever, in any way, I promise I'll be back soon. 

A Month Later, Stage 3

In our entry orientation Alliance warned us that culture shock consists of three main steps: enchantment, irritation, and enthrallment. The first is an initial sensory bombardment with an internal monologue somewhere along the lines of “Oh, look over there! The colors! Wow, this is incredible! I can’t believe that I’m here! Why didn’t I come sooner? Nothing could ever be bad in a place as vibrant as this!” And I was certainly in that zone for the first week or so.

Then I shifted towards disappointment, lethargy, and a longing for a simple routine. As previous posts can attest to, I had a couple of difficult weeks. Getting across the city was an ordeal, my internship was infuriating, and overall I was missing my creature comforts (I would still trade a lot for a hairdryer).  But I’m glad to say, with lots of apologies to those who have had to listen to me complain, I’ve turned a corner (and just in time with exactly a month having passed since my departure from DC).

I am now solidly in stage three where I spend my time desperately visiting different areas of the city, listing everywhere I still want to see, lamenting that I don’t have time to go to Mumbai, and trying to figure out how to get back to India, and soon. I savor each cold coffee as if it’s my last, frantically text Indian friends (to whom I owe most of the credit for the change in my attitude—literally, some of the nicest, most hospitable, helpful people I have ever met), treat each rickshaw ride as my own private tour of the city, and walk the streets with a bounce in my step and my held high because at this point, I belong here dammit.

As many predicted before I left, India has invaded my heart and mind. And at this point, and I’m pretty positive it’s not going to let go until I satisfy my craving for this exotic, colorful, diverse, irritating, majestic, friendly, puzzling, wonderful country. 

Some Belated Background

I feel like I’ve gone about this blog the wrong way. Here I am narrating experiences and feelings without a background on the program I am completing or my day to day routine. So, a little too late, here goes nothing:

           I am in Pune, India on the Alliance for Global Education’s Contemporary India program. There are 20 students on our program this year from many different schools in the US. We all meet in the morning at our program center in Fergusson College to have breakfast and then troop through campus to our class on Contemporary India.

           After a discussion that begins with a variety of topics and inevitably ends with an analysis of politics, we all disperse to our internships throughout the city of Pune. For me personally, internship times means either waiting at school and creating my own assignment or heading to one of the seven branches of Parvati Swayamrojgaar, a NGO with the mission of alleviating poverty through micro-finance. The branches are located in slum communities and I have now been into four of the seven to observe the collection motivators at work as they promote PSW, collect loans, and check-up on the partners in the field.

            After internships, we tend to gather again at the program center before heading home, out to eat, or to our expressive culture classes (pictures of pottery class soon to come!) The program center is that home away from home that you hate but still can’t totally desert. Littered with combed through newspapers, always occupied by one or two students, it beckons us even as we try and resist. It is safe, familiar, and static and so it is there that we regroup before heading out into the foreign land of Pune.

Scams, Rip-offs, and Scoundrels: An Exclusive Guide to Rickshaw Schemes

Pune has the most motorcycles (also called scooters and two-wheelers) in all of India. They are everywhere, with men straddling the seat, and women in saris sitting sidesaddle with incredible balance. Even on the highways, I often see a two-wheeler with a whole family of four sitting astride.  Remarkably nimble and useful for the stop and go flow of traffic, the motorcycle is ideal for the streets of Pune. However, riding one is grounds for serious punishment by the Alliance authorities.

So, we use rickshaws to get anywhere of distance. A three-wheeled, hunchbacked vehicle, the auto rickshaw is a strange beast. With its driver’s seat in the front, the back bench is used for the one, two, or three passengers, or perhaps the eight schoolchildren who cram in any which way. If you are lucky, your rickshaw has all three mirrors a car would have, although it is more than likely that at least one of the side mirrors will be tilted at such an angle as to allow a clearer view of our pale faces than of the traffic behind. And on the left hand side, between you and the driver lies the meter.

Alternately a weapon of justice wielded by meter-card carrying individuals and a device used to legitimize scams, the meter keeps track of how far you have traveled and what the corresponding fare is. For the first kilometer, the meter stays at 1.0. That way, any short distance ride will cost 11 rupees (1.0 x 10 +1). After the first kilometer, it ticks away the tenths of kilometers and your fare goes up by 1 rupee per extra tick. Staying still for prolonged periods of time, such as at traffic lights, also will cause the meter to go up, but only very occasionally.

Presumably such a uniform billing system would destroy plans to get the most out of naïve travelers or clueless Americans. Instead, it only makes said plans more subtle. Since I have been here, I have caught on to the most common scams employed by rickshaw drivers to make a few extra bucks.

The first is obvious, a refusal to use the meter, leading to a long haggle over what the price should be. Most effectively used in the pouring rain (the one time the city has had true rain this season happened to be our first Sunday as we were shopping at Pantaloons), or on busy nights in peak traffic with no other rickshaws around, this rip-off technique leads to more upfront arguing, but a mutually satisfactory end of us getting home and them making a little extra money.

Another technique is the keeping of change in a different pocket. Rupee coins seem to be a particularly rare breed here. Often, bills are in terms of round numbers so only bills (with ten being the smallest common bill) are necessary. But rickshaw fares often fall in those in between areas that require one or two rupee coins. As a result, when your fare is 33 rupees (as ours is to school), you often do not have exact change.

And finally there is manipulation of the meter system. Again, there are two options. The first happened just this morning as Liz and I were sleepily getting into our rickshaw after quite a confusing routine of forgetting our keys and then her phone. She noticed soon after we were on our way that the meter had ticked past 1.0 kilometers much sooner than it usually does.  We quickly figured out that the driver must have had the meter started before we got in, allowing the meter to count the time he stood still waiting for a passenger to push the fare up slightly.  The second meter manipulation is what I like to call, “the winding way”. The meter counts out distance traveled, not what the closest route from point of entry to intended destination actually is.  As a result, taking the long way costs you more money. Just last Friday, I had a driver try to drive the complete opposite way down a one way street to up the fare. Luckily, at that point I knew the general route home and told him to stop, yelling when he originally ignored me, got out and found a more honest (maybe more afraid of foreigners causing a scene) fellow to take me on my way.

Although assuredly not an inclusive guide, this post hopefully gives you an explanation of why even getting from one place to another in this city can be fraught with emotion and leave me drained. Even when dealing with great drivers, I have to be on guard simply because I’ve had so many bad experiences. After a long day, I just want to get home. And I’d like to do it in 33 rupees please.

Happy Independence Day!

Isn’t it silly, but I’m always more excited about the fourth of July when I am out of the country. The best Independence Day party that I went to was actually in London, on the same day that a salesperson at Harrods handed me an American flag.

Perhaps its because in the US, everyone is excited so I can just coast along with the flow. Here, there are so few of us to carry the standard (see what I did there?) of American patriotism that we all have to try extra hard. So, I am fully into the spirit of things.

Here in Pune, we 19 Americans (the Iranian is less excited) have big plans, beginning of course with a dress code of red, white, and blue. Then it’s onto our usual activities before meeting back at the program center for burgers, hot dogs, and the singing of patriotic songs. Then tonight I’m planning on going out on the roof and pretending that the fireworks from the wedding park across the street are just as magnificent and awe inspiring as those on the National Mall.

How appropriate that it is the Fourth and just yesterday I was struggling to describe American culture to my immediate supervisor. I thought up a bunch of clichés like a “melting pot” of cultures, baseball and apple pie, freedom, but eventually settled on independence as the core value of our culture.  A lot of my difficulties in India have been based on a mix of struggling to getting around on my own and pulling against the reins of obligations in order to be more independent. Even the smallest thing like a struggle for personal space while shopping can be linked back to my inherent desire for choice, freedom, and personal independence.

So, today I am celebrating Independence Day abroad in Pune for the purest of reasons, a celebration of freedom and my own independence. Happy 4^th everyone!

Making the Most of It, Part 1: To The Beach!

It's time for a vacation. I know that seems like a ridiculous statement, but as I have said to myself more times than I can count, I am sure that I have been here many months already. So, this weekend, I'm getting away from it all.

Liz, Clara, Molly, Jill and I are heading for the Konkan beach of Dahanu. Known for beautiful white sand and an abundance of chickoo fruits, my goal is to soak up some sun and relax. I’m trading my computer for my camera and old fashioned pen and paper, looking to find some inspiration and inner direction to guide me through the rest of this Indian adventure. So talk to you again on Monday, when I’ll hopefully be full of warm sunshine and a new perspective.

Of Poofy Pants and Peanut Butter

So, as previously mentioned, I’ve had a bit of a tough week. I was so excited when I first got my internship assignment. It sounded exactly what I was looking for. An internship at a micro-finance NGO working on a new project? How much more perfect could it be?

It turns out a lot could be better. For instance, my director could have given me specific tasks to complete in my first week. Or I could be given something to accomplish in the three plus days before I can start working on the actual project she set to me today. I could be feeling like I am helping, rather than a child that needs to be sent off distracted so she won’t be in the way. So, this week I needed a little something extra to help me get through it.

Enter stage right, poofy pants and peanut butter. The dress code here is such that we are expected to be dressed modestly. Shoulders and thighs should be paid particular attention to and should never be left naked. So, we’ve all gone shopping quite a bit to try and find items that will allow us to blend in. The most fun of those items has been the pants. In a vast array of colors, bagginess, and patterns, harem pants are delightful. I could legitimately wear my college finals (okay, not just finals) uniform of pajama pants and t-shirts and be praised for embracing the culture of India.

As for the peanut butter, many of you know that of all cravings besides chocolate, I have intense cravings for crunchy peanut butter and bananas. The bananas here are so little and sweet, they just needed that little extra kick to be the perfect lunch.

So with my baggy harem pants allowing me to comfortably sit with my legs curled up or stretched out anyway I please and my tiny bananas and peanut butter lunches I’ve been slowly able to calm myself down. Next step, making the best of it.

Bollywood Wednesdays

I’ve now been in India for a week and a half. Oddly enough it feels like at least two months. But, tonight I noticed an odd tradition forming. On my first Wednesday in Pune I went to a bollywood movie with Liz and Clara. Tonight, I went to another one with ten other Alliance students. Both films were in Hindi with no subtitles, and it cost us about $3.50 each to get in, with another $1.50 for the caramel popcorn that makes the experience almost too good to be real.

Although the first movie was an action spoof and the second was a typical chick flick with a bit of destiny crossing time boundaries thrown in, both nights were great in similar ways. Bollywood encompasses so many of the stereotypes about India that made me think I’d like it here. Its vibrant, filled with beautiful colors and great locations. The songs are spontaneous and radiant with choreographed moves that make me want to dance in the aisles. I can’t help but come out of a movie feeling happier and lighter.

And that’s good, because I really needed something to remind me of all the reasons I came here. I’ve been having a lot of doubts and rough days this past week. They mainly surround my internship (expect an explanation in a later post), and I feel so drained from worrying and trying to bully myself into doing something with logic that I come home exhausted and just do work until bed. But, I am here to take in India and try and make sense of my place here.

I wanted a great rainbow of colors, wonderful adventures, charming company, and lots of new acquaintances. In other words, I wanted to star in my own Bollywood movie. So that’s my new goal while I’m here, to end as many days as possible with the enthusiasm and happily ever after of a Bollywood film. And Bollywood Wednesdays are definitely here to stay.

Dreaming of Grapes and Rain

I’ve been daydreaming of grapes. Crisp, light green grapes with firm outsides that I delicately burst to release a wave of cool, sweet refreshment. Frozen or semi-liquid, I am convinced I could eat them by the bucket load if only given a supply.

           

The weather here is about what you’d expect. High 80s to 90s with a humidity that makes it feel about 7 degrees hotter. All in all, it’s actually probably better than the summer in DC, at least temperature wise. But we are all hoping for rain.

Monsoon season is measured by when the first heavy rains hit the coast of Kerala, the southern most state in India. From there, they are expected to sweep across the country until they rebound off the Himalayas and journey back. The rains hit Kerala a few days after we got here, but are still more than two weeks late in Pune.

The newspapers reported today that the dams surrounding Pune city are only at 4% capacity. This means that if no rain were to fall, we would only have enough water to last until July 15^th. As it is unlikely that it will not rain at all, we will just have to see what the actual results of this waiting game are. For us, it means some days of unannounced low or no water pressure, the threat of water only every other day, and rising prices for vegetables. For the government, it means difficult decisions, such as whether water is more necessary for agriculture or for drinking.

So for now, we are waiting and just hoping that the rains come.

Jasmine Flowers

On my first house visit in India, I was greeted by the joyful, amazing tea-maker, owner of the hostel where 6 of the other Alliance students are staying. Even before introducing herself as Swatna, I was handed a short string of small, incredibly fragrant, jasmine flowers. Without an explanation, I thought it was a nice gift and forgot about it beyond laying the strand on my pillow when I reached home.

Later, at Ganapti Temple, I saw vendors selling the strands and realized there was a symbolism beyond the beauty of the white buds. To show respect to the gods, you offer gifts of food and flowers. In India, guests are to be treated as gods. Thus, you give guests food and jasmine adornments to weave into their hair to thank them for visiting and thinking of you.

Today, was my first visit into the “slums” of Pune. As part of the introduction to Parvati Swayamrojgan NGO, two other students, our Indian interpreters, and I followed a field officer as she made her rounds to drop off health care cards to new subscribers and check-up on members who had been sick. I think I was expecting the slums to be harsher than they were—filled with the same sense of unease as a dark alley in a shady, urban neighborhood. What I observed was not that.

The houses were close together—one-room abodes made of stone, concrete, tarps, and aluminum roof siding. Inside, there was usually a blanket laid out on the floor as a bed, a television, and not much else.  And the people outside some of them were a little gaunt, their clothes more worn than those I’ve seen in other places. But their smiles were radiant, the children’s giggles loud, and their care for one another was evident as they sat outside in the tiny, long gaps connecting one row of houses to another chatting, brushing each other’s hair, and keeping an eye on the little ones.

Throughout our visits in several different areas, we were a constant curiosity, and soon became the leaders of a parade of shy children. And we were met with only questions and puzzled expressions, instead of the hostility and guardedness I thought we might provoke.  In fact, we were invited back to one household to observe and star in their celebration and rituals the next day. There would be food, they promised, as they eagerly asked our interpreters to relay the message. We would be welcomed back with open arms.

As we were leaving the last area, we passed two women and their young teen daughters. They were using wire to thread jasmine buds into the strands I had seen earlier at Swatna’s and the temple. As we were looking from afar, they must have seen our sidelong glances, and the two daughters ran over with three strings in their hands. Shyly handing them to us with downcast eyes, they explained that they sell 16 arrangements for 5 rupees, or about 10 US cents. As we tried to reach for some coins to pay them, they refused us emphatically and ran back to their mothers. 

I am still struck by their generosity. These are people who need every rupee they can get, and yet...   I have been wrestling with my feelings from this encounter for the past five hours and have not reached a conclusive communicable impression. Something about the shared bond of humanity in the situation definitely has hit me hard. But this is the best I have come up with—Tonight, I am incredibly humbled. 

Finger Foods

Thali (pronounced Thah-lee) is the Indian word for platter of food. Traditionally, it consists of a large banana leaf, (but we have been using round metal plates), covered in small piles of varied dishes. They can be mixed together in different ways for a multitude of bites each with a different texture, temperature, and taste.

There is an artistic layout of the dishes.  Your carb and main eating utensil like food is placed in either the middle or directly in front of your body. The main dishes are ladles along the left side of the plate in the largest portions. And the right hand side has my favorite part of all meals, the accompaniments like fresh salad, fried chapatti bread, and various chutneys.

And it is all eaten with your hands—your right hand to be precise. In India, all polite gestures and actions are done with the right hand. Paying the check, accepting gifts, touching your heart in apology, getting someone’s attention, and of course eating must never be completed with the left hand.

So, with my right hand I pick up some round wheat flatbread called chapatti, scoop us a bite of curry, a bit of salad, and some spicy coconut chutney and drop it into my mouth, sitting on my left hand to restrain it.

Frustration and Flexibility

At our pre-departure orientation, we were told to ban the word “frustrated” from our vocabulary. And I have succeeded…until today. But sadly tonight I have no other way to describe my feelings about the day.

A combination of sleeplessness, nerves for starting my internship, and a preference for following the given schedule led to my winding tighter and tighter until my chest physically hurt by the end of the day.

The situation that threw me the most was that we were told we could get internet USBs at 5:30 pm. So we rushed back in a rickshaw from my internship to reach the program center. But instead of being able to purchase different data capacities (and thus spend less money), we all had to pay 2300 rupees for 5GB of data. And that in itself is fine, I expected to pay up to 3000 INR for access at home and on the go in order to be able to complete homework assignments and do required research at home, as well as email, Skype home, and post on this blog more regularly. But, yesterday it was suggested that there was an unlimited plan for 1000 INR, that we would all have a chance to decide how much access we would need, and that there were monthly plans. But, upon arrival, it became a “give us 2300 rupees and sign these documents” situation. And I am a person who does fine with no plan. But once there is a distinct course of action set out, I don’t do well when it is changed without warning. I have a rigidity that does not mix with India’s requirements of flexibility.

Upon reflection, I find my inflexibility even more frustrating than the actual situations of the day. I went to China for nine months for goodness sakes. India for seven weeks should be no problem, right? Yet the disenchantment period for this stay abroad seems to have come much earlier. I feel a more urgent need for communication and connection here than I ever did in China. And, I have more of a need for the reflection this blog offers.

But, that is exactly why I needed this experience. China changed me, but being back in the United States did too. And through the challenge of even just a change in expectations and reality, I learned much about myself today and perhaps even managed to discard a teaspoon of my stiffness.

Pune Dagdushet Halwai Ganapti Mandir Temple

The Dagdushet Halwai Ganapti Mandir temple is located in the older part of Pune, an area filled with commanding, dusty, stone buildings three and four stories tall and vast maze-like markets. It’s shape, crowds, and surprising whiteness make it an instantly recognizable landmark.

Built in the 1930s, the temple is a spot to worship Ganesha, the elephant-god and destroyer of evils and obstacles. Regularly visited by students wishing for good grades, the poor suffering hardships, parents with sick children, and all others with current trouble, the temple was erected by a king wishing for a son. Shortly after he built the round, turreted hall and placed the statue of Ganesha inside, he was blessed with a brother for his many daughters.
A visit inside the temple begins with a long line to hand in your shoes. Being given a number in exchange for my purple flip-flops reminds me of going bowling. (Trying to avoid chewing gum in my bare feet, however, soon cures me of this comparison.) Then it is through a quick security check, first to inspect whether your cell phone is off, then through a couple of switchbacks to the metal detectors, and a bag scanner. Then you are inside the small but ornate metal hall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, glittering, chandelier in the room. The grandeur of it tempted me to see if I could sneak a picture, but the seriousness of those around me convinced me to not play the part of ignorant, disrespectful foreigner. Being jostled along by the crowd, I passed by the statue of Ganesha, with his large rotund belly, one broken tusk, and small mouse companion while others stop. They hold their hands under their chin and mouth prayers, before offering the god wreaths of flowers, small sweet treats, or other trinkets. Then others go and kneel on the marble to continue earnestly praying. Our large group of American girls and Indian buddies instead troop out the door.

            Although the entire temple leaves me in awe of its beauty, my favorite part comes when we wind around back towards our shoes. A devotee gives us all a sip of water to remind us of how the gods refresh our spirit. And we each a sweet sugar treat as a symbol of the sweetness of hope for the future that will surely come after we have just given Lord Ganesha all of our bitterness and suffering.

A Quick Update

After almost 20 hours of flying, a power outage at the first hotel we stayed at, three days of orientation at Durshet lodge, and being caught in one true monsoon rainstorm, I am somewhat settled in Pune.
My roommate, Liz, and I are staying with this fabulously clever, amazingly talkative 60+ year old Indian woman named Hema, and are attending our first day at the college tomorrow. I have made friends with an Indian girl named Nupur, and she has sent me to all the best stores in Pune. So, now complete with a beautifully embroidered salwaar kameez and lots of bug spray, I am ready to take on this city. (As if taunting me,  the power cut off in the internet cafe before I could publish this post. Thank goodness for Google's automatic saving.)
More about food, culture tips, Hema, and power outages to come soon.

Packing List

So I’m cheating a little bit and am actually writing this on the plane because I ran out of time to do it at home.

I was allowed to bring two bags: a hiking backpack and a carry on.

Here’s what I filled them with:

3 skirts (all at least below the knee)

1 work blouse

3 v-neck shirts (not very low-cut)

1 pair of khakis

Lots of socks and underwear

Raincoat

2 light sweaters

2 tanktops for layering

Cold and allergy medication

Hairbrush

Toiletries

Make-up

Chocolate to give as gift to host mom and others

Folders with health, insurance, and travel forms

Laptop

Camera

Lots of AA batteries

Brita filter water bottle

Water Purifying tablets

Bug Spray

Kindle

Computer loaded with scans of visa and passport, music, and movies

Passport

Bathing suit

Jeans

But despite having decided on all these things to bring,, I feel like there should be more preparation on my part. I’ve been sort of lackadaisical about getting everything together. I think its because of the huge difference between this program and my previous study abroad in China. That application process was more complex, the term was longer, and I was younger.  As a result, I felt over prepared.  In this situation, the comparison is so sharp that it makes me anxious that I’m forgetting something important. So, I sit here on the plane torn between trying to go back to sleep and running through lists in my head of things I might later wish I had packed. So keep an eye out for a revised recommended packing list later. 

Why?

Since deciding to study abroad in India this summer, I have been asked a lot of questions. Many of them begin with the word "why". Why did I choose to go abroad? Why India? Why this summer?
The answers that spring to mind are all instinctual and hard to verbalize.  It"feels right", this experience "will make me grow, and "I need a new perspective." So, here is my attempt to explain the cliched phrases I've been struggling to express aloud.
I spent my junior year of high school in Beijing, China. The nine months there were simply amazing. I met some pretty incredible fellow students, struggled through hours of learning Chinese, lived with a kind host family, and explored a beautiful, complex nation. But for all the adventures and challenges, the most rewarding part of my time abroad in China was my personal growth. I left the US a fairly mature fifteen year old, but came back a more dynamic, aware, self-assured young woman. From at least my own point of view, it was quite the transformation.
After three years, that self-awareness has disconnected. Part of it is general busyness, as my course load, student government activities, and work schedule make me more goal oriented than emotionally in touch with myself. Another cause is complacency. I am happy at school--happy with my major, my relationship, my friendships. I am good where I am, so there are no true hardships and overwhelming challenges causing me to reevaluate myself.
But, this summer I will be brave and do just that. The seven weeks I am spending in India are expected to be fun, new, bright, wonderful, and difficult. I am choosing to immerse myself in another new culture, and take a challenging course on global problems. I am facing my complacency head on and forcing my own paradigm shift.
If is fortunate that time in India fits in with my studies. This Spring I took a wonderful course on the past centuries' connections between the United States and India. We looked at the mutual influence of the Civil Rights movement and caste struggles, cultural ties formed by immigrants, and technology partnerships. Like in many of my Global Studies courses, the topic that fascinated me most is globalization. India and the United States have a unique connection as the two largest democracies in the world. We both have unique roles to play in the fields of politics, technology, and environmental problems. And it is in India that I can learn most about the role of both that country, but also my own, and if possible my own individual position in the world.
So with this background, I am finally able to answer the question "why am I going?" I am spending the summer in Pune because it will allow me to grow and stretch my limits, learn about a fascinating and relevant country, as well as form a better idea of what I may want to do in my future. After all, graduation is less than two years away, and as a Carnegie Mellon Tartan I know exactly how high the expectations are.