Shishur Sevay

The girls have wanted a puppy for a long time.  I’ve held off for several reasons.  One, is that dogs are not clean.  Their feet are like shoes — carrying in all the germs.  Two, I have my hands full and didn’t want another creature to worry about. Three, I miss my dog Rupee terribly, and even though she is happy where she is, with a family she loves and who love her, I couldn’t face having another dog.  It felt/feels disloyal, and still makes me tear up just thinking about her.  So that’s probably the real reason.

Streets here are full of dogs roaming.  We see puppies all the time.  One pup across the street from the school used to follow our girls into the school yard.  I held out.  Well, close to our house, in the lane just off the road, was a funny looking big eared black mother dog, and one of her pups who looked just like her.  I thought to myself, "now that’s a puppy I wouldn’t want.  She is so funny looking with her big ears."  About a week later this funny looking pup ran out in front of a truck and I yelled at the driver and he stopped just in time.  The pup wandered off, oblivious.  Then last week she came to our house, limping, with a handkerchief on her paw, covered with blood, and a bloody cut on her head.  We learned she had been hit by a scooter.  A neighbor had put the handkerchief on her paw and called the pet-line.  They come out at night and pick up injured animals.  The girls looked at the pup, and looked at me, and I said I would take care of her, and that we could keep her.  The pet-line people didn’t show up so I took her to the vet, who sewed up her leg.  The girls named her Jelly. 

Jelly is a timid puppy.  The people who feed the street dogs say she is "not normal" and that she used to faint a lot.  They also agree she is not smart, which is why she has to be protected.  Our taking her has actually eased some local tensions.  Some people who have never spoken to me (or responded when I said hello) now ask how she is.  It seems important that my care extends to a street dog.  Jelly likes the food she got on the street, chicken and rice, to our usual vegetarian fare, so the neighbors still bring her some food when they make the rounds.

Jelly licks her bandage and nibbled at the loose gauze, but never tried to remove it.  She chews, but gently.  She chases flies and mosquitoes, and once barked at a cat passing by. I love just quietly sitting with her. I reflect on now having the dog I said I’d never want because she was so funny looking.  Irony is one form of order in the Universe.

One day last week I saw a notice in the paper about a photo exhibit at the Academy of Fine Arts in Kolkata.  I’ve been there a couple of times for functions.  The exhibit was closing in three days.  That meant either I go that afternoon or miss the show altogether, and I wanted to see it.  But I also thought the kids might like it, and they hadn’t been there.  So, last minute, I talked to the teacher and instead of class we went off to the Academy of Fine Arts.

Driving along on the the streets, well, stuck in traffic actually, we saw a mother putting a sheet of plastic down on the pavement and putting her young child down and then sitting.  The girls all saw, and I asked what they thought.  One of them said, shyly, "My mother did that.  I lived this way."  I asked how the girls felt, and they all agreed, "Sad."

Between the curbside and the entrance were many posters of plays, concerts, and other art shows.  The teacher and the girls read the placards, and talked about what we might go to in the future.    For the teacher, this was a first also.

The photo exhibit did not hold much interest but we wandered into the other galleries.  We saw different forms of art, and met several of the artists.  With each artist, I asked them to explain in Bengali what they thought about when they did their art, how it happened.

I never know how the pictures will appear in the blog, in terms of placement, but I don’t want to put them in separate albums — I prefer the one click read.  So, you can see from the pictures, the variety of art.  One picture, with a girl looking sad caught their attention.  One girl said, "crying, crying" and the others came over.  I asked the artist to tell them why he painted this picture, what he was thinking.  He explained to them in Bengali that he was thinking about her being poor, and her thinking about being poor… they connected, art in the mind, art on canvas.   

The girls quickly also learned that if they pointed out a "favorite picture" I would take a picture of them in front of it.  There were lots of "favorites."

No trip is complete without ice cream, but even after the ice cream they read all the signs, posters, as we waited for Bijoy to bring the car. 

  From the top: Sonali, Bornali

Rani  

Ganga

All four started school this month.  Sonali is in Nursery and the other three is Class I.  All four have adjusted and are distinguishing themselves with their varied personalities and styles of interactions. 

The logistics of transport and preparation, packing clothes and lunches, extra clothes, keeping track of what days they have hydrotherapy (MY favorite activity), etc. are part of why April disappeared.  They all go at the same time, but Sonali comes home earlier.  And then there are the older girls and their schedules, but fortunately they were on break most of the month.  They take turns coming to help pick up the little ones at two.  They love this, and the little ones love seeing their didis there to meet them.

The teachers share almost nothing of what goes on, which I find difficult to accept.  From their perspective they don’t want to be bothered by parents asking questions and taking up their time.  "If we talk to you we have to talk to all the parents!"  Those of you who know me, know where this is going.  I am the kind of parent every school Principal purports to want but not one really wants in their school.  Added to that is what I’ve learned in India, that "A teacher is higher than a parent," and I go into "I’m facing a brick wall" mentality and I’m not good at that.   And anyway, since I have four kids in their school, and I’m paying full price, no concession for siblings or charity, I figure I’m a good customer and if they talk to me they save having to talk to three other parents too.

It struck me the first day, that when we pick up our verbally articulate children from school, they can tell us what they did, how they were, what they liked and disliked.  They can tell us who they played with, what colors, letters, words they learned.  Their language communication bridges their lives at school with their lives at home.  With non-verbal children, the experience as a parent is much more like daycare, leaving off an infant and depending on staff to tell me what the day was like.  The afternoon teacher can’t continue on themes, strengthen skills, knowledge, because she has no idea what the children were learning and doing.

There is a diary where I’m supposed to write questions, and I have made entries, but the responses take a week or more and are non- substantive.  This institution is one of the premier centers in India and trains professionals and non professionals throughout India.  They are known for their rigidity though.  I’m not a single case at all.  But I’m probably the only one blogging about it.

I have a past history with this institution which may also affect the tension between some of the experts and me.  About four years ago I funded this institution to do evaluations and develop care plans, with goals and objectives, for the handicapped children at Sabera Foundation.  The children were the left overs from when International Mission of Hope closed — the ones who were not and would not be adopted.  I felt a certain responsibility for the children left behind as the orphanage where my daughter came from closed its doors.  Many of the old staff were now at Sabera, as well as the handicapped children.

I’m the kind of donor every institution/NGO purports to want, the one who doesn’t just give money but gets involved.  So I’m also the kind of donor no one really wants… because I had some disagreements over the conclusions.  They developed the plans based on "efficiency" of care, while the staff, who had been taking care of these children (some in their teens) since their infancy.  Efficiency meant job loss, and efficiency meant giving up the very personal and nurturing roles they had with "their" children.  It may have been more efficient to have one person bathe all the children, but each massi liked bathing "her" children… and why not?  There was no place anyone was going… they were there for the day, no classes for kids, no reason to be "efficient."

I have also learned over time that in this culture, disagreement is considered bad manners.  Arguments are common; discussions more difficult, and quickly become personal.  So I really do try to shut up early — but not about wanting to know what my kids did all day.  IICP is stuck with me, and I with them… And of course, like elsewhere, no one really knows what to make of me.

So, the little ones are in school until 2.  They have lunch at school but rarely finish, so we just have lunch ready for them when they get home.  Then they get a trip to the potty chair, a shower, and a short nap — if they fall asleep.  At four, the special education teacher arrives and is with them until 7.  The trained caretaker is here 4-8 also.  Some evenings the physiotherapist comes, and sometimes the speech therapist.  One evening the speech therapist was here with them until 10:30 but I fell asleep on the mat at 10.  We try to get physiotherapy and speech therapy three times a week each. Sometimes the therapists come on the weekend.

Then of course there are the other eight girls, and their lives and schooling, which I’ll write about more.  But I do have to tell you that seven passed; one of our girls was third in the class, and today I filled out their admission cards for Class II.

More happened, which I’ll write about over time.  I remain so much at peace, happy that I am here, that they are here, that we found this little place to be together.  They smile.  I smile, a lot!

The school assignment was "People who help us" and the girls had to dress and act the parts of various people who help us in the community.  The pictures are from the practice, dress rehearsal the evening before as we could not be there for the performance.  Actually this was part of the year- end examinations so they were graded.  I present "People who help us" as played by girls at Shishur Sevay.