The People of Bagar

In the past two days, two friends have sent me things to help me cope with post-Bagar life. I'm so ready to leave, but I'm not. My one solace is that I will constantly be in touch with our GDL family here.

I've never felt such a closeness for a place - not even Boston - as I do for Bagar. Boston, Chadds Ford, and Baltimore have special meaning for me because of my personal history with those places as well as the fact that the people I love live there.

I love Bagar because it's mine. I've played a part and have contributed to the culture of Bagar.

I still remember the day we arrived and the bus dropped us off in front of Piramal Nagar. To my naive eye, Bagar seemed like the middle of the desert. Now I know. I know how green Bagar is. How a small town with six cell phone towers and 35 educational institutions can have the feel of a village. I know all about the local of culture of feeding guests until they burst and the elegant way men touch their hearts to greet someone.

In anticipation of her leaving Bagar, a colleague of mine sent me a beautiful email. And now, in my emotional, confused state I turn to her to clearly express how I feel: I'm going to miss Saurav and Saurabh and how they would insist on coming at 5:30 am to run (and not always make it), Anita and Savita Saini's laughs, their mom's threats to beat me with a shoe after I had not visited for a long time, Chandi's gentleness, Bunty's dancing, my summer camp kids and their ability to make me cry and laugh within a span of 10 minutes, Muktha's ability to always look good, Mumta's and Neelam's sass, Deepa's smile and Praveen's sky high heels, Ravi's "hello ma'am," Suresh's mocking of my chai, Jithendra's confused looks, Upendra's shyness, Naresh's confidence, the way Amit & Chinu would always come to shake my hand and Priyanka would run into me after school and take my hand so we could walk home together, Monica's "didi! didi!" in the most high-pitched voice imagineable, Vinayak Restaurant's sandwiches and Riddhi Siddhi's lassis, Swamiji's dancing, L C Sharmaji's warmth, the way Pankaj was always around, my fights with Karthik, eating Dhadhichji's pedas (which were especially good when I remembered that he was up all night for Ram Leela practices), Shakuntalaji's devotion to her cows, Praveen's dedication to "physical fit," Shiv Bhagwanji's booming voice, the irritating subzi wallah who I continued to go back to, Lilesh reading the newspaper and informing me that people drive too quickly these days, Sonu's exclamation of glee after I say Ram Ram!

There are people I am forgetting but, let's face it, this list is endless.

I have 10 more days in Bagar. I think I'll tell all these people how much I love them and make sure they know I'm thankful for having met them. Lots to do!

Hindsight is 20/20

I apologize for the cliche post title.

I'm not sure how useful it is to wish to be like someone else, but I can't contain my admiration for people who demonstrate such passion about something - whether it's something as universally passion-inciting as the treatment of women in Rajasthan; or something that seems so trivial, such as an injustice committed by a book reviewer - the kind that makes you write lines and lines detailing why the critic was so wrong!

This ability to feel so strongly about something has to stem from a strong set of values - something I know I'm very ambiguous about. Which makes me feel like I've - to a certain extent - wasted the two years in India...This was partly why I came. To clear those doubts.

A few people have asked me if Bagar was worth it. I have definitely grown in many ways and learned many things. Every day for one month I was telling my students, "pura faida utaana," (loosely translates to, "take advantage of the opportunity."). I should have followed my own advice.