A new year, a new beginning

The cement floor felt cold against my cotton pants. On the screen in front of me, a grinning Indian man wearing a bandana around his long, sweaty hair was jumping around energetically. Suddenly, the scenery changed and he was alongside a group of similarly sweaty Indian men, all of whom were dancing and lip-syncing. Everyone sitting around me was cheering and hollering. Bewildered, I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes until midnight. It became clear to me that I would be entering the New Year in this state of bafflement. Sitting in the Shanti Bhavan dining hall, watching a Tamil movie with a group of teenagers. Without subtitles.

As we counted down the seconds for the arrival of 2011, the kids grew increasingly excited. Following the (anti-)climactic stroke of twelve, the students all shook hands, hugged, and wished one another a happy new year. Then, we all headed back to our rooms for sleep.

I thought of my friends back home. Approximately eleven hours later, they too would be celebrating the dawning of the New Year. Like I had done in years passed, they would be attending parties and celebrating in a rather different manner. Being in India – and moreover in village – on occasions such as this reminds me that at age twenty-two, I am having an experience quite unlike that of (the majority of) my peers. Just a few years ago, I would never have imagined that my idea of “fun” during all the main American holidays would consist of simply enjoying the company of children.

The last few months of 2010 were distinct from every other year. Rather than attend a Halloween party with a group of rowdy 20-somethings, the volunteers and I created a haunted house for the kids. Rather than watch American football with my family on Thanksgiving, I danced to Indian songs with some 12^th graders. Rather than walking down snow-laden streets glittering with Christmas lights for the past month, each day I walk down a dirt path surrounded by coconut trees, entering a campus brimming with wildlife and enthusiastic children.

In the past five months that I have spent in India, I have felt nearly every emotion possible – euphoria, sympathy, anger, sorrow, fear, envy, loneliness, satisfaction, disappointment – and felt each with more intensity than I’ve ever experienced before. My students have brought tears to my eyes with their stories. I have laughed and cried with them, listened to their frustrations and apprehensions, and tried to make sense of their tragedies. I have been taken aback by the behavior of those I meet, by both kindness and cruelty. In so many ways, living at Shanti Bhavan appears to be the essence of simple, village life. A couple of months of living here, however, allowed me to understand the intricate dynamics of the culture and complicated family situations of the children.

Even though I am only halfway through my stay in this country, I already know that the end will arrive too soon. For now, I will embrace the New Year as a new beginning, watch those Tamil movies without complaint, and appreciate all that I have been given.