Week Four update in Pen by Sasha Perri

Our Weekend In Pen



This week we lost our beloved Christine to the States and as such, we were not very motivated to go anywhere. Gillian flew to Varinassi to write a paper and buy us some silk. Bertina, Alyce and I stayed home. There is not much to do in Pen of a weekend tourist wise that can not be done on a week day so Saturday was super relaxing. Alyce and Bertina went to Dr. Jane's clinic where they pretended to be patients and I went for a walk (Pen does not really have a gym, even so - how can you really go for a run in a sari?) and bought some much needed and long awaited toilet paper, mehendi cones and some stationary supplies for school including a red pen. Toilet paper is nearly impossible to find in Pen (or anywhere non-touristy). I found some at the long benched general store that is a part of the same building the post office is - near the cinema. Typical Indian directions. Everything is near the cinema these days. The sudden chunk of downtime and absence of Christine and Gillian made me feel a little bit homesick.
 
During the night our neighbours had a raging music party. By neighbours, I mean the middle aged couple next door. By party I mean, praying. By music, I mean Hindi doof doof chanting. By night I mean 10pm. Hahahaha... But when I say raging I mean raging, it was happy and loud. Ah India/Pen...
 
On Sunday, Alyce, Bertina and I volunteered our time to "help out" at a high school excursion to a biscuit factory with Sharad. It was so much fun. We awoke at 6am - or, Alyce awoke at 6am. Caught a bus to Pavel at 7.15am. Arrived at a large school hall and met some of the teachers and students. Boys and girls, although together were always kept sociallising and sitting separately. We were to be taking about 100 kids to this factory aged 12 to 18. They all wore their school uniform of a brown blouse/shirt with darker brown dress or pants (boys only). Very bland from the bright white, red and blue of Mother Teresa (apparently result of a parental boycott of the old grey and grey uniform - 1 point to the little people). Sewn onto their uniforms was the school crest - some where in English, others in Mahrati (or Hindi). Each uniform was very simple and upon closer observation you can notice that each child has had an abundance of repairs on their dress. You can see the fraying and the stitching back and the size adjustments made, probably by parents, so that these kids can go to school.
 
So, 100+ children plus several adults/teachers, plus us three piled onto 2 buses - seating ability of each bus was approximately 30 seated. Air conditioning = open windows. It. Was. Hot. But we enjoyed the bus rides as the children made us laugh. Everybody was singing on the bus - the only song we recognised was "All Iz Well" from hit Bollywood new release The Three Idiots. As SOON as I get back I am downloading the soundtrack. It is a fantastic song. Hilarious.
 
The bus began to slow down and the children began to remove their shoes and socks. Our first stop was at a Hindu temple. Under instruction, I kept my shoes on at first. Upon entering the temple there was an astro turf walkway that lead past a large shoe area/metal shoe rack (like book cases) where we left our shoes neatly. Walking across a largem white cold floor I caught up with the kids to ask for instructions on what to do. From inside the temple you can see a gushing riverway that is really peaceful to look at. I supervised some boys as they misbehaved by trying to push each other in. As soon as I stood near them they stopped. Magic.
 
I wandered around the inside of the temple for a while enjoying the moment as no photographs were allowed (or, as I was later informed, no photographs allowed Sometimes - when no one is looking). I was dwarfed against the high white and red ceiling, my bare feet on the cold flat ground felt nice and relaxing and picturesque. Some children showed me how to bow to a statue and put my hands over some smoke and over my head (or something).
 
We moved through a gate to the next statue - same tranquil setting, nice green grassy lands, surrounded by statues and priests. I rang the bell that hung from the ceiling in front of a statue and after bowing to another statue a little girl with pigtails gave me the bindi.
 
All relaxed and happy we began our trek. Barefoot, we walked across a popular pathway to another shrine. The ground was worn away and a little rocky so we jumped between tuffs of grass. On the way i was swamped by 12 - 18 year old boys who all wanted to know 99999 things about me - What is your name? Where are you (from)? What is your mothers name? What is your fathers name? Do you have brother? You like sport? Are you teacher? What do you do in Australia? You know Hindi? Who is your (film) hero? &c. &c.
 
We reached some ashfelt road, entered the next shrine with the bell ringing and prayed to a giant rock. The boys explained to me that this was the Rock God. Then we prayed to a sitting couple statue and a picture. Although I can't recall any of the names of these Gods, it was a really nice thing to be a part of. At every moment I had minimum of 20 kids asking me questions (by this point Sharad, Alyce and Bertina where Somewhere Else on the Track). I managed to salvage from the conversation around me that we were about to walk up a big mountain. I looked up and saw a red Ohm symbol painted on a white circle. We had to do it barefoot. The road was all ashfelt. I was keen. It was a decent slope the whole way up but during the steepest sections, it was definately worthwhile to run. Everybody was watching me. Occasionally a group would grab my arms and ask the 99999 questions again - What is (your) favorite dish? And there I was running barefoot up a spiritual mountain side wearing the traditional Indian pants and dress combination... Ah India.
 
Near the top was a spiritual stop off. The girls grabbed me and showed me how to pray to this particular statue. It was difficult to copy because they all do it differently. I guess this means there is no real wrong answer. One of the girls gave me another bindi which resulted in my spending the morning with a Super Bindi (like a bindi only smudged). Continuing up the mountain we reached stairs. If I could do this everyday, I would. Climbing the 9999 stairs we reached the heavily graffitied Ohm. Success. Now, into the cave. Using what English they had, the boys tried to explain to me that the cave was scary and dark. Once I had grasped this concept they told me "Ladies First" - I had been holding up a line of 50 boys because out of respect (or Something) the women had to be the first to pray to the statue. Ops. I bowed and prayed and a priestess (or equivalent) gave me a handful of peanuts and sugar. Terrified I discreetly slipped the peanuts into my bag just in case I HAD to eat them. I ate the sugar lumps though. Outside the tiny cave, some students were entertaining a monkey by throwing him biscuits. We all laughed and fed the money. Then, about 10 more appeared... Then 20 more and more, more, more monkey... They were super cute and throwing small rocks at us. We started our way back down the mountain.
 
Walking down the mountain was harder than going up and one of the kind teachers engaged my in conversation and asked a new set of 99999 questions about Australian life. I noticed one of the girls had not taken her shoes off. She is muslim and it is against her religion to take her shoes off outdoors thus they made an exception and she was allowed to wear shoes.
 
Taking a different route back to the temple along much rockier ground I got a fantastic view of the ground and forgot to look up. As we had almost made it to smooth ground, I looked around and saw I had been missing the most fantastic scenery of green trees and water and irrigation and people and such. I get the feeling that the trees were evenly spaced. It was fair beautiful.
 
Back through the temple, out a side door, along the street a little and we were back at our beloved shoes. Ahhh.... the luxury.
 
In an attempt to get everyone back on the bus the teachers yelled at the kids to get on the bus as they bombarded a street seller of small chip packets (rs 5) and pepsi and non-cold water bottles (rs 15, white). In India, things have the Maximum Retail Price printed like a use by date on things unlike in Australia there is the Recommended Retail Price. In India, you do not sell for the MRR - you sell for slightly less than the MRR. In Australia, the RRP is generally the minimum cost you'll find something without a Sale. And then there is the White Price, generally for white skin in India you'll pay the MRR because the sellers assume we can afford it. The thing is, we can.
 
Another overheated bus trip went by slowly with some students singing, some sleeping and some doing both. We reached an office similar to CFI (Children's Future India). We strolled through their development project success room where the people had made scale models of the land and how these people had made the land more fertile over time for the people to live off specializing in herbal medicines, trees and plants such as Aloe Vera. They gave the girls a lecture in Hindi and us booklets in English... We drank chai.  As you always do in India. On the wall in one of the office rooms I noticed a schedule. It went something like this:
11am: morning tea break
11.30am: the caste system
12: lunch break
12.30: tea break
1pm: empowering women of low caste
1.30pm: tea break
2: troubles in the household (tea included)
2.30: tea break
                        .... classic.
 
After our stroll through, it was time for the next lot of students to go through. Alyce, Bertina and I sat in an outdoor, circular, gazebo type thing and watched the girls play a game. The best way to learn the game, I discovered, is to actually just try to play it.
The girls hold hands in a circle and run in the same direction. As they spin they call out "Bongo" (or similar) They let go to find themselves dispersed in a circle in the area. One girl starts. She turns to her left. Girl 1 and Girl 2 face each other. Girl 1 is the one in charge. Girl 1 needs to get Girl 2 out or she will have only passed the jump. Girl 2 must jump at the same time as Girl 1 or be out. If Girl 1 steps on Girl 2's foot then Girl 2 is out. If Girl 2 jumps before Girl 1 - she is out. If Girl 2 successfully jumps out of the way or in time with Girl 1 then Girl 2 becomes Girl 1 and she must turn to her left and jump on Girl 3's foot. When a girl finally gets out, all girls must go back into the centre to spin and call out "Bongo" again. Complete until there are only 2 girls left who face off to the same rules. A fun game, good for large groups.
 
Back on that oven of a bus.
 
Finally, we arrived at the Parle Biscuit Factory. No phones. No photography. No loud noises. Please respect the workers. I waved to the workers out of habit (when you're a celebrity it is polite to wave at everyone) and they smiled and waved back. We started to watch a Hindi advertisment for Parle which was a elaborate and hilarious cartoon of the Parle company's history. (To become a celebrity is simple - have white skin in Pen, Raigard, India.) Starving, we were taken as guests to the food hall of the employee's and served plates (tv dinner style) of 1 vegetarian curry, 1 dhal, rice, chappati and papadaums. Being white our food was brought to our table (normally a self serve system) and we were served first. Being white, we were also given spoons - I didn't touch them. Being white, the mess hall's lights and fans were turned on. Being white, they used less spice to make it mild. Mild in India is not Mild in Australia by a long shot. I enjoyed the searingly spicy meal and have learnt a new Life Lesson: RESIST the temptation to drink water during a spicy meal; wait until you have finished eating.
 
Finally, finally, finally, the cookies! (a bit of a "When are they gonna get to the fireworks factory!?" day) Escorted into the oven - it was swelteringly hot. We saw the cookie dough being mixed and cut into rectangle cookie shapes through a long oven. The smell was to die for, so delicious and so MUCH of it. I wish I had been filming, the repetitive action was so mesmerising.
Everything happens in one long room to the speed of the conveyor belts from the dough to the boxing (and awesome automatic sticky tape machines). If you leapt off the visitor balcony, you'd score a mouthful of biscuits (before plunging onto a 280 degree oven). Piles of biscuits were discarded for not being rectangular enough or broken. Quality control was one man standing and staring at packets of biscuits being conveyor belted along in front of him before being automatically packaged then manually grouped into plastic bags by 2 seated men and onto another conveyor belt. We watched the whole process of half the factory, I guess the same thing happens 4 times over through the room. It was fascinating. Wish I had footage because I can't describe the pattern the biscuits fell in (optical illusion) from the cookie cutter to the oven.
 
Afterwards, the children were rewarded with packets of Parle biscuits for answering Hindi questions in Hindi. Others were rewarded for singing. Singing for biscuits. They all had a fantastic time. I have some footage of this that I'll upload in Australia. Alyce, Bertina and I each got 5 packets of Parle biscuits. They taste identical to Arnott's milk biscuits (the oval ones). I'm going to give my packets to the kids at Mother Teresa.
 
All in all a good day with the kids.