DukeEngage | Duke Center for Civic Engagement

    I wish I thought that any words I wrote could do this situation justice.  I wish I could convey the raw emotion experienced today, our last day at Adikmet, and the awe that I was struck with as I realized that tremendous strides have been made and that bridges have been built in the past eight weeks.  I wish I could show the scene the took place as we left: literally every single student in the school had gathered outside or was standing by the open windows to say goodbye, many of them in tears.
    I’ve thought a lot about how I should write this blog.  What words could aptly convey this experience?  How could I possibly describe my feelings when I witnessed the tears of every single boy and girl in our Telugu class?  How could anyone outside of this tight-knit group actually understand the pain we felt upon leaving these children behind?  And how could I honestly explain the millions of emotions we are feeling, when I went from sobs to hysterical laughter and back to sobs again today at Adikmet?  The truth is, I can’t.
    But, to me, that is the beauty of what I have been fortunate enough to experience during this project.  DukeEngage has given me, my fellow Duke students, and our amazing sponsors the opportunity of a lifetime, and it is something that will bond us and stay with us forever.  As much as we can describe people, places, and emotions to those at home, I know that I can never really describe this experience; somehow, however, that’s okay.  What really matters is that all of us have been changed for the better, and none of us will ever forget this experience.  We have witnessed a million unfamiliar (and sometimes uncomfortable) situations, we have felt deeply intense emotions (both good and bad), and we all have been changed for the better.
    So here’s to all the students and teachers at Adikmet, to the Prasads, and to the amazing group of students in this group… together, we have made the past eight weeks entirely unforgettable and some of the most worthwhile weeks of our lives.  Maybe we didn’t change the world, but we sure changed each other.

Our farewells continued today as we wrapped up our work with Association for India’s Development. As I ate dinner with two Googlers and Professor Vidya, I realized how lucky our group has been over the trip to meet amazing people from around Hyderabad. Our trips to universities, temples, and cultural events have been excellent, but often spark more questions than answers. The people we have met have been great at answering our questions and giving us a view of Hyderabad that we otherwise would have never known.

The professors, guides, and professionals that we meet all have amazing stories to tell us. Some of the first people we met were three local college students. Just meeting them, talking about the city and what it offers, really opened our eyes to the size and scope of Hyderabad. Last Friday, our gender talk with a professor at Hyderabad Central University gave us the opportunity to learn more about how women have struggled for equal rights in India, but how they have also risen to the highest offices in the land. We spent time exploring the palaces of the Qitub Shah Tombs and the Nizam Palaces with Mr. Abbas, learning about the history of a city with over 1000 years of forts, love stories, and pitched battles.

Tonight, we had a send off dinner at the AID office with Professor Vidya and two Googlers. Throughout the entire program, Professor Vidya has been great. She worked with us to introduce science to the classroom while also helping to expand the outreach of AID through vital posters. I also had the great chance to talk to two Googlers who were a part of AID, helping to tutor children a couple hours of week with fellow coworkers. It is people like them that we hope will continue our work when we leave Hyderabad later this week. It was sad to leave the AID office for the last time on our trip, but we know that we cannot change the educational system in India by ourselves. It will take a concerted effort from the entire community to help force the seismic shift necessary to change education in India.

Hyderabad has truly grown on us as a city. The people are friendly, if not curious, from the youngest child to the oldest resident. Many of them are brilliant and can offer a beautiful and detailed account of Charminar, Golconda fort, or just how to make a great masala chai. I am truly sad that I will soon have to say goodbye, at least for now.

India celebrates Friendship Day on the first Sunday of August. This holiday usually spills over to Monday, as the majority of Friendship Day participants are children. In the schools, classmates give each other "friendship bands," which are ribbons with things written on them like "Best Friend" and "Friends Forever." Older students celebrate friendship day by going out to the clubs. Similar to Valentine's Day in the US, Friendship Day is heavily commercialized but also very sentimental. Both holidays celebrate the presence of loved ones.

The kids at Adigmet were buzzing over Friendship Day today. Many students ran up to me, extended their hands, and chirped "Happy Friendship Day, ma'am!" I shook their hands happily; some of them practically squealed with delight.

In our Telugu class, there is a boy named Shankar who I really like. He sits with the girls instead of the boys, and often tries to sit as close to me as he can. Though he may not know as much English as the rest of the students, he works quietly and diligently, and often draws matching pictures to accompany his sentences in English.

Shankar and I have also bonded over our love of food. When we were learning the alphabet, Shankar burst from his seat upon mention of the letter "i." "ICE CREAM!" He yelled as loud as he could. Shankar also asks me when he can eat lunch roughly every 5 minutes, but does it in such a sweet, unobtrusive way that I cannot help but sympathize with his growling belly.

When I came into class today, Shankar pulled me aside and held out his hand. He opened his palm to show me a plastic beaded bracelet of large alternating clear and rainbow-colored beads. Even though it was plastic, it was much nicer than any of the other Friendship Day bracelets, and was certainly not just a ribbon. "Happy Friendship Day," he said excitedly, and tried to put the bracelet on my wrist.

I felt really uncomfortable. Where did he get this bracelet, and why was it so much nicer than the others? Gently, I gave the bracelet back to him, and tried to explain that I couldn't accept it. He persisted. I felt guilty either way: if I accepted it, I would be succumbing to favoritism and knew that some other student probably deserved the bracelet more than I did; if I did not accept it, Shankar would be crushed. I walked up to the classroom to begin teaching the lesson. Shankar took his seat, the bracelet clutched in his hand.

At the end of class, Shankar approached me again.
"Please ma'am, for you" he begged, looking up with a face of complete earnestness. "I cannot, it is too beautiful, you keep it," I replied.

Shankar, believing that he was not understood, enlisted the help of one of his female friends to translate. Both tried to dangle the bracelet in my face. I realized this was getting ridiculous. I tried to convince his friend to take the bracelet, but she would not. Finally, I did the only thing I could think to do.

I placed the bracelet in Shankar's palm and closed his hand over it. Holding his hand, I said "You have many friends, Shankar. This is a beautiful bracelet--chala bagundi. Give to someone who needs it." He looked at me for a few seconds, and slowly began to smile. He stuck his hand in his pocket, the bracelet still clutched in his palm.

"You come tomorrow?" He said.

"Yes. Three more days, then back to America." I answered. Shankar hesitated for a moment, then ran out of the class to join his friends for lunch.

The first site we entered at the inception of our trip was Safrani Memorial High School; today, we ended our project there.  Running gamut of emotions with the realization that our work there was completed, I was everything from relieved to saddened to amazed to overwhelmed… not to mention absolutely exhausted.  Though we will return to Safrani on Saturday one last time to present the art projects to the school and have a miniature celebration with the children, we will be guests.  We will not be teachers, and will be not be artists.  I will always be an “akka” (big sister) to these children, but chances are high that I will never again have the privilege of teaching them.

Truthfully, I’m not really sure how I feel about this.  Sentimental?  Of course.  Distressed?  Yes.  Liberated?  A little.  Our time at Safrani has been an interesting exercise, as our contact with them was inconsistent at the beginning of the project and not extensive at the end of the project.  Unlike my classes at Adigmet, I have not spent enough time with the Safrani students to know their names or their passions, and I admittedly don’t feel the same bond to them that I feel to the children at Adigmet (though the Safrani students are absolutely wonderful children).

I do, however, feel a definite attachment to the school as a whole.  Suraiya-ji, the founder of Safrani, has been a silent inspiration to all of us.  Though stunningly resigned for such a powerful and influential woman, every word that she utters is profound.  She doesn’t do anything for the recognition, but rather because she feels an obligation to society.  Yet, in a strange reversal, she profusely thanks us each time she sees us, and she was absolutely effusive when complimenting us on the handprint mural.  I think that all of us see her as a font of wisdom, and I know that we all were ecstatic to be invited to have tea with her on Saturday afternoon.

What is hardest for me about the conclusion of our project at Safrani is the imminent conclusion of our time at Adigmet.  Tomorrow, we will spend our final day at the RK Middle School and at Bhavan’s College.  Twenty-four hours from now, three out of four of our projects will have seen their end, leaving only our biggest and most influential site, Adigmet.  As horribly cheesy as this is, I tear up whenever I think of the moment of goodbye next Thursday.  I get a knot in my stomach with the realization that this really is ending and that I really do have to say goodbye to these children, probably forever.

As much as our DukeEngage group has bonded with each other and with the Prasads, I have no doubt in my mind that we will stay incredibly close to each other (we’ve already announced to Leela that she can expect us to show up at her house unannounced).  But if I’m being reasonable and honest, I doubt I will ever have the privilege of seeing these students again.  They have changed my life, and it’s heart-wrenching to me that now they must no longer be a part of it. 

So, the way I figure it, I have a week left with the students and ten days left in a city that I have fallen in love with, so I need to make every moment count.  If I have learned nothing else from this experience, it’s that there’s no time like the present.  Carpe diem!

Today Adigmet was closed for a holiday. All of the classroom doors were padlocked shut except the one closest to the entrance. Inside that classroom were two teachers, the headmaster, and about 12 kids. All the children ran outside to see us; the adults slowly followed, lost in conversation.

Beyond the walls of the school, it was monsooning. It was lightly raining, as it had been for the past two days. Everything had a lush coating over it, as if an artist had suddenly decided to paint over his picture much more vividly. Colors were deep and contrasting. The pink blooms on the giant flower bush in the middle of the school stood out like Lucky Charms red balloons in a bowl of milk. I suddenly felt very hungry.

Two girls from my Urdu class skipped over to say hi. They were the only students from my Urdu class still at the school. They laughed and pointed to the goosebumps on my arm. The monsoon has made the air chilly, with a sharp wind. I swear the temperature has dropped twenty degrees in the last few days. It feels amazing. One girl was wearing a light blue transparent stole over a thick black oversized raincoat.

The kids gathered around us, but they weren’t shouting and trying to grab us like usual. Something about the novelty of our appearance on a school-less day made them calm. A couple of them went off to go play futbol, a couple more ran over and tried to talk to us in broken English, but most were just content to talk with their friends while watching us. I had a giant urge to jump at them and yell “boooo!” just to see what they would do. The school was never so quiet.

Even though we may furrow our brows and grow hoarse from shouting, we love these kids. Though they may not know have to behave properly, they have a certain kind of joy around them that only comes from innocence. Yet these kids have faced more that I probably ever will. They bring a kind of resiliency to the classroom. “Don’t touch me, or I’ll fight you!” “I’m going to yell as loud as I can continuously in an obnoxious high-pitched voice so that you will notice me!” “I will stand in your window and throw rocks at you just so that you will come over and tell me to go away!” All of their behavior issues are just cries for attention. We try every day to return this attention positively in hopes that they understand just how valuable—and easy—learning can be.

After several minutes, we wave goodbye to the children, tell them we’ll be back tomorrow, and descend into the muddy bowl of the outdoors.

The raindrops slowly turn our footprints into puddles leading towards the exit.