DukeEngage | Duke Center for Civic Engagement

How would you feel if Heidi Klum taught you a foreign language?

Intimidated, that’s for sure. A bit flustered, maybe. Curious? You bet.

Our group is gradually getting used to our “celebrity” status in Hyderabad. We definitely stand out, primarily because of our unique appearances. On the streets, people gaze at us curiously, but continue on their daily business after briefly pausing to assess the group. At cultural events, newspaper and television crews take pictures of us like they’re tourists at Disney World and we’re Mickey Mouse. The flashes of the cameras distract us from the programs, especially when the cameramen crouch down right next to our faces, eager to get the perfect shot. At first, we chuckled at this novelty, but the constant photography eventually grew uncomfortable; we began to laugh awkwardly every time some cameraman feels compelled to get this close to us. Aren’t we the tourists? Aren’t we supposed to be notorious for taking uncomfortable photos to remember our trips?  Now it’s the other way around.

We are most prominent at the Akitmet government school. Every day, the kids mob us as we walk to the classrooms to teach English. They try to grab our hands and shout a cacophony of “Hi”s as we approach. When we finally settle into the classes, kids from other grades stealthily creep in and stare at us. Other kids stand outside the windows, yelling to get our attention and waving their arms between the bars. It’s as if really loud snakes are trying to come into the room. Sometimes I feel like Samuel L. Jackson, acting out a sequel to “Snakes on a Plane,” “Kids in a Classroom.”

Today, we got wise and shut the classroom door as soon as we entered. We couldn’t close all of the windows because none of the classrooms have lights or air conditioning, and a hot dark room is fairly unpleasant. Though kids would still occasionally bang on the door trying to get our attention, it was an improvement.

The relationship between the schoolboys and the Duke girls is particularly fascinating. After our first day at the school, we had to make a “no ankles” rule for the girls after a flock of boys were intrigued by our knee-length traditional Indian skirts. It was scandalous. Even now, the fourth and fifth grade boys giggle whenever a Duke female speaks to them.

Whenever we leave the Akitmet school, the mob returns. Kids will swarm us shouting excitedly and trying to grab our hands. We walk briskly to our van outside the school grounds, and the swarm follows us. We quickly sit down on the pink towel-covered seats, and the kids stick their hands in the car so that we can’t close the doors. We force their hands out and quickly close and lock the doors. We’re in, but it’s still not over. Kids will continue to yell, tap on the windows, and slap the side of the car to retain our attention. Some of them press their faces against the windows to get a better glimpse of us. Our driver has to get out of the car and yell at the children in Telugu because he can’t safely drive the van. They back up only as slowly as our van does, and continue to wave and shout as we pull into traffic.

Now I know precisely how a celebrity feels when chased by the paparazzi. I understand that they’re curious but I hope that eventually things will go back to normal. Sorry Heidi Klum, but I’d rather be a teacher.