"Once Your enemy, now seated at Your table."
Yesterday I walked out of the house under a sky filled with clouds and dragonflies - huge ones; hundreds - to take my little white self to PMI. The walk is short, 1-2 minutes max, but every time I make the trip I cross a chasm in the street, sidestep wild dogs, smile at a few slum children, get honked at by at least one car or moped, bypass a cart selling fresh citrus juices, and skirt numerous rickshaw-wallas beating the heat: asleep atop their vehicles.
After devotion time, I got ready for English and then began trying to mentally prepare for my first day of Hindi tutoring. I asked a girl named Kavita from my English class if she could help me out by tutoring me 3-4 days a week for a small compensation. She was thrilled when I asked her on Tuesday. We got all our times straight and she came yesterday for the first time with her friend Komal, who is also in my English class, because they always ride together. I have no news in the Hindi department - let's just say we're starting at the very beginning. Even the alphabet is so overwhelming to me... I've never learned a language that does not use the same script as English, so at the get-go I feel like I'm at an all-time language low. I didn't know that I'd ever be relying so heavily on flash cards, but I've already used more than half of my index cards on them and we're only 1/4 through the alphabet! Haha. BUT, Kavita did say I seem to be picking up the pronunciation (you know, the extremely important difference between g and gh) fairly well.
After tutoring, Komal, Kavita, and I all went straight to English class. It all went as normally as it always does, but towards the end, one girl offered me something she called "Prashad". It was a bag of food - a small snack that looked something like rice krispies. Between the way the girls were looking at me and a pretty good number of intuitive red flags, I gathered that I probably didn't just look hungry; this gesture was meaningful somehow. I asked her to wait until we could discuss it after class. When class was finished, she quickly brought it up again. "Ma'am, you take Prashad?" A short conversation revealed that prashad had to do with Hinduism, but I still wasn't sure how. Ashok, the overseer of the English program with PMI, stepped in and did some conversing and some translating. He was pleading with the girls to really think through some of their theological constructs, because until they tried to comprehend Truth about god instead of god in culture, they would never be able to understand my point of view. It finally came down to this fact: Prashad is food that has been offered to idols, and then is passed out again to the people as a blessing. I told my friend who had offered me this thoughtless blessing that I love Indian culture, that I want to learn about it, and that I appreciate her wanting to share her culture with me, but that because of my convictions about the Truth and the Good Book, for me to eat it would be wrong. I briefly referenced the story of Daniel, who was in a very similar situation. I was glad to have a reference point for my behavior in this instance.
But wow- food sacrificed to idols - who would have known I would ever encounter such a thing in my lifetime? This is 2012. These are forward-thinking students with a Master's level education. And yet they buy their paper painted gods off the street, and eat their crisped rice blessings from the bowl in front of a marble statue.
Though this reality breaks my heart, it fills me with anticipation to know that only being here with them has brought this conversation about with five priceless girls. I pray for them daily. I want them to have the gift that I have.
While we were listening to Ashok during this conversation, I felt something brush against my arm. I ignored it, but then it continued - someone was stroking me! I looked up to see Kavita essentially petting my arm, and I immediately pulled it in to my side and laughed, asking her what on earth she was doing! She said my arm was smooth, and I looked at her incredulously. "My skin is the same as any of yours!" I said, swiping my hand over a few nearby forearms. "But your skin is so white and smooth and beautiful," she said. I shook my head in disbelief, not even finding a response. It doesn't take much to notice that my skin is not my best feature. These girls all but worshiped it.
Friends, I long for the day when I've earned my place as one of them. It is my dear hope that one day when they look at me they will see not the differences in me, but the similarities; that one day they will see not a stranger, but a friend; that one day when these dear Indians look at me, they will see nothing but the Love I have come here to embody.
Listen up: this is not extraordinary or beautiful. This is an arm.
Love from Delhi,
julie the white.
Yesterday I walked out of the house under a sky filled with clouds and dragonflies - huge ones; hundreds - to take my little white self to PMI. The walk is short, 1-2 minutes max, but every time I make the trip I cross a chasm in the street, sidestep wild dogs, smile at a few slum children, get honked at by at least one car or moped, bypass a cart selling fresh citrus juices, and skirt numerous rickshaw-wallas beating the heat: asleep atop their vehicles.
After devotion time, I got ready for English and then began trying to mentally prepare for my first day of Hindi tutoring. I asked a girl named Kavita from my English class if she could help me out by tutoring me 3-4 days a week for a small compensation. She was thrilled when I asked her on Tuesday. We got all our times straight and she came yesterday for the first time with her friend Komal, who is also in my English class, because they always ride together. I have no news in the Hindi department - let's just say we're starting at the very beginning. Even the alphabet is so overwhelming to me... I've never learned a language that does not use the same script as English, so at the get-go I feel like I'm at an all-time language low. I didn't know that I'd ever be relying so heavily on flash cards, but I've already used more than half of my index cards on them and we're only 1/4 through the alphabet! Haha. BUT, Kavita did say I seem to be picking up the pronunciation (you know, the extremely important difference between g and gh) fairly well.
After tutoring, Komal, Kavita, and I all went straight to English class. It all went as normally as it always does, but towards the end, one girl offered me something she called "Prashad". It was a bag of food - a small snack that looked something like rice krispies. Between the way the girls were looking at me and a pretty good number of intuitive red flags, I gathered that I probably didn't just look hungry; this gesture was meaningful somehow. I asked her to wait until we could discuss it after class. When class was finished, she quickly brought it up again. "Ma'am, you take Prashad?" A short conversation revealed that prashad had to do with Hinduism, but I still wasn't sure how. Ashok, the overseer of the English program with PMI, stepped in and did some conversing and some translating. He was pleading with the girls to really think through some of their theological constructs, because until they tried to comprehend Truth about god instead of god in culture, they would never be able to understand my point of view. It finally came down to this fact: Prashad is food that has been offered to idols, and then is passed out again to the people as a blessing. I told my friend who had offered me this thoughtless blessing that I love Indian culture, that I want to learn about it, and that I appreciate her wanting to share her culture with me, but that because of my convictions about the Truth and the Good Book, for me to eat it would be wrong. I briefly referenced the story of Daniel, who was in a very similar situation. I was glad to have a reference point for my behavior in this instance.
But wow- food sacrificed to idols - who would have known I would ever encounter such a thing in my lifetime? This is 2012. These are forward-thinking students with a Master's level education. And yet they buy their paper painted gods off the street, and eat their crisped rice blessings from the bowl in front of a marble statue.
Though this reality breaks my heart, it fills me with anticipation to know that only being here with them has brought this conversation about with five priceless girls. I pray for them daily. I want them to have the gift that I have.
While we were listening to Ashok during this conversation, I felt something brush against my arm. I ignored it, but then it continued - someone was stroking me! I looked up to see Kavita essentially petting my arm, and I immediately pulled it in to my side and laughed, asking her what on earth she was doing! She said my arm was smooth, and I looked at her incredulously. "My skin is the same as any of yours!" I said, swiping my hand over a few nearby forearms. "But your skin is so white and smooth and beautiful," she said. I shook my head in disbelief, not even finding a response. It doesn't take much to notice that my skin is not my best feature. These girls all but worshiped it.
Friends, I long for the day when I've earned my place as one of them. It is my dear hope that one day when they look at me they will see not the differences in me, but the similarities; that one day they will see not a stranger, but a friend; that one day when these dear Indians look at me, they will see nothing but the Love I have come here to embody.
Listen up: this is not extraordinary or beautiful. This is an arm.
Love from Delhi,
julie the white.
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