I know, super corn dog to be ripping off a Cake song lyric, but it's the first thing that comes to my mind as I begin this blog. It rings as true as any cliche, I fear... Mmmmmmhmmmmm, I am really Lance Armstrong meets Andy Kaufman, spilling all my superfluous ponderings about my life here in India. I mean, who the heck am I? Why are my thoughts and perceptions important enough to record on the internet? Why should anyone want to read about my experiences and reflections? I do not stake any claim or authority or wisdom that entitles me to this blog, believe you me!
Yet, some of my favorite people EVER are getting all Sammity Sam for not going through with my blogger, cross-my-heart's... so here I go... into the depths of purging my overwrought mind maze... but please forgive me, in advance, for my amateur blog-isms... further, for all the grammatical mistakes that are surely bound to ensue... I am more a poetess, not a writer-writer, if you know what I'm saying, Frank. I do not claim this SareeSwathe to be anything other than the meandering circuitry of a nearly 35-year-old, female brain from the US of A. Sure, I've lived in a couple other countries and like to pretend that I have strong assertions about some cultural similitudes or idiosyncracies, but please, really, take this blog for what it's worth and nothing more... my delicate fortitude begs of you this favor.
Okay then, moving on beyond the dirty knees stage- I have been living here in Bangalore, India since August 16th, 2013, and I pretty much am writing my married name to it (Mrs. JoBee India- of course) all over my history binder, class after class. Psych! I don't believe in changing my name in marriage!
Before I get into the fried-snickers recap of all the reasons I love my life here, let's start from the top: The trip here was monster truck long and as stressful as a cat in a carrier shoved under an airplane seat. Wait... yup, that's not a simile. First lesson upon relocating to India, animals actually fly happier in cargo. Oops! Poor Mr. T, my feline companion in crime, has been suffering THE WORST in his international travels with me due to my ignorant insistence that he must feel safer knowing that I am near him on the plane. Shut the anthropomorphizing front door. This ain't a Disney movie.
Turns out, I should have done more research on the matter. The little guys prefer the quiet and space of the cargo area... they can fly in a larger crate and not have to hold their gifts of ammonia and dingleberries for 13+ hours. That's right! I may be the worst, kitty mom I know... Mr. T made it all the way to the Bangalore, airport baggage, turn style before he literally lost his *&#$ all over his carrier and soft belly fur. Yikes! If you know what a persnickety, Ivy League, metrosexual, tom cat, Mr. T is, then you know the gravity of my err. I plain destroyed his painstakingly groomed do, dude. The guilt of wasted, OCD licking was astounding, as a I loaded my six, busting suitcases on top of each other and attempting to maneuver them out into the customs' lobby by myself.
Those italics are aimed at me... let the pushy letters remind us that I am now in India and lose the Rosie Riveter, woman power for a minute! Some lovely buttercups came 'round to assist me in getting my glutenous booty out of their way and into the kid gloves of the customs officers. Half an unnecessary hour later (longer and even more unnecessary story NOT later), Mr. T and I were out into the Bangalore night sky, locking relieved eyes with my director!
"Yes! Almost 'home' and in bed," was as far as my spinning, hamster wheel could muster at 1:30 am... small-talk, car-talk and 20 minutes later, we turned into my luxurious, bubble complex. Yes, it is a bit disgusting of me, and I know it... I am living like a queen... in India. Translation, I am living a hell of a lot better than I ever could dream in the States... in a poverty stricken country. For better or worse, I comfort myself in the thought that I am teaching the international elite to greater heights of empathy and compassion that might trickle-down towards better future, elite decision-making... you know, like trickle-down economics is supposed to- *ahem* Let a spinster teacher dream- AHHHHRIGHT!
I will not get into the nitty-gritty of my rocking apartment on the 12th floor, overlooking a well-groomed cricket field, forested park and swimming pool paradise. That would just be tacky. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?! This is my life?!?!?!?!?!? I immediately bathed my poor, little T in the kitchen sink, and patiently, he and my director waited for the grand tour of the 3-bedroom, 3-bath, 3-patio ridiculousness.
Whew, toweled-off, Mr. T's first bath of 10-years ever/over, I surveyed the welcome mat scene. Goodies everywhere. I repeat. This is MY LIFE?????!!!!!!!! I groveled thank yous and good-byes and apologies for keeping the guy up WAY after his bed time to pick up me at the airport, so he could get up at the crack of dawn a few hours later to direct an international school, and I slipped into bed and Mr. T cuddles for hours on end...
Until, bam, bam, bam... 2 girlfriends (one new and one rather familiar) knocking on my apartment door to welcome me to India, over 2-weeks late of the posted arrival date. Oh, yes, there are some back, back stories there. Hold your horses... until the next blog entry or so...
Yet, some of my favorite people EVER are getting all Sammity Sam for not going through with my blogger, cross-my-heart's... so here I go... into the depths of purging my overwrought mind maze... but please forgive me, in advance, for my amateur blog-isms... further, for all the grammatical mistakes that are surely bound to ensue... I am more a poetess, not a writer-writer, if you know what I'm saying, Frank. I do not claim this SareeSwathe to be anything other than the meandering circuitry of a nearly 35-year-old, female brain from the US of A. Sure, I've lived in a couple other countries and like to pretend that I have strong assertions about some cultural similitudes or idiosyncracies, but please, really, take this blog for what it's worth and nothing more... my delicate fortitude begs of you this favor.
Okay then, moving on beyond the dirty knees stage- I have been living here in Bangalore, India since August 16th, 2013, and I pretty much am writing my married name to it (Mrs. JoBee India- of course) all over my history binder, class after class. Psych! I don't believe in changing my name in marriage!
Before I get into the fried-snickers recap of all the reasons I love my life here, let's start from the top: The trip here was monster truck long and as stressful as a cat in a carrier shoved under an airplane seat. Wait... yup, that's not a simile. First lesson upon relocating to India, animals actually fly happier in cargo. Oops! Poor Mr. T, my feline companion in crime, has been suffering THE WORST in his international travels with me due to my ignorant insistence that he must feel safer knowing that I am near him on the plane. Shut the anthropomorphizing front door. This ain't a Disney movie.
Turns out, I should have done more research on the matter. The little guys prefer the quiet and space of the cargo area... they can fly in a larger crate and not have to hold their gifts of ammonia and dingleberries for 13+ hours. That's right! I may be the worst, kitty mom I know... Mr. T made it all the way to the Bangalore, airport baggage, turn style before he literally lost his *&#$ all over his carrier and soft belly fur. Yikes! If you know what a persnickety, Ivy League, metrosexual, tom cat, Mr. T is, then you know the gravity of my err. I plain destroyed his painstakingly groomed do, dude. The guilt of wasted, OCD licking was astounding, as a I loaded my six, busting suitcases on top of each other and attempting to maneuver them out into the customs' lobby by myself.
Those italics are aimed at me... let the pushy letters remind us that I am now in India and lose the Rosie Riveter, woman power for a minute! Some lovely buttercups came 'round to assist me in getting my glutenous booty out of their way and into the kid gloves of the customs officers. Half an unnecessary hour later (longer and even more unnecessary story NOT later), Mr. T and I were out into the Bangalore night sky, locking relieved eyes with my director!
"Yes! Almost 'home' and in bed," was as far as my spinning, hamster wheel could muster at 1:30 am... small-talk, car-talk and 20 minutes later, we turned into my luxurious, bubble complex. Yes, it is a bit disgusting of me, and I know it... I am living like a queen... in India. Translation, I am living a hell of a lot better than I ever could dream in the States... in a poverty stricken country. For better or worse, I comfort myself in the thought that I am teaching the international elite to greater heights of empathy and compassion that might trickle-down towards better future, elite decision-making... you know, like trickle-down economics is supposed to- *ahem* Let a spinster teacher dream- AHHHHRIGHT!
I will not get into the nitty-gritty of my rocking apartment on the 12th floor, overlooking a well-groomed cricket field, forested park and swimming pool paradise. That would just be tacky. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?! This is my life?!?!?!?!?!? I immediately bathed my poor, little T in the kitchen sink, and patiently, he and my director waited for the grand tour of the 3-bedroom, 3-bath, 3-patio ridiculousness.
Whew, toweled-off, Mr. T's first bath of 10-years ever/over, I surveyed the welcome mat scene. Goodies everywhere. I repeat. This is MY LIFE?????!!!!!!!! I groveled thank yous and good-byes and apologies for keeping the guy up WAY after his bed time to pick up me at the airport, so he could get up at the crack of dawn a few hours later to direct an international school, and I slipped into bed and Mr. T cuddles for hours on end...
Until, bam, bam, bam... 2 girlfriends (one new and one rather familiar) knocking on my apartment door to welcome me to India, over 2-weeks late of the posted arrival date. Oh, yes, there are some back, back stories there. Hold your horses... until the next blog entry or so...
I missed your blogging! (That last one was a while ago, wasn't it? Getting old...) Looking forward to hearing more details of your awesome adventures!
ReplyDeleteIt was a very long time ago... a life time ago, it feels. I was going through some traumatic stuff... didn't really want to share it publicly.
ReplyDelete