Slum in Bangalore. Children running at you if they can see your camera in your hand. Smiling faces jumping one in front of the other to get in frame. They all want to know your name, sometimes your mother's name. Women giving you cup after cup of sweetened tea and more biscuits than you can fit in both hands. They cram into a hut with you and talk about how they've improved their lives. Their bank accounts, children, store, and husbands who don't drink as much anymore... and couples who use condoms. And what are you thinking? .. I am still shocked to find myself here sometimes. Still touched when a kid calls me Auntie and when Cheshee (sp!) smiles at me.
I gave her an orange today and asked her some questions. She just laughed at me and said "Kate". She makes the days I see her brighter. And there's Rukema .. her mom... one of the most beautiful women I've seen. She is older, a little wrinkled, and possesses a face which spills over with serenity and eyes that cross any language boundary. They are special to me and without knowing it, are the reason smiles spread across my face. Cheshee must be special... a little girl I can be around without that anxiety/awkwardness I feel with my own little cousins.
I smile shyly at the older boys who look at us as we walk through the slum (what makes a slum a slum?) , not knowing what else to do. Sometimes I see myself as a representative of the people who don't fall into the stereotype of pro-war/fundamentalism/xenophobic American. And, yes, the line between what they perceive America to be and what I am assuming they must think (which is a reflection of my own opinion) is blurred. I want them to know I don't think less of them, that I'm interested, that I don't hold myself higher up... and I always hope that my presence .. our presence.. says that without me having to.
Taylor and I were invited into a hut which housed about six girls and one old man. They roll incense sticks for eight hours a day. It's dark in there and I wonder how their sight is. They don't go to school and must roll a thousand sticks to make 11 rupees. I'm not sensationalizing anything .. or trying to evoke pity. This is their life, I did not make any judgements, but I happily occupied their space for a short while and looked at their faces and tried to remember them; tried to imagine myself in their place...
I took pictures today... One was a girl three feet in front of a big bike smiling at the camera, her face tilted down, her eyes on me... and her father standing behind the bike.
I sat in between Raja and Oamjie on the way back. I told him how when we go out to villages/slums/NGOs I feel as if I should stay here longer. I think I should. I think I owe it to myself. I think if Oamjie really can get me down to Kerala, I should go.
When we leave the ashram, I'm reminded of where I am/ I feel my jaw set and my heart open – signs I need to do more. And maybe not by staying longer, but by doing more while I'm here.. It's so small at Fireflies and our lives are consumed by small things in comparison.
I stood in front of the mirror as Katy cut my hair, sang some Harvey Danger, rocked out to some Kimya Dawson and watched the hair fall all over the blanket we spread out on the floor. I've been too scared for ten years to cut my hair this short. Scared? Imagine .. being scared to cut your hair. When I think about it, ... how ridiculous. It's just hair. And what are you scared of? That people will think differently of you... that you won't look good.
If it's a mind fuck I signed up for. It's a mind fuck I'm getting. I am in an infantile state of development, it seems/ starting over/ ripping apart every way I make decisions/redesigning how I relate to people/learning to listen/learning to trust myself.



Sherbet skies of pepto pink, cotton candy blue, and gauzey lavender make volley ball courts covered in red dirt light up. Incandescent suns and Ready To Take The Stage moons occupy our surreal canopy. It's my serve, but my back is to the net and I'm sheilding my eyes from the orange burning through the trees. Taylor's trying to get my attention and Oamjie is asking me Where are you? I turn around slowly and hurriedly hit the ball and turn around again. I haven't seen anything like it. The whole court is lit up.. my skin gives off a pink glow and you can barely see. The guys from the village are getting more comfortable around us and there's an exchange of Kannada and English that no one understands. I helped a boy up from the bushes today when he fell, Lauren talks smack with Kerapa, Taylor fake spikes him too. We move easier around them now, laugh a little louder. There is no other way I would want to end my day and I look out at the court and know I'm going to cry about these boys later and miss them. I'm going to come back here in my mind a lot in my life: a court glowing pink, kids playing into the night, "See you"s yelled back from across the fence after they've headed home.
I wonder if it's as clear as it should be ... that I love it here. That while the independence is scary, it's so so welcomed.