What A Teacher Earns

Friday marked the last day of my two-month volunteer teaching gig at the Vikaasa school in Madurai, Tamil Nadu, India. In a very short time, Madurai has become an indelible part of my life, and the kids that I worked with will be one of life's great, cherished memories. 

I told them that when asked about Indian children, I will answer, "Well, they are excitable..." as you can see in many of the pictures.

It was a joy, pleasure, and honor to learn from these students, and hopefully they picked up a thing or two from me. 

It has become rather patently clear in my life that my career decisions have been based upon trying new things, stretching my teaching abilities to the limit, and this was no exception. I had never taught this young of an age group, so there were many new levels of learning that I had to go through to be able to even have a modicum of success with this new challenge. They challenged me, and I challenged them back, and somewhere, we met in the middle and I believe that education did happen.

Walking through the halls, I spotted the "If" poem by Rudyard Kipling that I have written about previously, and I paused to do a mental checklist of my time spent in Madurai, and I believe, that with a not-undue measure of confidence balanced with a caution against pride, that yes, "I am a Man" from this.

My thanks to the wonderful kids at Vikaasa, who provided me with the best salary that I teacher could ask for, gratitude and enthusiasm.

I addressed them at the morning assembly, and had been asked to incorporate a bit of Tamil into my valediction, for which I selected a saying from the celebrated Tamil poet Thiruvalluvar's Thirukkural:

Kanakkum yilakkanamum Makkalukkuk-kanakalaakum

which means, "Letters and Numbers are the two eyes of a man." To which I challenged the students, that if the language arts and sciences are our two eyes and make us a complete human, so that if we are given the seeing gift of education, then why should we ever choose to be blind?

And, in turn, they have surely opened my own eyes to a new world, the world of India.

Romba Nandri

The Things We Leave Behind

As my India adventure is winding down in the next couple of weeks, I reflected on some of the things that I have missed, or not, and what part of my life they have played while here.

Things I Will Miss

Urban Cows-There is an inordinate amount of calmness that these wandering bovines bring to me. I already noticed this when I went to Kerala as there were no cows in the major cities and their presence was oddly poignant. Like missing silent, old friends. On my way to yoga each morning, I pass a particular “herd” of them hanging out in one of the small side streets I pass through. There is a cauldron of sorts that people fill with food and drink for them, though for the most part, the urban cows are the bulk of the trash-recycling program. They eat much of the organic matter that is tossed onto the ubiquitous rubbish heaps around Madurai while they are waiting to be picked up. One of the cows has a tendency to nudge up against me as I walk by, but for the most part, it is uncanny how they just “hang out” in the middle of even the busiest traffic, walking placidly through the barrage of rickshaws, bicycles, buses, mini-vans, cars, pedestrians, motorcycles, trucks, and scooters. They merely drift through as the humans swerve around them in a dizzingly acrobatic movement.

Rickshaws-Each day I go to and from work in Rama’s rickshaw, or Tak-Tak, and I will miss that frenetic plunge into the melee that he calmly guides me through. Because the rickshaws are open, you are in the thick of the quick. As such, I get to see the varied permutations of motorcycle, scooter, and rickshaw populations, ranging from full families of five on the former and upwards of 14 school kids in the latter, defying any circus act of clowns crammed into a small van.

Food-Cannot even begin to say how much I will miss Indian food. For every single meal that I have had since my arrival in August, I can safely say that I have not had one meal that I did not enjoy, not one. Perhaps to a lesser extent than being delicious, but every single meal has been a delight to indulge in, usually a medley of spices, sweetness, carbohydrates, and bitters distributed amongst vegetables, rices (many kinds here), meats (India has become less vegetarian, much to my surprise, though I prefer vegetarian meals, unless it is being rude not to partake), and fruits. The closest thing that I have to compare, and it is surprisingly close is New Mexican food, of which I can also never get enough of when visiting my home state.

Strangers greeting me-OK, this one is purely an ego boost, I admit. But, a white guy can really feel like a rock star here on the streets of Madurai, especially with the kids. It is rare that I walk anywhere without being asked “Where you come from?” or “What is your beautiful name?” and so forth. It is such a nice break from Belgium where I usually get the furry eyeball or look of scorn for being there.

Smells-Each morning, during my break at school, I go to the local coffee stand around the corner and I pass several flower-garland making stands that are effusive in their aroma, highlighted by the sandalwood paste that is being pinched into little balls for oblations and general air freshening. The smells of the food stands, incense, and flowers are just around each corner, blessing the nose with splendor.

Sounds-The orchestra that wakes me each morning is not necessarily pleasant always, but it is India. Roosters crowing, kids shouting, the call to prayer at the nearby mosque, the tolling of the hours from the nearby Christian church, the jingling of bike bells, twittering of dozens of birds, cawing of crows, barking of dogs, the hawkers of fresh fish, onions, garlic, bananas, the thwapping sound of wet laundry on rock, the creaking of the old hand-crank water pump next door and the din of the traffic from P.T. Rajan street a block away unmistakeably reminds me where I am.

Colors-The hues and richness of the colors of India are unparalleled to any I have ever seen before. I believe that on a daily basis, in the saris of the women alone, I see every possible color known to the visible spectrum of light. Died in the cloth, the textiles of India are refulgent with a dazzling rainbow of vibrant color.

Kids-Indian kids just make you smile. No matter how frustrated you want to be at them while you are trying to teach them the nuances of the Active and Passive voice in English, their hijinx and tomfoolery is so innocent and good-natured that they never fail to make me smile.

Temple-Without a doubt, the Meenakshi Temple will be the single most-missed thing that I will miss from Madurai. I have been several times, usually at night, and each time it has been a different collage of devotion, song, music, lights, family gathering, socializing, and solace. I could never begin to fathom the complexity of Hindu rituals and poojas, but I fully respect the depth that it plays in every aspect of the culture here. I have seen so many people who probably should be cursing their fate, embrace the divine with joy, gratitude, and thanks rather than complaining of their hands dealt in the game of life. On the contrary, I have seen far too many (myself included) people in Europe and America whine about what they don’t have, rather than indulge in the fullness of what they do have. Fortunately I learned this lesson of late and live it every day, and I see that bliss of reverence at the Temple upon each visit. Something that I have seen missing in many services in churches in Europe and America. That is not to say that reverence is not there, but it is often qualified with, “why me?” instead of simply, “thank you.”

Things I Have Not Missed

Electricity (limited)-Having electricity for an entire day is nearly unheard of here in Madurai, and it is not uncommon to be without for a good part of the day. Coming back from yoga in the mornings to get ready for teaching, I am more surprised if there is current than if it is off. Lights and fans will go off on a regular basis at school and no one blinks an eye. I have found that when you don’t rely upon electricity, then the culture will bend around it. Most food is cooked fresh, so refrigerators are rarely used and except for lights in the evening, little revolves around electrical devices.

Hot Water-Living near the equator, the temperature is relatively the same throughout the year. As such, the temperature of the water coming out of the ground is likewise rather consistent. I have not had a hot shower (even in hotels) since I have left Belgium, and perhaps twice did I desire one from being so sore from an eternal bus ride or very long film shoot. Otherwise, like my yoga teacher, Bekir, used to say, the water from the ground is the best elixir for a post-yoga workout. Now, if I were near the Himalayas, I know that I would miss warm/hot water, but being in Madurai, in all honesty, I nearly forgot that we don’t have it here until I started this list...

Traffic-Belgian, and specifically Flemish traffic, sucks. Like America, most people travel alone in cars, shunning public transportation, and making for miserable traffic jams with very aggressive and short-fused drivers. In addition, due to the enormous traffic jams in Belgium, the pollution is very high. Despite the larger number of two-stroke engines here which produces more toxic emissions, the traffic never stagnates in Madurai due to the consistent traffic flow as a result of a lack of stop signs, and there is surprising less emissions pollution. It is the start stop and idling in Europe that causes such an inordinate amount of car fumes. In the larger, more urbanized centers such as Dehli and Mumbai, that is obviously a similar problem, but for the most part, Madurai enjoys pretty blue skies when the monsoons are not in progress.

Television-Though there is a televsion in Pradeep’s home, and in many Indian homes the TV is always on, I have watched even less than I did before, which was nearly none. So, it is rather hard to miss something that I didn’t have before.

Coffee-Now this one surprises me, I will admit. I love coffee and drinking coffee. I wrote a novel “about” it that I am currently editing from twenty years ago. But, being in India, coffee is replaced largely by tea, but even that I have not had much of. At one point, I realized, “whoah, I haven’t had coffee for nearly a week!” It just sort of disappeared out of my life surreptitiously. I am not kidding myself that once back in the colder, wetter climes of Antwerp I will be more apt to brewing and imbibing coffee, but for the present, it was surprisingly voided from my life.

Sensationalist News-This is merely because I can’t understand the language well enough. I know that if my Tamil were at a higher level I would surely be annoyed by the news here too, but I truly do not miss Belgian or American news. Hearing endlessly about the latest murder trial or celebrity re-hab has thankfully been eradicated from my daily life, and I can tell you that I am none the poorer for not following either.

Alcohol Culture-Although I have cut out alcohol from my own life some time ago, I have still lived in cultures that are dominated by alcohol on a social level. Antwerp is a drinking town, make no mistake. Belgium is a drinking nation. Alcohol is part of nearly every single social event and usually in large quantities. Austin, Texas is a drinking town and Americans consume an extremely high level of alcohol per capita in comparison to most other cultures. So, living here in India, it has been interesting to see a social network that almost never incorporates drinking. That is not to say that there is not alcohol here, nor is it prohibited such as in Muslim cultures, but for the most part, it just doesn’t fit in. There is a great deal of alcohol abuse in certain areas in southern India, specifically in Kerala and the rural parts of Tamil Nadu. In the latter it is highly toxic as the alcohol is “home-made” and regularly blinds people or simple burns out their insides after binges. It is the leading cause of domestic violence as well in villages. Edward Sargent, the person I have been portraying in a movie, was instrumental in bringing the awareness of this abuse over one hundred years ago in Tamil Nadu, but it does and probably will remain a source of trouble. People drink, there is no getting around it, and when people drink, there is always abuse at some level. It seems to be a fact of life that humans will take things to extremes when given the opportunity.

Food-Although I have at times missed the convenience of a “regular” restaurant, or just ordering a pizza (though there is a Domino’s here, strangely enough), I have not missed the heaviness of western food. Nor have I missed the ridiculously large portions that account for so much of the waste in western countries as well.

Things I Won’t Miss

Smells-Let’s face it. To say that I will miss the smell of open sewers is ludicrous. No, I will not miss passing by the “smelly river,” a tributary of the Vaigai that I have to endure each day on the way to school. It is a soup of raw sewage and trash, replete with wild pigs, tame goats, chickens, and cows adding to the human feces that literally floats downstream to the main river. It can be suffocating on a hot day and stomach-churning. I will not miss the exhaust of the Tak-Taks, motorcycles, and scooters which are most likely never controlled for emissions. Nor will I miss the rubish heaps that lie festering in the sun on every street.

Being Treated too “special”-The Indians are helpful and polite,...to a fault. I fully realize that such overtures are meant in all kindness and concern, but just because I am white, does not mean I am made out of delicate China. I am constantly told to “sit down,” “eat this,” “don’t drink this,” and so forth when everyone else is standing, not eating, or are drinking water. Again, meant out of kindness, but the overkill of being pampered can actually make one irritable because you feel like a child who can’t do anything for himself. I do look forward to making my own decisions about when and where I will sit down, eat, and many other daily things that are a struggle of negotiations here about how not to be rude, though conceding to the requests of others.

Trash-It is everywhere in Tamil Nadu. If there is a an open space, then there will be trash. I noticed quite readily that the only portion of Tamil Nadu’s society that does not litter is in fact the Christian population. They are much more conscious of littering that the rest of people here. In addition, there was a large difference in Kerala. In Kerala, trash bins are present and used. The kids from Madurai were constantly tossing their trash on the street or out the windows of the bus, as they are wont to do here, much to the disgust of the Kerala people. It is a sad fate, and apparently rather recent as I have talked to people my age who can remember that the rivers and streams of Madurai were crystal clear only 20 years or so ago, something I cannot even visualize now. Running water was the culprit as many people stopped using the rivers as their sole source of water for cooking, baths, and whatnot. Now, the rivers are mere trash repositories, flushed down a large natural toilet with the onset of the monsoons.

Ritual Pollution-Because I am white and non-Hindu, I am polluted. Adults of both sexes will avoid contact with me for the most part, and I would be driven out of town if I had contact with a Hindu woman, or at least severely admonished. On the whole, there is an archaic division of the sexes and on a crowded bus, a man and a woman cannot share a seat, usually leaving one to stand, more often than not, the woman. It is a huge paradox of India that things are considered ritually polluted, but physical pollution seems to have no effect on people. So, kids playing in the raw sewage of the “smelly river” does not turn heads, but if I touch someone with my left hand, prayers will be need to be chanted and I will get very nasty looks. I look forward to the more informal nature of Europe and America for sure in this regards.

The Weight of Water

This weekend, for the shooting of the Edward Sargent film, we went to several locations in southern Tamil Nadu.

One of the places we went to was the southernmost point of India, a town called Kanniyakumari, dedicated to the virgin goddess Kanya. Kanniyakumari is a small seaside resort that at first glance is nothing special. The special aspect of Kanniyakumari is that it is where the Indian Ocean, The Arabian Sea, and the Bay of Bengal converge. This makes for some fantastic breakers on the beach, but it also carries a heavy casualty toll.

In 2004, Kanniyakumari was devastated by the Indian Ocean tsunami, which literally wiped out the small town as well as rendering the neighboring town of Nagercoil as a veritable ghost town for a while. Most people do not realize that southern India took such a beating with the tsunami because it was not a tourist destination for non-Indians, as was seen once again with a complete dearth of white people and/or any non-Indians.

When the tsunami did hit, there were several hundred pilgrims visiting one of the holy shrines who perished as well as a large number of the villagers in each coastal town in the tsunami’s range.

Apparently, what makes the situation even more tragic is that there was a gross miscommunication and lack of understanding about just what a tsunami was. When the news was spread that a “tsunami” was coming, because of a breach of communication, many of the locals thought that a great visitor was coming to the beach and they swarmed to greet him, many of them children. All perished.

Handel and his mother Caroline, the cameraman and director respectively, came down to Nagercoil and Kanniyakumari from Tirunelveli the day after it hit to take footage. Even within India, many people did not know about the extent of the damage as it did not make national, nor international news on the scale that places such as the tourist destinations in Thailand garnered. They sent their footage to the Prime Minister, who eventually sent down sufficient aid, three days after the ocean’s fury. I remember the Belgian and Italian press giving extensive coverage to those areas since there were Belgian and Italian tourists there, with nary a mention of India. Had my sister not been here just a week or so before the tsunami hit, I probably would have never known about it either.

Handel described the scene as a wasteland of carnage and the stench of dead bodies everywhere. A large section of a concrete bridge had been moved for several hundred meters intact, boats, homes, and trucks strewn like a child’s playthings. With their interviews of people, they heard stories of parents holding onto children, but who were not able to maintain a grip, losing them to the ocean’s indifference. The body count was so high that ultimately they just brought in bulldozers to make a mass grave. Thousands were lost and buried unceremoniously.

The power of the ocean is unfathomable. I went into the water at the beach where we were filming, as I am naturally drawn to water, but I was definitely made aware of the strength of this place, even at low tide. The breakers were easily ten feet on a calm day with currents pulling back out at an incredible force, that would knock you off your feet in a foot of water. I did not venture out to breakers, knowing that there was a strong riptide and undertow, but even the waves that broke on the beach were enough to knock you over and take you for a spin.

We then went to the rebuilt villag of Kanniyakumari later in the evening, the area was bustling with life. It was yet again an example of resiliency that does leave the mind boggled. On an small island off the coast, there is a larger shrine dedicated to Swami Vivekananda, who braved the surf to swim out to the small island to meditate on the death of his guru, as well as an enormous 130-foot statue of the Tamil poet Thiruvalluva. Apparently, the largest wave of the tsunami hit the shoulders of this statue, though it weathered the storm. Like their ideas and words, these shrines are able to withstand Time better than us mere mortal coils.

On the boardwalk, there were many vendors of shells, food, and trinkets. Except for a largely ignored, unlit monument to the tsunami (most likely avoided out of superstition), there was no real sign of the death and destruction from merely 7 years ago. However, looking out to the meeting of the three seas, I did pause to listen to the ocean’s crashing, thinking of the awesome power that is nature, and how, in our ridiculous moments of arrogance, that we, we humans actually convince ourselves of the delusion that we can control the awesome tide of Time and Nature.

The Philosopher King

The other evening when some friends came to Madurai and we met for the evening, I finally made it to the Thirumalai Temple for the evening sound and light show. Living here in Madurai for nearly two months, I was nearly the victim of typical complacency while living in a place, thinking, “Oh, I’ll do that one day, I have plenty of time...” Well, Time is beginning to become shorter and shorter with regards to my remaining stay here, so it was good to get this one ticked off of my list.

And, it was quite a nice surprise. I had heard from others that the Thirumalai Nayak Palace was “ok, but nothing special,” and given palaces such as Versailles or Windsor, no, indeed, it is nothing special. However, what turned out to be the pleasant surprise was learning more about Thirumalai, who, perhaps as many other so-called “enlightened monarch” that I have heard about in history, he fits the bill quite adequately and snugly.

The “Philosopher King” was a concept that grew out of Plato’s Republic, in which Socrates has an protracted dissertation with Glaucon and Adeimantos, inter alia, about the nature of Justice, which is really just a smokescreen for the true import of the dialogue, which is the establishment of a proper monarch with a properly educated and enlightened monarch. For Plato, (via the much-maligned words of Socrates) this monarch was a rare bird, someone who was groomed from childhood, culled from the group to be the best of the best, top of the class in every aspect ranging from ratiocination to an appreciation and/or discernment for the arts. Ultimately, something that is often overlooked when analyzing Plato’s opus, Socrates says that this Ideal State with an Ideal leader will never actually materialize on earth, but shall always be a pale imitation of a divine template that we can only aspire to, though never reach, never to cross x-y axis with our best asymptotic efforts. Only God can be such an enlightened Be-ing.

Though, that did not stop Plato from testing it out with Dionysos II, who became a miserable tyrant and failed prodigy, nor did it stop many European dynasties from trying to claim the ascendancy to the rule of divine right, most notably the King of Albion of old, namely Jolly Old England. At present, these formerly proud geneaological experiments on inbreeding are mere figureheads at best, and more realistically, except for tabloid entertainment, a strain on the public coffers. But, people like their royalty. Americans are gaga for regalia as well, so no exception there.

Yet, there have been some pretty good approximations at a “true” Philosopher King, and from what I have learned about Thirumalai, I would be willing to place him amongst the hallowed few. Hearing about his surrogate hagiography in the sound and light show at the Palace, I found myself more than once thinking, “yeah, I could dig a king like that!”

Thirumalai, at least according to the piped-in propaganda, was highly educated and greatly supported the arts of poetry, music, and singing, magnanimous in his charity, and above all, was quite willing to admit he was wrong and to duly heavily endow the wronged party with bountiful remunerations of land, property, and power. One such example was that when a thief successfully breached the fortified walls of the Palace by hitching a ride on a large monitor lizard scaling the wall, Thirumalai, who had said his Palace was impregnable and would reward any master thief proving otherwise, reportedly gave the thief seven villages to lord over as his reward for being Madurai’s best thief, thwarting the adage that crime does not pay.  In short, he was the guy you wanted at the controls when the Mysore army was threatening to advance or to ensure that your city won the praise of all of India for its erudition and support of the arts. Madurai has been called over the years “the Athens of the East” (though the vice versa is perhaps more apt, given Madurai’s longer presence as a thriving urban cultural center).

I have never lived as a subject or vassal to a king, so I don’t know what such loyalty and fealty would be, but when I do read or hear about kings like Thirumalai or Queens like Elizabeth (they were near contemporaries), I do have a feeling that the world lacks something so special these days.

Thinking about Kings and Queens and guillotines and knights of yore, I could not really think of a single, living world leader that I would either pledge my life to, nor would really say, “yeah, this one’s really got the full package of a Philosopher King.” It is easy to romanticize the past that was before us, many a historical buff can become dysfunctionally trapped in a world that never existed, and given that the majority of what I learned about the Nayaks comes from a court-executed, Tamil epic of praise, the Shilipaddikaram, one must take such stories with a grain of salt. However, it does give me pause, and sitting there during the show, I did indeed wonder what it would have been like to be living in the glorious renaissance of 16th-17th-century Madurai...

On the Set

This past weekend, having just recovered from the Bus Trip from Hell, I went down to Tirunelveli and Nagercoil for several more shoots for the biography film about Edward Sargent. For the shoot in Nagercoil, Caroline and crew were able to find several more "white" people for the day, and could have possibly been the largest contingency there in quite some time!

I continue to meet many wonderful families and people on the shoot and at the same time learn about Sargent's heritage in the area.

Orphaned at a young age, he was raised in Tamil Nadu as nearly as native had a lifelong affinity for the area, devoting his life to such causes as education (initiating one of the first school for girls in the state), abolishing the caste system, domestic issues, and alcohol awareness within his community. One of the scenes that we shot was his awareness of maintaining Tamil culture in his ministry by incorporating traditional Tamil devotional songs into his services as well, showing the cultural sensitivity that he was praised for throughout the region.

In one of the scenes I (as Sargent) am being honored for 50 years of service, so I was happy that I finally got to wear one of the special flowered, scented garlands from here!

Enjoy.

Lesson Learned

This week I went on a school trip with 96 students and 9 other faculty members to the neighboring state of Kerala, with stops specifically in Kochin and Trivandrum. I had planned to have many pictures and reflections about the trip, however, due to what I can only describe as the worst logistical planning that I have witnessed in an group situation, I don’t have many such experiences to share. In short, the majority of the time was spent either waiting for hours on end in various locations or spent on the bus for seemingly endless movements from place to place. When we actually did get someone, the situation was often so SNAFU that I have been on hyper-alert status for four days with very little sleep, evinced by crashing extremely hard once back in Madurai.

As such, the biggest take home message that I have for myself at this moment is what I learned from the kids. Despite being thrown into situations where we were going on 3 hours or sleep for several nights and more miscues than I care to remember, the final night, on the road back to Madurai from our final stop, Kovalum beach, the kids showed a resilience like I have never seen before. Instead of whining and complaining that we were headed for yet another marathon bus ride in the middle of the night, as they had every right to at that point, they were singing and dancing in the aisle to a Tamil DVD of movie songs. There were many, many things that went wrong, but the worst did not happen. All of the kids returned safely, and that was a godsend, as it is any time you take a group of children on large trips to foreign (they speak Malayalam in Kerala), crowded places. So, from them, I learned that at that moment, it did no good to think about what could have happened worse, but the fact that we were all safe and on the bus and enjoying the moment, so why not join in on the clapping.

India continues to teach me lessons on many levels. Sometimes they are not easy to take, but each time, I realize that again, it is as it should be...

Indian Gothic

Tess and I doing our best American Gothic imitation. 

This past week as my school was having exams, I further took part in the filming of a biopic on Edward Sargent, who was one of the missionaries instrumental in setting up the education system that is widely used in the southern part of Tamil Nadu, where there is a surprising number of Christian Indians. Surprising to me at least as I was not aware of this particular subset of society here.

One of the things that I had to do was to “deliver” a sermon in Tamil to a modest congregation in a small village south of Tirunelveli. I had transliterated the four-page sermon and read it through twice in Tamil and twice in English as the cameras were rolling. Ultimately, the scene will be dubbed over by a native Tamil speaker, by I agreed to read it in Tamil so that it at least would look like my lips might be moving correctly. In addition to the sheer fact that Tamil is EXTREMELY difficult for a non-native speaker to pronounce, I had nearly 100 small children in the congregation as well. But, I pulled through, having nearly lost my voice after the four read throughs.

Well, that didn’t go too poorly, I had thought to myself. Then, later, Handel and I were talking and he told me that he had hyperlexia, which means that he is able to read at phenomenal speeds, but unfortunately does not retain the meaning, something that has obviously caused him much distress throughout his life.

One of the attributes of his condition is that he can pick up a perfect accent. I had wondered about this before him telling me this. Handel’s English is as native as any Englishman I have ever heard, and he has only lived in England for a while. Most Indians have very, very thick accents, so it was something quite noticeable. Apparently, he was speaking like that in two months after being there. I will re-iterate, he never makes a mistake, it is truly remarkable.

Then, he goes on to tell me something that I wish he had not said. In addition to being able to learn accents and languages like that, his Tamil is considered perfect pronunciation and delivery. Now, this wouldn’t mean all that much to me at the time, except for the fact that Handel is the camera man and had to listen to my butchering of the Tamil sermon in his earphones as the altar was mic’d to him.

Take home message of that experience, sometimes it is best not to know certain thing before you try new things. Had I known this about Handel, that would have been much more difficult to pull off. However, Handel is a very gracious person and just laughed at me in good nature when I told him how I felt. So, yet another fun day in India with lots of twists and turns and surprises, both good and challenging.

I also have to commend these kids in the shoot. It took nearly an hour to do the read through and they were incredible. I obviously am not speaking about all Indian children as a whole, but my experience here in Tamil Nadu is that these kids are really some of the sweetest, most well-behaved kids that I have ever been around. Always curious and ready for a big smile, it has been a real joy to be working with them both at the school and on the film set.