My first days in Mumbai

Thursday, July 27 - Friday, July 28, 2006

Anxious for the BIG DAY to finally begin, I awoke quite some time before any of the three alarm clocks I had methodically set the night before had a chance to go off. I showered, packed up my few remaining belongings not yet stuffed in one of my brand new Kenneth Cole suitcases and confirmed my mom was already awake and preparing to accompany me to the airport to see her 38 year old child off to India. I suddenly noticed the tags on the shirt which I was wearing were rubbing against my skin. Having packed all my other clothes, and not wanting to sit on a plane for 20 + hours feeling the irritating scratch of the tags on my neck and side, I decided to rip them out. Oops. Two big holes gaped in the place of the tags. I scrounged around for a needle and thread in my mom’s kit and clumsily repaired the damage just in time to throw the shirt on before my mom’s friend, Jan, pulled up in her SUV. We hurriedly loaded the 150 lbs. of luggage in the vehicle, crammed a couple of carry-ons beside them and off the three of us went to El Paso International Airport at 5:00 AM. We had beaten the sun.

With a bit of assistance from Jan, I somehow got my baggage to the ticket counter where the airline attendant efficiently checked me in and sent all the possessions I would live on for the next month or so – until my shipment arrived – on their merry way. Mom, Jan, and I visited over coffee and a cinnamon roll for about a half hour in the café and then I announced that it was time for me to depart. We said our tearful goodbyes and I climbed the escalator up to the security processing center’s S-line. After weaving back and forth through the barricade, I finally approached the security screening area, took my computer out of its case, removed my shoes, and placed them along with my two carry-ons, my camera bag, my jacket, and a bag of snacks on the conveyor belt not registering that I would have to do this at several more times before arriving in Mumbai. I passed through security after a re-examination of my bag that carried my MP3 player, my external hard drive, my flash drive, a headset, a bunch of computer wires, my cell phone, and a few DVDs. With my computer tucked inside, this carry-on weighed 40 lbs. Thank God for wheeled luggage.

The trip from El Paso to Chicago was uneventful. After disembarking the plane, I sought out the inter-terminal train and hopped on it to get to the international terminal. I quickly found the KLM counter and was happy to see only 2 parties awaiting check-in. My original optimism soon ended, however, when I observed that only 2 attendants were working, and they were taking an inordinate amount of time with their present customers. After about 20 minutes, the couple next in line was called forward. Things looked like they were progressing well when I looked over and saw the man opening up his suitcases and redistributing all his goods. Apparently, they were over the international limit of 70 lbs./piece. I chuckled to myself and reflected on the day before’s careful testing of my own luggage which could only weigh 50 lbs./piece for the domestic portion of the trip. The people before me were called to the second counter and soon, they too were opening up and redistributing their bags. It took another ½ hour before I was called forward. Fortunately, I had no bags to check since I had already checked them in El Paso. I got my boarding pass quickly and was directed to the security area.

I repeated the entire process I had undergone in El Paso at the Chicago security gate. Stupidly, however, I had failed to note that all the eateries were on the outside of the waiting gates so after passing through security, I put my shoes back on, turned around and exited the gate so I could grab something to eat. I selected the fine cuisine of McDs for my last meal in the States knowing I might not get beef for a while. After eating the Big ‘n Tasty, I felt a rock in my stomach and wondered if I had really eaten any part of a cow or simply grease. I was unable to enjoy the “Freedom Fries” that accompanied my American burger, but was sure that whatever awaited me in India had to be more satisfying.

I braved the security one more time and made my way to the waiting area at my gate. I sat down and began reading the newspaper I had picked up when I noticed a incessant, yet erratic beeping emanating from a couple of machines standing at the wall across the room. Two big words scrolled across the screen of each machine: US Visit. Travelers queued up to the machines and, one-by-one, fed slips of paper into them. BEEP, shouted the machine as it spit out the slip of paper. The traveler grabbed the paper and continued on his way. As I was wondering whether I was supposed to participate in this Orwellian activity, the intercom blared, “All foreign nationals, please remember to stamp your visa using the US Visit machines before departing the country. All foreign nationals…” I briefly thought of relocating my seat to a quieter area away from the beeps, but reconsidered after scanning the room for a chair. All chairs were filled—with foreign nationals who had dutifully stamped their precious exit permits. I hear that they will be expanding this program to include US nationals at some point in the future. I can’t wait to receive my own beep of approval.

The layover in Chicago passed quickly and before I knew it, I was once again aboard a plane. I prepared myself for the rather long flight to Amsterdam, book in hand, MP3 player in pocket, and blanket covering me. A few minutes after pulling out of the terminal, to my dismay, I felt the plane slow and reverse and the pilot’s voice announced technical difficulties. We returned to the terminal to fix the electrical problem. Within only fifteen minutes we were on our way again. Fantastic. We headed for the runway. Soon, however, the plane stopped moving. This time the pilot announced that since we got out of line, the wait had become a bit longer for takeoff. It would be another half hour before our turn. We waited some more. Again, the pilot got on intercom. He calmly explained that due to “weather” no planes were taking off at this time. We would simply have to wait. So, we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

We left nearly two hours after our scheduled departure. I had a 2 ½ hour layover in Amsterdam. Would I catch my connection? I had 8 hours to wonder.

We pulled into the gate ½ before the next plane was scheduled to depart. I raced off the plane—after the crush of passengers ahead of me dispersed—and looked frantically for the nearest departure screen listing. It was only meters away. NW Flt 0042, on time. I hurried over to the gate which, luckily, was very close, and discovered a line winding around the corner. Security. Ah.

I peered through the glass into the waiting area and was excited to see two of my new teaching colleagues, B and K just boarding the plane. We waved a quick hello and I signaled them to go on ahead. Who knew how long this would take?

A woman took our passports and boarding passes and questioned each passenger, “Where are you coming from? How long were you in Amsterdam? Are you traveling alone?” I wasn’t sure the man prior to me in line was going to pass the test as he seemed to be of Arabic descent, was flying alone from France, changed planes at the last minute because his original flight was cancelled and carried only one bag. He was directed to a second security person; meanwhile I was directed to a third security person who pretty much asked the same questions as the first woman.

Having passed that portion of the screening, I rushed over to the KLM check-in desk to confirm that my baggage was on its way. Here, I was informed that I had no boarding pass. Apparently the one they issued in Chicago wasn’t considered official. They issued me another boarding pass (same seat) and then kindly told me my bags would probably not make it on the flight since I just checked-in. ARGH! As there was nothing to do about that, I proceeded along to the security which was set up beside the check-in counter. I had forgotten to take my computer out. Everyone—probably the five last passengers yet to board—was extremely pleased to wait while I hurriedly opened my bag and took out my computer, took off my shoes, my money belt (which I had been wearing since Chicago) and shoved my hodgepodge of carry-ons onto the conveyor belt. On the other end of the belt, I reassembled my possessions. I made the flight. YAY!!

I embarked the plane, headed to the back where my seat was, said a quick hello to K and B and, then, the most terrific thing happened. I discovered that the middle 4 seats beside me were EMPTY! Halleluiah! I promptly forgot about my potentially missing baggage, waited for the plane to take-off, and then stretched out on the seats next to me. I quickly fell asleep. Several hours later, I awoke refreshed, but hungry. I got up, walked around a bit, visited the toilet, and then returned to my seat. I noticed the woman beside me eating and inquired whether she, too, had missed supper. She did indeed and so she went to the back to request her meal be served, now. I followed her example. The flight attendant wasn’t thrilled to serve me late, but as she had served other passengers late as well, she acquiesced. I sat down to my first Indian meal; albeit airplane food, but Indian nonetheless. Surprisingly, it was rather tasty: dal, rice, a bit of chicken , a peculiar salad (which I left untouched) and chocolate cake. That certainly would tide me over till morning.

I spent the rest of the flight reading a wonderfully light romance/fantasy/historical fiction, sleeping, and watching parts of a Bollywood film with English subtitles. The plot centered on the love of two women for the same man. It ended with one of the woman committing suicide to prove her love for this man since she understood the other woman would be so much better for him. You might well imagine my love for a film which proselytized the sacrifice of your life for a man who doesn’t want you rather than living the abhorred life of a single woman.

We arrived in Mumbai on time and I was so excited to be there after having waiting for more than 6 months for this moment. After disembarking, I met up with K and B and discovered two more teachers, D and M, who had also been on my flight. My happiness at meeting up with these new teachers was a bit dampened when I learned that several people’s bags had not made the connection, including my own. We were to collect our bags that did make it and then report to the baggage service counter where a NW representative would assist us in tracking our bags. Hrrumph. I hoped fervently that the one bag that made it was one of my new blue Kenneth Cole bags; not the old JC Penney floral patterned bag that merely contained a couple pairs of shoes, a few outfits that didn’t quite fit me, and some underwear.

We five new teachers proceeded to baggage claim, grabbed some carts and headed over to the baggage rotisserie. Out came the bags, circling through the crowd of passengers anxiously scanning the belt for their own belongings. One piece had opened up in-transit. Underwear, cosmetics, and other personal items tumbled out for all to see. I heard a woman calling out to her husband to rescue the luggage before it made its second time around. I soon saw my tattered floral suitcase pass by and uttered a bit of a sigh. My most precious cargo hadn’t made it. I grabbed the one piece that did arrive and made my way over to the service counter. The others assuring me they wouldn’t exit customs without me. Two women, Sunita and Sarika, stood behind the desk patiently explaining the procedures which we forlorn passengers would have to follow to reclaim our bags. Sarika took out folder with various papers and began interviewing me about my bags. She asked for my passport which I had to hand over so that they could copy it; should my bags actually show up, they could be cleared through the customs without me returning to the airport. NW would kindly deliver my bags to my doorstep. I saw the 4 other teachers lurking near the wall. Everyone looked exhausted after flights from the U.S. and anxious to exit and meet up with the administrators who were greeting us outside. Still, they waited for me. It took nearly ½ to complete the paperwork. Just as I thought I had finished what needed to be accomplished, a man instructed me to follow his lead. At this point I told the others to leave me and let the waiting greeters know we had arrived.

I followed the NW representative over to an Indian official who obviously wanted my money. His first question was whether I was single. He inquired whether I had any computer equipment? Any tv or video equipment? Jewelry? He was so persistent I feared he was going to open my luggage and search through it so I revealed that I had some jewelry with me, knowing legally I was allowed up to $425 worth of personal jewelry. I admitted to having a couple hundred dollars worth. He latched on to that topic and asked me why I wasn’t wearing it. He insisted that if I wasn’t wearing it, it was considered dutiable. I quickly responded that I would have been wearing it had it not been for the fact that I had to go through security so many times between the USA and here. Every time I put it on, the security went off, so I finally took it off. He wasn’t going to let me off with that, sure that he could get some money off of me. And I would have gladly given him some at this point had I had any time to convert my US $ into rupees before arrival. Just as I had given up hope of ever leaving the airport, M showed up. Thankfully, he had decided to wait for me. As soon as the official saw him, he directed me to the X-ray machine. I threw my bags onto it, picked them up on the other side, and hurried away, tipping only the man from NW who had stayed with me throughout this ordeal. I had arrived in Mumbai.

It was raining out, but it hardly mattered. The principals and the assistant were waiting outside for us all. They must have been waiting for a couple of hours! Still, they were so welcoming and as excited to see us as we were to see them. K, B, and I piled into the ES principal’s car and his driver made his way to our apartment, about ½ hour drive away. Each apartment was filled with furniture, appliances, dishes, and more. Our refrigerators were filled with basics along with water, milk, beer, and wine. Our cabinets contained chips, crackers, soup, tea, and coffee. A bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine were arranged prettily on our dining room table. On our living room table, maps of Mumbai, reviews of places to shop and eat, and tons of visiting cards were strewn. Amazing!

It was nearly 2:30 AM, but the ES Principal settled us into our apartments, distributed cell phones to us since our landlines weren’t ready yet, and made sure we knew how to operate all our appliances, lights, etc. in each of our apartments before he bade goodnight.. Wow, what a welcome!

Saturday, July 29

I began my day by spending some time over at K’s (my next door neighbor) who invited B and I over for coffee (mmm, Instant!) and toast. I had met both K and B during my visit to California earlier this summer and we immediately hit it off. Sitting around K’s dining room table, chatting about how eagerly we awaited the coming week of orientation and excited we were to begin our new lives here in Mumbai, we all were quite animated considering we only slept a few hours and were very jetlagged.

Soon, we received a phone call from the elementary principal. His wife, J, was heading out for some shopping. Would we like to join her? Not knowing when I would next see my luggage—if ever—I immediately said yes. The others also wanted to explore Mumbai’s shopping scene. A couple of hours later, we were with J in her car, her driver, Rashid, escorting us through the streets of Bandra. Coming from New Mexico, I should have perhaps been overwhelmed by the multitudes of traffic, people, and shops clustered one on top of each other along the narrow and decrepit sidewalks. Yet, my experience living in Jakarta prepared me for much worse. Instead, I was amazed at the wide streets, the smooth traffic (yes, there was slowing, but not complete standstills), the amount of sidewalks able to be traversed by foot, and the diversity of shops and the goods available. I thought smokers and exhaust would pollute the streets, yet I rarely smell smoke and haven’t yet detected clove. The exhaust is there, but nothing like I had anticipated. Further, trees line every street and neighborhood; the brilliant greenery balancing the dirty browns and grays of the roads and buildings.

J’s tour began at Tresore, a house furnishing shop filled with dishes, linens, and other beautiful household goods. We visited supermarkets which were not supersized, but were stocked with an adequate variety of foodstuffs, kitchenware, and cosmetics, and also visited a pharmacy where K was able to purchase “de-mineralized” water, hoping that meant distilled. At each stop, we were sure to ask for their visiting card (i.e., business card) so that we would know where to return in the future. Otherwise, one store’s facade looks identical to the next store’s and we would never find our way. I was able to find lady’s razors, my usual shampoo and conditioner, and even boxed cereal. B was excited to find her favorite British candy bar only to find when she got home that it had probably sat on the shelf for over a year before purchase. Yuck. Guess you have to be selective on your purchases here because you never know the quality.

We must have spent about 4 hours on tour with J who was a superb guide and gave us very helpful tips on how to live and shop in Mumbai. Then, we returned to our flats, washed up and headed out to meet the rest of the new teachers and administrators at China White restaurant. The décor complemented the name with everything in white: walls, table cloths, napkins, etc. Our group sat down at a very long table and the waiters began bringing us food, being sure to announce whether it was veg or non-veg. The ample veg opportunities here makes me extremely conscious of America’s preoccupation with the biggest, meatiest meal ever in contrast. The appetizers continued coming out for about an hour. Soon, I began to think that they must certainly be the main meal. But, no. After stuffing ourselves with dumplings, bite-sized chicken, mushrooms, and other delicious temptations, the main dishes were served: an excellent combination of Chinese and Indian dishes. We finished the main meal, and then the deserts arrived. So many to choose from, but I had no more room! I nibbled at a date pastry. All finished. But, no! The Chinese tea was served and to finish it all off, round doughy balls which were sprinkled with sesame seeds followed. Fortunately, these were light and airy and completed the decadent meal perfectly.

After the long day of shopping and eating, I gladly went home and fell into bed. I was asleep within minutes.

Sunday, July 30

Today we began the day in B’s flat drinking coffee and eating the croissants which were part of our welcoming package left in each of our refrigerators. We visited for a while until we departed for Phoenix Mills shopping center. We actually explored a home furnishing store called Good Earth set off of the main street behind the mall first. Good Earth offered exquisite dishes, a fine selection of candles, furniture and pillow cases and other linen. It was quite pricey though and I felt I would be better able to judge it worth after living here for a few months. We then headed over to the shopping center which is nothing like what Americans think of as a shopping center. Many stores in the center did, indeed, share a common wall, but you couldn’t walk from one store into the next without first returning to the outside, climbing down stairs, walking into to the street and climbing more stairs. Several of us headed into the Big Bazaar which had several floors jam-packed with all sorts of “Target-like” goods. I bought a couple of pots to tide me over till my shipment arrived, a bucket, plastic wrap and aluminum foil, and incense. I examined the irons, and saw a cordless one which looked really neat, but couldn’t make up my mind whether it was a good deal or not, so ended up not buying any iron at all. I would have clean, but wrinkled clothing for at least another week. I reached the cooking oil section where a salesperson animatedly told me all about the healthful product, Saffola Gold, a mixture of Saffola seed oil and rice oil. I couldn’t refuse her and had no inkling of what to buy anyway, so I took a bottle. She then asked me for my name and phone number. Apparently she worked for Saffola! I told her I had no idea what my phone number was since I had only been in the country for one day. She was a bit disappointed.

Along with Big Bazaar, we visited a coffee shop where I got a cup of weak Americana, and eventually wound up at Lifestyles, which doesn’t sell condoms though the name might lead you to believe so. A café sits on the top floor, so while a few teachers gathered up wooden hangers, bath mats, and other assorted goods, a small group of us sat at a table in the café, drank, and ate, and conversed.

We spent a few hours at the shopping center which had tired K out, but B and I wanted to explore Mumbai a bit more. We decided to meet up with Lisa and M who live several blocks north of us and go out to dinner. Thus, we arranged to take a rickshaw. To prepare, we asked Lisa for directions. Having been in the city for less than 24 hours, she had no idea where she lived. She did, nonetheless, know her address. So, we tried to find it on a map. Another teacher’s friend tried to give us directions, but it turned out those were a bit off the mark. So, B and I climbed aboard a rickshaw, map in hand and through trial and error, knowing no Hindi, somehow arrived at Lisa’s flat after circling her block about 5 times. It was hilarious, and exhilarating. A great experience! M had somehow found her apartment as well and was there when we arrived. After being greeted by Shakespeare, her dog, and getting a grand tour of her flat (and finding out that her apartment was much bigger than ours, had two balconies—one overlooking a park, and a tv already set up), we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood and seek out dinner. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was an Italian one on Pali Road. We all ate pasta and finished up with Chocolate Mousse for dessert. We wandered around the streets for a long while after dinner. We stopped into a stall to buy matches (I had bought incense but had no way to light it) and after paying a couple of rupees for several boxes asked how to say matches in Hindi. We were told “match-es” or “matchbox”—gee, that is a hard one. We continued over to the ocean and wandered south down the beach side walkway, eventually turning back toward M’s flat. We went up to check his place out which was spacious, but I decided I did quite like my own place after all. We were all quite tired out by then, so B and I squashed back into a rickshaw and headed home. After just one or two jogs around our block, we finally recognized our street and alighted from our second rickshaw successfully. We were now truly Mumbaikars.

Monday, July 31

I stuck close to home this morning since I finally got word that my luggage had been tracked and would be arriving this morning. I invited B and K over and cooked up some French toast to accompany our instant Nescafe. I thought I should use the bread and eggs provided to us as a welcome before they spoiled and I wanted to test out the Saffola oil, which turned out to be not half bad. I received a phone call from NW rep informing me that my luggage was on its way and getting directions to my place. One thing about giving directions here, street addresses are not sufficient. You must give the name of landmarks nearby; for example, a nearby hospital or church. I was told my luggage would arrive in twenty minutes. Two hours later, when I was beginning to think I would never see my bags again, the two pieces arrived, cellophane wrapped with a plastic tab securing the zippers so it could not be opened by anyone other than myself. Thus, my brand new bags arrived in just as good condition as when I last saw them. I did the happy dance, gave the airport driver a tip, and began unpacking.

M came down to check out our flats (we were all into comparing others’ places with our own) and then B, K, M and I took a walk around the town. We walked south from our flat along the ocean front to the Old Fort ruins which overlook the ocean and the building of the bridge between Bandra and Mumbai proper. Once the bridge is built, getting downtown is predicted to take ½ the time it does now. I was amazed to see scattered throughout the grounds of the ruins, young Indian lovers sat together; some holding hands, others wrapped in each others’ arms. There is a lot more display of public affection here than I anticipated. While I don’t see many women walking alone here in Mumbai, all down the sidewalk by the ocean, romantic couples meet. Our group, however, was attentively led by an employee of the fort who met us as we entered, insisted on staying with us as we walked around and sat on the ledge to view the ocean, and finally departed at the end when we gave him a few rupees tip (which he protested was not enough until M repeated that we lived in Mumbai and would return to the fort again).

The Old Fort sits beside one of the nicest 5 star hotels in town, The Taj. Later that day, on our way to dinner, we would be picking up a fellow teacher who is staying there until her flat is ready and we would witness a famous Bollywood star emerging from the front of the hotel to get into her car. I have no idea who this woman is, but the bus driver pointed her out to us by saying she played supporting roles in dozens of Bollywood films.

After exploring the Old Fort, we wandered up north along the winding roads to Hill St., just a block or so from my flat. There we found an Internet café run by a woman, Neesha, who used to live in Atlanta, Georgia. We checked our e-mail, wrote some quick notes home, and then sought out a place to lunch. Neesha recommended Gazebo just down the street. M couldn’t stay, but B, K, and I enjoyed are first authentic Indian meal there. The menu listed Indian and Chinese food, but I didn’t even look at the Chinese selections. I ordered chicken tikka masala, yellow dal, and paratha. The meal began with the pampadom? (appetizer of pickled foods and flat, crispy bread). . B and K ordered milder dishes, but we all enjoyed our food. Except for the TV which was playing over our heads, the atmosphere was lovely. At one point I made the stupid mistake of asking the waiter who the man on TV was and before I knew it 5 people came up front from the back, stood around the remote control and began changing channels, certain that I had complained about the program currently showing. How embarrassing.

After lunch we got the brave idea to explore our shopping options via rickshaw since K hadn’t been in one before. So we climbed into a rickshaw and headed to Linking Road where we had been a couple days ago with J. Unfortunately, none of us could remember where we had gotten out then so we stopped the rickshaw in a very hard to negotiate part of the road. We stubbornly pecked our walk along the sidewalk until we decided unanimously to take a chance and turn right off the main road. K wanted to find Fab India, a store which sold cloth for upholstery and other linens. We had absolutely no idea how to get there by this time. I was thoroughly enjoying the hubbub around me, but I could tell B and K were overwhelmed with the busy streets, cracked and littered sidewalks, and the general disarray surrounding them. Just when I was sure they were going to throw in the towel, we stumbled upon Fab India by complete chance. The expat community is quite small and tends to gravitate to the same locations. So, when we entered the store and bumped into D, Amy, Lisa, and Madeline, it wasn’t a huge surprise. I wasn’t ready to buy anything for my flat yet so I just had a cursory look around thinking I’ll come back later.

We left Fab India and continued walking. I saw a stationery store and popped in to look around. It was a very small store and it didn’t have what I wanted. As I was leaving, a man stepped beside me and asked me, “Excuse me, may I talk to you?” I said yes and he proceeded to say that he hadn’t seen us in his store before, but that was okay and he would welcome us back. The way he said this was so peculiar to me that I got a bit freaked out by him. I thought perhaps he was really saying the opposite. Only later, after checking with other teachers, did I find out that often if an expat goes into these smaller stores the proprietor will go out his way to welcome them because they know we will bring them good business.

We finished our shopping day on Pali Road. B bought an iron and I bought a dish rack. I have to go back there and get an iron. I am tired of wearing wrinkled clothes.

We came home and I took a shower before heading out for dinner. The Secondary School teachers were going to Barbeque Nation while the Elementary teachers were going to Out of the Blue. While being served scewers of meat, fish, and veggies on a grill at our table, I conversed with both some returning teachers and new teachers: Wen, the crazy French teacher, Inder, a P.E. teacher from Rajastan via Hyderabad, and Nikolai, a French teacher. We ate until we were stuffed. Then, we learned there was an accompanying open buffet. LMAO!

Tuesday, August 1 through Friday, August 6, 2006

The first week at school was exhilarating, overwhelming, and comforting. The campus is housed in a beautiful multi-storied building with stairs leading up to the front elementary entrance as well as to the first story (second story in America) terrace where the cafeteria, library, and school-wide administrative offices are located. Most middle school classes are on the second story (third story USA) and the remaining floors are dedicated to high school. I wish I knew what my classroom—I mean, classrooms—would look like, but my ESL classroom is still being built, and I am sharing a room with an English teacher and a Band teacher for my drama classes. If ESL doesn’t fill up, I may even be doing some teaching alongside the yearbook teacher. The ESL classroom is basically an alcove off of the library. It might fit 5 people comfortably. I think I have 12 students in one of my classes—hah! I do like all the angles in the room and window overlooking Mumbai’s horizon. They just added another window facing into the library upon my teaching partner’s, Rochan’s, insistence so that we don’t feel quite so claustrophobic. There is also room for two teacher’s working spaces which will be mine and Rochan’s. Unfortunately, the classroom portion always will be occupied on my lesson planning periods so that if I want to concentrate I better plan on bringing in my noise reduction headphones. I have no idea what the syllabi of any of the classes is either. With one week to go before classes begin, I am alternating between freaking out and laughing. Fortunately, all the new teachers seem on verge of hysteria when it comes to dealing with the first week of school. Compared to the others I am dealing with the uncertainty quite calmly.

Each of the teachers has been issued their own tablet PC on which we are required to keep track of all our appointments via Outlook Calendar, notify students of their homework via Outlook Tasks, and regularly check our e-mail. We keep track of all our students’ grades via computer and use another software program to review curricula and edit it—overwhelming even for computer savvy me. Thus, much of our first week of orientation centered on Technology Orientation. By the end of the week, we were learning how to use our stylus to actually write on the computer tablet so that we could edit our students’ work completely electronically. Each of our classrooms (well, I’m not sure my cubby hole will) has a built in overhead wireless projector that will project the teacher’s computer screen. Nonetheless, we have been assured that this is not a paperless school. Paper DOES exist, and we have the privilege of using it as desired.

Though we were extremely busy during the day at school, we still fit in entertainment at night. One night we hosted a delegation of teachers from the US at the Hyatt where Michael Owens, the Chief Minister of the US Consulate of Mumbai spoke. Another night we ate dinner at a chic restaurant called Zenzi’s. Friday we left school in the early afternoon so to be shuttled off to HyperCity mall where we shopped at a sprawling department store that would put Target to shame. This weekend some of us elected to tour downtown Mumbai. We didn’t get to see many historic highlights since the monsoon poured rain on us all day, but we glimpsed some amazing Victorian architecture on our way to yet another shopping extravaganza. I managed to shell out a couple hundred bucks on two gorgeous pieces of intricately carved teak furniture: a corner shelving unit and a 4-panel divider—both will be delivered to my home tomorrow night. No more furniture shopping for me until I actually earn a paycheck! We had high hopes of getting to the electronics store today, but we were instead treated to a full-fledged Mumbai rain. I headed out to pick up the bus and discovered knee-deep water covering my street. By about 3 pm, surprisingly, the water had drained even though the rain continued to pour down. B and I decided to brave the monsoon and go to the market to buy some kitchen supplies and an iron. I am beginning to feel like a true Mumbaikar now that I’ve navigated the roads/sidewalks through puddles, carefully passing other street walkers without jabbing them with my umbrella (yes, I did break down and buy one of those this week!).