Arriving in Kadod

Dear dedicated reader,

The last few days have been full of a familiar strangeness that I just can’t seem to shake.

Looking down on Mumbai from the night sky and seeing the lights of the city from my window seat on the plane, I couldn’t help but think that from above, at night, it looked like any other city. I could be landing anywhere in the US.

Coming out of the airport into the pouring monsoon rain with literally hundreds of people around me, though, was enough to know I was India. I was squinting to see if I could locate the person I’d been told would meet me. Sure enough, I saw a sign for “Ms. Cat from Newark Flight 0034” typed and printed neatly. The man holding the sign smiled at me and signaled for me to come meet him around the edge of the barrier separating hundreds of relatives, taxi drivers and porters from those arriving.

Raj’s uncle, Jagdish, could not have been nicer to me. The car ride to his house was pleasant – I was exhausted and therefore didn’t say much. As I looked out the window, I was reminded of how I’d been told that I’d remember the smell of India before I really realized I was there. It was completely true.

When we arrived at the house at 1 am, I was told that I should be up at 5 am because I’d be taking the 7 am train to Surat, where I would meet Priya, one of the summer interns, who was getting on the train at Bombay Central.

The feeling of familiar strangeness persisted as I woke up and went to take my first shower in India. The many knobs, buckets, small water canisters and shower curtain over the toilet instead of the shower actually made me laugh, despite my blurry eyed state. I knew I knew how to use this, but remembering was like cleaning the rust off of my bike.

This feeling followed me as we arrived at the train station and Jagdish began arguing with one of the familiarly dressed in red porters that immediately swooped in to carry my luggage, loading my large suitcase onto the crown of his head and then adding atop it my small one. As I walked through the station to the appropriate platform, that feeling of conspicuous whiteness suddenly returned to me. I hadn’t felt it since I’d been in India last. Even if no one speaks to me, I know I am a curiosity.

When we arrived at Surat after a pleasantly air-conditioned train ride, I was an inconvenience to just about everyone around me as I reached over a well dressed Muslim family to get my bags down from the very high luggage rack. Immediately after getting down on to the platform, we were found by the two men who’d come to meet us to take us to Kadod. “You are Kate??” They said, anxiously. “Where is Priya?” They were not the only ones to find me. Spotting me practically from across the platform, some small children came to ask me for bakshish, following us all the way to the car until one of the men sent to meet us shooed them away.

During the car ride to Kadod, one of the men in the front introduced himself as “Mr. Gamit”. “My first name is too difficult to pronounce,” he declared, “So you will call me Mr. Gamit.” He was an older gentlemen who, he explained to us proudly, was due to retire from his position at the school teaching English in October. I asked him a few questions about the school, to which I received rambling only semi-relevant replies. My accent must be very difficult to understand, or I worry for the English program at the high school.

On the ride, we passed through Bardoli, a town about 15 km from Kadod. I was informed that located there is the biggest sugar factory in Asia. If anyone were to come visit, they would probably stay in Bardoli. It looked very pleasant and I’ll be excited to visit there on the weekends.

Arriving in Kadod, we were ushered ceremonially into our guesthouse inside the gates of the high school. Mr. Gamit showed us our sitting room, our lovely dining room and lastly our bedroom. I couldn’t help but notice that there were only three beds in the house. I took note as a question for later. We were instructed on how to use the fans and lights, and then also shown where we could find the shower and toilet, which are attached to the house, but accessible only by going outside the backdoor and entering from that way. We were told that the principal would be by to see us later, but currently he was away on important business in Bardoli.

We were also introduced to the maid/cook, Lartha, who again took us through the house, showing us our three rooms, this time explaining to Priya in Gujarati what the purpose of the rooms was. On learning that Priya does not, in fact, speak Gujarati, she switched to a mix of Gujarati and Hindi that I had a hard time understanding. She is very friendly and also remarkably beautiful, as Priya and I have commented to each other again and again over the past few days.

Mr. Gamit came to ask us if we wanted a tour of the school, which we agreed to. We got as far as the main office, the principal’s office, and the gents staff room before we were waylaid by another older gentlemen, an English and History teacher at the school, who took us back to our guesthouse and insisted on showing us our accommodations, carefully explaining where we were to sit (the sitting room), where we were to dine (the dining room) and where we were to put our personal things (the bedroom). Any questions, we were instructed, were to be put to Vikram, a boy who came with us who I guess works for the school.

After Mr. Gamit and friend took leave of us, Vikram felt it was very important to show us once more each of the rooms in our house. His tour did have some value add, as he speaks very good Hindi and he showed us how to get into the almari/wardrobe and gave us the keys to do so.

Later, as we were sitting on the porch reading, the principal came by. When he first came up the steps of the house, he introduced himself in such an unassuming way that it took my brain a moment to register who exactly he was saying he was. He took us inside our house and it was all Priya and I could do not to laugh as he began to explain that this was our sitting room and we could sit here and enjoy ourselves, etc. He took us through the whole house, making sure that the accommodations were adequate.

By 4 in the afternoon, Priya and I were completely worn out. We had made a few discoveries, such as the internet would not be working until at least Tuesday, that our cell phones were not ready and would not be for at least a week, and that the phone lines were down and that I could not call the US until tomorrow. I fell asleep at 4 pm, not to wake up until the next day.

I would write about all of our adventures on Sunday, as there were many, but this letter in itself is already of overwhelming length, so I will save those accounts for another, dear reader.

Best,
Cat