My Lovely Daily Life


     “Ritu, ut!” My host mom hollers up the stairs to wake my sleeping sister, Ritika.
     “Patz minita Mommy, please!” Ritu groggily shouts, pleading for five more minutes.
     “Nahi Beta, sahaa vasta ahe.” My mom says, meaning “No dear, it’s six o’clock.”
     My sister grumpily clambers over me on her way out of the bed we share, kneeing me in the process. Although I theoretically can sleep for another half hour, I don’t. Ritu always says “oops sorry to wake you” but I know she did it purposefully because she doesn’t want to suffer the early morning alone. 
     We dress in our school uniforms, mine is a baby blue striped kurta and scarf. I attend KTHM College which on of the oldest schools in the city, hence our traditional uniform. Ritu and I do eachothers eyeliner because we’re both too tired to do our own. I braid her hair and she tells me which earrings to wear. When it comes to cooking, clothes, and braiding hair I’m the big sister, but often the rolls are switched. She’s only 13, but she helps me with my homework, and always orders my food because I’m shy about speaking Marathi. We take care of eachother. I adore our morning routine together. 
     Ritu and I go down to the kitchen where our mom has been since 5:30 making fresh chapati and vegetables for all of our lunchboxes. In the four and a half months I have been here she has never made the same vegetable recipe twice. Everything she makes is incredible. She’s slowly passing her knowledge on to me. I make chai and drink it with my family. 
     We are a family of five. My father is a smily, always enthusiastically, and almost bald man. He works in the education department of the Indian government. He seems to know everyone in the city and is always doing things to make others happy. He often spouts facts about geography or the Indian constitution. My mother is a sweetheart with a firy temper and a very loud, contagious laugh. She is also a government worker. She is a leader in the department of “Women’s and Children’s Development” which I think makes her a total badass. She is in charge of ten preschools for underprivileged children. She spends her days in slum areas singing with young kids, assisting pregnant women,  and giving out sanitary pads. She is always singing and dancing, but is not a women to mess with. Next is my 13 year old sister Ritika, called Ritu. She is a genius. She is second in her class and hopes to be a doctor when she grows up. She fluently speaks a Marathi, Hindi, and English. She also plays harmonium which is an instrument of Indian classical music, and plays on her school’s football team. She is goofy, witty, and super talented. I also have a little brother Samyak. He is nine years old but smaller and sweeter than any other nine year old boys I’ve ever met. He likes math but hates studying. Not that he needs to study though, is brain is like a sponge. One night I showed my family the ASL alphabet and he memorized it ten minutes later. Even after two months he still often signs “Hi Lou Didi” or “Goodnight” to me. He loves drawing and playing any game. And then there’s me. I love my family with all my heart, we perfectly fit together. I easily call my host parents “Mommy” and “Papa.” They call me “Beta” which is a term of endearment meaning “my child.” Samyak and Ritu call me “Lou Didi” which means big sister. I feel awed and so lucky that out of all the countries in the world, all the cities in this county, and all the families in this city, I found these people and they found me. The Gaikwad’s are truly my family.
     We drink tea together. My papa and mommy are on a diet and had given up chai completely. That is until I arrived. Now we drink chai daily because I love it. They say I make the best chai, and it’s so good that they can not resist it. I know they do it just to make me happy. I know they don’t really love my chai that much, they just love any opportunity to compliment me and call me smart. My parents are always bragging about us kids. I think it’s half because they are proud of us and half because they want to impress the neighbors.
     After chai, Ritu and I kiss our mom on the cheek  and leave for the day. Her schoolbus picks her up right from the door. I on the other hand have a long commute ahead, which is why I know the city better than she does by now. I walk to the street corner where I hail a rickshaw. A rickshaw is like an Indian taxi. It is a small, three wheeled vehicle with no walls, just a metal skeleton with rubbery-tarpy fabric stretched over it making something resembling a roof. I sit, perched half in half out of the rickshaw, that I am sharing with 6-9 other passengers. The space is limited to put it delicately, the Hindi music is ear splitting, and there are plastic bottles filled with extra petroleum all over the place. I absolutely love the thrill that rickshaws bring to something as mundane as driving to school. We zoom the steeets crowded with fruit vendors, cows, motorcycles, and fellow rickshaws. The whole ordeal includes a considerable amount of honking.
     After a 20 minute ride I reach my destination: Ravivar Karanja, RK for short. I pass the driver 20 rupees, look both ways, breathe deeply, and rush across the street because if I wait for the road to be completely safe and empty then I will miss my entire school day. RK is the center of Nashik’s old city. It is one of my favorite places in the city, so full of life and colors. Vehicles off all sorts fly through the maze made of people, food stands, and vendors sitting with their goods.
      Next, I walk for 15 minutes up Gangapur Road. This road buzzes with college students rushing to class. Stretching in all directions are kids in their various college uniforms, resembling schools of fish.
      I arrive at KTHM College and walk through the red gate, after security inspects my identification card. KTHM has a large campus with at least five separate buildings. It is located on the bank of the Godavari River and has a lovely amount of foliage. I walk across the green to my building “Annex One.” Here, in room 313, I spend my day. I sit hip to hip with a classmate, bumping elbows as we frantically take notes. I study math, physics, chemistry, geography, English, and French. I decided I couldn’t take six days a week of full science so I elected to join boat club and music classes. I spend two hours of each day rowing in the river or singing Indian traditional music. At two pm I leave college, as my peers continue to study for two more hours.
     From three to four I volunteer at a school for young deaf children. I play football with them or make art, or simply sit with them as they teach me Hindi sign language. It is always an incredible part of my day. These  kids have such big hearts and goofy personalities, it is just so much fun to play with them.
     At 5 I take tution of the Marathi language. I sit on the floor of the tutors apartment with  seven kids much younger than I am. I complete my assignments with the help of the kids looking over my shoulder saying “nahi didi” and fixing my mistake.
     After tution I walk home. On the way I often get swept up into a football or cricket game. I and the neighborhood kids play until it gets dark. At this point I have only been playing for about 15 minutes and am exhausted. They, on the other hand were playing all through the last hour and wish to continue. It takes all of my big sister authority to get Samyak home.
     Ritu, Samyak, and I join my parents in the living room. We chat about our days until Samyak gets bored and begs me to play with him. I taught him and Ritu every card game I know. We three play until one of them accuses the other of cheating and the game falls apart.
      My mom and I make dinner, which really means that my mom makes dinner and I watch. I chop veggies, make chapati, and anything else she’ll let me handle.
     My family and I all sit together cross legged on the floor and eat rice with our hands. It took my at least two months to feel as if I had mastered the etiquette of hand eating. It took me even longer to master the art of gracefully eating spicy food. To say that the food is incredible is an understatement.
     After eating the evening is far from over.  My siblings and I play hide and seek. My grandma gives us all rigorous coconut oil head massages. Sometimes we even sing and dance just for fun.  Almost every night we sit and watch a hindi soap opera together. My Papa pretends to be reading the newspaper but it sneakily watching. Samyak talks the whole time and Ritu throws pillows at him to silence him. My mom sits, fully focused on the show, often with tears in her eyes. I just sit, understanding almost nothing. I laugh when they laugh and I hold my mom’s hand when she cries.
     Ritu and I are always the last to go upstairs. We sit downstairs and do the homework we should have done already. By the time we finish our homework, the entire house is alseep so we shut the light off and walked upstairs to our room. We lay beside eachother whispering and stifling our laughs.   Eventually we are both exhausted and turn over to sleep. We groans thinking about waking up tomorrow, but I know I’m actually excited to do so.
     Every day with my family and in this city is a day where I see something new and I do things that make me happy. It’s an incredible life that I get to live here in india this year.
     

Comments

  1. I read your latest addition during my Spanish test and what you said about your relationship with your sister made me happier, so cute!! I miss you love, I’m glad you’re doing well ❤️❤️❤️

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  2. Wow keep it up my bestie lou 😘😘😘😘

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