What the Autobahn said to the Indian Highway: A Story of Next-to-Pakistan-and-Bangladesh continued

Readers, readers, please be still! I have promised you the tale of Bratwurst, Sauerkraut and Smorebro, and I will not fall short on my promises, not once, not ever! As you can tell I'm also busy devouring the fifth book of Game of Thrones instead of consuming the Booker-prize winners I told myself I'd be doing whilst out of school... Oh well.



Where were we... That's right, time had stood still, and to be fair the story hadn't really begun, since I technically haven't even described my descent upon India in the fiery beast that was Qatar Airways (and my walk of shame in Doha airport covered from head to toes in loose clothing yet still feeling like a promiscuous Western wench) because it is irrelevant! I get ahead of myself and then stumble when I go backwards.

Either way, I'll plow on. We--Sauerkraut the Saucy, Bratwurst the Brawny and Smorebro the Sun-Kissed Goddess of the Northern Lands, Ruler of Scandinavia and... eh, well--WE, the Golden Girls of Germanic-Nordic Gallafalidaldi we're in Mammalapuram outside the Dusty City that is Chennai, also known as Madras to those of us with a colonial inclination (and boy did it feel strange to see British travelers in India, "surveying their former colonies," as I think the Brawny one put it).



One quick recap from Mammalapuram, also called Mahabalipuram (does that sound more familiar? I thought so...), as I can hear your parched throats scream at me in unison: BUT DID YOU EAT KRISHNA'S BUTTER BALL?

Well, since you ask:

Yes, I did, and I did it with pride and a great appetite.

BUT WE CONTINUE ON THE PATH! For where did the windy road that actually isn't so windy but Indian drivers are reckless and make it so? India, oh India, the land where any three-file autobahn will feel like the Karakoram Highway snaking through the Khunjerab Pass (highest in the world as highways go, and my fellow travelers, if you want to take me there I will NOT SAY NO), you are a beauty disguised in the beatings of my heart as I actually feel safer keeping my eyes off the road than on.

I digress, for we moved on after having divulged in caste politics (non-PC) in Madras Cricket Club and shopped on other people's money (actually that was just me). A government museum was also visited, and you may not believe it, but they have a prize-worthy collection of holographic images. Whatever that conjures up in your mind, the reality is much, much stranger, I can assure you.

A sneak peek on the next legs of the road:

Will Sauerkraut buy the Reclining Ganesh WITH A LAPTOP for her Honorable Mother?

Will Smorebro get her tongue unstuck from the devious water bottles sold to trap tourists in Chennai airport?

And has Bratwurst turned into a boat on which her friends continue the journey through Kerala, the place where minimum wage competes with dosa as the peoples' favorite dish?

STAY TUNED FOR MORE!

Images are either private or (in the case of those juicy-juicy portraits of The Three Thistly Tarantulas) they are taken from here, here, and here.

India Part One: where Sauerkraut, Bratwurst and Smorebro are briefly alluded to; Lime Water is Observed in Colonial Fashion (through bars); thirty-two eight graders do everything in unison; and a flabbergasted sculpin is discovered at the bottom of a drawer.

I've been thinking if I should write about India. I mean, I WANT TO and I also promised to (myself, my sense of reflection and justice to the past, propriety of memories and processing etc.), but somehow all I can seem to think about these days are 12-15 year olds. And yup, that sounds REALLY CREEPY but it honestly isn't.

Then I thought, HEY, why don't I just make a CARTOON about India? So, you know, keep up with it. Might just hit you in the face one day as you read my blog as part of your daily morning ritual.

Then I thought, what if I just write about fun stories from work and school today? Then that actually violates my contract. So no fun in that corner.

But INDIA, land of A Thousand Spices and Lots of Sad Books About Childhood and Family that's all Westerners ever know about Indian Literature (God of Small Things, A Fine Balance, Family Affairs: let me spoil them for you, they are all depressing as something flabbergastingly depressing!
OR Amitav Ghosh who writes well about colonial-era India and Hong Kong (spoiler alert: Hong Kong becomes a British colony, hur hur), but unfortunately in books that are so big that reading them feels either pretentious or slick, like I'm carrying around 50 Shades (yes, I have weird shame connected to books sometimes).

This first Johanne's version of Kim or Passage to India or Other Colonial Literature I've Never READ But Still Have An Opinion Of will be quite BRIEF yet as always amusing and diverting and informing you, Internet, what the deepest recesses of my mind ponder as thirty-two eight graders all scream in union whilst I just sit there and stare into space, oblivious of The World And All That's In It.

So consider this an India pre-facial! Above you can see my thirst for knowledge being quenched (geddit?) by this curious contraption and/or custom observed in the jolly town of MAMMALAPURAM (say it really fast. Now imagine thirty-two eight graders all screaming this in union again and again and again and again. This is my life now.).
Before you ask in the comment section below that is HEAVILY USED (no seriously, please don't comment any more. I can't handle it. It's too much. I'm drowning. To understand how I feel, imagine thirty-two eight graders simultaneously commenting with intelligent yet funny yet profound comments on your post-graduation-angst-filled blog), YES THIS IS LEMON WATER.

It is a LEMON IN WATER, and I didn't understand, so naturally (being a jerk tourist), I took a photo.

I've seen that I've already spent my writing today... By that I don't mean that I've spent myself, because I can literally write about nothing all day, but attention span of millennials, and so on, so I'll leave you with this Picturesque Scene of Arjuna's Penance (right?) and me in front indulging in what is obviously both an intellectual AND culturally and historically informed argument with fellow travelers. You can tell because my mouth is half-open.

More on India and The Journeys of Sauerkraut, Bratwurst and Smorebro to come! (Wait, who are these?, you ask, New characters? A total cast of Characters, you say? Yes yes, but wait for it! They will be duly, and anonymously introduced, though I have to get better in Photoshop/Paint before this operation commences.)

Back to the eight graders.

All photos belong to Sauerkraut, Bratwurst and Smorebro Corporation Ltd. Exc. NGO CEO, please do not use without AYCSPLICIT consent from the licencees which will only be provided in SPAM.

DEMONS (as inspired by the luscious Lynda Berry), or REASONS NOT TO WORK ON ART, or, LIES I TELL MYSELF

I've also realized more people read my blog when I put an unflattering picture on top... Social experiment, commence! 

"I have other things to do anyways! Like picking up my glasses, buying new trainers, i.e. spending money on stuff I probably shouldn't be spending them on while trying to make it as an artist."

"I need to walk my dog. I need to walk my dog thirteen times a day."

"Well, won't get a sixpack by sitting down and working on art! Besides, sitting still is unhealthy. Thirty minutes, way too much."

"Kind of hungry. Could do with a tea break. To think. And be inspired. Leafs in the cup... reminisce... A haiku, maybe?"

"Yes, I will cover all the math classes until the end of the semester. Yes, I'm "good" at math!"

"I need to be of use in society and repay my debts to the world. Let’s to presentations about UWC in every single tenth and eleventh grade in the nearby high schools! All separate. that makes about fourteen classes. Bo problem. Let’s also make individual presentations for each class, AND buy them presents! More shopping!"

"I need some other training apart from workouts and walking the dog and biking around. Should probably start a new martial art… It’s only like i’ll do it once a week..."

"My neck hurts. I’ll do 90 minutes of yoga. That should help. Need to stick in 40 minutes of shavasana too..."

"Now i’m hungry. Maybe I'll bake my own bread. Also, can’t concentrate while it rises… Oh, there’s A Dance With Dragons!"

Bizarro.

photo by me.

I don't know what I expected teaching would be like, but certainly not this. I did not expect qualms after every class and a thousand questions I don't know the answer to (what do I do about someone I think is dyslexic? what if someone confides in me, do I take it further? and the ones that are lagging behind? or way, way ahead, and bore out of their minds?), though I did expect hormones and some resistance and lots of good things. Unsure of how much I can or should disclose of my reflections regarding this new little job of mine, I suppose I'll keep it to a minimum, unless it's very general. But this will help me, I think, when looking back, because I will know better what I felt then and what I've learnt now. Or perhaps what I will have forgotten in one month, two months.

Neither did I expect to be so tired after one day. To feel like I failed and failed and succeeded a little bit, but that I'm at the mercy of thirty students and also at their service. It is for them that I am there, after all (which feels weird and pretentious, but they are my employers). 

At the same time I try to work and to make some things, and even to write a little bit. Just a page or two, something that isn't a student report or description of the essay-genre. Not long. And I'm beading and beading, but I don't know what's happening with that. Now that I'm no longer in school there is not much point to me making things but then at the same time there is ALL the point that I make these things. Nobody's telling me it's right or wrong, and that's weird and unusual. No censoring? No silence muddling discomfort and boredom in an airless critique? No awkward animal stuffed with acrylic paint on a pedestal? Strange freedom is also bizarre entrapment.

School-post-work-normalcy

I have been working. Well, not entirely true, but I've now worked one day as a teacher. Don't know how much I want or should say about that, except that I really, really enjoy it.

Also, finished some stuff. Started some stuff.

The remaining thoughts are somewhat connected, but only peripherally. In the last few days I've given a lot of thought to creative work and actively pursuing a passion that won't necessarily pay off for a long, long, looong time yet. Having gone to school for four year seems like such an incredibly long time, and I was getting increasingly more impatient as the end was drawing near. It was like this endless waiting-game where I couldn't enjoy most of my classes anymore; everything was a preparation for something else, and why do the preparation when you can simply go ahead and give it a go? That seems silly even now as I write about it, but it's somewhat been confirmed in the last few days since it became clear that I will have a part-time gig that allows me evenings and weekends "off" for working on art.

This might be a realization that I'm quite late for and others have already gotten, but it is tremendously strange not to be in school. All along we fear and anticipate what it's going to be like (all these "Life as an Artist"-lectures and classes about post-art school life... I never took any of them. Seems stupid now, though.), but we're never actually prepared for the reality of it until tried and tested. There was no way for me to seriously begin projects at home during vacations and breaks because I knew they would be temporary, and I knew I'd be going back to school. Now I don't. I mean, I have nothing now. It's not a bad thing. It's a really good thing. But it's also mind-numbingly strange to be a Regular Citizen after having gone to school CONTINUOUSLY since the age of 5. Most of my life I haven't done this! No wonder I'm so weird and semi-bad at it! 

Well, I don't know the exact purpose of what I just outlined. Maybe the moral is something like this:

It is weird and scary and a little bit bad and very liberating not to be in school and to actually Work For Money Whilst Making Art During Free Time (Trying Not To Check Blogs) + Eat Well And Work Out Regularly (though I'm only on Day One). And I'm so unused to it, because School Life is by now the norm, while Regular Adult Life is the strange fiction that I'm sort of skipping through while thinking about where to apply for grad school.

I guess I'm late to the party. Work for me is not a luxury, and I feel incredibly privileged to even have a job and to live in a country like Norway that actually supports artist. At the same time, though, school is the norm. Being in school. 

I don't know where to end this. Just ranty rant.