Excitations, Revelations, and Observations oh my!

There are 3 scary realities I face as I prep to revisit the US in two weeks:

#1: I am excited/scared for the counter culture shock
     (seeing friends and family and just being in the US)

#2: A single ride on New York City's MTA costs about the same 
     as a dinner feast for most Indian families.

#3: Beards shed like a dog's hair.

      
Addendum: mine has has created tumbleweeds that blow across my white marble floor.

Happiness

"Would you rather be right or happy?" - Buddha

I have never liked debate based on opinion 
Only on facts
Debate based on opinion makes me shut down 
People get angry and emotional
It is personal
Opinions are personal
That is your belief
Period 
And with it comes the scars of your past
involving emotions 
and the belief in how it made you feel
Cue yelling and me turtling in my shell
You can debate facts
I don't think you can debate belief
You can't debate somebody's feelings
Its how they feel
Its individual
But I know you can effect beliefs 
by exposure to an experience that may prove the contrary is possible 
And in turn, this will evoke an emotion
A different emotion
Or at least plant the seed of change
that may show the fruit of your sharing tomorrow or 10 years from now 
And the point to sharing that experience isn't to make me think that I am right

Because there isn't any right or wrong in life

Everything just is

And sharing makes me happy
because I was able to show why I felt the way I did
if at least for a moment
I shared a bit of my soul
And now maybe that person has the possibility of feeling that way 
of looking at life from a different angle
and understanding me better
And that makes me happy
Because I have lived 
through storytelling
which is also how I learned about Happiness


Happiness.
(I capitalize it because I believe it to be a proper noun)
Happiness has been something I have explored since a young age
And my parents encouraged me to find it
I liked to touch things 
I am a very tactile person
I loved the taste of food in my mouth and would do anything to get it 
Ergo, I ate my first helping of food as fast as I could to get the second helping ASAP
I liked to dance around even if nobody else heard the music
I liked to push myself to do ridiculous things
At age 5, to the fright of my mother, I used to pull myself up the fireman's pole on the playground 
with only my arms 
and I would also scurry to reach the peak of any tree I could find 
simply to be apart of the sky
Then I would inevitably get stuck
and then have to gain the courage from within to find a way back down
(This is why I always wanted to be the squirrels in the Disney movie "Sword In The Stone")
I would say "Hello" to strangers.
Still do. (Cue people making odd expressions on the streets of Pune) 
I still do most of those things in fact
if not all
(this includes hugging old aunties I have just met)
And to this day I always try to be happy 
No matter what
It is my life's credo
If it makes me unhappy I don't do it
This is why I had happiness tattooed on my thigh in 9 colors 
to remind myself
Constantly
Throughout it all, I try remember that  
I am beautiful just the way I am 

cause I forget sometimes
as do I think we all do.
And if I'm not happy,
truly happy,
then why is it?
There is a reason. 

There is a huge debate among people that you shouldn't have to be happy at work, 
or do what makes you happy, 
but simply do things to get by 
You should always have a back up plan
And I think it's a double edged sword
Because You will almost always fall back on that back up plan
Cause Life is hard
So then we think that having the newest IPhone, a flashy car, the perfect relationship
(fill in with your choice word)
will make us happy
or that we can make other people happy 
But now here are the scientific facts in how Happiness breaks down...

Happiness

External Sources = 10%

Internal Sources = 90%

It literally all comes from inside you. 

And it is what primarily effects your productivity DIRECTLY. 

This is probably a surprise to some (who will also still contest it and now roll their eyes), 

those who think you have to sit in the quagmire in order to see results

And to others, they go DZUH! 

You are beautiful just the way you are

You are enough

And You are as happy as you make up your mind to be

So I hope you let your light shine

You are the only one in control of it being hidden under a bushel
You control your own happiness

And that is what I am teaching today in class.

The Use of Erasers

A STORY RETOLD BY A STUDENT THIS WEEK

(POI: This could be fact or fiction. Either way, I liked it.)

Teacher: Erasers are meant for those who make mistakes. 

A small hand shot in the air accompanied by a retort...

Student: No Didi, erasers are meant for those who are willing to correct their mistakes. 

The Wisdom of Adesh the Private Detective

We begin each class with 3 minutes of meditation and a sharing circle.
One day this week we were discussing a Guatam Buddha quote...

"Holding onto your anger 
is like grasping a burning coal 
with an intent to throw it at someone else;
you are the one that gets burned."

We talked about how you can't hold onto things (i.e. grudges) because it ultimately makes you sick (in all it's different incarnations).  You just have to forgive and move on, otherwise it will consume you. And, I shared that most of the time when someone does something harmful to you it actually has nothing to do with you. In reality, we all have our own baggage and it causes us to react in the present by simply taking it out on ourselves and others. But also, before we blame others we should look at our own actions and what we could have done differently. This in turn effects our outlook on life, our mood, and how we live. 

YOUR ATTITUDE + YOUR CHOICES = YOUR LIFE

"BE THE CHANGE TO SEE THE CHANGE" right?

So then an arm shot up and Adesh chimed in. 
Adesh reminds me a little of myself at age 11:  
he's physically smaller than his peers, 
too smart for his own good, 
wants to be a Detective, 
is curious about everything, 
and his mind moves faster than his mouth can. 

"When you point at somebody else, 
 there are also three fingers pointing back at you."

I had never heard this before, and quickly wrote it down. 
These kids are like philosophical sponges! 
Cue a song from one of my favorite musicals "INTO THE WOODS"

"Careful the things you say, children will listen. 
Careful the things you do, children will see and learn."

Later that night I was told one of our PALs about what happened and he then taught me another version.

POINT OF REFERENCE: PALs are TFI Teaching Fellows that donate their time to teach in MAYA. (To me, they are saints.) 

In Indonesia nobody points. 
Instead, they hold their hand in a fist with the thumb over top as they gesture. 
This is called "The Thumb of Power" in American Politics.  



Praveen, said PAL and first year fellow, continued....

"In that case, you are now pointing 4 fingers back at yourself."

This reminded me of one of my favorite old adages...

"Let He Who Hath No Sin Cast The First Stone."

So needless to say...
Politics, self accountability, and philosophy are alive and well at MAYA rehearsal. 

A love letter to all the women I have ever loved or am loving or that love me or are yet to...Happy Valentines Day!

Beauty is to be held

Beauty is bare-faced

Beauty makes things Beautiful

Beautiful is more than skin deep

Beautiful is a way of speaking

Beautiful is strong minded yet tender

Beautiful is curious

Beautiful is ageless

Beautiful is sleepless nights spent talking

Beautiful is dancing freely

Beautiful is laughter

Beautiful is wholesome

Beautiful is naughty

Beautiful is a friend

Beautiful is a woman

Beautiful is you

And you are loved

The Tribe

So I've had a hard time thinking about what to write on this blog. 
I get home or even sit down during the day after morning coffee, 
and don't know where to begin recounting adventures. 
So I'm going to start sharing single stories and vocab.  

Todays word: "Bhaiya" 
It means: BIG BROTHER
Last Sunday, after rehearsal, I took a rickshaw ride home as normal. I have started bringing kids with me so that I can drop off en route and they don't have to take the bus. This saves their families money, gets kids home faster, makes sure girls aren't traveling alone (a female is raped every 20 minutes in India), and gives us quality time to bond and be silly. So this particular Sunday, per normal, we loaded the rickshaw up like a clown car. I'm talking myself plus 5 kids: Chaitrali, her brother (whose name I can never remember so I call him Lil Man), Shussti, Deepak, and Shlok. This is nothing considering I've seen 8-10 traveling in a Rickie before.

Shussti (a 4th grader that's gone up 4 academic grade levels in 6 months and who makes me cry with her now voluntary sage wisdom instead being more or less mute) was sitting behind me where the luggage usually goes, Chaitrali stood while her little brother was sitting on my lap, and Shlok and Deepak were busy playing a video game on my phone. We were laughing and singing amid me describing what it is like living in Paris: the food, the history of the Eiffel Tower, what a World's Fair is, how there are in fact 2 Statues of Liberty, and what gothic architecture is. 

Point of reference: The kids are about as open as it comes on a daily basis. If you got a haircut they don't like, you no longer look nice. If you've gained weight, they asked "what's happened?" in shock. And also, like kids do, they ask questions they already know the answer to see what you will say. Along those lines, the kids also comment on my beard experiment on a daily basis. When I don't trim it huge swatches of white hair appear and I am also constantly stroking my chin like a Wizard when I think, which they mimic. Most people in communities think I'm either a wrestler in the WWE or the guy from the movie "300." And my favorite is "You look like Hero." Because of it, I also get a look dismay when I wear my glasses because I "look like Uncle" which is an old man. Weird opposites....

So Chaitrali's little brother thinks of me like a big brother. Both their parents died in the last couple years and they live with some pretty heinous family. He isn't even apart of "Maya," but when he comes I make sure he gets some Bro Love because he needs it. We draw and laugh and he likes to climb on me. Or, I swing him around, which he loves.

This is when I began to sense Lil Man examining my face in my perepheral vision.

And then he looked perplexed. He then reached and grabbed a tuff of my hair gently. "Bhaiya what's that?" "What's what little man?" I responded. "Can I?"-asking if he could pull it, to which I nodded. He held up a tiny white hair with mouth agape and eyes sparkling with question. "Ah. What does it look like?" This is my usual reaction to a question that Im certain they know the answer to. "It's white." Cue the William Shatner pause with a tilted head...."Why?" I cycled through 5 witty answers... "Bhaiya is old and has lived through a lot of crazy adventures. It will happen to you too one day." The kiddo nodded with a tinge of the classic Indian head wobble and then held the hair up on his finger for me to blow off. I closed my eyes and made a wish that my whole rickshaw full of kids transcended their living situation to help change India. I then blew it off into the wind shooting past the rickshaw and he went to work.

I didn't pay much attention because Shussti started teaching me some more basic Hindi (which I learned is actually a mixture of Hindi and Marati), but as we reached a stoplight I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned to find he had plucked a score of white hairs off my head. He held them gently in the palms of his tiny hands like a precious piece of china. He gave an ear to ear grin...                                      

"Better."                                                                                                                                        

Then he turned and blew them away into the wind, like the worries of my past were being given back to the wind that brought them into my life. Seconds later my little angels went bounding off into the slum community that surrounds their school with a chorus of I LOVE YOUs fading off into the distance. I turned to sit down and the rickshaw driver smiled as we sped away...  

"They are your kids."  


It was true. They call me the biggest MAYA kid, but they are really like my kids. I would do anything for them. And, I they would do the same. 

I am now kin. I am family. And I am a safe harbor for them. I am being groomed and loved by the very kids I myself am grooming and loving. And we take care of each other...maybe this is why I unconsciously bring bananas for those kids that had no breakfast? Puna is now my Jungle and I am the SilverBack of the tribe called MAYA.


OOh OOh OOh AAh AAh! 


(Cue me beating my always semi unbuttoned hairy Gorila chest as I gaze to the sky)

I have arrived. I am one with the tribe. 

Today's Sage-like-Wisdom from a "MAYA" kid

"Wrong is still wrong even when everyone is doing it."

-Homi, 11 years old

Adios Perfecto

There's something I want to discuss
A single word...
The word “perfect”

To be honest 
I don’t actually know what the word means
Nor do I have any idea how it could ever be applied to art
But people try to...
I think its a word that's been implanted in our minds
like a poisonous seed
By people that were frightened by it
when it was planted in them

“Perfect” is a word that I hear
used a lot by students and teachers alike
Its a concept that's been drilled into everyone
through education and society as a whole
If I remembered hearing it from my family during childhood
it wouldn't be so odd
But I don’t remember it
because they didn't use it
They always encouraged me to be the best I could be!
I only remember hearing "perfect" spouted from other adults
never holding themselves or their kids to the same high standards
It didn't make sense to me
This is what gave me an ulcer at age 9
I wasn't allowed to figure out how to be happy myself
because I had to make other people happy
I was a slave
I was sick almost every day for a year straight
Doubled over in gut wrenching pain
This was a paradox to me
The people that were supposed to love me for who I was
In School
In Church
In Town
Were trying to control me by putting their fear in me
How can you develop trust when there is fear?
How can you develop friendships?
I then questioned why hypocrisy existed
in those I was supposed to look up to
Those I was supposed to trust
I always questioned
And that's when I got in trouble
Still do
And that is why I had a hard time trusting authority
Still do
But I never want any of our kids to ever have to go through that

So how do you feel about the word “perfect?”
Did your parents ever tell you to be “perfect"as a kid?
How did it make you feel then?
And do you think “perfection” exists?
Because I don’t
And something tells me you don’t either

I think it may exist for a split moment
on a multiple choice quiz
with tiny bubbles
that one can fill in with a dull No. 2 pencil
which then is graded by a machine
And if you are able to fill in the right amount of bubbles
in the right order
then
and only then
have you reached “perfection.”
Hooray!
That is also how education and personal worth is gauged until we graduate college 
which may be why our 20’s are such a crazy roller coaster ride of "figuring it out"

Why?
Because there are no multiple choice answers in life 
None
So why assess human worth
with a list of marked boxes corresponding to attributes
like describing Slaves on an auction block?

There are only empty paragraphs in life which you have to fill 
in freehand
in block print or in cursive  
Your interpretation of this life is waiting to be spelled out…
That's reality
And if we all have our own interpretation of reality
then how can anything ever be perfect
if it is also being judged by someone else
that has their own interpretation?
Because in turn
that is not even reality
They are all interpretations of interpretations of the reality
So in reality
how can “perfection” exist?

“Perfection” is not a naturally occurring item in nature
Ever
Everything is flawed
It is a wonder that anything actually functions
But that is also the beauty of it all
The very definition of “perfect” is 

FINISHED 
COMPLETE 
FLAWLESS
 
I am not any of those words
nor would I call myself "perfect" in any form
I don’t think you would call yourself any of those things either
At least I hope not

Love is not perfect
Democracy is not “perfect”
because it is carried out by homosapians
Who are not “perfect"
So when we attempt to hold our kids up to this ideal of “perfection”
I think we then again become no better than those
that physically abuse them
that verbally abuse them
that sexually abuse them
that oppress them on a daily basis
There in our mission statement in life is violated
We have created inequity
We have created inequality

Why?

Because the word “perfect” creates a constant less than mentality
It predates the 19th century birth of the Prussian factory school setting:
uniformity
productivity (input vs. output)
and oppression.
DO EXACTLY WHAT I TELL YOU
NO QUESTIONS
Copy
Paste

By using the word “perfect”     
we become the dominator 
and the kids 
the oppressed
It forces a soul to strive for something that is never attainable
creating a constant feeling of neverending failure

By using the word
That also means that we will constantly be disappointed
We will never get what we want
Ever
So "Perfect" isn't possible
By using the word
everyone involved becomes miserable and defensive

No wonder our societies are continuously at war
No wonder "I" must have what "they" have
No wonder we have to be better than everyone else in everything
"Perfect" is an offensive word
It attacks
and leaves no room to feel and respond
We aren't allowed to
We just have to do
To be
"Perfect"
So we go on the defensive
to try to feel
more than less than
By making others
less than

But...

we can only be the best we can be
in any given moment
Maybe ...
I slept horribly last night
Maybe ...
my loved one made me feel less than awesome as I walked out the front door
Maybe ...
I feel fat today
Maybe ...
I have the flu
Maybe ...
I feel downright fucking lonely

Whatever the case may be
I think having the Courage and the Resilience
(I capitalize them because I believe them to be proper nouns)
to respond positively in the given moment
as opposed to reacting from scar tissue dictated by the past
is as good as it gets
thats wisdom
Also by admitting our faults openly
and learning from each other
together
in truth
is when I feel my fullest
Is this what it means to be human?
Maybe
Respecting our very own humanity and in turn witness to the humanity around us?
Everyone acknowledging everyone’s imperfection?
that is compassion
Can you imagine a world like that?

If we accept our faults
and those of others
then maybe we have actually reached “perfection”
Check it out!
The word IMPERFECT is actually I’M PERFECT
And maybe if everyone acknowledged this paradox in our society
we would all be better off
the constant infinite cycle of change
thats all there is
breath
keep moving
Otherwise
we are dead and finished

Karma means “action”…
and its eternal
The Neverending Story!
“Perfection” is “inaction”
because the loop has been
signed
sealed
delivered
and placed on the shelf
like a tacky knick knack.
I don’t want to acquire dust like some archaic ideal
I yearn to actively make myself and the world a better place than I found it
That is the paradox of life
The dance
Optimists take one step forward to take one back
We have to keep moving
with utter resilience
to make ourselves better
learning from our mistakes
And that in turn
will make everyone else better around us
So it starts with you
Will you join me in getting rid of the word “perfect?”
Let's see what it does
Can you imagine the change it could make
In foreign affairs
In business
In our fellow wo man
and in our kids?
I think it may help change everything we think we know
Our reality
for the better
But we'll never know
unless we try

The 7 Habits of an Effective Teen

This is the newest song by my pals over at HIPHOPSAVESLIVES.org
The 7 Habits of an Effective Teen

YANKEE DOODLE DANDY

Sometimes, amid dodging crazy afternoon Pune traffic, 

you are reminded of home by a symphony of tiny cherubim voices.