Monkeys ate my Underwear

Well, not exactly.

So they didn’t eat my underwear, but just after we had finished doing our first load of bucket-washed laundry, one of my friends knocked on my door with this announcement. She found out when she was folding what remained of her laundry and realized that two of her favorite quick dry undies were missing the crotch. The monkeys had left the rest intact. I know; it made wrinkle my face too when I heard.

But in all seriousness, who would have thought when packing for this trip to account for monkeys with, let’s call it “refined,” palates?

My stay in Sarah has been like that –not the underwear-eating monkey part, but rather the constant surprise. Who would have thought that there’d be no mattresses on the beds? Who would have thought it would be so cold in India? By cold, I don’t mean bellow freezing temperatures or daily blizzards or anything along those lines. Rather, it’s a cold that I had never experienced before: the cold of not having heating anywhere you go, of never actually becoming warm. So far, this has been the biggest challenge. As I write this I have my three layers of socks and long underwear on, as well as gloves so that my hands don’t freeze as they reach out of my yak-wool blanket in the direction of this laptop.

At the same time, all of these constant surprises just tune me into how privileged my existence has been. Though I was aware that the vast majorities of humanity don’t have access to the same facilities I have enjoyed my entire life, this last week has forced me to really conceptualize what this means by forcing me to embrace a life without washing machines and massage shower heads. I don’t think I could ask more from an education than this.

I realize my privilege even now, because, though I have no control over the temperature of my hot water, this experience for me is timed and controlled. The study-abroad program ensures that we are well fed by making available to us separate food cooked especially for us. It also ensures that this cultural immersion of ours is long enough to be significant but short enough to be bearable. In a way, such experiences could be likened to petting zoos, where you believe you are participating in another’s life when they are there only to serve a purpose in yours.

I hope this is not the case here, for me, though I can't help feeling like I should be more critical at times. My roommate’s name is Tenzin Gaphel, and even in a week I have developed such respect for her. She has been kind beyond what I could have imagined; whenever I come home there is another treat waiting for me, be it gum or cake or tea. She has introduced me to her friends and helped bargain on my behalf in the markets and invited me to watch Hindi soap operas. I can become cynical about how catered this "immersion can feel at times," but as I turn to Gaphel, sitting just a couple feet from me studying, I can’t be anything but grateful.