Privacy and Dickens

(Feb 19)

The kids cry the least of any kids I've ever met. They'll fall down steps, a low wall, push each other on the gravel, and throw rocks at each other. No tears at all. The new biggest brother has some attitude adjustment issues so every few days I'll hear him but even that's settled down since they first got here.

Ok, I'd like to preface my next statement with this assurance. These boys are well loved, taken care of, and valued. They never want for food and stay warm enough. Of course socks have holes, some jackets are old and warn, and all robes carry stains but there is no neglect here. Mini monks share with each other, big monks share with little monks. However it astounds me, sometimes, what the adults don't know about the little ones. Chouying hasn't noticed that they all have new toys (other than the ones from Mamma and I). Some don't known every body's names. (In all fairness there are a few I'm missing too but you'd think names in someone's native language would stick after a few months let alone years.) Beyond that I'm continually amazed at what the boys don't get in trouble for. My efforts to stop them throwing rocks at each other is somewhat undermined by the big monks throwing rocks right back. Luckily I've only gotten hit in the head once and the bruise lasted only a week.

On a different but jot unrelated topic the lack of privacy and personal property is getting on my nerves. I'm very used to the boys visiting when they please or just peaking their head in as they walk by. But a few days ago a girl who was visiting walked by my door (while is was sitting on the wall watching) pulled back the flap and totally checked it out! The boys are one thing but come on. Would that even occur to an American? Whether or not she knew who's room it was and that I was watching her the whole time is somewhat besides the point. If she knew it was my room she knew I was watching since I was less than fifty feet away facing her and she did it anyway? If she didn't know who's room it was what was the point? There's another great example from yesterday. I spent all day, basically, at my favorite cafe next to Nadyanthan Chowk (the center square in Budhanilkantha) using their wifi and reading. (I'm so proud of myself. I'm over half way finished with Nicholas Nicklbey! Which those familiar with Dickens and his loquacious tendencies will appreciate.

By the way if I may offer a general suggestion for high school English teachers. Please give up on Great Expectations and switch to NN. I spent several years hating Dickens because of GE and thinking his only redeeming work was A Christmas Carol (which I knew from A Muppet Christmas Carol). A Tale of Two Cities raised him in my esteem slightly but since he kills off every woman's favorite character he only gained so many points. With the exception of a few tangents reminiscent of Alexander Dumas (though not anywhere close to as painful) Nicholas Nickelby is a delightful engaging work and a surprisingly fast read for it's length.

Back to my point. Several happy hours corresponding, drinking tea, and reading were hampered slightly when the father of the family took it upon himself to sit at my table and engage me in a halting conversation. Why does every man I talk to for more than five minutes ask me if I smoke and what I drink? Anyway, after an hour or so he moved to my bench on my side of the table to check out my Kindle. A normal enough curiosity that I wasn't in the mood for yesterday. So not only is he leaning over my shoulder he eventually just takes the Kindle out of my hands without saying anything, turns it over, weights it in his hands and puts it back on the table. Ugh. At this point not only am I irritated by this behavior but distinctly uncomfortable with his proximity to my person. This episode lead me to the conclusion that my Indian trauma is not as far behind me as I thought. Damn it.