The girl who had led me

down began introductions.

“I am Devu, and I am in second standard.”
She pointed to herself.
I wondered if that meant second grade.
“This is Janaki, and she is in fourth standard.”
She pointed to the slightly older girl.
Janaki beamed and said hi.
Janaki’s sister Radhika was in eighth standard, and
Sindhu was in ninth.
I suddenly felt unprepared and wished I had
researched more about India’s educational system.
Devu and Janaki took turns asking me questions as
the older two continued studying. They inquired about my
favorite color, favorite food, where I was from, if I’d
visited San Francisco, if I was married, my age, and on
and on. I loved how curious they were, and their English
was much better than I had anticipated. At one point, they
compared my hair to golden noodles, probably my
favorite thing anyone had ever said.
“Do you have any questions for us?” Janaki asked.
“Actually, yes. How do you keep your hair so nice?”
Not one had frizzy hair, even in the bottom tips of their
braids. I was amazed.
Sindhu laughed. “Jurnee Miss, just put coconut oil in
your hair after bathing.”
I noted the pronunciation of baathing rather than
baething and wondered if that was normal. At least it was
a simple solution.
An older woman with long wet hair wrapped into a
bun with a thin towel came from the kitchen. She said
something in Malayalam, and suddenly the boys stood
excitedly and followed her into the kitchen.
I looked at Devu in confusion, but Janaki jumped to
resolve it. “Jurnee Miss, now is the time for morning tea.
After the boys take theirs and return to study hall, then we
will take ours.”
I wondered why the boys had their tea first, but I
doubted a fourth grader was the best person to raise my
concerns to, so I let the thought pass.
“You really don’t need to be formal. Just Jurnee is
fine.”
“Okay, Jurnee Miss,” they reply.
Finally, it was our turn, so we entered the kitchen.
Everyone had a small metal cup.
I panicked for a second until the woman, who I
presumed to be the cook, pulled an extra cup from behind
the pot and smiled at me. She poured mine first and
placed it directly into my hand.
“Thank you,” I said to her.
 She smiled at me again then poured for the girls.
They then took turns going around the room to
introduce themselves. The names ranged from incredibly
long to super short. I heard a Prathabalakshmikanthan but
also a Peter. I wondered if a reason existed between such
vastly different names.
I asked them what they were studying, and I saw a
wave of confusion wash across their faces. Of course,
they were just kids and didn’t have good English skills
yet. I quickly scanned the room for hints. Posters hung on
the walls of colors and body parts. Maybe that was a good
starting point.
As we reviewed all of the colors and body parts, they
seemed bored. Maybe we could try rhymes in this class as
well. “Watch this, and then we will do together.”
Their tired faces immediately perked up.
With the motions, I began, “Head and shoulders,
knees and toes. Knees and toes. Head and shoulders,
knees and toes. Knees and toes. And eyes and ears and
mouth and nose. Head and shoulders, knees and toes.
Knees and toes.”
They were transfixed, just as the LKG students had
been.
“Do you want to try now?”
Cheers erupted, and I nervously looked out the
window. I really didn’t like having open windows in
every classroom. It was great for accountability in that
anyone could see everything at any time, but I felt like
they already stared at me so much that it just made me
feel very uneasy. Luckily, the other classes must have
been busy, and no one came to complain about the sudden
eruption of sound.
We started to sing “Head and Shoulders” together,
with motions, when I remembered something from my
childhood. We used to try to go faster and faster to see
who could do it the best. “Let’s try again but faster.”
They looked side to side, giggling to each other.
I was doing it. I was teaching.
We began again, but this time faster. And then again
just a little faster. And again even faster. The giggles and
squeals continued throughout, and I couldn’t believe they
actually liked me. I was teaching them; we were playing.
We could barely communicate, but they were learning
and having fun.
We continued playing with various rhymes, changing
it up after every few rounds to keep them engaged, but
they really seemed to enjoy it.
The bell rang, and I checked my schedule. Onto first
grade. Or no, first standard. That’ll take some getting
used to.
 I remembered the classrooms were in order and
walked just next door to the next room. I began the same
way. “Good morning. I am Jurnee Miss. What are your
names?”

“This is something we did when I was in school in

America.”
Their eyes illuminated.
“Put your hands like this,” I instructed them with my
right hand facing the ground and my left hand facing the
ceiling. I moved my hands to meet Janaki’s and, after they
clapped, moved my right hand to face the ceiling and my
left hand to face the ground. I then moved my palms
slowly to her to indicate they should meet perpendicularly
to the floor, and finally clapped on my own and began
again.
It worked. Delight bloomed in their eyes as other
students spied and imitated us. But we were soon
interrupted.
“Come, miss. It is time for lunch. We will go back to
the hostel.”
It suddenly dawned on me; there wasn’t a cafeteria—
no microwaves or refrigerators. I saw children eating
from round metal boxes. Did everyone bring food from
home? There was no hot lunch? I asked Janaki and Devu
about it, and they confirmed as we walked to the hostel.
As we reached the front door, we saw some other
students from the hostel already gathered. They were
knocking on the door, calling for someone inside to let
them in.
When I approached, they turned and smiled. “Good
afternoon, Jurnee Miss.”
“Good Afternoon, Vivek Sir. Good Afternoon, Sajith
Sir.”
They also looked confused and then laughed.
Hopefully, they were laughing with me and not at me.
Vivek’s younger brother, Vishnu, said something in
Malayalam, and Vivek walked to the side of the building
by the sinks. Soon we saw him through the windows
approaching the front door to let us in. He said something
to the other students, and we all went inside.
I suddenly felt alone, despite being surrounded by
others. It was one thing when the students couldn’t
understand me, but it was another thing entirely to be
surrounded by people who could understand me without
me knowing what was happening. They could have at
least told me what was going on. Why were they keeping
a secret?
It’s not a secret. They aren’t used to your presence,
the sane part of my mind finally piped up as we made our
way to the kitchen. If it was important, they would have
told you. You can’t expect them to completely change how
they communicate just because you’re here. Don’t be
selfish.
My mind constantly battled between thinking the
worst and thinking logically. Everyone was really sweet; I
was sure they didn’t intend to make me feel excluded. I
made a mental note to be less hesitant with everyone as
we entered the kitchen. This was a fresh start with new
people, but despite this revelation, I’d been wasting time I
could have been interacting with my new housemates.