Bangalore...Over and Out

Last night, unexpectedly, we got news that ATI had found us a job at a secondary school in Kerala. They asked how soon could we get there? Without even looking at where ‘there’ was, we said, “Yes, we’ll be on a train this weekend.”

‘There’ turns out to be a small (by Indian standards) coastal city called Tirur, in the heart of the Keralan backwaters, about 30 miles north of Cochin. The job—so far as we can tell—is teaching English to older teenagers in a private school. ATI has assured us this school has employed ATI graduates in the past and has a long-running relationship with them. After our Bangalore experience, Jenna and I are taking all second-hand news like this with a whole shaker of salt. Yet, we are eagerly making our way to the train station today to book tickets and get out of here as soon as humanly possible. ATI told us we could be teaching by Monday.

Bangalore may turn out to be nothing more than a hiccup, a shallow furrow in a deep trench of wonderful memories, a monotonous interlude of inaction and boredom. A laughable experience we can tell our children about as we send them off to college someday, warning them against the vagaries of an unsympathetic world.

After our stunning arrival nearly two weeks ago—dinner at the Hard Rock, tour of the UB City office space—we were at a new high. We had come to conquer India, and that is what it felt like we were doing. But India fought back hard against this notion, a cornered boxer with a reputation for pulling punches until the late rounds. Our seven days of inactivity and the stress of telling our manager we were essentially quitting before we had started nearly broke us. We felt at times that India was definitely winning, battering our patience and kind-heartedness into pulp. We went through spiraling rounds of emotion—guilt, sadness, anger, frustration, apathy—and finally reached a measure of calm last night. The final bell had rung, ending the internal fight.

Bangalore was not the best place to be holed up with nothing to do. In many respects, it is a lot like Houston—without the bars and friends. It is sprawling, spreading out to the horizon with no landmark a convenient distance away from your present location. Everyone here drives. Public transportation is unreliable and overpriced. Tourist sights are at a minimum. It is hard to pass the time when all you can think about is the work you should be doing.

On the other hand, the climate is perfect—breezy and mild, sunny with daily batches of short, calming rain. The people are generally more acclimatized to Westerners due to the city’s status as an international business center; therefore, you get stared at and harassed less. And the amenities are what any American would want—cable, Wi-fi, AC, warm water, flushing toilets.

I am sure we might sacrifice some of these things once we get to Tirur. But I am sure we will gain more, too. Just as we gained some by our dull fortnight in Bangalore—when it seemed, only briefly, that India had beaten us.