I forgot to mention that during our visit to Chennai, we visited the famous Kanchi matha in Kanchipuram. A matha is a Hindu or Jain religious establishment that is known to be more hierarchical and structured than an ashram (communities formed usually with a religious head for the purpose of spiritual uplifting of its members). Kanchi matha sure did seem pretty structured, you’d walk in to see many students all wearing the same robes and all reciting/memorizing from religious texts in small groups as they sat on the floor. Reminders of past swamis (spiritual masters) clogged every wall space in the matha with their giant portraits and thoughtful quotes. It was actually kindof terrifying, everyone doing the same thing, looking the same way, dressed the same way, and memorizing religious texts verbatim.

Part of the reason the matha has become so famous is because a recent murder of a previous Kanchi matha employee in 2004 was linked to it. I think there was a story involved about the Indian government keeping millions of dollars at the matha in hopes of laundering it over time, but when they asked for the money back, the matha refused to return it which led to tensions that facilitated the public exposure of the murder and accusations against the matha authorities. The past employee apparently had been speaking out against the misdeeds and monetary mishandlings of the matha before his murder. There was lots of bribery and corruption involved in the whole mess along with influence from the conservative BJP political party. Anyone see the similarity to a mafia? That’s mostly the story I gathered and brought to my attention some part of the significance of the matha we were standing in.

We also got to speak personally with the head swami there who was willing to meet with us. He was interested in things like differences in systems of education and our experiences thus far in India; I asked him for some wise parting words and he responded with something about the importance of devotion. It was an interesting experience, and we felt very privileged to meet with him, but also it’s possible that he wanted to see us mainly for publicity reasons. As Indians were coming up and offering things to him and kissing is feet, he was also engaged in cultural exchange that not only demonstrated his power but also his understanding of diversity. Basically it was likely special treatment for the sake of publicity. Don’t get me wrong everyone in our group loved it though. In any case, the Kanchi matha offered a unique experience and a glimpse into a certain way of life here, including what seemed to me as a good deal of homogeneity, structure, and lack of expression/critical thinking among the place’s members which left a sour taste in my mouth as I left.

So fast forward now…There has been absolutely no time this past week and a half. Two weekends ago I was mostly at the hostel studying and preparing for all my academic pursuits for the following week. Sunday was the culmination of the ten day Ganesh festival, and there was to be a huge crowd in the city with thousands of idols being submerged including the massive +40 foot one, but I decided to stay in and continue to study. Although it would have been a lot of fun to go into the city with my friends (who ended up having a really good time), I don’t regret continuing to work because if I hadn’t put in all the hours I did that weekend (I think it was at least 14), there would have been no way to finish all of it.

On Monday there was a test in history on the historiography of medieval India and social history; I thought that it went very well, I mean I kindof knew exactly what it was going to be on anyway, the questions were predictably “define social history” and “give an account of the Persian method of historiography in medieval India.” No sweat.

Tuesday was my seminar. I’ve been excited for this day for quite a while; a seminar is basically a 20-30 minute presentation about a research topic and involves reading directly from a report to the class. My topic of choice was the music of medieval India (could you have guessed maybe?), and it was a ton of fun to compare Indian and Western musical foundations while I was researching, they’re so incredibly different and based on entirely separate principals. I was eager to present not only because the subject matter interested me, but for the presentation too. No student except one up to that point in the presentations had even made eye contact with the class. And most students read their reports like motors with no inflection and no pause in between sentences. I was ready to wow them with my presentation skills including eye contact and hand motions, but ended up actually just reading like everyone else, the report was written well anyway and I hadn’t had time to really familiarize myself with the information to the point of memorization. I did have great inflection though; and I paused significantly between paragraphs (as if to say “see? it helps to know that there’s a new idea coming…”). I was also kindof nervous for it, the professor has totally shot down previous students, claiming that their research wasn’t pertinent or they didn’t cover a particular topic well enough or missed some crucial detail; fortunately she was pleased with the seminar, only pointing out one composer that I missed. Can’t be perfect right?

Wikipedia is getting me through history. Not only did it help tremendously in my seminar research but it’s a great tool to look up random words and terms that you haven’t heard of before, of which there are a great deal. In a third semester upper graduate-level history class in a different country, certain presumptions can be made about the knowledge the students already possess, namely about India’s past with which I, probably also like you, am completely unfamiliar.

The next day was an Indian Philosophy exam; and the question was probably as open-ended as you could be: “formulate a question on Indian Philosophy and answer it in an essay.” It was so funny to see the other SIP students freaking out about the test because they had no idea of the professor’s expectations; in the States you usually know the material to study for an exam…here, well, it’s different. It’s like *ok, you have two months of lecture notes on Indian Philosophy at your disposal, so ask a question you have and answer it by writing for an hour.* I ended up comparing and contrasting two schools of Philosophy and thought I did well but you never can be too sure about anything here. In any case, I was finished for the week finally and after 5 days packed full of studying, I was off to Goa.

Goa is a prime tourist destination in India; it was a previous Portuguese colony and is known for its great beaches. And also being full of hippies in the 60s and 70s. Melissa, Ben, Harrison, Molly, and I left for Goa on Wednesday evening so we could be there by Thursday and have all of Friday and Saturday before heading back on Sunday. The train was about 12 hours overnight, and we ended up in Hubli, a city on the western edge of Karnatika. From there we were taking a bus to Panaji (Panjim), the capital of Goa (there was no direct train to there from Hyderabad).

I remember the bus station in Hubli being relatively empty and also looking like a haunted house. The ticket stand had its sign painted in front with red paint that bled like a horror movie title; the ceiling was also splotched with dirt and mold, and the glass of the small chandelier in the middle was cracked, opaque with grime, and covered in cobwebs. Such sights aren’t uncommon and we remained pretty unphased by the sight, joking that we were actors in the next “Saw” movie.

The bus to Panjim fortunately arrived within a few minutes and was the only bus we had seen at the station so far. Getting on the bus, I remember touching the head of a seat and feeling wetness, thinking that someone must have been sweating a ton; when I sat down in my seat (carefully selected next to a good window for sightseeing) I realized though that my seat and everyone else’s was soaked like wet sponges. The windows were open and it must have monsooned on the bus’s way to the station or earlier that day; the seats smelled too, like mildew or something, and your butt and back was soaked and smelly all the same. Whatever, I had a seat with a good view and was excited to head out.

I remember Ben saying he’d heard that the roads were awful here. That ended up being an understatement; the roads were indescribably ridiculous to the point of being funny. The potholes were more accurately described as ditches that the driver tried to avoid, but rarely he could physically succeed; the road was full of them, and you could never quite guess how deep one was because all were filled with opaque water (the mud there was actually a bright shade of orange). The bus would rock back and forth to what I would imagine would be its tipping point, and there was no way that you could stay in your seat unless you gripped the bar in front of you firmly. It probably as jostling as many roller coaster rides I’ve been on for the specific purpose of throwing you around.

There were lots of construction trucks also travelling with us who were having just as much trouble as we were, and we spotted at least a few that had broken down alongside the road. Some had even slid off into trenches and been left there for evidently a while, their windows were all smashed and metal rusting. I was hoping this wasn’t our fate, but reassured myself that rides like this happen every day back and forth multiple times and the driver must know how to handle it. Then I wondered how much the bus could take, I mean nothing could indefinitely withstand the punishment we were taking. After particularly huge jolts, the conductor who collected our ticket money would peer out the back of the bus to see if we had left any parts behind.

The scenery was amazing though, we were travelling through high mountains most of the way and you could see forever. When there wasn’t a view I tried to catch up on the readings for the next test I had coming up, but you could imagine how tough that was. If that didn’t work, I’d listen to music or try to sleep, but that failed as well after I hit my head pretty hard. You need to actually ride the bus, like a bull or something and ready for anything; if you simply sit there you will be injured. I was kindof glad anyway that the bumpy ride provided some from of entertainment (you couldn’t help but actually laugh out loud at how ridiculous at times the ride got), as the ride was longer than we had expected. We arrived at Panjim almost 8 hours after we left Hubli. Stepping off the bus a little disoriented and still wet and smelly but excited to be on stable ground, we found the first restaurant we saw to eat and go to the restroom (there’s no way to relieve yourself on the bus, you have to hold it).

I was looking forward to seeing some of Panjim’s sights, including an old cathedral built by the Portuguese (that had an organ as well), but the group was deciding to head to the beaches of North Goa. When you travel with others you have to make compromises, and I was excited to get to a beach anyway. So we got on another bus. This ride was more comfortable though and only about an hour and a half.

We arrived in Baga, a popular beach destination, by nightfall and spotted a café with pies and pastries, delicacies that we sorely missed in Hyderabad. There I tried a Goan curry called Xacuti made from coconut and also had some sips of feni, a Goan spirit distilled from cashews or coconut. Feni is the most vile beverage that I’ve ever willingly tried; strong alcohol is harsh to begin with, now fold into your imagination the bitter/sour taste and smell of actual vomit and you have Feni. It was an interesting experience though and is a specialty of Goa!

We found cheap rooms by walking and asking around. Finally being able to put our stuff down after 30 or so hours or travel, we headed to the beach (we could already hear waves crashing and smell salt). Although it was dark, it was great to be at a beach staring at an ocean that you’ve never come across. This wasn’t even the other side of the Atlantic or something; this was an entirely different ocean, and I was facing the opposite side of the African continent. There’s something thrilling about dipping your toes in that.

The next morning we checked out before heading to breakfast on the beach. You could tell that the place we went to was a big tourist place, with tons of tables and a great view coupled with high prices. It was eerie though how no one else was there (except for one woman from New Zealand that we met); evidently the whole place turns into something like a ghost town during the off-season, and tourist season doesn’t begin until October/November. I had come to Goa with exciting, Lonely Planet guidebook-inspired, notions of scuba diving, ayurvedic herbal health clinic visits, and crowded parties, but actually none of it was taking place at all. Even though it was different than I expected, the beach was still nice and that means you can always find something to do, even if it’s just to unwind for a while on the sand and listen to the waves crash.

That afternoon we headed to Mapusa, a city about half an hour east, to shop at the weekly market there. I’ve never been assaulted for money as much as I was there. Ever. There were SO many things to look at and to buy and EVERY vender was SO EAGER to have you look at their stuff. The trip to that market was interesting, but also constituted the worst part of the trip for me. There was a ton of unique stuff to buy, and that meant great souvenirs but also unfamiliar prices that lead to me being really ripped off, which of course I found out later after becoming familiar with the market and how it functioned. I figured it would be a good deal to cut an offered price on some things into a third during haggling. With the prices they were asking for though, usually it wasn’t an acceptable price unless it was under a tenth of the original price. This I found out after someone offered me a blanket that I’ve seen before in Hyderabad (priced at maybe rs.200 ($5)), and asked for rs.3000 ($75) for it. There was loads of deception present there too.

Venders would walk up to you as excited as ever to meet you and talk to you, but they always got you to come back to their shop to look. Whether or not they’re actually interested in talking to you, selling is at least one of their objectives, and you never know if or if not it’s their only objective. In such a case friendly acquaintances you make are really just violating ploys for money, and I discovered this firsthand by the end of the day.

Anita, John, and Anil found me at one of their friend’s stands and proceeded to talk to me, asking about things like how the day was going and how I was liking the market etc. They offered to take me to a restaurant for a break and we talked there further. John was only 14 or so and was excited to answer all my questions about his school and siblings etc. Anita was maybe 19 and told me a lot about her son. Anil was older and more quiet. I wasn’t oblivious, I mean I knew they were wanting me to visit their shops at some point, but I never promised to buy anything and whether or not their stories were true, enjoyed listening to them and having some kind of conversation. Of course the conversations were spotted with *so make sure to visit my shop, I’ll show you* The stories of all the venders seem to be somewhat the same, how they have different merchandise than the other, better quality than another, more variety than another, better prices than another, even stories like *my husband beats me because I don’t bring in enough profit.* It’s all meant to draw you in and feel guilty. Anita also never missed the chance to keep calling me *brother* as if we were family and to issue claims that we were close friends and that she’d like to have my address to write to me after I leave India. This didn’t come out of nowhere, I mean I spent practically the whole afternoon with them and we were talking, laughing, and having a good time just like close friends would.

I willingly visited each of their shops but was disappointed to hear obnoxious prices even at the proposal that they’d each offer me the best price in the whole market. Each also claimed that either they had made their merchandise or some authentic homely figure had, like their grandmother, even though what they were selling was identical to the products I had seen so much already that day. Anita also claimed that the rust I pointed out on one of her anklets was “color” that she had purposefully added for appeal. Whatever it takes to make your merchandise more appealing, right? I bought something small from each of them for prices that I had fortunately negotiated down to being reasonable, even though I could get it in Hyderabad for a little less. Anything in Hyderabad would be less, Goa is a tourist destination. After I had said goodbye to them and was turning to leave, I got a quick glimpse of Anita. She looked at Anil with a sense of exasperation, anger, and disappointment on her face, as if her time had been wasted that I hadn’t bought more or fallen for obnoxious prices.

Although I was disappointed that my money was probably the objective all along, I had had an enjoyable time with them that afternoon, whether or not a genuine acquaintance was made on the other side. They should have realized from the beginning that there’s a risk involved on both ends: It’s a risk for me to get to know you because maybe all you want is my money, at the same time it’s a risk for you because I’m not actually physically obligated to buy any of your stuff, and you may just be wasting your time away if money is the only thing that matters to you. Yeah money is an important endeavor, and a living. Why would you actually say that you got your products from some other seller if everyone else says that they made their own, (making it more appealing to a market-goer)? You can have your priorities arranged in any way, but the problem is that you never know what someone else’s priorities really are—centered on genuine interaction like it seems or on ploys for money like it always may be. It’s just like I have no way of actually knowing if your grandmother made what you’re selling me. I feel really bad for first-time-in-India tourists there; they would have no perspective of how expensive things actually are and may think that the prices they’re paying are actually sane.

Heading back from Mapusa, we decided to go to Anjuna, a beach just a few kilometers north of Baga; the ocean views there are superb, and you can see the angry water smashing into the steady rocks at the feet of cliffs. After dinner and chai, we headed down the beach in search of lodging. So many girls on the beach were eager to sell to us, having trinkets like ankle bracelets and necklaces in nearby shops. Here’s a typical conversation we’d have at least several times everyday: *Hello, sir!* “Hi.” *First time in India?* “Not really, we study in Hyderabad.” *OH, Hyderabad…you are liking India?* “Yep.” *Good! What is your name?* “Matt.” *Hi Matt! My name is Anita* “Hi, Anita.” *Hi! So can I tell you one thing?* “Ok.” *You just come look my shop, right over there* “No, thanks.” *Just look, no price for looking* “No.” *There is no charge for looking* “I have no more rupees with me.” *That’s fine, you can just have a look, then maybe you can buy something later* “I told you, I have no more money” *Just look then, there’s no fee for looking! Go ahead and have a look and then maybe you can buy later* “Ok, bye” *Sir! Sir! I make you VERY good price* “No, thanks.” *You name your price, I make it for you* “I have no more rupees, goodbye” *Ok well I make you good price later then, you will come by tomorrow?* “Maybe” *Ok you have free looking tomorrow and I make a good price for you* “Bye” *Ok promise you’ll come by tomorrow?* “Bye, Anita” *Ok see you later then, you come look my shop* “…”

It’s that bad. And there’s dozens of them. Learning how to ignore is a must.

We eventually found cheap rooms ($5 a night for 4 people) just a short walk from the beach and reserved several, there was a lot more people coming. So far there was only 5 of us, but that evening Batia, Thy, Rachel, Tori, Cat, Tes, and Spencer were due to arrive in Goa and were planning on meeting up with us. We felt incredibly sorry that they were going to have to endure +24 hour journeys each way for just like one day in Goa, and imagined what their reactions were going to be about the bus ride to Panjim from Hubli.

I remember Batia calling me on my cell phone: *MATT I’m so glad I got a hold of you.* “Hi Batia!” *HEY, so we just arrived in Panjim…where are you guys exactly?* “Ok, so we’re at a place called Anjuna, you’ll need to get a bus here, probably through Mapusa, then to Anjuna” *You mean we have to get on ANOTHER bus?* “Haha, yeah, it’s only like another hour or two” *Oh my GOD I can’t believe we’re getting on another bus…* I was cracking up the whole conversation just imagining the look on their faces when they realized that their journey wasn’t quite over yet.

When we started walking to meet them it was already dark; with all the venders gone, Anjuna was like a ghost town and we had to use the flashlights on our phones to navigate the narrow paths in between the town buildings up to the bus junction. Although walking in blackness with dogs rustling around at your feet and cows periodically blocking the path that you wouldn’t see until you were face to face was actually pretty terrifying, I was really excited to meet up with the other people; it felt kindof like waiting for the rest of your family to arrive for a holiday.

The other half of the group was as excited to meet us as we were to meet them, and they were eager to see the beach too, having had time to anticipate it for well over a day of travel. After everyone had their stuff settled in the rooms, we all headed to the beach and made a bonfire. That night was a ton of fun, talking and laughing around the fire, listening to the ocean in front of us, and peering at the stars. We also met some Indians, Ankit, Virod, Ashu, and “Ok” (easy-to-remember nickname) from Jaipur who were touring around the beaches. They were so much fun to talk to; none of them had known each other either before coming to Goa, they just met up randomly and found that they were all from Jaipur. Anyway I can’t even remember all that we talked about specifically, but it sure did include everything. We were talking on the beach until maybe 6 in the morning before heading back to our rooms.

On the way back, Ankit and crew took some of us back to the rooms by bike. We approached an intersection of town with a circular flowerbed in the middle and made a right through the intersection by going counterclockwise around the circle for part of the way. Well, the police would have none of that. You were to go clockwise around it to maintain staying on the left hand side of the street (even if there was absolutely no one else around), and just as we were about to leave the intersection, we heard whistling from the police. Our three bikes stopped, two officers came over to us, and I have no idea what was said the whole time; I just stood aside and watched. A lot of arguing went on, Ankit and them were trying to make the argument that it was their first time in the area and they didn’t know the city rules etc. The police were remarkably uncompromising, especially because we didn’t have licenses with us (just what they were hoping for). Our rented bikes were “impounded” and we were to go to the station to pick them up later, each for rs.1000 ($25); with bureaucratic processing though, it was going to be at least a month or more before we’d be able to retrieve them. The bikes were rented; we were leaving in a few days…that wasn’t going to work at all. One of the officers took a key from us, started the bike, and drove away as we begged him to accept a bribe. The remaining officer issued an offering bribe of rs.1000 (only a third of what we were going to have to pay but still ridiculous, usually bribes don’t go above a few hundred…I think in Delhi there’s a legislated cap on police bribes at only rs.600). After some time, he agreed to rs.700 and called back the officer who had driven away.

Although I didn’t say anything, I was really angry at the officers for not being more accommodating and for making such a big deal out of the situation. It doesn’t seem like they’re as interested in enforcing the law as they are catching easy targets on the hope they can charge them on some violation and get a bribe in return. The Indians with me were just as angry, but more accustomed to the whole process. I guess the officer at least brought the bike back finally and didn’t make us go through the whole impounding process…for a price. Maybe I should be thankful? No, no not really I don’t think. You could also smell alcohol on the officers’ breath. I guess they get pretty bored sitting up all night waiting for pour souls like us to turn at a wrong angle.

The next day Melissa, Ben, Harrison, and I hiked over this mountain on the coast; its base was right at the ocean and the views were spectacular. Sometimes we stopped for some time just to take it all in. We happened upon some coastal resorts which were for the most part empty; they looked like fine places, very secluded and not too developed, sitting on the steep hill that began at the beach and continued up the face of the mountain. We were approached by some venders; they really have nothing to do. For like 8 months of the year, nothing to do. Believe me, I’ve talked to them, they save up during the tourist season (November through February) and then wait for the next season to start up. At the end of the off-season, I bet they’re pretty excited to see some white faces (aka, potential buyers).

There wasn’t that much trash along the beach, but walking along it you could see shiny oil residue over the footprints you just made; sometimes you could kindof notice oil in the water too. Some beaches are worse than others; the part we had been swimming in was fortunately less polluted. We stopped to eat at this oceanfront restaurant that was terraced and had tables directly facing out to the ocean…perfect. It wasn’t difficult to enjoy our banana lassis, spinach cashew curries, and pizzas with such a view in front of us. The manager (from Scotland actually) was telling me that the monsoon season washes away the beach sand and exposes all the boulders underneath; that’s why it was so rocky. During the tourist season though, the ocean brings the sand back to the shoreline and the beaches become flat (covering the rocks) and completely white. He said that the beach makes its way right up to the edge of his restaurant and sometimes the waves lap in. After sufficiently enjoying the scenery (in addition to the herd of cows sunbathing in the sand) and feeling like we were actually on vacation, we headed back across the mountain back to Anjuna.

After enjoying the waves crashing into the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff in Anjuna, Harrison, Tori, Batia, Rachel, and I ate in an open-air restaurant; the malai kofta there was delicious, the vegetable balls had a hint of peanut butter flavor and the curry sauce tasted a tad like candy. We spent a lot of time talking, especially about grievances that I’ve heard SIP girls make before about socializing in India. First of all, the Indian girls here are used to not being as vocal as we were and it can be pretty difficult to start up an interesting conversation with them sometimes, let alone forge a friendship. Additionally and more upsettingly, it can never be known for sure why exactly an Indian man is talking to you (if you were a female). So many times SIP girls have had conversations with Indian men and realized at some point that verbal interaction was not exactly what they were after… It was hard for me to imagine really, I mean I (being a guy) have more conversations with people than I need with no such problem (although you have to keep in mind a vender’s potential deceit). The girls explained it to me by putting me in the hypothetical scenario of talking to someone all the while noting in the back of your mind that the other person doesn’t really think of you as another human being. I’m sure not all men here are this way, but at the least many men here do stereotype the American girl to be significantly more promiscuous than those in India. I guess you never really do know what someone else is actually thinking.

Oh I also met an Indian who was present in the Andaman Islands when the tsunami hit a few years ago. He recounted the story to me, saying how he had woken up early and saw the ocean rising up in the distance. As people began to realize that it was a massive wave, a frenzy erupted as people tried to wake their family and friends from sleep to search for high ground. He said he ran as fast as he could up the hill behind the village, just high enough to avoid the wave but in plain view of everything, including all his possessions and many people, being crushed by the wave or swept out to sea as it receded.

We spent the evening on the beach again (this time without the bonfire, it had gotten rained out several times the day before anyway), talking and soaking up the beach for the last time before the trip home. I slept pretty well in a bed scattered with sand in a room smelling of our mildew-reeking clothes, but we woke up at 7 am for our journey back home. First the bus to Mapusa, then another to Panjim where we had breakfast before boarding another bus to Hubli. We were all anticipating the +7 hour bus ride back through the bumpy mountains not only because of the great views but for the extreme turbulence as well. Actually maybe some weren’t excited for that part, but I kindof was. Fortunately the seats weren’t soaked this time, that was a big bonus.

Driving on a highway approaching Hubli, passengers from a bus next to us flagged at the driver to stop, pointing at our back wheel. Stopping alongside the road to investigate, we saw that the hubcap thing was bent and the tire was sliding off. Yes, the bus was falling apart. No big deal though, we had a spare underneath the bus and the whole situation only delayed us half an hour or so. The huge faulty tire had nowhere else to go but the aisle inside the bus, tied to a seat with a thin rope that looked ready to snap at any moment.

We made it to Hubli in time to eat some dinner, although most places didn’t start dinner until 7 pm. I was wiped out from the weekend and fell asleep really early on the train, even though everyone around me was awake with the lights on and the bed I had was one of the short ones on the side that was barely big enough for me to curl up on. Out like a light, I woke up 12 hours later at Lingampally train station in Hyderabad having slobbered all over my backpack that I was using for a pillow, a satisfying way to end a trip.

Goa had been the best of times and worst of times; although I was ripped off (at my own fault, I should have been more careful) and had experiences of people being much more interested in your money than the superficial conversations they were having with you, the coastal views were amazing along with the company, including our new friends from Jaipur who I’d like to visit at some point. It was an experience that was relaxing like a vacation, but at the same time was educational because we all learned something more about how to conduct ourselves in this country and how to perceive other people’s behavior as well. Getting acquainted with a completely different society like this one is an ongoing process that can take years, and you learn it best through direct experience.

We got back to the university in time for me to take an Indian Society test on the politics of caste and caste vs. class. I didn’t study as much for it as I did for the first test (also on the nature of caste), mostly because I wasn’t sure exactly what to focus on out of the thousands of pages of readings the professor had given us. My score on the first test was 11.5/20. I’m used to that being a failing grade, but I sure did see many that were much lower and my Indian friends were “wowed” at my 11.5. I just couldn’t get jazzed about it though, especially because I thought I did so well, having written a ton of stuff from the readings which is exactly what the professor claimed to expect. Quantity seems to be more of value here than quality; it’s more about ‘how much do you know’ as opposed to what I’m used to which is ‘how creatively can we discuss or communicate what we know in a pertinent way’. In any case, I thought I did better than an 11.5. It will be interesting to see my next grade. Will correlate with my lack of studying and be even lower? Or, maybe my practically meaningless fluff will be deeply appreciated by the professor? You can just never know for sure…

In any case, I was glad to be done with heavy academic work for the time being, in a week and a half I had prepared an entire seminar and taken three tests. Each class only has three tests in a semester, so I was already finished with a big chunk of grades. Finally I can take a break and unwind for a while (as if vacationing to famous beaches wasn’t relaxing enough).

So anyway it was also exciting to get back to my room and unpack, along with taking a shower. I was so dirty from Goa and the trip back that you could actually see the dirt in the water that was washing off of me. So refreshing. The first thing I noticed in my room as I was putting my backpack down was watermelon seeds on my desk. I didn’t think much of it, but it was confusing because there’s never been a watermelon near my room. It got more mysterious when I saw them scattered about my bed. Taking a closer look, I realized my watermelon seeds were actually rodent droppings, and they were everywhere. Shaking them out of my sheets and brushing them out of the room, I also found half eaten crackers, cookies, and slices of bread that had been dragged in from outside. Some lucky rat definitely had quite the party while I was away! It hadn’t mattered at all that I don’t keep available food in my room, my guest was happy to supply his own if there was space to scurry around in and comfy bed sheets to dirty up. Maybe it was a blessing that there were droppings on my bed, the sheets really needed to be washed anyway, and this forced me to do it alright. That night he came to visit me again, waking me up by crawling up my arm. Jumping up and throwing on the lights, I opened the door wide hoping he’d just leave. Within 30 seconds the papers under my bed started rustling and the rat in plain view waddled out from under the bed, across the room, out the door, and down the hallway. Simple as that. He was a big sucker with a body at least as long as your hand, but still he could squeeze under the doorframe. I noticed when I had to shoo him out on two separate occasions a few days later; he woke me up first by tickling my feet and then again my crawling next to my face, each time I opened the door and even verbally commanded it to leave. Each time it comically seemed to obey. I’m still finding droppings around my room sometimes, so it seems he comes in and out; I can’t find him during the day but maybe he’s a good hider. I’m working on taping my mosquito netting at the base of the door to let him know that he’s not welcome, more word later on whether or not that works out.