Bethania Visits Nos. 4-7: Creche-O-Rama!

You are now entering a world of cuteness the likes of which ye hast ne’er seen. Captive Blog Audience, meet The Crèches. Crèches, meet Captive Blog Audience:























Clockwise from top-left: Joshua House, Deborah Care Centre, Mabel's Crèche, Nathaniel Care Center.


Crèche, used here, is another word for day care center. We’re talking three to five year-olds, with or without adorable uniforms. Each shorter than a cricket bat, each weighing precisely half a watermelon. In Kodai, Bethania currently supports four crèches, though upon visiting just one I wondered why we shouldn’t open a dozen more, naming them after my friends, my sisters, Kirby Puckett, and my first pet goldfish.

The little darlings not old enough to join their siblings at school, Bethania's crèches pick up the tab toward the utter pleasure of their company, enabling (usually both) parents to spend the day entrenched in back-breaking physical labor. (Mothers usually haul firewood on their heads up and down steep roads for $1.15/day; fathers work construction for $1.75 - $2.30/day.) No wonder the waiting lists' exponential growth: at a cost of ZERO, each child receives two sets of clothing; one hearty meal, two snacks daily; health checkups; and a top-notch, kindergarten-prep education.

So visiting one of these things follows a kind of protocol, whereby you're entitling to an impassioned welcome of “Good morning, Uncle! (Aunt!)”; a pregnant silence as you take your seat, during which 40-50 kids collectively size you up; followed by, at the behest of needlessly nervous teachers, a program of songs at tops of lungs, dances at crests of enthusiasm, and ABCs’ at zeniths of memorization. Also had one little dude give a speech, which went like this:

My country.
I love India.
I live in India.
India is the seventh largest country.*
Native flag is silver chakra in the middle.
It has three colors:
Saffron, white, and green.
Native beast is the peacock.*
In our country.
And celebrate.*
In our country.

* = Denotes desperate head twitching toward Teacher, line prompting.

I usually wait till the set of rehearsed ditties rounds out to move in for a little participation; see what they're really learning. Runs through days of the week, counts up to ten, animal impressions usually score high; amazing how young minds can soak up a second language. But beyond rote memorization, everyone gets a kick out of spontaneously sending a kid up front -- the one who does the best monkey, perhaps -- to perform for an audience. Sickening how much like Indian Idol it all becomes, but with a snap of the fingers I can direct the teachers to which kids are 'worthy' to be led out to the better light where Dad's hosting Gratuitous Photo Session Number Eighty-Seven. You can see I'm a bloody sucker for those jasmine flower hairdos.

And then suddenly a voice from the van out front is beckoning you come, on to the next unforgettable destination. You shake the last of countless little hands and toss just one more toddler around like a pizza crust before it's back down the windy mountain road to the plains, onto a train back to Chennai, into a lonely hotel room where you anxiously reconcile a heap of Goan textiles with an already bulging backpack, through airport security and onto the first of FIVE airplanes you've brainlessly scheduled for to carry you home.

Wish me luck,

Sorry so many semicolons,

L.