It's Getting Hot in Herre

Oh my goodness, get me out of the desert now. It's been two months since I touched down in India and aside from one frantic Mumbai day I've spent the entire time staring at a flat beige landscape. I'm accustomed to the same five scrawny dogs fight over bones all night every night, though I still harbor hope of shooing them away by throwing things at them from our balcony. The same garishly painted rickshaws putter back and forth, honking at bumps in the road. The dust and diesel particles in the air have settled down inside my lungs, now uncomplaining. I stopped coughing ages ago. It's no longer alarming that my nose is coated in black grime.

Enough complaining. I'm working on a project that's keeping me here in Jodhpur past my teaching stint with the Veerni Project. It's a study of child marriage, an archaic practice that's still thrieving here in backwards Rajasthani villages. Actually I saw one my first day teaching in Khatawas, though they told me at the time the brides were 18. Yeah right, they were barely 4 feet tall. I thought they were hunched over, swaddled in veils, but I've discovered since they actually were 12 years old at most. I'm going to the village tomorrow to find out more.