PARTY!!!

This last weekend, a group of 17 students who were doing a certificate program in microfinance at Chaitanya and some interns from London completed their program and I threw a party for them on our veranda (yes, my entertaining skills have resumed here as well…I haven’t changed that much). With the little resources we had we went and bought candles and decorated our huge veranda that connects to my room on the second story of the guest house I am staying in. Although our food options were limited, we bought a big cake as well as pomegranates and samosas for snacks. Like a true Persian, I started to panic about there not being enough food but in the end it was more than sufficient.

To make the occasion more special, me and my friend from the U.K. went out and bought special fancy saris for the party. I committed another huge faux pauxs as I failed to take a local with me sari shopping and bought a red sari that is traditionally worn by brides without knowing it. It was a funny mistake that just added to the plethora of my cultural slips but I still wore the sari and all my Indian friends were so excited to see us embracing traditional Indian clothing, treating us like dolls by pinning our saris here and there, braiding our hair or fixing our bindis and bangles.

So the best part of the party was we DANCED, DANCED, DANCED. All of the young Indian girls taught me some of the local Hindi dances from the Bollywood movies as we danced in a large circle, them totally in synch and myself doing my best to catch on. After a few hours of this, I taught them some Persian dances and they LOVED Persian dancing and music. I was so surprised at how quickly they embraced this dancing and picked up the moves. By the end of the night we had danced and jumped around so much that we were all drenched with sweat.

In additional to our elaborate outfits and the dancing, the vibe of the night was so beautiful and magical. Everyone looked so beautiful and the excitement and joy that was all trapped in the space of our veranda made the night so memorable. Even in a small little town with power outages, no showers and no furniture (causing us to sit on the floor) the party still felt so elegant-kind of like a very small scale Indian version of a royal ball. That is the thing about India that I have found time and time again…you can have very little yet each experience is truly so rich and beautiful in nature that nothing compares to it.

The Beach, Swine Flu and more....

Since the past few blog postings have been a bit heavy and on the serious side, I think it is due time to write a more, fun, lighthearted post.

Two weekends ago we went to a little beach town about four hours away from the village I am living in. The drive there was so peaceful and lush and we went through a hill station called Lonavla that is famous for its waterfalls and beautiful green scenery. Though, I had been there before to see all the major tourist sites (ancient caves, dams and waterfalls) this time I saw monkeys (I was so excited) and ate freshly BBQed corn on the cob for the first time since being in India!!!

The beach town we went to was called Alibaug and it was so great to see a different part of India. The beach was really calm and nice (not tropical, but nice nonetheless) filled with many Indians on holiday walking down the mile long stretch of beach. Although initially the beach town appeared to be like many others I have visited around the world, there were some striking differences. Here, NO ONE wears bathing suits even to the beach and women will go into the sea with their saris or shalwar kameez on. Coming from the west where we are accustomed to seeing people half dressed at the beach, it was quite odd to see people swimming while fully clothed. As many of you can imagine, it was hard for me to be at the ocean side and not be in a bathing suit but it was all part of the experience as it forced me to enjoy it in a different way than I usually do. With this said, I was daring enough to sit on the sand in a tank top and my pants slightly rolled up and even with this I got many weird stares and comments especially from the young kids both because of my exposed skin and my desire to darken my skin; Indians AVOID the sun and being tan or having dark skin is not at all desired. Again, a contrasting experience for me, the girl who loves to tan and have a golden bronze glow. All in all, the people of Alibaug thought I was completely insane.

While in Alibaug, myself and a few other interns from London ran into a huge issue when we first arrived and none of the hotels would accept us. Each place that we inquired with we were told, “Sorry, we are sold out.” We soon enough figured out that the hotels were not in fact sold out, but were frightened to let foreigners stay because they feared we would spread swine flu and contaminate the hotel. I am not sure how many of you have heard about the swine flu outbreak in Pune, but the Indian media has really exaggerated the epidemic and people are really frightened and walk around with their faces fully covered. There is the perception that the disease has been spread from the west and many people that see me, particularly when I am with other westerners, immediately cover their mouths or say “Hi, swine flu.” It was such a shock to go from everyone coming up to me and wanting to talk and touch me to being stigmatized as diseased.

In the end, myself and my co-worker (who is Indian) went into a hotel and the other interns who look more obviously western stayed in the car and we got a room right away. Although we were all very frustrated after hours of searching for a room and being turned away, it was also a very enlightening experience. Since I have been in India, for the most part, I have felt very privileged and catered to and usually have found that with money, most things can be accommodated. This was the first time that money or being an American actually did not work to my advantage; in short, the loss of privilege was challenging but at the same time allowed me to experience a very different part of India which is extremely valuable to my understanding of the complexity of this country. Also, it made me empathize more with those, particularly immigrants, that we stigmatize when we hear through the media that a disease is being spread from that country (ex. Mexico and swine flu) and I personally realized how isolating this can feel. Thank god the swine flu drama has all subsided a bit now and people are beginning to resume their normal lives.

While we were in the middle of the fiasco of finding a vacant room, we found a Radisson hotel and figured that they at least have to let us eat at their restaurant. Although it was a bit on the pricey side (and this in India means $10/plate), we decided to utilize our privilege and treat ourselves and ordered cocktails for one of the first times since we have arrived in India. I was the first one to order and was swiftly denied by the waiter who refused to serve me alcohol. When I asked wh, he said since it is Indian independence day, only tourists can have drinks, as he pointed to the others at the table (on Indian independence day, alcohol is not served by public establishments). I stated that I am also a tourist yet he did not believe me until I gave him documentation of my foreign passport to prove I am not Indian. It seems that the longer I have been here the more and more I have transformed to look like an Indian. People come up to me several times a day saying, “You are from America? But you look just like an Indian girl.” Experiencing the different dynamics that this shift in my identity has brought about has also helped me to see an aspect of India that would be impossible otherwise.

Once we got the glitches figured out, our weekend ended well and we soon enough returned to rural life in Rajgurunagar which although is still really great, definitely has its moments which are needless to say, anything but glamorous. Last week, in one night I got about 40 mosquito bites. Somehow I got stuck with a little guest in my room that decided to feast on my blood all night long. As I was scratching some of my bites, I discovered a little bug that had implanted itself in my leg and I had to squeeze it out. To add to my encounters with creatures, the other day I was walking home and a huge rat jumped out of one of the trees and almost landed on my head. I know this is all quite grotesque, but part of the realities of rural living. Also, we continue to have storms here and for the past few days we have gone for long periods without water or electricity. It is interesting how accustomed you become to living without things that if it was to go missing for even one day in the U.S… it would be a tragedy.

In light of all these undesirable encounters, I started to think…if I could have one comfort right now what would it be? Although a million things came to my mind, there was nothing that I felt that I really wanted or missed enough (other than friends and family of course) that I was willing to give up my life here in India for. It was then that I realized how much I have adjusted and must truly love every aspect of being here.

Health Disparities in Rural India

Other tourist often say, getting sick in India is part of the experience of being here. Although thankfully, I have not suffered from more than a minor cold so far, even in this situation I realized that when your health is compromised you feel vulnerable, lonely, scared and dependent on others. I always thought about these feelings in regards to myself and how I would cope with feeling marginalized while in a foreign country with health issues. It never occurred to me that citizens of India, although they are not foreigners, have these same emotions when experiencing health problems which are often magnified due to their social status, income and caste.

My first exposure to health issues in India was this week when I briefly visited a government hospital. This visit was completely spontaneous as I went to Pune this weekend to visit my friend Smita and then go to the field with her the following day. On our way to the bus station she asked me, “are you interested in seeing a government hospital?” With a bit of apprehension due to the fact that I was fully aware that it would be a really difficult yet important experience, I said yes and before I knew it we were in the waiting room. As we walked in, the first thing I noticed was that the hospital closely resembled a train station, with people camped out and waiting in long lines at the slight chance that they might be seen. The only thing that undisguised it as a hospital was the crowds of people with cloth wrapped around their injuries, burn victims, and children/elderly lying curled up in a corner, each with a plea of desperation in their eyes.
As we walked through, I was so overwhelmed that I was not even able to digest everything I was seeing. I could not process the pain, both physically and emotionally. Almost simultaneously, a slight wave of panic came over me thinking about the possible diseases floating around in the air. Uncertain of whether my quick request to leave the hospital was a self-centered fear of my own health being at risk, or to avoid seeing anymore poor, sick people that my senses could not handle, we snuck out one of the side doors. As we left, although filled with sadness, I breathed a sigh of relief until I saw that the crowds continued on to the outside of the hospital and even filled the sidewalks surrounding the hospital. Here, I saw similar sights as those in the waiting area except for there was even more sorrow filled in these people’s existence because they had either been discharged from the hospital with nowhere to go, denied services or given up the hope of getting care. Not able to stop thinking of all the people I saw during my two minute walk through the hospital, me and Smita boarded the bus for our long journey to the village.

Upon arrival, the familiar air of the village and presence of our host family was so comforting… a relief from the traveling and poverty of the city. As we walked into the home of our host family we sensed an emptiness and asked, “Where is everyone?” Our host mom explained that the family had to accompany the young bride of their nephew, Jaya, to the hospital because she lost her baby. Surprised and confused that she was even pregnant as I had not known this in my prior visit, I began to ask questions (as I often do). I quickly learned that medical issues, particularly in regards to women, are very taboo and often not up for discussion.

Me and my friend Smita started out by, making our rounds to the families in the village, asking them questions about their participation in microfinance while in between discussing our aimless efforts and helplessly wondering what our purpose was in the village. On our walks, we would have deep discussions about our passions in life, how we are viewed in this rural community and the meaning of true empowerment and grassroots community organizing. Through these conversations, I came to see the commitment that Smita has to social change and her compassion for the world. It was within her that I started to believe that our future holds some hope and better things for those who are suffering. Through our talks, I also realized that often connections and deep sharing goes beyond language communication and comes down to people’s emotions and shared feelings and experiences. The pain and joy we share together in the village day in and day out is something that has made me feel connected and bonded to her and the community in a very unique way. The way in which we capitalize on each other’s strengths and use her identity as an insider and my identity as an outsider to both of our advantage is an example of a true partnership in problem solving. Most importantly, I will be forever indebted to her for opening up a world to me and giving me the gift of experiencing rural India. What I have gained from my time in the village would be impossible without her.

After our rounds we headed back to our house, both frustrated about our purpose in the community. We saw that Jaya had returned from the hospital and rushed in to see how she was doing. As we sat at the corner of her bed, I noticed an extreme sense of sadness and sorrow in her eyes that she was desperately trying to cover up. Being released from the hospital less than an hour ago, she sat up in bed in a beautiful pink saree, her hair perfectly in place but unable to hide her pain. We asked her why she didn’t change into something more comfortable and she said “no I can’t, people will think badly.” Seeing the sadness in her eyes and through some probing questions asked in a slight whisper so the ten in-laws around us would not hear our conversation, we found out a bit about Jaya’s story.

At age 16 her parents arranged her marriage. Although she pleaded with them to wait until she was at least 18 so she could finish her basic education, being from a poor family, her parents could not afford the risk of passing up an eligible groom and quickly made the decision for her to marry. In her parent’s eyes, they were doing the best thing for their daughter in order to settle her in a good home and guarantee her a financially secure future with a decent family. After meeting her future husband only once very briefly in her parent’s home, Jaya was married and moved to a village 300 kilometers away to live with her new husband, his parents and extended family to take on her new role. Prior to this, Jaya had never even left her parents home other than to go to school and back. She had never spent a day apart from her parents or her siblings.
With the help of Smita (my co-worker) I had the opportunity to ask her about this period of time around her marriage. She shared with us that she was very anxious and afraid about not being able to fulfill her duties as a wife as well as being so far away from her family. Jaya admittedly told us that she had no idea what marriage meant or anything about reproduction. No one explained this to her yet at 16, married her off assuming that she would figure everything out, the same way that women have for many previous generations.

Last month, Jaya found out she was three months pregnant and had no idea what precautions to take while being pregnant, how to care for her body or the process of gestation. When she woke up in the morning with severe pain while simultaneously being extremely embarrassed due to a lack of privacy as her in-laws were intimately aware of her medical issues, they loaded up in the back of a truck and headed to a local hospital in the closest town to the village (over 10 kilometers away). Jaya described the extreme pain that she endured and her fears about not knowing what was going on with her body.

Upon arrival at the hospital, with little explanation, her baby was aborted. At the hospital the family lied and told the doctors she was 20 as opposed to 17 since 18 is technically the legal marrying age in India (although this is rarely abided by). I asked her several times about the specifics of the complications and she said she didn’t know and nothing was explained to her by the doctors. She handed me some papers with brief notes scribbled in English that even I could not make out. I then asked her husband and he was also confused about what exactly had happened but continued on to say “I told her to take better care of herself and now look what happened.” Although he was not intentionally being accusatory and I could sense a genuine feeling of caring and sadness, he was also ignorant about the process of pregnancy and the only way he could understand it was by blaming his wife’s negligence as the cause. In effect, this placed the guilt of losing the baby on Jaya in addition to the grief and pain (both physical and emotional) she was already experiencing. We repeatedly explained to her that it is normal to miscarry your first baby and because she is so young and thin, her body could not handle carrying the baby to term.

I asked if she was given any instructions or medication and Jaya handed us two pill bottles, again with instructions written in English and said, “They gave these to me but I don’t know what they are for.” I read the packages, and told her I am not a doctor but recognized a name of some of the drugs and explained the purpose of the drug and how important it is for her to complete the package in order to avoid further complications. She agreed and stated that she was glad we had told her this or else she would not have done so because she did not understand what the medication was for. My co-worker Smita suggested that Jaya wait a little while before becoming pregnant again. Me and Smita encouraged her to resist the pressure from those around her to have a baby right away and prove her fertility (being infertile has a huge stigma attached to it in India and inability to produce children can often induce mistreatment from the husband and in-laws). She agreed but admitted that she did not know how to prevent another pregnancy. Smita, again in a low whisper explained everything to her and although she did not say much, a little smile would appear on her face from time to time indicating her appreciation for us being there and talking to her about her experience and hardships.

As I watched this interaction, my heart broke for this girl, not only for her loss but her feelings of loneliness and isolation. Thinking back to my last visit, I remembered how she had stroked my hand as she was dressing me in the saree and said to me in Marathi ‘doost?’ (friend?). At the time, I just saw her as one in the crowd of women, enthusiastic about seeing me dressed up in Indian clothing. Now considering her current circumstances, I realized that she was reaching out for comfort to someone who was outside of her world, and if not even that, for anyone at all. As I sat on the corner of her bed, I felt so helpless with language being a barrier between us, not being able to say the things I wanted to say to her. The only thing I could do was hold her hand and stroke it in the same way she had mine. As I did so I realized that I was so accustomed to solving the problem that just physically being there for someone has always been put on the backburner. Even in my role as a social worker, although I would listen to my clients, I would immediately jump to how to relieve the issue. In this moment, with the lack of resources or tools at my fingertips, I was forced to put by problem solving skills on hold and just be there for her, with my presence and show my caring without communication. Although this was not the solution to her pain, it taught me that sometimes finding a way to give people comfort through empathy and love can be extremely significant, even though they continue to experience the pain.

As our first day in the village came to an end, we rested with our host family and then woke up the next morning and set out on a 2 mile hike to a tribal village of indigenous Indians. Our task was to gather some information on the culture, life and history of the people of this tribal village as well as assess the interest in starting the self-help group movement in this community. As we entered the village we were greeted with a mix of kindness and suspicion as to the purpose of our visit. This reception was quite natural given the historical context of this population’s marginalization through land confiscation which has caused this community to be significantly more impoverished. Although these tribal villages continue to have a rich sense of culture and traditions that they have managed to hold on to for hundreds of years, they are struck with many social ills that have arisen in response to their history of oppression and exclusion in society.

As we were talking to the members of the community in an attempt to build some trust and rapport, we noticed one of the woman with a speech impediment and a deformity on the side of her face. As a result of Smita’s experience working in a cancer clinic she guessed that this woman may be a cancer survivor. As we were discussing her economic situation with her, Smita, with a lot of ease and kindness, asked her what happened to her face. She replied that she had several surgeries. Smita asked why and the woman responded and said, “Well I don’t know. I think they said it was cancel.” Then Smita clarified and asked, “cancer?” and she responded, “yes… I think that is it.”

With this information, we began asking her about her medical history and the care she is receiving. She informed us that she now has another tumor which was clearly visible in the corner of her eye and also has sharp pain and pressure in her head. She stated that she had not been to the doctor since she had her last cancerous tumor removed two years ago. As I listened to this woman (who we call Moshee meaning auntie) describe the progression of her illness, I once again felt so helpless, like there was absolutely nothing I could do for her. As we were attempting to better understand her medical conditions, she brought out a plastic bag full of papers and records from her doctor. As Moshee explained in Marathi what she had gone through, with difficulty speaking as a result of a tumor being removed from her mouth, and myself sitting among a heap of illegible medical documents, I decided that the only thing I could do for her was to was organize her paperwork. As we sat under a tree, I shifted through hundreds of papers to put them in chronological order to make sense of the progression of her illness while Smita made a call referring her to an oncology tumor board; this time we went into problem solving mode. Smita specifically described every step she needs to take in order to be seen by doctors at the tumor board, ironically at the same government hospital we had visited the day before. At this time, Moshee pulled out a heap of old medications as well as eye drops that she was given to take. As I looked through them I realized that all of them were expired as well as dirty and contaminated. We advised her to throw them all away and stop their use as they could be aggravating her situation if she is putting expired and unsanitary meditation in her eye.

The hour we spend with this woman, reviewing her medical information and drilling in again and again how important it is for her to get immediate care, although we did some problem solving, ultimately the importance of all of this was the time we took to communicate to her that her life mattered. When we first sat down with her, it was obvious that for so long she was treated as if her life was disposable and in turn she had internalized these feeling. She even said often, “well, I guess I will just die,” in which we responded, “Moshee, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Receiving inadequate treatment in the medical care system combined with her internal feelings of lowered self-worth had made her feel even less empowered and valuable as a person which translated into her negligence to seek proper care.

Though it is never certain, as we wrapped up our visit, I had a feeling that the mere fact that we cared about her and constantly told her that her health is in fact important, changed this woman’s outlook. She promised to attend the clinic that week and as we were leaving we both told her “we care about you and we want you to be healthy. You don’t have to live like this but it is up to you to do something about it.” A crooked smile appeared on her face and she said, “Ok, now I believe that is true.”

As we left the tribal village I replayed this woman’s story over and over in my head. I realized that although there are certain pains and feelings that are common in humanity, such as being ill, the expectations and values we put on our life is a product of how we are treated by others which transforms pain to impact people differently. This woman most likely has a very curable form of cancer; if it was myself or someone from the privileged world, it never would have gone as far as it did and we would demand to have the care we needed to get well because, we have been told, treated and come to believe that we deserve it. As a result of her history, treatment and perceived lowered value of her life, this woman has felt precisely opposite. Although, health is a human right unfortunately as I have found this week, it is one that is not upheld for much of the world’s population.

After another long journey back to the town I live in, I arrived to a quite, empty house-a rarity in India. Alone for one of the first times since I came here, everything that I had seen and been through that I had to hold in and could not express at the time just hit me like a ton of bricks and I couldn’t stop my tears. I cried for Jaya and the many young girls who live with fear and loneliness, I cried for the woman and the rest of the tribal community who have been convinced of the lowered worth of their life, and finally, I cried because I was aware in that moment that every one of these stories will be imprinted in my mind and will influence me for the rest of my life.

Poverty in the Present

In a book about a women’s experience traveling through India, I read that, “Loving India means accepting both her good and bad. I spent most of my time there vacillating wildly between romanticizing and criticizing the country…either view is valid yet incomplete without the other.” In reflecting on this I realized that I have conveyed many of the beautiful and amazing aspects of India while leaving out a lot of the destitute and undesirable parts. In an effort to give an accurate picture of my experience in the country, I feel it is necessary to augment what I have shared previously with the other side that may not be as heartwarming to read but in the same respect equally as important to understand.

The poverty in India is vast and incredibly heartbreaking. The way it harshly hits you in the face in the larger cities as compared to the rural areas makes it difficult to turn away from the sorrow that people endure. The ‘slums’ as they call the very poor, dilapidated areas in the big cities, although can be full of life with children playing a game of cricket with a piece of wood and stone and adults gambling with pebbles to pass the time, the conditions are beyond poor. The houses are constructed of cardboard and scraps, tightly packed side by side along the banks of a river contaminated with garbage, human waste, dirty animals and filth. The saddest part is that you know this river is their only source of water which they must use for bathing, washing and drinking.

A unique characteristic of the urban slums of India as compared to other developing countries such as South Africa, is they are not hidden or tucked away. Any visitor, whether they want to or not, catches a glimpse into the tough existence of slum dwellers. Simply riding in a rickshaw from one side of the city to the other you are guaranteed an intimate look at the reality of life in the slums since the homes (if you can even call them that) face the road and people are often spilling out into the streets. During this drive such sights as people defecating on the side of the street, unclothed children with a heavy film of dirt on their skin, cows and goats roaming between the narrow alleyways and void lots filled only of garbage and waste can be seen for miles.

A complicated aspect of urban poverty is those who migrate often see the city as a place of opportunity, leaving the life in their villages where they have a sense of community behind for the dream of ‘making it big.’ Once they settle in the city they realize that their perception of what would be is not only false but by moving away they have also lost that sense of belonging that was a source of comfort in the villages. As someone described urban poverty is not only being poor but a ‘poverty of spirit.’

Even more disturbing than the conditions of the slums are the beggars on the streets. Before coming to India, I had learned a little about the ethical issues involved in giving money to beggars as it perpetuates the industry of panhandling as a lucrative way to earn money and as a result poor people, particularly children and the disabled, are exploited (similar to the storyline in Slumdog Millionaire). When I learned of the ethics surrounding this, I decided to not give to beggars in India in an attempt to avoid contributing to this social ill as well as to erase the stereotype that westerners are the source of this issue since they are often the ones giving money. For awhile I was really sticking to this and found myself being able to turn away when I saw such things as a naked man hobbling in the streets, an old women with no limbs, a young girl walking on her hands and knees to get around, a blind lady without any fingers or toes, or thin, frail unclothed children…the list goes on and on. There is no way to even describe how disturbing each and every one of these images is each time you encounter it and to even go into thinking about the story behind each persons’ misery is just too much to handle. As a result of being overwhelmed in the face of these sights and my new moral commitment to not give to beggars, I found myself turning away, normalizing this poverty and just telling myself that there is nothing I can do therefore it is acceptable to ignore it.

On a trip to Mumbai this past weekend, to get these disturbing images out of my head, me and one of my friends decided to do something very ‘posh’ and have brunch at the Taj café (the Taj is the most luxurious hotel in the city and also the site of the Mumbai shooting attacks last year). We are both doing our internships with microcredit institutions that serve the poor, she in Mumbai the big city and myself in a smaller village. As we sat across the table from each other, without words we both sensed the pangs of guilt that consumed us as we devoured our brunch buffet, while sitting in our comfy corner booth and watching from the window the vendors outside on the side of the street, sweating feverishly to make in one month what we would spend on that meal. To ease our own discomfort we subtly convinced ourselves that we should not feel bad about our indulgence but that we deserved it and were rightfully treating ourselves therefore validating the privilege we enjoyed.

In looking back on this I realized that much of our justifications were similar to how the caste system works in India, or in any country for that matter. Caste diminishes an individual’s destiny down to karma and their rightful place in the world; justice and equality are unrealistic and improbable concepts within this system. While in the village one woman said, “the issue is that in order for someone here to be rich, somebody else has to be poor.” Later, my co-worker asked me what I thought of this statement and I struggled within myself before answering. I didn’t want to believe and accept that as the truth yet at the same time, I knew deep down that the way our world, particularly capitalist societies are structured, this very well is the case. So although there was a bit of truth to our rationale around having a lavish meal…I still felt unsettled.

As the day continued, my friend and I were walking through a maze of market stands, tourist attractions, slum housing and throngs of people when in the middle of all this chaos we stumbled upon a temple. Although we had an itinerary of things we wanted to do in a limited timeframe I asked my friend, ‘Do you want to go in?’ She agreed and we timidly entered the temple, very aware of our lack of belonging that made us blatantly noticeable. We received many stares and looks questioning why we were there yet were so accustomed to this feeling of being on display that we willingly accepted it for what we were experiencing in return; a part of India that we had yet to see-people worshiping in a beautiful Hindu temple. As we were heading out, we passed by a group of 20 women, sitting cross legged in two long lines facing each other, chanting in tune while playing their tambourines carefully choreographed to the melody of the song. I was mesmerized and I am sure the women could see the excitement on my face so they kindly gestured for us to sit down and join the group. I was so touched by the groups willingness to include us in their ceremony despite us being there as spectators. As we sat down, the only way I can think of to capture the feeling of being a part of this group is magical and invigorating. The women were singing, clapping and very obviously so spiritually involved in their chanting. I was so happy that I just wanted to capture and bottle that moment up and initially, all I kept thinking about was how I could do so. I thought about taking a picture but knew it would be inappropriate, then I thought about how I could describe it to others and after a few minutes of my mind racing, I literally closed my eyes, took a deep breath and was just present, there, among the 20 women. I didn’t think about what I did the day before or what I was going to do after I left… all of a sudden, it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was that moment and allowing myself to be so fully engaged in what was in front of me that the outside world didn’t matter. Suddenly, the heat, dirtiness and poverty that characterized Mumbai felt miles away. Through the women’s commitment to their chanting and my own ability to let myself go, I allowed myself to be free and embrace the gift that was brought about by our spontaneity and opportunity to step into this unfamiliar sanctuary.

After this incredible experience, my friend and I did some more sightseeing in Mumbai and then rode the train home. While we were in the train station we went to use the restroom which you have to pay a minimal fee for. I paid the guard at the door for me and my friend to use the facilities and waited outside for her. As I was waiting, a little girl about 6 years old with matted hair came up to me. I looked over and I saw that she was with her mother and 3 younger siblings who were completely unclothed and obviously living at the train station. She started talking to me and I gave her a smile and looked away (I have found that sometimes not knowing the language is very convenient). My friend came out and I went in and used the bathroom. As I was coming out the guard at the door had changed and started yelling at me that I didn’t pay. I tried to explain to her that I paid before but in this case, my lack of communication skills was a hindrance and I felt powerless. The mother of the little girl then turned to the guard and said, I saw her pay before she went in, and the guard nodded her head and said go. Without even realizing exactly how or why, this feeling came over me and I asked the little girl if she was hungry. She nodded yes and before I knew it I was at the closest fast food stand ordering several of the most filling items I could find on the menu. The little girl was at my side the whole time, wide-eyed in anticipation of what I was going to get for her. I handed her the bag of food and walked away without returning to the family; I didn’t want to put them in a position of having to say thank you or feel indebted in any way.

As I left I questioned my actions: Did I do this because she did something for me? Did I do it to feel good about myself and ease the guilt of my expensive brunch? Was I picking who was ‘deserving’ of the poor to give too? Why them and not the hundreds of other people I have seen on the streets since I have been in India? What difference did this meal really make if there are still millions of hungry people? I thought deeply about this the whole train ride home and although I still do not have an answer, I reconciled that although I don’t know if I did the right thing or the reasons behind why I gave in that time as compared to others, when people are in survival mode, these things are irrelevant. The family had a warm meal and would sleep with food in their stomachs that night; outside of all the moral dilemmas I was having in my head, I decided that for them, the mother and her children sitting in the train station, ultimately, that was the bottom line. Poverty would not be alleviated on a large scale as a result of my giving one meal to one family but in the end it was just that…one meal for one family.

As a result of this, I broke the prior commitment to myself to not give to beggars and internally decided that I would give what I could when I was compelled too. Although this is a bit arbitrary and I recognize it doesn’t really follow any logic, I decided that instead of clinging onto my ethical convictions as a security blanket in dealing with poverty, I would allow myself to act on emotion in the present moment. In thinking about my struggle I also realized that I was stuck between the familiar debate of ‘right and wrong’ and was using my education and theoretical approaches to judge a situation that quite possible doesn’t have a black or white answer or solution. Because India is such a complex country I don’t think there is ever a right or a wrong response but instead a variety of options that lie in the middle that must be navigated with each unique situation. To take a hard line approach can also be an easy way out and an excuse to ignore what you see. Although the luxury to choose when and when not to give is still a complete exercise of my privilege, the only solution I could find to my internal battle is letting myself feel a small fraction of the pain and then start thinking a little more with my heart instead of my head.

Leaving the array of complex emotions behind in Mumbai, I set out for a long and draining journey home. Each time I take a trip I have this moment of panic, wondering if I will actually make it home and to be quite honest, it is only thanks to the graces of the kind people I meet that I actually do. After transferring buses twice, on the last leg of my journey as I was sitting on the stuffy bus trying to make myself as small and compact as possible in order to make room for the extra 45 people crammed on the bus past capacity, I put my headphones on and created a space for myself to retrieve into my bubble. I used my ‘American’ music to tune out all of the noises on the bus and escape back to my ‘normal’ life. As I did so, I questioned why I left this life for the crazy chaos of India. All I longed for was some space: to not feel others sweat on my body, my toes being stepped on, constantly stared at as if I was an alien, pushed, crammed and at the mercy of other people. As I was sitting there in my own world, it occurred to me that in an attempt to ease my own discomfort, I was actually drowning out feeling anything. At that moment, I thought back to my experience in the temple and I took my headphones off and was just present. I felt 10 sweaty bodies pushing up against me, the smell of body odor and chewed paan (this weird horribly smelly chewing tobacco that is everywhere in India), the cool breeze and rain coming in through the window of the bus, the loud chattering of people that in my perception sounded like fighting, an old women making a seat out of a bag of rice in front of my feet talking to me in Marathi, ignoring the fact that I have absolutely no idea what she is saying, and the young girl sitting next to me who gives me a gentle smile indicating our shared commissary as she taps the guy leaning on me from the aisle and tells him to move over in a protective attempt to make the trip a little more bearable for me. It was then that I realized that it is not only in the pleasant times that I should be completely present but to really experience India, I need to resist finding a way to always ease my discomfort, as I so often have the luxury of doing in the U.S. and instead let myself feel everything that is around me, even if it is undesirable. Not having the space that we are so accustomed to in the west is part of what sets India apart and although it is annoying and unbearable at times, this lack of space is also what has allowed me to have the incredible connections with people that I do and experience something that is so different from the reality I live in the U.S.

In reflecting on this mix of emotions and experiences, I have come to see that although I don’t have most of the answers, I am at least starting to ask myself the questions which has pushed me to be just as ‘present’ for the joy and happiness as I am for as the hardships and sorrow.

More reflections on my time in the village

***Below have included a few more of my thoughts (with pictures) about my experience in the village. I know it can be overwhelming to read so I subtitled it so you can pick the topics you are interested in.


An American in Rural India
In addition to the wonderful relationship I built with my host family, I also was able to connect with many other families in the village. My presence in the village was a bit of a spectacle. Everywhere I would go people would come peek their head out of their windows and stare and my host would say something in which the only thing I would understand is “America.” Children, adults, and elders would all crowd around me and practice the few sentences in English that they knew and then ask me questions like “What is your house like in America?” “Do you have a car?” “What does your father do?” (BTW, news was going around the village that my father is an engineer) “What is your father’s salary in the U.S.?” “What does American $ look like?” “What do you eat?” (This was also a very hot topic; every person I met wanted to know what type of food we eat in the U.S.) “What kind of clothes do you wear there?” “Your mom doesn’t wear a sari?” (This was really surprising to many people as well). At one point I was taking a picture of one of the bullet carts that are used for farming and the next day we were walking through the village and my host father told me “See, they are washing the cart so you can sit in it and take a picture.” Everyone in the village wanted to host me in one way or another and this mostly involved an offering of food. As I was saying goodbye and leaving the village, several families were disappointed that I didn’t come to eat dinner with them or have chai. Of course I had to promise I would come next time.

In light of these experiences, I realized that the way Indians, particularly those in the village, relate and share food was not only so wonderful but also very familiar because of how Persians also put a lot of emphasis on food. The way we show our love and caring to our guests through food was the same in this village.

It would be so easy to walk into this village and just see poverty and people living without things we consider necessities but when you really spend time in the rural areas you realize how much they have that we are missing in our lives. As I was doing my rounds through the village I would momentarily start to feel really sad about the poverty and how little they have but just as this thought would cross my mind, something would happen that reminded me about the richness they have that is probably something few of us will ever have in our entire lifetime. I know this may sound really cliché but it’s the only way I can think of to describe it.

Gender in India
During my time in the village, I had the opportunity to see so many different houses and families in the village from the very poor and dilapidated to the more spacious housing that belonged to those who are landowners. Since 80% of India is rural, agriculture and farmland is HUGE and those who own land often have more sustainable lifestyles and are considered wealthier as compared to those who don’t. Through my interviews with woman in the village I discovered that the loans taken from the self-help groups often help woman contribute to their husbands’ businesses or agricultural work which can be a significant form of empowerment, particularly in the village setting where women’s roles are very rigid and they are thought of as only doing housework and childrearing. Given this confinement, it was so amazing as well as a little disheartening to witness how hard these woman work on a daily basis. Women make up a huge segment of the manual labor force in the farmlands and work alongside men for 12 hours a day without any breaks. I visited a potato sowing field and as I was watching the process I noticed that the women’s responsibilities are the hardest part of the labor; bending down to sow the seeds of the potatoes while the men sprinkle fertilizer or ride on the bullet carts (see picture). On top of this, after their day of work is complete they go home to tend to their families and responsibilities at home, prepare food and do washing. In an interview with one of the farm laborers, I asked her if they ever switched duties in the farm and she laughed and said “No way, the men would never do this work. This is just the way it is. This is their work and this is ours.” The interesting thing about this interview was that although this woman accepted her position and duties in the field, she was very aware of the unequal division of labor and that the women carry much of the burden of the work.

Another example of the perseverance of women in this village is my host mother who wakes up at 6:00 am every morning to make breakfast and lunch for her family, boil the water for baths, and clean the house (which is more just like a concrete room-here the kitchen, living room, and bedroom are all shared in a single space often among 10-20 people). After she completes these tasks she goes to the local elementary school and makes food from scratch for 130 elementary school students in a HUGE caldron over an open fire. I went with her one day to watch the process (and I learned how to cook an Indian dish) and could not believe how much time it takes and the effort that goes into this. She has to carry the rice and vegetables from where they are stored to the cooking area, start a fire which involves lots of smoke that burns your eyes and gets into your lungs that she must breathe in for the whole two hours it takes to make the meal, fry the vegetables, wash and clean the rice three times, and then cook all the food. Following this, she comes home and prepares lunch for her family then goes back to school to wash the dishes and huge caldron from the lunch for the children. After this she goes back home to tend to her family and make dinner as well as get things in order for the next day. The most mind blowing part is that she does all of this for 100 rupees in salary-that is $2 a month (50 of these rupees goes directly to her contribution to the self-help group for microloans). I was absolutely shocked when I heard this. And in between all this work she finds time to be the president of her SHG group as well as attend federation meetings and be a leader in her community.

I can’t even express how touched and inspired I felt after seeing the hard work and strong spirit of the woman in this village. I keep getting emails from people back home about how they are so proud of me and how strong I am but when I go see what the woman here are capable of and how hardworking, brave and motivated they are, my plight seems so little. These are the real woman we should be admiring.

Indian Marriage
Another gender issue that I became aware of during my visit in this village involves Indian marriages. Here girls get married at the age of 17 or 18 (men at 24 or 25) and I was told 90% of marriages are arranged; love marriages are very rare (yet at the same time this varies because I have met many friends who have had love marriages). People in the village were very surprised that in the US our parents don’t arrange our marriages. The concept of marriage and family is thought about so differently in India. In the U.S. it I very much about the individual and what makes you as a person happy. In India I have found that there is much more emphasis on the group and how you can benefit and contribute to the collective well-being of the family (which is possibly why the SGH/microloan concept is so successful here). I think this ideology is the basis of the arranged marriages here and why there is so much insistence on within caste marriage (caste is a whole other topic in and of itself that I will hopefully go into in another blog but it is very complex, rigid and hard to understand system).

An aspect of Indian marriages that I was very unaware of prior to my visit was the actual issues involved in the courtship and marriage ceremony. Although Indian marriages are so elaborately celebrated, beautiful and commence the joining of two families, they are also ridden with their own set of social problems. I visited a family who was so proud that their daughter married an engineer last month and they even showed me a professional video of their daughter’s wedding (weddings are lovingly referred to as 'shadi') with over 1000 in attendance (YES 1000). As I was sitting there in a small home that over 20 people shared and their income is probably $100/month total for all the members, I learned that they spent almost $4000 on their daughter’s wedding. I think from our perspectives we look at Indians weddings as so fun and beautiful (and without a doubt they are) but the pressure on families (particularly poor families) to please the grooms family and marry their daughters off is so high that families often must save and use what they would spend in two or three years on a wedding. If they are unable to do this they run the risk of their daughter not marrying (which can cause being stigmatized and out casted from the community) or not being properly taken care of due to their inability to arrange for a successful, stable husband.

Another issue that is very prevalent in rural areas of India, particularly for young women is the family structure in regards to marriages and living in joint families where many generations of the male side of the family live together (father and his wife, son and his wife, grandson and his wife). Many young girls have their marriages arranged by their parents at the age of 17 or 18 and they get married off to practically a complete stranger. Through my observations I noticed that the most difficult part of this is not the marriage in and of itself but the fact that these very sheltered girls that have for the most part never been away from their family for a day having to move often times far from their own family and move in with their husbands family which often consists of 20-30 people. They are then thrown into a whole new family culture, hierarchy and set of unwritten rules which along with it comes many new roles that these young women must fulfill and adjust to. Although this living arrangement is normalized in Indian culture, emotionally it is still very difficult for these young women. Their involvement with the SHG (self-help groups) gives them a forum to discuss with other women who are experiencing the same transition or have experienced it in the past and sharing their hardships and how they have coped. Although the premise of the self-help groups is financial the women revealed that the group actually functions more as a support group were they discuss social issues and problems they are facing in addition to financial issues. The fact that the basis of the group is loans seems to actually help women to gain support from their husbands’ to participate and get involved; their spouses see how the loans will benefit their families but are not necessarily aware of all the other things the meetings entail. Though change is slow to come, these women are carefully navigating how to take a leadership role in their families and communities within the confines of rigid and somewhat oppressive gender roles in rural India.

Education
Another amazing and very hopeful trend present in the village is the education level of the new generation. Even in this small rural village that has little interaction with the world outside of their community, a majority of the families, even VERY poor ones have managed to send their children to college. It was so amazing to find out that many of the youth who are now pursuing higher education have parents with only a 4th or 5th grade education. Education, even in rural communities, is highly valued and families are willing to take loans and do whatever it takes to send their children to school. The son and daughter in the family I was staying with ride their bikes 6 kilometers each day and then take a bus for an hour to get to school and home. Little elementary school children in the surrounding villages walk 5 kilometers a day, often barefoot, to get to school and home-there are no school buses. Many women take loans from the SHG group in order to put their children through school. Some parents (such as the host family I was staying with) even delay their daughter’s marriage in order to allow them to complete their schooling. The educational achievement of their children is a very significant source of pride for families. This could quite possibly change the direction of the country, particularly rural areas as well as the present gender dynamics in the next few decades in India.

Religion
Through spending time with the family I stayed with in the village, I learned how much of their philosophies on life and their traditions are closely rooted in the Hindu religion. Religion, particularly Hinduism, is thought of so differently in India as compared to the U.S. It is seen more as a way of life and a set of guidelines on how to treat not only all other people but all living things including animals, the land etc.

Among the families in the village there is a mix of Muslim and Hindu families that have lived in the village for generations and although their children will not intermarry, from what I could tell and my conversations with people, they live harmoniously and consider each other as family. They come and go from each other’s houses and are involved in each other’s lives. All of the political issues that separate us in the west and even in more modernized cities in India was not present here. They are more cognizant of what connects them as opposed to the things that separate them. Although in India there is still religious conflict particularly in Northern cities, the foundation and history these families have together have allowed them to have mutual respect and love for each other and they consider their religion and spiritually as the basis of equality and befriending each other instead of a reason to put up walls and barriers between each other.

“Guests are God”

How do I even begin to describe the mix of emotions I have felt over the last few days? The experiences I have had have been so amazing and trying at the same time. With all the overwhelming emotions, the one thing I am certain of is that these experiences are irreplaceable and once in a lifetime.

Last week, I was told by my organization that I would be going to visit a rural village and will be staying there for a few days in order to become familiar with the issues in a rural community and how self help groups and microfinance loans are affecting the lives of woman. Initially I was really nervous about this; I had no idea about the conditions or what to expect and this coupled with not having any control is really difficult. To ease my nerves a little I arranged to go with another MSW student placed at the organization I am working and as a result of our shared experiences in the village we are now really close friends.

From the very beginning of our journey it was an adventure starting with the transportation. In order to get to the village we had to take a bus to a small town and then since the village I was going to was so rural, we had to take a small jeep and ride with many farm workers and laborers to the village called Pargoan. Once I arrived I realized that although it was only about an hour or so from the town I am based it, it was worlds apart. The climate was a bit colder and the landscape was all farmlands; lush green and vibrant as a result of the rains. When we finally reached the village we were told to go to the house of the SHG (Self-Help Groups) president.

Initially, I felt really awkward about just showing up at someone's house and staying with a family that I didn’t know and could not even communicate with. Despite my apprehensions, from the second I stepped into this family’s home, I was showered with so much kindness, hospitality and caring; I have never experienced anything like this in my life. It was truly so incredible that words do not do it justice but I will do my best to describe and capture some bits and pieces of my experiences and observations over the last few days.

From the moment I met my host family they continuously told me “in our culture guests are gods and with you being here it is like a god has entered our home.” Every time I would try to help with something they would swiftly say to me “Guests are god-now sit down.” They spent hours preparing special Maharashtran specialties each day for me, boiled water for my baths and most importantly treated me with such kindness and love. Every time I would say thank you to them they would tell me, “stop saying that, you are just like our own daughter.”

On my first night in the village, I was sitting with the family late at night after our dinner as the rain was pouring outside and we had no power, with the light of a lantern I was showing them pictures of my family and Seattle. As I was telling them about my family and life back home in broken Marathi and English, the family’s older daughter, Neelam, looked at me and said “We are from such different worlds and even though your world might be better…you still came to see ours and that makes me really happy.” Her expression of this was so touching to me because I thought to myself that although people in the village are somewhat isolated, at the same time they realize that there is a world that is VERY different from the reality they are living in. I think that is something we as westerners often fail to recognize. We get so caught up in our own world and daily things that we cannot even comprehend lifestyles that are so vastly different than ours. For Neelam, sharing her world with someone from the outside and seeing the things that I value and appreciate about their lifestyle, I could sense made her feel proud and excited to share. Being in the village, when I would think about my life at home it was such a weird paradox yet at the same time Neelam’s right, not only did I come to see them but I was privileged that they let me in enough not only physically into their home but emotionally into their family and their hearts to experience the warmth and love the share with each other.

Once I was done showing them the pictures we got ready for bed. At night we would lay down several blankets on the floor and all sleep all in a row (men separate from women) on the floor that is also the common kitchen, bedroom, eating area and sitting room. Half way through the night, I woke up to someone putting an extra blanket on me and I opened my eyes for a split second to see it was my host mom. I honestly cannot describe why but it was the most comforting feeling not only for the extra blankets but just the touch of someone caring enough to wake up in the middle of the night to tuck you in.

On my second night in the village, I was a bit nervous because my co-worker who was there with me up until that point was leaving and I would be in the village by myself. I was worried because of language barriers as well as being the only outsider in the village but again, my host family sensed my anxiety and did everything they possible could to put me at ease.
Since the moment I got there I was telling my host mom how much I love all the saris and how beautiful they are. To lift my spirits after my friend left, when we got back to the house she pulled out a suitcase full of saris and said you have to choose three to try on. Then in broken English and Marathi she told me she wants me to wear some different saris to take pictures with to send to my family back home. As she opened the suitcase all I could see was an array of beautiful, bright colorful saris. It was so interested that within the household, everything was VERY minimal and nothing was at all excessive yet my host mom, Savita Tai had over 60 saris-all perfectly and neatly folded and stored. The family explained to me that twice a year, on Diwali and a holiday similar to Valentines Day, brothers give their sister a gift of a new sari and that is how she ended up with so many saris. As I was sitting among this heap of beautiful fabric I was so overwhelmed and exited that I couldn’t decide on any (I was like a kid in a candy shop and I’m cual es mejor). Before I knew it, Savita tai had selected the three that she decided would look best on me and about 20 women from the surrounding houses around the village showed up at the home to help dress me up. I honestly don’t even know how this news traveled but the whole village knew about this. As one woman was wrapping me in amazingly beautiful colorful fabrics the others were dressing me with earnings, necklaces, bindis and pinning different things on me while giggling at the same time. My host mom is so tiny (either that or I have seriously gained some weight) that they had to unstitch the seam of the top part of the sari in order for it to fit me. I kept saying don't do this, it's too much trouble but they were insistent and said ‘no no assooneh!’ (it’s easy) One I was fully dressed, the women insisted that I go around and visit each house in the village to show them how much I look like ‘an Indian girl.’ Each person wanted to take a picture with me and was so excited that an ‘American’ was wearing Indian clothing.

This was such a unique experience and more than anything was SOOOO MUCH FUN!!! It’s so funny that when I first arrived in India, all I wanted to do was glamorous stuff like go to a Bollywood premier and parties. After this experience I realized that although I was in a rural village in a tiny room with no running water and electricity I have never felt so glamorous and special…so much more than a Bollywood premier. Sometimes things like this come to you when you least expect it!

Towards the end of my visit, my family had noticed that I was not drinking the water they offered and had my own bottled water. At first, I thought maybe they were insulted by this but then they told me that it’s better and I need to be careful with water so I don’t get sick. On the last day of my visit there I woke up in the morning to my host mom making chapatti, my dad sewing falls into the saris and their son, Kunal, ran through the door with a sealed bottle of water. I found out that they sent him a mile away on his bike to the closest store to buy me a bottle of water for the day. I honestly didn’t even know what to say and to offer to pay for it would completely degrade how kind it was of them to be so thoughtful as to think to go to a store just to buy me a bottle of water.

On the bus ride back to the town I live in, my host family arranged for me to go with somepeople in the village who were going the same direction so I would not have trouble getting back. Although I had just met them and they were doing me a few, they would not let me pay for a single dime of any of my bus fares. Although this is really not a lot of money in our eyes (maybe 60 cents), for them this is a lot of money and even with this, regardless of my insistence they would not let me pay and would say “you are a guest.”

Even since I have returned back to Rajgurunagar the family calls me every day, even with their VERY limited English to assure that I am ok. Honestly, no matter how hard I try to describe their kindness it is something that cannot be explained in words because so much of it was not actions or incidences but the feelings and emotions between people that supersede descriptions. I will be forever indebted to this family and the village for giving me one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had, teaching me so much about others and myself and giving me a refreshed perspective on life. They have touched my life in a way that I never imagined possible.

Some Questions Answered!!!

I am off to a village for a field visit that will last several days and am sure I will have a lot to write about once I get back. Until then, a friend emailed me and asked me some interesting questions and after I wrote back I realized that my answers really capture a lot of how I am feeling here and decided to post them. I will post again soon. THANK YOU all for your kind thoughts, emails and support. I really can't say how much it is appreciated!

What are you most appreciative for?
Most appreciative for the friends I have met here that give me so much joy, support and keep me from getting extremely homesick as well as give me an insight into the culture and the country of India that I could have experienced in any other way other then being in relation with the people here!

Is it less = more?
In some ways YES...I have come to see the excesses that we have in the U.S. and how very simple things like sitting in a circle singing songs or having a cup of chai at the corner vendor stand can be just as fun and fulfilling, if not more, as happy hours or shopping at the mall!

What emotion does the smell of the air evoke?
COMPLEXITY. That is the absolute best way I can describe it. With each step a different conflicting emotion is brought up. A sort of uneasy comfort. It feels so different yet at the same time very familiar. Some smells: Manure, rain, concrete, cows, pigs, incense, flowers, fresh fruits, cool breeze, garbage, urine, mildew, henna, Chai, gasoline exhaust-pleasant and disgusting at the same time!

How long can you go? how long can they go without....?
You realize that you can go without many things for long. Not to compare my discomfort to the suffering that many people here endure but I have realized the human spirit is so adaptable and all the things we think we NEED we can actually do without. But food...people cannot go without even here. People eat eat eat here...

How rough/smooth is the terrain?
The terrain varies vastly even within a 10-20 mile radius. The village I am in is very hilly and green now and has a river/damn. It is not very hot which is nice but I miss the sun sometimes.

Does it ever rain?
It rains A LOT and very hard. Sometimes drizzles sometimes downpours.They love the rains here because they know that without it, there would be a famine and then they would really go without! And they only have to deal with it 3 months out of the year. My view on rain has really changed since coming here because of how much it is celebrated!