Water for Sunburn*

It’s midterm and paper time here in Delhi! As a nice little break in between tough weeks, IES took the group on a spring break trip to Goa. Goa is prime beach town with a slightly more prep feel than the lazy town, chill time, Caribbeans and more churches per street that Baptist belt Memphis. The first two days we spent mostly touring around old churches and renovated mansions that could be hotels. I have to say, I’ve listened to more Michael Jackson in those two days in Goa than I have in the last ten years in America. I would have to say he’s second best man to Jesus in Catholicville, Goa. On the third day we all hit the beach. Best Day Ever. It was perfect. My friends and I spent all day in the water body surfing. Though, my skin hates me for attempting to go from winter white to summer orange all in one day. Now, I’m a little lobster red. As always, I’m hugely relieved back to be in Delhi away from over priced chintzy goods and back in the heart of Indian cuisine (as oppose to Portugal influenced seafood).

I realize now that after being deprived of north Indian cusine for three whole days I am ultimately screwed for when I return to America. At the airport, some guy tried to sell me a 40 rupee Samosa (ab. $.50) compared to the five rupee samosoas we get in Delhi and I nearly flipped out. Ugh. I can never pay $2.50 for a samosa appetizer at Little India again.

*AND yes, the Goan airport really does sell water that says it's good for sunburns...

Poop War with Color Mixed In

The last weekend was the celebration of Holi.

While there is a religious meaning behind the festive celebration, it has become like every other holiday and taken on its own modern day meaning. Essentially, Holi is a day where people run around and throw colored powders and dyes on one another…and then anything else you can throw on people (eggs, mud, my friend and I rubbed our sandwiches on each other's faces..). Saturday I stayed inside for fear of the outside world…so I did homework instead. But Sunday, my house mom’s extended family and I had a full fledge color war! I must say, I think my niceness got in the way of me throwing mud on people…

Moment: so mud in Delhi? Let’s think about all the stray dogs and wandering cows in Delhi…yeah, general rule if it’s brown don’t touch it!

…Of course, the “brown rule” didn’t stop my house mom’s niece and nephew-in-law from giving me a mud facial. Unfortunately for me, my mouth was open! (If I die of Giardiasis…)

A Little Bit of India at Your Side

Here are some videos taken around Barefoot College from last weekend.

The man showing us around was in charge of using puppets and puppet shows to bring awareness to the villagers on topics such as health, governmental issues and changes involving the village, and for entertainment of course! Here he gives us a one of a kind show! Oh, and he only spoke Hindi! 

We spent an evening talking to a local self-help group of women. Self help groups are usually woman based, where woman collectively attempt to save money and get loans to cover certain expenses. Sometimes they work. This time they really didn't. But the ladies sung us a song after they talked with us. In return my group sung "Row, Row, Row Your Boat (the only song we could thing of that we all knew. Why??)," but I failed to record it. Oops.

Woman working a hand loom at B.C.

Learning about how the solar panels work.

 Here are some videos taken at the Barefoot  College's School, grades primary through high school. In Hindi. And sorry for the vertical and horizontal camera movements...something for me to improve upon...

To Walk a Mile *UPDATED~photos*

Students at a school run by Barefoot College

Does education define ones life, what one can do?
I spent this last weekend in Tilonia, which is a block of small villages between Jaipur and Ajmer, Rajasthan. I went with my socio-economic class to observe the inner workings of Barefoot College. Unlike an American school where people must complete many years of education before attending, Barefoot College exists for any and everyone within the surrounding areas. In the villages where girls typically have a 5th grade education, 8th if lucky, and it is something if boys are making it to high school*, Barefoot College requires no specific amount of education to attend. The college runs entirely on solar power, drinks harvested rain water, eats communally, and operates collectively as a whole. As a non-government organization, the school runs off of grants, donations, and a small amount of self generated income.

The school teaches people from all over, including people coming from Africa, vocational skills, such as putting together batteries used to collect energy from the solar panels to actually engineering the iron rods and glass fixtures that make up the solar panels.


Can one achieve great accomplishments without knowing how to read?
While spending time in Tilonia, we were taken around the villages to meet two extraordinary people, both women—who have moved mountains. The first woman we met was a veteran mid wife who had helped deliver 400-600 babies. She told us her story in the village dialect of Hindi, which was translated through the founder of Barefoot Collage into [Delhi] Hindi so that our Professor could tell us in English. Her parents were killed at the age of 11, and being completely illiterate, this woman went on to attend classes on how to be a mid-wife. Though she could not read or write, she paid very good attention in the lessons and feels she, “came out at the top of her class.” She is considered a goddess by a certain village, where a baby was stillborn. Having learned CPR she was able to bring the baby to life after it was pronounced dead two hours prior. Amidst all of this, she has rallied thousands of women to stand up for their rights.

Several years ago, a woman was forced, and potentially drugged, to leap onto the burning body of her dead husband. The mid-wife, gathering many women, bussed down to where the court case was being tried and protested against such a heinous crime. Then, some time later, a 12 year old girl’s legs were cut off by a man wanting to steal her thick silver anklets. These particular anklets are a cultural necessity, and are placed on the children at a young age so that when the foot and leg grows it becomes impossible to take them off. What is worse: the man who did this was financially very comfortable. Again, the mid-wife and many other women went to protest. The man was put in jail and the girl was given enough means to support her. (Happy ending: the girl is now married and has a child.)

Later, my class met with the local sarpanch (the village leader), who was also a woman. This woman had made the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA) run quite smoothly. However, she had once had to confront a man of a manger level position who oversaw the workers; he was embezzling money from other workers. The man was fired, but soon came after this woman. He sent a gang of men to beat and rape her. The woman was not harmed, but when she tried to press charges against the man, the local courts/police would not do anything about it. She kept going to higher and higher levels of the judicial system until finally she was able to press charges against the man. Now he is in jail.

Woman on a water break,
working under NREGA to plant trees.

What defines a society?
The villages surrounding the Barefoot College are people of mostly lower caste, specifically people of the scheduled caste (SC—previously called the untouchables), scheduled tribe (ST), and below poverty line (BPL). Barefoot College works to teach these people how to collect rain water for drinking and works to provide them with education. Gandhi says, “Remove [the Poor’s] chronic poverty and his illiteracy and you will find the finest specimen of what a cultured, cultivated, free citizen should be.”** This quote speaks to Barefoot College’s accomplishments as they make available education and work to provide the common villager with a reliable income and feeling of self-worthiness.

I also feel it compels worlds apart to examine each other’s strengths. One of the resources Barefoot College provides are sanitary napkins for girls and women. It is hard to believe that in this day and age many women are still literally on the rag. I was able to observe how these pads are made. First, cardboard is recycled and turned into a fluffy dry pulp. The pulp is stuffed into the neat folds of a cloth-like-fabric that is eco-friendly. Then the fabric is stitched along the sides to prevent the pulp from sliding out. The entire pad is biodegradable/ These sanitary napkins along with the college’s collection of rain water, and use of solar power begs the question, Could a poor village in India be more sustainable than well to do cities in America?

Can contentedness, happiness, and tranquility exist down a dirt road, surrounded by poverty and mustard fields?
During my stay at the Barefoot College I felt completely at peace. The “campus” is calm and quiet. Every person knows his/her job and works diligently on task. Our meals were prepared for us and afterwards we were responsible for washing our plates. No tables or chairs were provided for eating on or sitting on; we ate on rugs lining the ground. Our rooms that we stayed in were comfortable yet only the minimum: beds with sheets, a ceiling light and fan. We shared communal bathrooms and had to carry hot water from the downstairs faucet up to the second floor in our buckets. Nonetheless, we all commented on how peaceful we felt, and how nice of an atmosphere the place engendered.

Interested in crafts, clothes, and accessories made in Tilonia? Support the the local artisans!
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*There are many reasons that children do not always achieve high levels of education. For girls there are two general reasons: 1) Whole villages may only span the distance of half a kilometer. Elementary education is required for each village, but middle and high school may be many kilometers away. As girls get older, parents fear having them travel far distances to school, lest they get raped. 2) As girls get older they are needed/required to watch younger siblings while parents work (in the fields or at job sites). For boys, parents do not fear their lengthy travels, but may need them to stay home and work. Barefoot College has established many night schools for children who need to work during the day, such as tending to and grazing their goats/cows/livestock during the day. I was able to attend one of these night schools. Our class had had a jam packed day and we were all exhausted, while children who had worked hard all day were eagerly and hungrily learning about their Hindi alphabet.
**(Mind of Mahatma Gandhi http://www.mkgandhi.org/momgandhi/chap76.htm)


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Sperm Counts + Weddings

all in the family

The other night I went to an Indian wedding. For some reason, I was expecting an indoor wedding and women dressed in their finest outfits. The one wedding that I attended was outside, with big red tents set up for food and appetizers. Gold couches had been placed along the lawns for people to sit. Especially for people to sit and watch the bride and groom sit on a loveseat-like-couch, on a platform, and recite their wedding vows. Tables with gold table covers were placed around the lawn for people to sit at and eat. It must have been a more casual wedding; some women were dressed in expensive saris while some wore jeans and a nice kurta top. The order of this wedding was different than weddings in the U.S. First, the bride’s side of the family arrived at the actual place where the wedding was being held, whereas the groom’s side of the family went to a set location about two kilometers from where the wedding was to be held. Then the groom and all the men on his side of the family danced the couple of kilometers down to where the bride’s family was waiting. I walked down with the women, who were walking on the side of the street while the men danced. The groom rode down in a horse drawn carriage, while the bands played the drums and horns to accompany all the dancing. When the men got very close to the wedding location, the women were allowed to join in with the dancing.

Once everyone arrived at the wedding location, dinner was served buffet style, starting with appetizers (of course)! There was a whole section designated for appetizers; tasty street foods (dosas, chaat, all kinds of tikki) that were catered in and made fresh by cooks behind their stations. Then there was the main entrée buffet, which included all the staples like palak paneer, chana masala, potato curry, dal, etc. Deserts were a few different local varieties, such as gulab jamun and jellabies.

When the bride came out, my first thought was that she looked very sad. I had heard that this was an arranged marriage and thought she was simply unhappy. But, upon asking my indian friend, it actually turns out that the bride is suppose to be sad and appear sad, because she is leaving her family. So, now I have no idea what she must have been thinking, though I am still very curious.

***

I am headed out of town to Rajasthan this weekend, but wanted to leave you all with a funny note. While riding the subway this morning, I saw a poster (in the woman’s car) on “the effects of smoking [cigareetes]” insinuating why men shouldn’t smoke. It had three
bullet points for reasons against smoking.

1. Smoking lowers sperm count
2. Smoking makes sperms less effective in reaching the egg (I’m paraphrasing)
3. Smoking makes a man impotent.

So, India…I’m getting the feeling that children are a big part of Indian life here. Fear not cancer, fear not the harmful effects of smoking on the environment, fear not how smoking ages a person, no, fear the inabilty to reproduce. I don’t know India, if I were a a billion strong I might just keep smoking…

Photos of the Weddings:

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My men AB and JD

The reason I haven’t posted in so long is because I have just had an amazing, busy, weekend.

Painting by Deori

Thursday, I went to the India Habitat Center (IHC), which is only a couple kilometers from my school. The IHC holds all types of convention meetings, and cultural/art exhibits. I went to the current art exhibit and saw works by two different artists: Raja Deori and Mangeram Sharma. Deori’s paintings were very unique and as he told me “nothing [you] have ever seen before.” One of the interesting things about his works was that he sketches an images and then washes over it with thinned paint, but he paints over everything, including the picture frames that encased the original sketches. Sharma’s work was very clean and colorful. Most of his works were reinterpretations of the Mahabharata, which is a Hindu text.


Friday, I went to a science museum in Delhi, the National Science Centre(NSC). It was…not exactly the American Natural History Museum in New York City. In fact, this museum was laid out in a way I doubt any pubic building could ever be designed in America. The science museum was 6 “levels” but only three floors. I went up three flights and then back down three flights through all the exhibits. And when I say up then down, I mean literally there was only one way to get from exhibit A to exhibit B. Picture any major museum in America--there are usually one or two central staircases and several elevators. If you want to look at, say, “Orange Flowers of Ancient China” on floor three before whatever exhibit is on the first floor, you can easily walk up the stairs, or take an elevator, to the 3rd floor. Now, at the NSC, I had to walk through each floor and go through all the exhibits to find the next staircase that would lead me to the next floor. By the final exhibit I was actually a bit anxious because I couldn’t figure out where the stairs were to take me back down and out of the building, AND I had just gone through a mirror maze and had almost gotten lost among my reflections! Pretty much all I was thinking about was what would happen if there was a fire...this seems to be my fallback thought whenever I'm not able to easily find a fire exit...weird. It was during this moment of anxiety that I had a unique experience; one of the guards at the museum (the kind decked out like this:

Seriously though, doesn’t this scream, Top Gun: India meets Tom Cruise?)

came up to me because I had passed by a couple of the “hands on science-interactive pieces of the exhibit”—things like pushing a button or pulling a rope to see how the ecosystem works or how hurricanes forms, optical illusions, and magic tricks, etc. So, he went around with me and showed me each little science activity. It was kind of adorable, especially when he said, “Okay, stay here,” and then walked behind a wall unit. I was staring at a plate of fruit on a counter, when all of a sudden his head popped up on the plate of fruit (you have to envision this middle aged guard with a mustache and green beret…). Of course he made me go behind the wall and stick my head up and out of an area cut out from the wall and counter. Very cute.

After the science museum, I went to the National Handicrafts & Handlooms Museum, which was alright. I stumbled upon a lecture going on at the museum about certain festivities that occur in Kerala. One of the festivals the speaker was talked about was how he was a part of a matriarchal society, and how when a woman gave birth to a girl a huge celebration was thrown in his village!

Saturday happened to be mon anniversaire, so I decided to spend all day watching Robert Rodriguez’s El Mariachi trilogy (Desperado + Once Upon a Time in Mexico) mostly because I wanted to watch Antonio Banderas and Johnny Depp…In between movies, I had lunch with my house mother and some extended family members. I really enjoy talking to and hanging out with them! In fact, I had a very interesting conversation with one of my house mother’s relatives where he told me there were 52 states in America. He said Alaska and Hawaii were the two extra. I was pretty sure there were only 50 states in America, but for some reason did not feel confident enough to voice my opinion because I have been discovering that Indian people are ridiculously smart about the world. (Sorry Dad, money down the drain…) Luckily, when I googled it, I was indeed right (thank the lord and all my elementary school teachers)! I also went out for a nice and grossly expensive sushi dinner and had—a legal by American standards—glass of wine, though the drinking age in India is 25. Fail.

Sunday was BDE! My house mother, the girl that works for us, and I cooked a huge meal for my friends that were coming over for dinner. (okay, they cooked, I watched.) I went to this store in the mall that sells imported American food (Cha-Ching $$$) and bought some Betty Crocker cake mix and funfetti icing! It was such a fun day and evening and I have way too pictures of cake baking. Baking an American cake in India is tricky. Mostly because everything is in the metric system and I cook in cups and tbs! So I had to do way too much math for my birthday party, so I just added a little extra butter and everything came out great!

Photos of the big day:

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Difference in Numbers

India Islamic Culture Centre

In an effort to learn about Islam, I went to the India Islamic Cultural Centre (IICC) today. I walked from my school to the IICC, which was only couple of kilometers. I have passed the IICC often, as it is located on Lodi road, which is the way the auto takes me to school. Blue tiles façade the IICC’s red brick building with large white letters that read in three different languages: India Islamic Cultural Centre. The building is quite magnificent in both its size and design. The main entrance of the building sits between two large wings. Upon entering, I was greeted by a beautiful sea green glossy floor with a circular stairway that led up to the second floor. To my left was a library; upstairs was the auditorium and a coffee shop. I was hoping that the centre would have some gallery or exhibition that would help me understand the Islamic religion, though I had no real luck with this. However, I went to library thinking I would explore some text. I happen to be a horse lover…right when I entered the library there was a magazine with a rider and horse in a show jumping competition; the magazine was entitled, “Saudi Aramco World.” Get this, the oil company, Saudi Aramco, in Texas publishes this magazine in an effort to “increase cross-cultural understanding. The bimonthly magazine's goal is to broaden knowledge of the cultures, history and geography of the Arab and Muslim worlds and their connections with the West” (http://www.saudiaramcoworld.com/issue/201101/). Very interesting. Wonder how you’re fairing now S-n-A…. Aside from the magazine doing a cover on Al Sharbatly and his horse winning silver at the World Equestrian Games in Kentucky, there was also an article about how Arabian horses came to America through Homer Davenport. After the magazine, I went upstairs to the coffee shop. It was pretty nice, except for my expensive 20 rupe. chai. (Chai usually cost 5 rs.)

After the IICC I decided to walk the one or two kilometers to the Jor Bagh Metro station. Best Idea Ever—I found myself in the middle of Jor Bagh Colony Market (remember how I mentioned every colony had it’s own little market?) Well, this market had a little bookshop…I obviously have an addiction. Walking into the bookshop was like a slice of eating downtown on Beale Street for mothers’ day brunch with piano jazz playing in the background. Love it. There was this little old Sikh man manning the shop, and I went up to him and asked if he could recommend something in fiction that I wouldn’t be able to put down. He recommend (and I bought): Island Beneath the Sea, by Isabel Allende, a book set in the old deep south at the beginning of the 1800’s; I also got, Room, by Emma Donoghue, the same author of The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas. I’m going to start reading them as soon as I finished (geek alert) my book by Stephen Hawking, The Grand Design, which is attempting to explain to the layman (me) how quantum physics and this M-Theory holds the key to discovery the universe’s creation. It’s a totally hilarious read, filled with witty metaphors using goldfish bowls to compare what is reality really, and constant jabs at Christianity and Catholicism. (I mean after all, The Church did basically condemn everything Mr. Hawking stands for.) The two books cost me 1000 rs. I think it's amazing how I freak out when I spend 1000 rs, but in America I would throw down 20 bucks or more on a nice meal and a movie. Not everything in Delhi/ India is cheap. But when I can eat three meals a day under 200 rs and can buy a whole outfit at around 500 rs, it just feels weird to spend so much in one moment. But I love my books. Ahh.

The Chatteled Woman

India is making me a feminist. I have never considered myself a feminist. I mean, I know that technically every woman is a feminist…but I just never really associated myself with women that forgo wearing bras or refuse to shave their legs. I also never really thought about my American foremothers that fought for women’s’ equality among men. However, Delhi is making me realize how equal I am to men compared to other parts of the world. In America, I have never felt objectified or unequal to any guy. I am not really talking about that feeling every women gets when she walks to her car late at night—the fear that something could happen. I’m talking about the actual realization that you can’t make a statement or request help from a certain person, or even pay your own bill at a restaurant because of your sex.

 I am a very independent person—I do not like to have to rely on other people for assistance, though I will ask for help when I need it. One afternoon, I had decided to go to a yoga class in a part of Delhi I was not familiar with. When I finished my class, it was dark outside and rush hour so it was very hard to find an auto to take me home. In fact, I couldn’t find one. I did begin to get scared, especially since there were men around but no women on the street. Ahead, on a street corner, I saw several police officers/traffic cops. One of them was a woman. “She will help me,” I thought, but when I asked her for help, for where I might find an auto, she just acted like she didn’t understand English. The male cops didn’t do anything. 30 minutes later, after I had gone to an outdoor restaurant and asked for assistance, a man finally said he would help me. Of course this is the moment that starts off every Lifetime movie, Young girl meets a seemingly sweet guy… but I didn’t really have any other options. So I decided I would stay alert and see where he led me (hopefully to autos) and run like hell if necessary. Guess where he led me to? Yes, right back to those traffic cops. He talked to one of male cops and to the women, both in perfect English, and told them they needed to help me flag down an auto. The woman cop responded to me in English. Without the man’s presence, they were unwilling to help me. It is this patriarchy that is beginning to drive me insane.

One day, my guy friend and I went to lunch. Mid way through the meal he tells me, “Notice that the waiter won’t even look at you.” And sure enough, when I had tried to order my food, the waiter had looked to my guy friend and taken my order from him.

It’s not only these moments that irk me. I consider myself a sweet person that will stand her ground if necessary. Here, I feel eyes constantly looking at me. I understand the eyes of wonder, the eyes of children and people not use to “white skin” or whatever you want to call it. I understand when grown sons come up to me at touristy sights and ask “My mother would like to take a picture with you?”  This is not the starring I am talking about. I am talking about that stare of the predator on the prey. When I take the bus to and from the metro I notice that guys never take their eyes off me—if I look at them it is considered inappropriate, as if I’m sexually promiscuous so I just sit there and look out the window. Then there are the moments when I feel my hand being grabbed in heavy crowd—not an accidental bump, but a lingering grasp that I have to shove off. Men in India aren’t supposed to touch women, not to shake hands, not a hug, not an arm around the shoulder. Men try and do all these things with foreign women. It’s weird when I feel violated because some guy touched my hand. Now I understand how Jane Austen’s libertines felt about them ankle bones showing.

If I were in the states, I would probably rip anyone who did this to me into tiny little bits of chewed up flesh. In Delhi, they call this Eve-teasing, where a guy or group of guys stares or violates a woman in any way. Yet, I’m not sure that anything is ever done about it. On days where I feel I love Delhi and never want to leave, I remember that my life here as a woman would never be an independent one. Women trying to buy cars or houses must have their husbands sign off on the contract, even if the women are financially sound. When I fill out forms, I am always required to put down my father’s name. I love my father, but why must I be dependent to his title? These things make me cringe and shudder when I think about domestic violence in India. I would have to say that I finally understand Annie Oakley and why she wanted to do everything better than a man. Until women can over-prove themselves, how will the chained woman ever break free?