The project begins...sorta

I made my first visit to Swaraj Ashram on Monday. It’s my community partner for my SOL project. There’s a residential school at the ashram for 8^th – 10^th grade tribal girls and I was originally going to be looking at factors that motivate these girls to attend high school. After going through the annoying IRB process, it turns out I’ll have to significantly change my project. My adviser is not responding to my e-mails, so I’m not really sure what I’ll be doing here for the next 2 months. Fortunately, I brought a camcorder and a lot of miniDVs, so I suppose I can keep making small documentaries if all else fails.

It’s a little strange coming to the Ashram everyday. I was born in Bardoli – the town I’m working in – so a lot of people seem to know me. The cute-but-scary woman who is in charge the school, Niranjana Kalarthi (I call her Niranjana mummy), is probably in her 70s. She keeps mentioning how my mom used to bring me to her after I was born and she used to play with me. I’ve heard the same thing from at least 3 other people who regularly visit Niranjana mummy and they’re in awe of how big I am now.

Everyone seems to know Niranjana mummy, including the state’s governor. She worked with Sardar Patel, who worked side-by-side with Gandhi in the independence movement, and has now devoted herself to activism and the school. Most activists, historians, and politicians – especially in the state – seem to know her and during the three days I’ve been at the ashram, she’s been visited by a LOT of people.

The school doesn’t start until next week, but 10^th grade girls have started classes since they have a big exam at the end of the year. I sat in one of their social studies classes and it was fairly amusing. The lesson was about Indian heritage and why the country is the best in the world when it comes to its culture, both social and political. One of the reasons was the fact that India has never waged a war against another nation. As for the other reasons, my Gujarati isn’t good enough to understand.

The best part about the class was that the instructor kept referring to ideas or things that the girls would understand. All the girls come from various villages and grew up in really rural traditions. So, the teacher would refer to differences between how they would eat and how a Brahmin would eat. I didn’t appreciate her differentiating between castes, especially given that the school runs on Gandhian principles, but the girls didn’t seem to mind. They kept laughing throughout.

The teacher also told them about how India is advancing in population and will soon move past china, but this is nothing to be proud off. She then drilled into their heads that the best, most economically sound thing to do when they grow older is to have only one child as opposed to seven.

Aside from providing progressive education, there are absolutely no servants in the school. So the girls wake up at 5 am, clean the school, make breakfast, attend school, do homework, and go to bed by 10 pm. Niranjana mummy says this will prepare them to be independent, no matter where they go in the future. It’s tough, but she’s definitely right.

A few random thoughts:

1. I had mango corn flakes for breakfast! They have everything mango here. They were pretty good; just a little too sweet.
   
2. I finally did get that mango doughnut. It was DELICIOUS. They guy at the debit card counter recognized me and laughed at me...again.
   
3. I've finally gotten used to the heat and sweating right as I get out of the shower doesn't bother me anymore.
   
4. I had a staring contest with a cow on the street yesterday. The cow won.

A few pics from Goa

Wanderings

I write after a blissful week of computer-free travels, so I have much to say.

I began with 4 days in Goa, a coastal area 12 hours south of Bombay by train, and the place was absolutely beautiful. It had hills, mountains, beautiful rivers and streams accented with palm trees and fishermen boats, and beaches all within one area.


I went with my 2 cousins and their families, boarding the train circa midnight and arriving in Goa 12 hours later, tired and cranky. The train ride was loud, shaky, and just overall bad but the worst was yet to come. On day 1, we went to an old fort with pretty views and a pretty small lighthouse and/or prison holding cell. I couldn't figure out which one. We then went to one of the beaches where I obtained my battle scars from jet skiing in the rough waters. Hurricane and monsoon seasons were on their way, so the waves come with force and gust. I believe there was a red flag, indicating that swimming or engaging in water sports is prohibited but eh. It's India.


We also saw old Portuguese houses and churches. Goa's architecture is unique, bright, and beautiful, even more so then the architecture elsewhere in the country. Looking at the details and colors in buildings here truly makes me want to study architecture after Duke.

The ride from Goa to Surat - the city where I partly grew up when I lived here - will likely be my worst experience here. The TWENTY hour ride was hot, humid, sticky, sweaty, and all other things that can be said about Indian heat. Plus, my obsession with cleanliness which had slowly been on the decline since arrival kicked into full gear once we boarded the train. Before we could sit down, we had to use a newspaper and wipe the dead bugs and/or dead flowers, plus dirt, off the seats which were already covered with strange stains. Literally every family around me had an unbelievably loud child or loud children who loved to cry and shriek in their highest pitches a lot. Needless to say, I did not sit, eat, drink, or do anything else properly the entire 20 hours. Sleep did not come. When it did, I would awake thinking we were 30 minutes away from home, only to find the train had once again decided to stop in the middle of nowhere to further delay arrival in Surat, and bring me one step close to killing someone.

We did finally arrive in Surat and I spent the next couple of days recovering from all the lost sleep, bad hygiene, and anger. This was does simultaneously with being dragged to different houses for visits to family friends/relatives where I answered the same questions over and over and over again.

The questions continued into Saturday and Sunday, when I went to Mandavi, a tiny town near Surat where my uncle lives. As a child, I used to come to Mandavi all the time, especially during summers, and stay with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. At that time, they didn't have a TV or any toys, so I would wander around town. I would walk up to a temple in the mornings and look down at the river that passes by. There's a bridge that still remains there; it was destroyed decades ago during a monsoon flood. I only got a glimpse of it this time but when I was younger, I would stare at it forever. I still wandered a little when I went to Mandavi and ate all the wonderful Indian junk food I used to eat.

It was nice going back. It's one of the few places I remember well and can still go back to. The other two houses I grew up in have been sold and completely changed. Mandavi was the end of travelling part of the trip (for now). I started my SOL project today - more on that to come.

Arrival

After spending three days in Bombay, a few things certainly hit you. There's of course, the poverty, but there's also the wealth, and the two sides don't seem to meet.

Yesterday, my relatives took me to a local mall and it was lavish beyond belief. There were outrageously priced, international designer shops, each one personally guarded by a man forced to dress in an outfit that can't look anything but ridiculous. There was also a good dose of international food which I was really grateful for, but I couldn't figure out the payment method, which consisted of obtaining a temporary debit card. So, I got 50 rupees on a card. I then excitedly went to the DOUGHNUT shop where they had MANGO donuts! The cashier first laughed at the way I pronounced mango (I was supposed to say maan-go), and then proceeded to tell me I only had 35 rupees on the card for a 40 rupees donut. I asked the debit card guy why this was the case and he also laughed at my inability to understand the system, so I just gave up on eating. It's not over, though. I will get that man-go doughnut.

Anyway, I digress. As I walked through the mall, I realized how globalized the world is truly getting. McDonald's, obviously, has made it's way to Bombay but so has KFC, Subway, and to my relief, cafes where the lattes don't quite live up to the expectation but will do for now.
Right as we walked out the mall, I remembered that I was in India. There were lines of rikhshaws lined outside and I wondered if the drivers could ever afford to go inside the mall and eat the overpriced food. As we took a rikhshaw back to my aunt's place, I happened to look on either side of the road and realized that one side was filled with large aparments and expensive shops, while the other was lined with slums absent of running water and constant electrcity. It's hard to imagine what it must be like for the poor, to come outside of their homes and daily see people who have a vehicle, a nice apartment, and no worries about food or shelter.

A few days ago, I saw three children, each about five years old, with no shoes, dirty and torn clothing, and covered in filth. It seemed to a scene from Slumdog Millionaire. They were looking up at a building undergoing construction and one was pointing up. They seemed amazed by it, but I wondered if they were dreaming to one day live in such a place. The day before, a 70-something old man had come up to the taxi I was in and begged for money. As a child, he likely had the same hopes as these children but his life, too, had been spent in astonishing poverty.

As in any other place, in India, the wealthy exploit the poor and the gap between the two groups keeps widening. The poor's slums are torn down and replaced with buildings, constructed by the poor. Almost everyone with an apartment has servants who come in and out to clean-up but can't afford to buy foods such as one mango. The wealthy don't even bother to go down and get groceries. Just call the store and a young man who may or may not be able to afford shoes comes up and gives them to you. And that's the extent of communication between the haves and the have-nots. One party servicing the next.

It's a disturbing reality, and one that is even worse in a city such as Bombay, where supposedly over 50% of people live in slums. A vision of a different, better life is right before their eyes, evident every single day as the toil away to get by. The life in a rural area doesn't seem that bad, though it may be. To me, however, there's a subtle beauty to the way of living where people still use cows as a means of transportation and construct beautiful straw tents for storage and at times, living. Many of the farms don't have electricity and you see all members of the family in the field, working on the land. Here, there are no haves and have-nots. Everyone seems equal.