Guilty Reflections
I kept my promise and came back the next day for an eventful afternoon, where two other interns and I washed the children’s hair. Despite this, I still feel a tinge of guilt knowing that at the end of December my internship will expire and I will return to the U.S. regardless of how many cups of chai they serve me or however long little girls hold my hand and cling to the pants of my salwar suit. I justified my emotions and short stay by the fact that I need further education and training to adequately help the poor, and also for my current position where I am supposedly responsible for laying the foundations of a micro-credit organization. along with only one other intern who just graduated as well, with a degree in economics and speaks a little Hindi. We are both learning so much and are eager to take on the responsibilities required, but there is a part of me that so badly wants to help these people, and the realization that my three months will amount to so little, I’m nervous I will let this neighborhood down and have caused more problems by entering their lives in the first place. In the end they will have changed me more than I have helped them, and the most I can really do to say thank you is smile. If nothing more these people have found the soft part of my heart, warmed me with their kindness, tickled me with their enthusiasm and dancing, helped me question my values, cracked my stereotypes, quenched my thirst with chai, and showed me the meaning of hospitality, and for all this and more the least I can do is share my emotions and gratitude with all of you, in hope that we all begin to live life more consciously, wherever we live and in whatever we do.
Notes from 'The Field'
Just when I am ready to 'quit' on India it always surprises me with a hot cup of chai, a friendly embrace, or someone actually showing up on time. After two weeks on interviews, dancing, singing, chai and embracing the children and women of Rajeev Gandhi Colony, a slum on the outskirts of Jodhpur, I taught my first English class to a group of eager young women, and my fellow South Korean intern gave a workshop about basic cleanliness to the children. Perhaps it is the color of my skin and my foreign gestures that attract the women and children to the small center where we hold the classes, curious what this tall white girl has to say as she awkwardly adjusts her shawl around her kurti, and her baggy salwar suit pants scuff the dust on the floor. They probably can't understand half of what I'm saying but I tell myself to just keep smiling and laugh whenever it gets awkward. My class is over before I know it since most of the women show up late. I'm slightly relieved but already worried because we spent half the class learning names and I'm afraid I'm not going to remember them for tomorrow's class. Simply learning the names seems like a foreign language to me!
My NGO partner, Jo Eun, who speaks a little Hindi, is a big hit with the little kids. She tells them to wash their hands often, shower with soap, and brush their teeth while I act out these motions. I stepped aside for a moment to video the class, noticing how all the little boys crowded the front and responded to Jo Euns questions loudly while the girls sat in the back, straining to hear or quietly chatting since the prospect of moving to the front appeared too daunting a task. I took the opportunity to pick up some of the smallest girls and hoist them high on my shoulders so they could see what Jo Eun was doing up front. With my support and nudging more of the little girls start to inch forward and reproach the boys for hogging the stage. It was to little avail in the end, as the little girls and I were stuck in the back till Jo Eun finished, but I promised myself I would not let this happen again. In this short moment, you could see how women in this neighborhood have grown up believing they are inferior to men, and are suppose to melt into the background rather than take the lead or be at the forefront of any event.
I was now an instant companion to many of the little girls, who were all fighting to grab my hand, show me the henna on their hands, and crawl into my lap, talking softly to me in Hindi. It did not matter that I had no idea what the were saying, they continued to smile and ask me questions in Hindi, while continuing to play with my hand and making it impossible for me to stand up. Eventually Jo Eun and I made eye contact, signally it was time to go. This became a monumental task in itself, as the girls refused to let go of my hand. So with a crowd of children, Jo Eun and I walked to the edge of the slum. The boys were showing off, flipping and kart-wheeling in front of us, as the girls calmly circled around Jo Eun and I through a chain of hand holding. Just as we came to the road where we were to catch the bus, a little girl in a green dress, who I recognized from my last visits because she had worn the same dress, stared at me and spoke softly in Hindi. I looked to the village helper who worked with us and spoke only a few words of English. “She say, you tomorrow come back?” I glanced again at the small girl staring at me with anticipation in her green eyes, feeling her hand wrapped loosely in mine. Definitely I thought and then nodded my head vigorously towards the little girl and the village helper. I had to rely on body language, which didn’t seem sufficient but it was all I could do. I knew at that moment it was enough and that it was as if for a short period of time this girl and I spoke the same language.
Reflections on my homestay
While my Indian home is sweltering hot and we only have flimsy fans (so I often wake up sweating in the middle of the night) and there are rats roaming in the kitchen, lizards and spiders creeping on the walls, besides this I sometimes feel I could be in any typical American home as we eat dinner every evening in front of the TV, watching Indian reality TV or Bollywood movies. My host sister plays on her phone (the only way she can access facebook at home since there is not computer or internet access). She talks about the places she’d like to visit, shows me her latest shopping purchases, and hums the catchy commercial jingles for Blackberries and Fructius Garnier shampoo (the add campaigns for American companies change drastically from country to country, in India they always incorporate a song and dance, with vibrant colors splashing across the tv screen).
She wonders why I don’t use facebook that often. Almost shocked that a young American is not eager to discuss popular culture, past boyfriends, or go shopping every evening. She lingers on this thought for a brief moment before she receives another text message and the thought doesn’t bother her any longer as she quickly becomes absorbed in her ‘texting world’, while her mom and I dip chapta in dal and spicy yellow and maroon tinted sauces. She banters with her mom like any twenty year old daughter and spends most of her time in her room or out with friends. If her mom is gone for the day she might sleep in and skip class because she is too tired, reminding me of college in the U.S. where students would complain about getting up for any class earlier than noon.
Despite her affinity to modern culture, when I asked her about the prospect of her mom arranging her marriage, the question almost sounded silly to her. Of course she would have an arranged marriage was her response. How could she know at such a young age who was best for her? Her mom would interview families and young men for her when she was finished with her computer degree, and she would be married. It sounded just like applying for college or a job. When the time was right, the family would decide who she would be married off to and then that would be settled. No second guessing or wondering when she would get married, it was not a mystery or surprise when she would meet her future husband, it would happen systematically and in an organized fashion. The good part is that she will avoid the awkward first meeting with the parents, since the parents approve the fiancé before the kid!
She wonders why I don’t use facebook that often. Almost shocked that a young American is not eager to discuss popular culture, past boyfriends, or go shopping every evening. She lingers on this thought for a brief moment before she receives another text message and the thought doesn’t bother her any longer as she quickly becomes absorbed in her ‘texting world’, while her mom and I dip chapta in dal and spicy yellow and maroon tinted sauces. She banters with her mom like any twenty year old daughter and spends most of her time in her room or out with friends. If her mom is gone for the day she might sleep in and skip class because she is too tired, reminding me of college in the U.S. where students would complain about getting up for any class earlier than noon.
Despite her affinity to modern culture, when I asked her about the prospect of her mom arranging her marriage, the question almost sounded silly to her. Of course she would have an arranged marriage was her response. How could she know at such a young age who was best for her? Her mom would interview families and young men for her when she was finished with her computer degree, and she would be married. It sounded just like applying for college or a job. When the time was right, the family would decide who she would be married off to and then that would be settled. No second guessing or wondering when she would get married, it was not a mystery or surprise when she would meet her future husband, it would happen systematically and in an organized fashion. The good part is that she will avoid the awkward first meeting with the parents, since the parents approve the fiancé before the kid!
This weekend I went on an overnight camel safari (a much needed break from the chaos and confusion of my work). We first took an hour jeep ride down a bumpy road, traveling so fast I was holding on for dear life in case we hit a bump and I slipped out the open back. There were no speed limits, so I guess we weren't breaking any laws. It took about two hours then by camel to reach the dunes, where the camel drivers set up camp for us, basically just blankets, but they cooked us an amazing meal, made a 'camel beer run' in the middle of the night for us, and woke us with fresh chai at sunrise, so I have no complaints. I was the lucky one on the fast camel, so my driver took me on a special route and we ended up splitting a watermelon that grows in the desert, a luscious surprise and wonderful thirst quencher while trekking on a camel in the desert heat.
Everyday I ride a ‘tempo’ to and from work. The best way to describe these vehicles is an oversized rickshaw (or motorized small cart with two benches in the back), that can comfortably (in American terms of comfort) fit four people but usually jams about ten to fifteen people (plus maybe a baby or small kid). Today was one of those extra-crowded days where a women simply laid her baby across my lap, while I sat snug against a larger Indian women who kept thinking I could understand Hindi and wouldn’t top talking to me. There’s always a few awkward conversations in these crowded excursions to and from work. People are always testing their English (or testing my possible friendship) with questions such as ‘can I follow you’ or ‘can I take you with me’. To all a simply ‘nehi’ or no usually suffices to end the debate.
Early Impressions
It would be easy to judge Jodhpur as a conservative stronghold in India, stubbornly holding onto traditional values, dress, marriage codes, and eating habits, however, there are cracks visible through the dusty streets and market places opening directly to the modern world. The city, while clearly behind the progress of India’s booming metropolises, is a case study in India’s growing economy and changing society. The desire of young people to learn English and move to the city is of course a phenomenon in Jodhpur, but even more impressive are the changes the city is trying to make itself, improving colleges and roads in order to make Jodhpur itself more attractive to young Indians. The desire for change and growth is evident, and most of these changes probably should be welcomed.
As any developing country or city, there is trash everywhere and barely any garbage cans. People just throw their trash out the window or wherever is convenient. I think it would be a brilliant idea for a garbage company to start-up here (foreign or local) and it might give the people some more respect for their city! Plus it would cut down on smells, bugs, disease, and dogs that run rampant chewing and rolling in the garbage. I guess human rights should come first, but it certainly would be a change that would give the city a more positive reputation from tourists (though still quite few in number.
Women’s rights are still far from the liberal world’s standards. However, the teenage girls influenced by outside media and the allure of a modern lifestyle could quickly change traditional dress customs and roles of the women as only a housewife. Beyond dress though, women are still treated as second class citizens. They often eat before or after the rest of the family has eaten and often do not work outside the home. This too is changing rapidly among more affluent families, and many non-profits focusing on women’s rights are trying to increase employment opportunities for women. Women still face more dangers at night and it is absolutely taboo for a women to be seen drinking at a bar. You still get the frequent ‘rape stares’ as I call them, meaning a creepy man walks or drives past you looking like it would be bad news if you met him in a dark ally (don't’ worry mom and dad I’m not hanging out in dark allies), but perhaps these stares could also be attributed simply to my foreign appearance, despite the fact that I wear the traditional India kurti everyday.
Interestingly, my host mom had a love marriage herself. She told me it was very uncommon when she got married, and since she was breaking tradition she had to wait until she was thirty to get married, but eventually her family accepted her decision, and she could visit her parents house with her husband, who was actually two years younger than her (also a very rare match-up for traditional Indian marriage customs).
Visiting Jodhpur desert outskirts
Today we were lucky enough to witness the first town meeting where women could participate in this small village about two hours outside Jodhpur. There was a powerful speech made by one woman leadership figure, highlighting matters of excessive male alcoholism, and even mentioning that women should not be forced to cover their faces completely with veils (at which point a male delegate was so furious he left the room). You could feel the passion emitting from the woman addressing the group, even though I couldn't understand her hindi.
Arriving in Jodhpur
After around 40 hours of traveling I finally arrived in Jodhpur. The people are very friendly but most people here speak only Hindi or the local language, and their English can be difficult to understand, so communication is a mix of body language and english words. The weather feels very hot to me (no air conditioning either), I couldn't imagine being here in summer! The food and chai has been great so far, quite spicy but delicious.
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