Our Future.

Our future. Walking through the streets of India, it’s something I consider often. The future: mine and theirs. In three months I’ll be sitting on a plane headed towards the USA; towards further education, anxious friends, and a college campus and community that’s provided me with more blessings than I can ever account for. This first trip to India will be a life changing memory. There will be beautiful moments bathed in recollection, a mixture of nostalgia and a longing to return: fleeting sensations of the mouth-watering smells of coals roasting corn and masala, the soft tinkling cow bells floating on sun-kissed breezes, the pull of five-year-old hands that tug on fingers trying to keep up with the street-kids’ desire for chocolate. There will be others, of starving dogs that await death in gutters, of children sitting, naked and unnoticed, behind their brick-carrying mothers, of beggars, crippled and tattered, searching for change. These memories will bring back my tears. But they will be just that: memories.

For the ones who must remain, this is reality; an inescapable daily tragedy. What does the future hold for the children pulling at my leg in search of a spare rupee or plate of food? What will become of the sweeper, shoveling soggy chapatis in a well-worn sari and dusty pink jacket, whose sad eyes haunt me as I walk to class each morning? Where will the HIV+ patients I interview turn for help when first-line treatments eventually fail? What hope is there for the sex-workers whose children I’ve held when age or disease force their retirement? And their children? And their children’s children?

This morning, lost and confused among the crowds of Pune’s largest bus stop, I was unsure. Unsure of what to say to the young girl asking for the change I didn’t have. Unsure, watching youngsters leaf through trash as they choked on the smell of vegetables rotting in shit and urine, of what my part is in all this madness. Unsure about the safety of the families squatting under the faded blue tarps that mark the boundaries of a slum arising from dumping grounds a few feet away from where I stood. Unsure of how to find Sunita in the crowds of people who stopped to stare at the confusing juxtaposition of braided blonde hair, fair skin, and Indian attire. Unsure about my decision to trust the young man whose smile disarmed me when, after a jumbled mix of Marathi crossed my phone line, took my hand and began to lead me through the thickening crowds. Unsure, after he’d introduced himself as Ganesh and delivered me safely to Sunita, of how to apologize for the initial pang of fear he didn’t know I’d felt. Unsure of how to thank him, thank the world for the blessings I have, the opportunities I keep being given. Unsure...

An hour later, jarred by the dusty bus ride that brought me further and further into poverty that cripples the village I visited, I felt a question I’d nearly forgotten begin to overwhelm me. What am I doing? I am one person. How arrogant must I be to believe I have any power to help overcome this mess? What makes me think I can become part of a solution, change the lives of people whose problems I can never fully appreciate? I was so lost in the misery surrounding me that I almost didn’t notice a lady holding fast to the side of our rickshaw. “Please,” she smiled in recognition at Sunita, “please help.” I didn’t need to understand the conversation to understand her plea. “Take my friend,” she asked, gesturing to a woman whose eyes were overshadowed by the white film of blindness. “Take her home, it’s too far to walk.” Sunita got the directions as I slid over to make room. We were off again. A little more hope, a little more stamina. And then my life was changed.



Neehar is a rehabilitation home for the children of sex-workers. Many of you may remember it from my Donations for Education campaign (thank you once again to all of you who sent donations of supplies, money, and good will!). The second I stooped to walk through the low-hanging gate separating the centre from the rest of the village I was tackled by a dozen fascinated youngsters. Their joy was infectious. They climbed on my shoulders, pulled me from room to room, laughed at my Marathi attempts (that later turned into an hour long English/Marathi exchange), and posed for an endless stream of pictures following my two minute demonstration on how to use the camera I turned over to them for the day. The older kids sat captivated when I helped them practice their English and, with the assistance of their teacher, told them stories of Minnesota winters and South Carolina summers. Descriptions of snow were a definite hit. I’ve never seen eyes so big! Next time I’m taking pictures to pass around.


All of these children have been voluntarily turned over to Neehar. Though they want to keep their kids, the mothers know that they cannot provide them with food, clothing, clean air to breathe, room to play, a mat to sleep on, and an education that will ensure them a better future. So they visit monthly and watch as a truly remarkable story is written. Each girl and boy have obstacles to overcome. They have plenty of excuses to cry for pity and throw up their hands in defeat. But they don’t. Instead they laugh and play, throw themselves wholeheartedly into their studies, and care for each other like one giant family. “All are sisters and brothers didi (older sister)!” Lakshmi announced, wrapping me in a bear hug that was quickly joined by everyone near enough to see. And there I was, awestruck in the middle of a beautiful embrace.

Later, with two little boys in my lap, another two running their hands through my strange colored hair and three of the older girls fighting to capture yapping puppies on film in the twilight, it was hard to contain my tears of joy, hope. They are our future. These delightful children are overcoming their meager beginnings, tearing down the stigma they’ve been unfairly assigned, and taking the whole world with them. In a few years they’ll graduate from university. A few more will see them settle into decent jobs, fully integrated into the society that tried to disown them. And a few years after that they’ll have their own families, be able to take in their mothers and free them from the chains of prostitution. Twenty-five years after its birth, multiple success stories testify to the strength of Neehar’s model. The cycle is being broken, the world is being changed.



Fourteen feet pound the ground, fourteen hands rap on the windows of the car. “Come again soon didi! Come again soon!” It all starts here.

Sending love from Pune.

Language

Have you ever thought about the divisive nature of language? The more Marathi I learn, the more I’m beginning to realize how much language has to do with class (and caste) here. Most of the lower class/caste people I’ve associated with, ie. rickshaw drivers, vegetable wallas, street sweepers, maids, drivers, servants, some shopkeepers etc. speak only Marathi. Poorer students attend Marathi-medium schools. NGOs working in the slums, villages and tribal areas function in Marathi. 

As you move up the social strata, English proficiency also increases. Police know enough to get by, the shopkeepers who deal in pharmaceuticals know a bit more, affluent students attend English-medium schools, college students at the more reputable universities in Pune are forced to learn it if they didn’t know it before, and professors are fluent. A handful of the wealthiest people I’ve encountered communicate only in English. They cannot write confidently in the devanagari script and their children aren’t comfortable having a conversation in their mother tongue. The sad truth: English has become the language of “advancement,” of the elite. 

Yesterday I attended a banquet for 75 Malhotra Weikfield Foundation scholarship recipients. The scholarship makes it possible for talented students from disadvantaged backgrounds to attend universities in and around Pune. I was shocked when the friend I went with, a professor of law and mentor to three of the recipients, explained that very few of the professors who serve as mentors speak fluent Marathi. Some come from outside Maharashtra, while others mostly communicate in English, the common language of the educated elite, and over time have lost their fluency. This presents a challenge for many of the students who come from rural backgrounds armed only with the English they’ve learned through sub-standard second-language classes. 

After the scholarships awards were distributed and each student recognized, I got the chance to talk with two of Marzia’s students and their parents. Raju has been using the Foundation’s funds to study organic chemistry for the past three years. He speaks English fluently and carries himself with the cocky confidence of someone who has overcome a great deal to jostle his way onto the fast-track to becoming part of an upper-strata of society. He’s going into pharmaceuticals to create new drugs and cure untreatable diseases he proclaimed happily. Later, using Marzia as an interpreter, a conversation with his father gave me a little more insight into just what he’s faced to get to where he is. Confined to their small village, Raju’s father spent many nights of his childhood lying awake wondering when and where his next meal would come from. When his son was born he determined that, no matter what sacrifices the family had to make, he would be educated and attend university. Though they might have gone without meals or new clothes, Raju went to school. Twenty-one years later, his father had tears in his eyes as he watched his son joke and shove the friends gathered around him. 

Ramdel has yet to acquire Raju’s confidence or linguistic abilities. He was charmingly timid, and seemed overwhelmed by his newfound “fortune” of educational opportunities. I was instantly drawn to his humble nature and could easily identify with the position he was in, completely awestruck by the miracle of scholarships that will allow him to continue higher education. I’ve been there too. I smiled and gently encouraged him as he hung his head and lowered his gaze from mine when he couldn’t find the English words to describe his ambitions. A few fragments of broken Marathi on my part broke the ice. I think he realized that I too was struggling with a strange and complicated language, and he hesitantly began to open up a bit more. Eventually, between talking to him and his father, I discovered that they had both made a five-hour journey from their village to accept his first Malhotra scholarship. He is also hoping to study organic chemistry at a university somewhere outside Pune. They were delighted to learn that I am particularly interested in visiting villages and experiencing rural Indian life, both to better understand Indian culture (and what’s being lost in the rush to globalize) and to spread HIV awareness. Before biding him farewell I managed to get his email. I can’t wait to see where he goes over the next few years. 

- -

A few other things... I’ve been struggling with my assumptions about rickshaw drivers. So many of them try to take advantage of me, the strange foreigner with little knowledge of the city and even less of the local language. A few have even proved dangerous, whether it be with verbal harassment or pushing the line on physical/sexual assault. All of these experiences have caused me to expect bad experiences each time I step into a rickshaw, but every now and then my assumptions get proven very, very wrong. The other night I had to come home at 9:30 - prime time for sketchy experiences. To my surprise, not only did my driver know English, Marathi, Hindi, and five other Indian languages, he’d also traveled out of the country on multiple occasions and taught computer engineering at one of the colleges in Pune. I was astounded and, both grateful for the safe and uneventful ride home and the incredible conversation I’d had, tried to tip him a few extra rupees. “Nai!” he exclaimed adamantly, shoving the change into my hand along with his business card. Never had I had someone refuse money, here or in the US. It was also my first time being invited into the life of a “common” person on the street - he wanted me to visit his class. What an eye opener.

Today I had a few unpleasant rides and was not looking forward to trying to get from Aund to Kothrud in Ganesh Festival traffic. When I finally managed to flag down a rickshaw, the driver was equally (un)thrilled with the prospect of fighting his way across town and demanded I pay extra. I was in a hurry and surprised to find someone willing to travel the distance, so I eventually agreed. Once we were off he said a few fragmented phrases in English, which prompted me to ask, “English bol?” He chuckled. “Me English 40%. You Marathi 100%?”
“Nai nai!” I responded with a laugh. “Me Marathi 10%!” We continued conversing like that, he in broken English and me in far worse Marathi, for a good part of the 45-minute ride. And yet again, my expectations were turned upside down. All the more reason for me to work harder to fight the fast developing assumptions that take over each time I step out to flag down a ride...


*** All the names of the students have been changed since I never got their permission to write about them. :)

From Ajanta to Ellora to Maitri to Pune

The past week has passed in a blur of life-changing moments. I’ve secured an internship with Maitri and subsequently begun work on a fundraising project for flood victims in the northern Indian town of Leh, visited the ancient masterpieces of Daulatabad and the Ajanta and Ellora caves, and managed to get my cell phone to call my grandfather and one of my closest amigos halfway around the globe. I wish I could even partially capture how blessed I feel, but I know as well as you that it’s impossible. So, I’ll give a few brief descriptions and hope that, sometime in the future, we can sit and talk late into the night of life and all the amazing opportunities it brings.

Last Tuesday I went on a bit of an escapade trying to find an NGO based in Pune. The rickshaw driver didn’t speak English, my Marathi was way less than functional, and the little slip of pink paper Shruti had scribbled an address onto was doing little to assist either of us in locating the destination I had in mind. After driving in circles for a good twenty minutes we were both lost, confused, and had begun to resort to broad smiles, head nods and exaggerated hand gestures to communicate. Luckily I’d been fortunate enough to find one of the few drivers in the city who was more concerned with delivering me safely than quickly (not that I blame them for wanting to work fast - they have to earn money to feed their families, and with the pitiful amount they are paid they don’t have much of an option but to boot the unfortunate individual who has no idea where they are going), and he stopped multiple times to get pointed in one direction or another by people standing along the street. Eventually I landed at the doorstep of Maitri armed with an embarrassingly small amount of information on the NGO whose manager, Vinita, will be guiding my HIV research. It didn’t take much prodding, however, before I was being briefed on their programs working in various remote tribal areas to eradicate childhood malnutrition, provide basic education, contribute to functioning healthcare systems, empower citizens to advocate for themselves, and to assist in disaster relief efforts throughout the country. As Vinita learned of my interest in HIV-related work we even began to discuss the possibility of reviving the HIV programs they’d recently cut from their workload. By the end of two hours I’d been offered (and gladly accepted) an internship with the organization, put in charge of setting up the US branch of fundraising to support their relief efforts for flood victims in Leh (stay tuned for more info!), and departed with promises to begin work and attend meetings the following day. 

The next evening, standing in darkness and being soaked to the bone by unrelenting rainfall, I learned what Maitri is really all about. Halfway through our meeting a young man, probably not much older than me, made his way across the park and joined our small circle of dedicated activists. His overwhelming excitement made me forget the chill of the night as he effortlessly sucked me into the world he’d recently experienced. He was so eager to tell his story he couldn’t possibly get the words out fast enough, but any details that were lost in the jumble were made up for by his ecstatic hand gestures and smile that threatened to wrap clear around his glowing face. 

Everything was told in marathi so this account might not be completely accurate, but here’s what I could piece together from his story: Two weeks ago he went, under the supervision of Maitri, to visit a remote tribal area. He wasn’t interested in much more than seeing what the lives of these people were like, but within hours of arriving he realized that he was here for much more than mere observation. The community’s water source, located between two hills, was being flooded by monsoon rains. Rising water levels were forcing people and animals alike to walk through the water flowing into their well, contaminating it in the process. There was only one solution - a bridge needed to be built immediately. And so thats what he did. In ten days. Realizing the task was impossible to complete alone, he went from house to house and literally pulled people from their beds to come and help. Even the children pitched in after being bribed with sweets. They worked all day. At night he stood guard to prevent the animals from trampling whatever progress had been made. There was no light, no electricity, no running water, no cell phone service, and no transportation save a single ambulance. But by the end of his stay he’d used the little engineering knowledge he had from college coursework coupled with incredible amounts of determination and dedication to solve one of the most pressing sanitation problems the community faced. Now they have clean water, and his life’s been changed forever. He says he’s going back to build more bridges, save more lives. Just goes to show that one person’s efforts can push the world a little bit closer to perfection. Welcome to the Maitri family. 



Bright and early Thursday morning ACM staff rounded up all the students and packed us into a bus for the six-hour journey to Aurangabad. I’d planned to sleep on the drive, but the countryside proved far too fascinating. I saw so many strange and wonderful things: goats, sheep, and cows competing with cars and rickshaws for space on the road, children running to school, roasting corn and chapatis, shopkeepers opening their doors for the morning rush. Other sights were vivid reminders of the inequality that’s so painfully obvious here: naked, dusty children looking longingly after the ones running to class, men surrounded by mud and trash as they used buckets of cold water to bathe on the roadside, women picking through trash for food or anything that might be sold... And, as was to become a frequent experience throughout the trip, at every toll booth all the men came out of their stations to stare, point and laugh at the group of Americans.

Finally we reached Daulatabad (previously Devgiri), a fort built in 12th century A.D. by the Yadava King of Bhillama V. It remained one of the principle strongholds in the region after the conquest of Devgiri in 1296 A.D. and, in 1327 A.D. Sultan Mohammed-bin-Tughlak decided to move his capital from Delhi to Devgiri and renamed it Daultabad (“The City of Fortune”). The defense system at the fort could only have been constructed by military geniuses. It was combined psychology with practicality to create a structure that was virtually impregnable. Only 7 of the 50+ doors were functional, the rest opened into passageways that dead-ended in deadly drop-offs or impassable walls. In addition, there were ingeniously built mazes with a complex arrangement of entryways, deep rock-cut moats and trenches that could only be crossed at a single point. While marveling at the incredible structure, we were also able to see the the Chanad Minar and Royal Palaces located on the mountainside above the fort that was once a favored summer residence of the Mughal emperors.

The rest of the weekend was spent exploring the region’s main attraction: the Ajanta and Ellora caves. It was an incredible experience. Seeing and touching 2000 year old paintings, meditating in the caves where Buddhist monks searched for nirvana 1500 years ago, walking through temples that took 6 generations to carve into the mountainside...

Ellora is composed of 34 “caves” that were carved into the face of the mountain between the 5th and 10th century to form Buddhist, Hindu and Jain monasteries. Ajanta was carved even earlier, between the 2nd century B.C. and 8th century A.D., and contains paintings and sculptures that have become well known masterpieces of Buddhist art. It’s obvious why both have made the World Heritage Site list. It’s impossible to describe the mixture of feelings that overwhelmed me while I walked through these places; comprehending something so magnificent is almost beyond my reach. I think with time what I’ve experienced will really begin to sink in, but for now I can just marvel at the awe-inspiring beauty of human capabilities. How the British ever thought these people were “uncivilized” and “unsophisticated” is beyond me...

I’ll try to write more soon! For now I must be off to my first Bollywood dance class and another life-altering Maitri meeting after that.

Mountains and forts and such.

I can’t believe it’s been nearly two weeks since I last wrote! Maybe I shouldn’t make a career as a blogger. I moved in with my host family a week ago and couldn’t be happier with the placement. My host aai Sulochana (mother, though she prefers us to call her aji, or grandmother) is an angel in disguise. She is in her late 70s and lives alone, as her husband died some years ago. Don’t let her age fool you though; she is more active than most young adults I know. Her son, his wife, and one of her granddaughters, Rutuja (Roo), live directly above her and help out whenever she needs it. As is typical here, the whole family is very close and everyone visits the other’s flat almost daily. It’s more like living in separate floors of the same house rather than “individual” flats.

The view from our flat is spectacular. We are on the 6th floor, well above most of the structures in Pune. The result: to the east is a beautiful view of the sprawling Western Ghats; to the north, south, and west the city breathes beneath you. Each morning I stand on the balcony and gaze out over the slopes, take in the scent of dawn - the sweet mixture of tea brewing and street vendors roasting corn and chapatis over smoking coals. From my perch above I can see dogs playing on the streets, children running to school, the birds flying to and from the coconut trees. And each morning I feel so grateful to be alive, to be in this intoxicatingly beautiful place.

Sulochana is in charge of at least one NGO, and works with various others in areas in and around Pune. The organization she runs goes to villages to teach the women how to sew clothing, make bags, knit, or do other activities that allow them to generate an income and become self-supporting. I went with her last week to a village 25km into the mountains and watched while she talked to them about learning to make paper bags. The government in Maharashtra has banned the use of plastic bags for environmental reasons, so the stores are (theoretically) switching to paper. All the bags are made from old news papers and a few staples. Once she was done explaining the process to them, Su allowed me to ask the women a few questions and acted as translator. I was surprised to learn that half of them have college degrees. Some even knew a bit of broken English (though they weren’t confident enough to use it around me). Yet all are unemployed, live in single room homes, and rarely venture out of the village. Why? There are a few reasons that became quite clear from my very brief encounter.

First are their house duties. There is no one to take care of their children while they are away, which makes it very difficult them to venture out for an hour or two, and impossible to seek any kind of employment that would require them to leave for the entire day. All of the family’s washing, cooking and cleaning falls to them. Secondly, simple things that we take for granted in more developed areas take tremendous amounts of time here. Take access to water for example. Very few of the homes have running water, so the women collect everything they need for drinking, cooking, washing clothes, and bathing daily. Because the local water gets “bought” by big corporations (like Coca-Cola) for next to nothing, they are forced to walk extremely long distances to use unsanitary water supplies. The water only comes for about an hour a day too, so everyone has to stand in line for hours beforehand in the hope that they can fill their buckets. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to return home empty-handed... The price the corporations pay for the water is virtually nothing, but then they turn around and sell their products for enormous profit. All while the villagers struggle to survive.

Third is transportation. The majority of people cannot afford cars or motorbikes (if they happen to have one it is shared by two or three husbands, who form a rather dangerous looking pile of bodies that miraculously makes it to and from the factories they work at unharmed), and they are too far from the city to catch rickshaws. Forth and perhaps most hindering, there are simply no jobs. No jobs for the men, and certainly none for the women. Obtaining work that pays a living wage requires intense specialization in a field of study. Most women don’t have access to resources to afford this, nor will their families allow them to study for such an extended period of time. It is still a common practice to educate the sons before the daughters and, because most families can only afford to send one of their children through school, a large segment of the female population remains uneducated. Those who are lucky enough to make it through college still are not able to find work, in part due to the reasons listed above. It’s a multifaceted problem that lacks a simple solution. The entire system and deeply engrained modes of thought must be altered, which will take time, patience, dedication and understanding.

While all this sounds quite bleak, I must admit the conditions in the village were better than I expected. There is a school for the young children, everyone looked well fed, each family had a simple house, and people seemed to be happy. There was a school that went up to fifth standard and was bustling with activity at 5 in the afternoon. The village itself was nothing close to what I’d pictured before I went. Forget images of mud huts and bullock carts. The people lived right off the main road through the mountains in single-room concrete houses. Every home I saw had electricity and a television, and all the men and teenagers had cell phones. Sanitation was another story all together - funny what we value. I’d read WHO statistics before coming that quoted the percentage of cell-phone users to be MUCH higher than the percentage of the population that has access to sanitation facilities. Everything I’ve observed points to them being correct. Cell phones are cheep, building functioning toilets isn’t.

I’ll be going to the village more with Su soon, both to help with classes and to volunteer in an HIV orphanage just outside. I made friends with a lot of the children in the short time I was there (one little girl, about two years old, screamed and cried when I left, saying she wanted to come with me - so cute!), and I can’t wait to go play with some more. It’s amazing how much can be communicated without words. None of these children spoke English, and I certainly can’t speak Marathi, but we still were able to chase each other around, play on the swings, and get our points across in the one language we had in common - their childhood innocence, openness, and understanding. Play is universal.

I already mentioned one of the other NGOs Su works with briefly - the hostel for HIV+ children up to 18 years old. They provide them with housing, medications, and education. She goes every Saturday, and I’ll go with her when time permits. It ties in loosely with my research for the program: the affect of female literacy on lowering HIV rates within various communities. I meet with my research guide tomorrow, and will have a better idea about exactly how I can collect data and what NGOs I’ll be working with after that.

Briefly, a few other things I’ve been doing... I made friends with a guy from Iran, Hamid, who is studying English at Symbiosis University. He’s only been here for four months, but he speaks fairly fluently. I was amazed. My roommate Jamae, Hamid and I ventured into the hills of the Ghats the other day - it was BEAUTIFUL. There was hardly anyone around, and the light rain that was falling felt glorious. We met one of Hamid’s friends and all got roasted corn on the roadside (One of my favorite foods here, the corn is roasted over hot coals and then has lemon, salt, and chili powder rubbed into it. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I’ll definitely make it for everyone when I get back). There were cows everywhere too, and the bells around their neck made a peculiar kind of music as they walked by.

Yesterday the whole ACM crew went up to Sinhagad, a fort built over 300 years ago by one of the Mogul kinds (see pic at the top). It lays in ruins on top of one of the mountains. The stairs and archways are carved into the rocks, and look as though they have always been a part of the mountain’s design. It was surreal to be there, standing where kings once stood, envisioning what it would have been like to watch the armies of your foes approach from the valley below. Our giant group attracted quite a bit of attention, and more than once I had clusters of Indian college boys throng around me for question and picture sessions. All in good fun.

Tomorrow it’s back to class! We start our elective courses in a week, after the three week orientation period is over and our semester officially starts. I’ve switched my elective choice from Environmental Perspectives to Indian Literature, mainly because of the professor. R. Raj Roy, who just happens to be one of the leading gay activists in the country, is teaching the literature class. We’ll get to explore political issues since 1947 through the various books we read. Perhaps the most exciting topic (for me, anyway) will be the struggle LGBT rights, examined through Raj’s own book “The Boyfriend.” Homosexuality was just decriminalized last year in India, and the country has a long way to go before gay culture is accepted and it is safe for people to practice homosexuality openly. I cannot believe how lucky I am to have the opportunity to study these issues with someone who has been on the forefront of the action.

Classes

Oh the perpetual problem of blogging about this experience - there’s so much to tell, but no words to tell it! I don’t even know how to begin to describe the experience in terms that will make it even partially come alive for anyone who hasn’t experienced it.

Anyway... now that I’ve made that point, I’ll try and talk a bit about the start of classes. Yesterday we only did Marathi, and today we started our Contemporary India class. We’ll be doing Marathi every day, and the CI class Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m really stoked about the topics covered in CI: class, caste, gender, language, politics, poverty, education, etc. This country is SO complicated and multi-facetted. Our prof said it today, and I’ve definitely seen it through experience: anything you say about India is true, and not true. It’s the land of opposites and extremes. It makes every turn interesting and exciting, but also hard to understand. Nothing can be put in a box here. There are no generalities that can be made, because they are so right yet so wrong in so many ways. It will be interesting to see how things work once we start getting more in depth into the different subjects, and hopefully are able to put a few puzzle pieces together. Tuesdays we’ll be having class with a soc/anthro professor, and Thursdays with a Poli-Sci prof. Monday and Wednesday I’m assuming we’ll have our elective class (Environmental Perspectives for me) a long with Marathi. Add on the research project, and it’s starting to look a bit overwhelming!

Marathi is TONS of fun, but pretty difficult. The script is beautiful. Every letter has it’s own sound, and can only be pronounced one way, so once you know it it makes a lot of sense. Phonetically spelling the words is kind of tricky, ‘cause it doesn’t look like what you’d expect. I think that once I know enough to start speaking a little in everyday conversation, I’ll start to pick it up a lot faster. And hopefully be able to relate it to Hindi and learn some of that as well!

Yesterday I made friends with some of the students from the French class that is taught in the classroom above us. They were a lot of fun, and thought it was pretty funny that I’m learning Marathi. I think they were surprised that I went over to talk to them, ‘cause all the other US students were sitting in a group a ways off. Everyone shared their food with me and offered to help me with my Marathi (yay!). Priyanka (one of my new friends :p), Izzy and I all went out for coffee at a really nice Barista on RC Road and talked for hours about Bollywood stars, Indian and [USo]American culture, places to visit around Pune, and where we should travel. Her mom is a travel agent, so she said she can help us figure out where to go and stay and stuff - it’s going to be super helpful I’m sure. I think I’m going to try and go to her house for Dīpāvali (Marathi: दिवाळी), the festival of lights coming up in September. Everyone dresses in traditional clothing, make tons of sweets and other food, and party the night away. It’s HUGE in Pune, ‘cause it started here. During British rule it was illegal for people to congregate because they were planning the revolution, so festivals were a way to get everyone together. As a result, there are a TON of them now.

Some of the best colleges in the country are in Pune. Priyanka goes to one of them, and says there are quite a few foreign students there. She has a lot of friends, Indian and foreign, that I look forward to meeting at some point. I’ll probably be connecting with some professors once I start my research as well. I'm falling in love with this country so quickly. I don't know if I'm ever going to want to leave! I am starting to think about looking for an internship through J-term; extend my stay by a month or so. We'll see. For now I’ve got to go study and get to bed! It’s early mornings and jam-packed days from here on out.

Puneeee at last!

Bittersweet. The best way to describe leaving New Delhi. As I waved goodbye to the insane city that introduced me to this incredible country, a pang of sadness threatened to overwhelm the excitement that has consumed my every thought of Pune. I’ve learned so much in the two weeks I’ve been here. Crossing streets has ceased to be a nightmare. Stepping in front of honking cars to catch a rickshaw on the opposite side of the highway almost seems like second nature. I can eat with my hands, grabbing rice and curry between pieces of roti like I’ve been doing it for years. Animals, goats, cows, monkeys, donkeys, camels and elephants making their way between cars and rickshaws, no longer make me stare in utter amasement. The people, the noise, the smells - all seem like a part of home, a new home. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg... But new adventures await, so with lots of hugs and promises to return soon, I bid farewell to Shrishti’s family.

Meghan (another ACM student that was also spending time in Delhi) and I reached Mumbai just after midnight. We were fully expecting to walk out of the airport into the welcoming and capable hands of ACM staff, so it was a bit of a surprise when no one was there to greet us. There must have been a bit of a mix up on timing. After waiting just outside the gate for a good 30 minutes, we finally located the guy that was driving us to meet the rest of the students at the International Airport. The poor guy was so worried! He must have gotten there right after we walked out, ‘cause he was waiting by the gate almost as long as we were waiting outside of it, less than 10 ft away from us.

Driving through Mumbai at 2am probably doesn’t give you the best representation of the city, but I was surprised by how quiet it was. It was also much cooler, less humid, and less polluted than Delhi, which was nice. The drive from Mumbai to Pune is said to be one of the most beautiful in the country. The darkness of night couldn’t cloak the majestic appearance of the cities below us as we wove through the Western Ghats. Mist settled like a cloak over the dark forms of the mountains. It’s cool fragrance blowing over my face as I lay against the open window frame was a wonderful refreshment from the city air I was used to. I felt as though I was floating in a dream (My tiredness contributed to that effect I’m sure).

We reached Pune at 6am and got a few precious hours of sleep before our first meeting at noon. I can’t even imagine how tired the other students were, after traveling for over 24 hours between the plane and car ride. It was fun to see everyone’s varied reactions to the food and sights on the streets (streetdogs got a lot of sympathy). It seems like I’ve been around it forever, I had to keep reminding myself that it’s all new to me too! We found a nice coffee shop that has a very western atmosphere, so that was a big hit. I got a delicious iced mocha. It was super expensive by Indian standards, but probably 1/6 the price of a Starbucks drink. Sometimes it’s worth it to splurge a bit. :p

Pune is much quieter and cleaner than Delhi. Everyone around me seems to be melting, but I’m in heaven! It’s so much cooler and waaay less humid than what I’ve been in. And the pollution is a billion times better. I can breathe again! We had our first class today, and I made friends with some Indian students! But, I’m super tired and need to get to bed so I can get up early for class again. I’ll definitely give more details soon!

Love from Pune!

Last post from Delhi!

While I’m thinking about it, maybe it’d be fun to start composing a list of no-so-obvious differences between India and America. Keep in mind these observations are limited to my experience, and can’t be generalized across the country or even home to home.

1. Stairs. They’re steep, they’re narrow, and if you have to climb a winding staircase to some far off location you better think twice about whether or not you’ll fit. In the US we have sweeping staircases with broad steps, gradual inclines and generous amounts of space to accommodate all people, often with two or more able to proceed side by side. Not so here. Imagine the miniature models you’ve seen for houses or in Disney-world displays. You’ll start to get the picture. Even I have to duck under door ledges and squeeze around corners, and I’m pretty tiny.
2. Handicap accessibility. It doesn’t exist. I’ve hardly found a single place that could be easily (or even realistically) traversed by someone in a wheelchair, on crutches, burdened by various forms of physical disabilities, or with a severe vision impairment. There aren’t elevators from floor to floor or even ramps onto the sidewalk. The majority of staircases don’t have railings either, which has made things rather challenging for me on days when my back doesn’t feel like cooperating.
3. Food. This one’s rather broad and doesn’t really fit in the not-so-obvious category, but it’s worth mentioning. Rice is the biggest staple. It’s present with pretty much every substantial meal I’ve had - curry and rice, dahl and rice, etc, etc. Life's been devoid of pasta too, which is a bit of an adjustment. Shrishti's mom tells me she doesn't know how to cook it. You can find American food in some of the markets, but it's SUPER expensive (~5x the price of other stuff). Secondly, if you’re like me and don’t like spice, it can be hard to find hings to eat. Yogurt and a ratio of portions that strongly favors rice and/or some sort of bread help a lot, but certainly don’t eliminate it. A few other random things: Sugar is in crystals, not finely ground. Salt is finely ground, not in crystals (think popcorn salt). Milk comes in a bag, separates rather quickly into a layer of cream and the actual milk, and I’ve always seen it being boiled before use.
4. Meals. Shrishti's family has one large meal, not three. Breakfast is small - tea/coffee and a piece of toast or a few crackers. Lunch is the big meal - rice and curry or something similarly substantial. Dinner is often non-existent, or comes in the form of more tea and biscuits (crackers), a mango or two, or a small portion of rice or roti + curry. This can vary substantially from home to home and region to region.
5. Space. There’s none of this either. But the population of places like Delhi and Mumbai don’t pay much attention to this trivial detail, so the cities do the only thing they can - grow up. I’m sure it’s similar to what living situations look like in New York City. People have flats stacked on top of each other, not houses. There’s no space for green lawns or neighborhood sidewalks. Fortunately the government realizes this, and has protected a handful of park areas in Delhi for people who need occasional exposure to nature. Don’t expect peace and quite here either though, they are pretty well populated by 6am.
6. Animals. All things considered, they’ve adapted relatively well to city life. Street dogs eat well and I’ve yet to see one fall victim to the traffic insanity. Monkeys make their homes on rooftops and terraces (a very poor substitute to the jungles that are quickly being destroyed, but that’s another issue altogether), and even manage to have fun at the expense of their human neighbors. They’re notorious for stealing any number of things - keys, cell phones, books, wallets - and runing off into the sunset with them. Chipmunks, pidgins, and crows are everywhere. It’s not uncommon to see camels and elephants weaving through cars stuck in jams on the highways. Donkeys are used to transport deliveries of cloth or vegetables, but aren’t always connected to any visible human. I’ve seen quite a few running along the road unaccompanied and unburdened by pack-saddles. Goats too. They all stay out of the way of traffic though, so they must know what they’re doing. And the cows. It’s true, they’re everywhere. I’ve seen tons of them laying on the barrier separating one side of the highway from the other (a definite necessity - they’ve got to make it absolutely impossible for cars to drive into oncoming traffic, otherwise there will be complete chaos as drivers try and escape jams by driving down the wrong side of the road).
7. Construction. Forget about using heavy equipment to move piles of rubble and debris. Instead, the backbreaking work is done by countless numbers of men and women who carry unbelievably heavy dishes filled with dirt and concrete, bags of trash, or a dozen bricks on their heads. Both the US and India seem to have the same problem in that work is never, ever, ever complete though. The Commonwealth Games are coming up in less than two months, but it appears extremely unlikely that the billions and billions of dollars put toward construction projects are going to result in the beautifying of the city before the whole world descends upon it.
8. Drainage. It’s awful. Roads become impassible within 15 minutes and everything shuts down as a result. The other day the majority of the major roads in Delhi were blocked off due to flooding from two hours of rain.
9. Corruption, (lack of) regulations and other social issues. Ok, so this one’s pretty obvious but it’s gotta be included somewhere. I won’t say much ‘cause if I did I’d go on forever, but some of the most basic points = Corruption is everywhere, from the highest levels of government to the people on the streets. The police force is crippled by it - no one trusts the cops, and for good reason. There are numerous instances of them turning their heads to crime occurring right in front of them, be it theft, rape, or murder. It’s not safe for a girl to go anywhere with a cop alone, or to expect him (or her? Haven’t seen any female police) to help if you’re being harassed or followed. When their are a few cops together, you can trust them a bit more, but even then you have to be careful. Bribery is the law of the land. You can get out of anything if you have enough money. Pay rates even take this into account; police wages are lowered with the expectation they will make up the extra through bribes, creating a system in which they are forced to compose “illegal” transactions in order to feed their families. Poverty is everywhere, 40%+ of adults are illiterate, education is not free or compulsory and huge numbers of children are forced to work instead of going to school. As for regulations, don’t count on them to keep you safe. According to yesterdays’ Times of India, 90% of street food vendors don’t have a license to operate. In other words, their food doesn’t meet sanitation regulations and will make you very, very sick if you haven’t grown up on it.

I could keep going, but I’ve got to run downstairs and pick up some stuff from the tailor before everyone’s gone! It’s the first day of Ramadan, so most of the shops are going to close up before sunset. I’m off to Pune tomorrow. I’ve had two weeks to read, write, and watch way too many Bollywood movies. It’s time to get to work and start helping the world!

Signing out from New Delhi!
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