Being a guest in India

Everyone told me that I would it would take some time to get acclimated. Everyone told me that I would be in culture shock. No one told me how easily it would be to fall in love with India. I realize that my current tone sounds much different than it did in my initial post. Many things have happened since I have arrived to make me feel so differently. First of all, I have gotten used to the DSK campus. The people here have opened their arms and hearts to me and have invited me to become part of their daily lives. Throughout the day, I have many people to talk to, I get countless smiles, and a few amazing hugs from the cooks little girls who think I’m the bee’s knees. I don’t even notice the language barrier anymore because I don’t feel as though it has hindered the building of any of the relationships I have here. I know I have not met anywhere near enough people start making generalizations, but the Dalit community, these so called “untouchables,” are the nicest people I have ever met. They have a genuine sweetness and goodness that shines through their eyes. Indian women and children have the most beautiful eyes, and I am convinced it is because they are the gateways to their goodness. Another reason why India has become so amazing is that my colleague and dear friend, Vivien Francis arrived on Saturday. Vivien and I go to school together and she was doing some research and visiting family in Lebanon for a week, so she arrived a week after I got here. Her simple presence here brings a light and comfort that I was severely longing for. ViviBen, as she is called, has quickly adapted to rural life and impresses everyone with her smile and creative ideas. I am so blessed to have her by my side. A third intern arrived last week as well. His name is Sam and he is attending law school in New York and came here for the summer to assist the legal wing of Navsarjan Trust. The three of us have become fast friends and I realize now how nice it is to have people around you who speak your “mother tongue.” Although I have not learned near enough Gujarati, after a week or so I know enough to communicate my basic needs and make some very basic pleasant conversation. But being able to speak uncensored English with Vivi and Sam is invaluable. Yesterday, the three of us were meeting with out director Manjula when she received a call that there was some Dalit related violence occurring in a near by village. Manjula leaped up and told us to come and within minutes we were making our way to the village on a bumpy unfinished road. In the car, Manjula explained that the violence was occurring because there had been a wedding in the Dalit area of the village and the celebration warranted music and banging on pots and pans (this is a common celebration practice in all of India, regardless of caste). A few members of the dominant caste of the village decided that the party was too noisy and so they went to the area where the wedding was taking place and started trying to break up the party. Armed with swords and sharpened sticks, they locked the bride and groom in their parent’s house and began beating on the guests to get the party to break up. By the time we arrived in the village, the police had been called and the dominant caste men had run off, but the tension was still very high. Vivi, Sam, and I were instantly overwhelmed with situation, so we stayed very close to Manjula who is a woman that all people in the village respect. The village head, who was a Dalit woman, invited us into her home. It is unheard of for a Dalit woman to be the head of her community. This women’s struggle to become village head, or head of the Dalit community in her village, has been one of much pain. Dominant caste village members have repeatedly beaten her, and her husband for their participation in village politics. Her husband was beaten so badly that both of his legs were fractured, yet they refused to stop being the voice of the Dalit community to the rest of the dominant caste village heads. With the help of Navsarjan Trust, the men who were responsible for the violence against this wonderful couple have been brought to justice and are currently serving time in prison for the repeated attacks. I was honored to be in the presence of these strong and noble people. Manjula began assisting (or watching over) the officers who were writing the report of what had happened. While this was going on, Vivi, Sam and I began to visit with the Dalit villagers who had gathered to welcome us. We were surrounded by at least 50 people at all time, all of whom were smiling and trying to speak to us. We eventually split up and began exploring the village with different groups of people, as everyone was fighting for our attention. I was designated for the children, which was more than ok with me. Vivi was taking pictures for the village heads and Sam was talking with some of the young men of the village. Let me just say that I think all children are beautiful and I always enjoy spending time with them. However, I have never seen anything like the beauty of Indian children. Their coloring, facial expressions, jovial spirit, and relentless smiles are worth traveling around the world to see. These children had never seen a white woman, one person told me, and they thought I was pretty. I laughed in irony. I guess the grass is always greener, even in India. I asked two of the children to hold my hand as we walked through the crooked streets. When I made the gesture to them, I could see the shock in their eyes. I remembered that they thought that I didn’t want to touch them because of their caste status. I insisted and took their small fingers in mine and began strolling along. Within minutes I was holding 10 children’s hands at once (some were holding my wrist, forearm, and elbow). As we walked we looked like a big ball of arms. I had to crouch so that the children could reach me. They drug me around the village, showing me their homes and favorite play spots. Time flew by and before I knew it, night had fallen and we were walking back to our car. Manjula had mediated between the villagers and the police and made sure the details of the “discrimination” attack, as they called it, were correctly documented. This was my first experience in the field and I was overwhelmed with excitement from it. Despite the high tensions of the earlier attack and the mob-type attraction that we created with our arrival to the scene, I never felt unsafe. I was welcomed into homes and prayer alters within minutes of meeting these people. India is undoubtedly a backwards place. The pollution, corruption, discrimination, and rampant poverty are enough to make your head spin; yet there is something about these people that is indescribably wonderful. I know I am a foreigner and will always be treated as a guest, so my experience is inherently different than if I was a fellow Indian. But being a guest in India has got to be better than being royalty anywhere else. People who have nothing, literally nothing, want to share it with me to make me feel welcomed. I am so moved by their hospitality, their spirit, and their energy. I could get very used to being a guest in India.

Working towards Katie G

Kemcho (Hello in Gujarati) Friends!
I know it hasn’t been very long since I wrote last, but I have so much so say about my experience so far! My culture shock is mostly gone and I am fast being accustomed to rural village life. I am almost embarrassed about my initial reactions seeing how easily so many people live a life I thought was too “rough” for me. The cupcake city-girl seems to be mostly at bay, or at least I thought it was until yesterday morning I went to get choqu pani (filtered water) and I was run off by four LARGE monkeys who were enjoying the water for themselves. I am going to have to get used to hissing, jumping monkeys from a far distance!

The worst part remains to be the heat. Yesterday it was a miserable 111˚ and my whole body showed it! I am surrounded all day by people who don’t look the least bit sweaty. Not only do I stand out by being white (and significantly taller than everyone), but now I am also the sweaty one! Indian women look flawlessly manicured and wonderfully colorful always and to beat that, they seem to be void of sweat glands! Some things just aren’t fair!

I am staying at a young adult boarding school that offers vocational training to Dalits. DSK (Dalit Strength Center) is run by Navsarjan Trust. Almost everyone lives on the campus, including all of the staff and teachers and all 140 students. Currently all of the students are young girls who range in age from 13 to 23. I could write a book about how fond I have become of them. They all call me Katie Ben, which means Sister Katie and whenever I approach the main part of the campus where they all stay and study, they run out to greet me. Most of them don’t speak any English, but smiles and hugs cross the communication boundaries very well. At first they were afraid to approach me. They assumed because I was white, that I would think they were dirty, untouchable and would not want to get near them. A few brave girls approached me after lunch yesterday and I gave them hugs and within minutes I was surround by probably 50 girls all wanting the same affection. For the first time in my life I felt like a celebrity. Since that initial breakdown of their fear towards me, they hardly leave my side. The past two days have been spent embracing smiling faces and learning Gujarati as quickly as possible so that I can talk to them. During the week, from 8am to 5pm, they take classes of their choosing. DSK offers everything from tailoring and seamstress training to basic computer skills. They also offer a spoken English class and the students who study in that class are so excited to talk to me. Today I visited each class and observed their work. The hope is that after leaving DSK, these children will have the training they need to get a job in a field that has never been available to them because of their caste standing. Job placement is not guaranteed, but it is much more likely when the girls have skills training. Besides the classes, the over-all theme of DSK is empowerment. All around the campus there are signs about believing in oneself and human value. These children have never before heard this language or been treated in this manner, but they seem to have all embraced an empowered spirit. Yesterday, I attended a public speaking competition that was truly inspiring. These young girls spoke for 7 to 10 minutes about their experience with caste discrimination. Although I could not understand their words (except for a friend generally translating after each speech), I was very moved by their emotion. Many of the girls cried during their speech.

The entire Navsarjan Trust organization is run by a woman named Manjula Pardeep. She is amazing. When I first arrived here scared and overwhelmed, she opened her arms to me and thanked me for coming. She also spent an hour trying to help me fix my internet connection so that I wouldn’t feel so isolated. Her kind face is backed by an inspiring resume, including a Master’s in Social Work and a Law Degree. Listening to her stories makes time fly by, even in the extreme heat. She will be helping me get my research started regarding Dalit discrimination in the compulsory school system.

From the ample amount of lizards, to taking my shoes off every time I enter a room, I am slowly being to understand and appreciate life in Gujarat. Indians are very diverse by region and so the majority of their alliance lies with their state. Gujarati people (from the state of Gujarat) are very proud. They speak a completely different dialect of Hindi, have a different written text, and even say they have more Gods than other Indians. I made the mistake early on by broadly referring to them as Indians, which was offensive. Manjula said it best when she told me, “People here are Gujarti. There are one billion Indians, but only few Gujarati.” Gandhi was born and was educated in Gujarat and so was Dr. B. R. Ambedkar (the man who really started the Dalit Rights Campaign, often referred to as the Indian MLK Jr.). Yesterday I was interviewing a man and he mentioned “Gandhi G,” so I asked him what the “G” meant after the name. He told me it was a sign of respect, and then he paused, clearly trying to think of how to tell me more accurately with his limited English. He said, “G at the end of a name means that your life is good for my life.” I love this explanation. I decided then that if my life is ever described in this way, it will have been a success. I have never met people as warm and welcoming as my new DSK friends. Thinking of and missing you all everyday!

Namaste!

I have arrived in India and what a journey it has been! I left midday on Thursday from San Diego. I flew United to San Francisco and then on Air Emirates from SF to Dubai and then again from Dubai to Ahmedabad. I was excited to fly Air Emirates, it would be my first trip on a “luxury” airline and I would have a total of 19 hours on one, so the details wouldn’t be lost on me! When I got off the United flight in San Francisco, I had to change terminals. It was a busy day for domestic flights; the buzz at the many gates I had to walk by was significant. After walking for what felt like a half a mile (I’m sure it was less, but my carry-on luggage was heavy and my over-stuffed backpack was awkward) I went up an escalator, through two long hall ways and walked into what felt like another world. The domestic terminal was filled with small noisy eateries and trinket shops filled with shot glasses and key changes. The international terminal was completely the opposite. Quiet and the stretch of shops hosted names like Chanel, Burberry, and Gucci. International travel was clearly the way to go. I had a bite of lunch and made it to my gate in time for boarding. The airplane was all I thought it would be and more! Each economy seat came equipped with a screen, a power outlet, internet jack, USB port, and a pop out remote control. We could choose from a long list of movies and or music for out personal in-flight entertainment and before I knew it, I was eating my second meal and watching my third movie! I slept for small increments here and there, but there were several small children on board who did not find all the plane extras as entertaining as I did. Between periodic screams and the inability to really stretch out, I passed the 16 odd hours to Dubai being a couch potato. Arriving in Dubai went smoothly. I read about the shopping at the airport before leaving and found it in line with the high price retail that I had seen in San Francisco. Apparently international travels have some money to spend in airports! I had sometime to kill so I decided to get a coffee because there was a Starbucks very near to my gate. I went up to counter and ordered my drink and the lady said, “That will be $18.00.” I had already had my debit card out on the counter when I ordered and routinely handed it to her without really realizing the amount she said. When I looked at the cash register screen and confirmed that my grande iced latte was in fact going to cost me $18.00, I nearly screamed! She swiped my card and handed it back before I could voice my surprise. Wow, $18.00, good thing I wasn’t hungry! The flight from Dubai to Ahmedabad was on time and was quite nice. The only complaint I had this time was that a small boy sat directly behind me and kicked my seat for about three hours straight. By that time I had given up on sleeping anyway, I was too excited. I landed and walked off the plane, across the runway, through customs, to the baggage claim, and received my checked bag, all without any problem (which I was grateful for because already it was 103 degrees and I was feeling incredibly sluggish after doing virtually nothing but eating, sitting, and watching movies for 21 hours). When I walked out the front doors of the terminal, there was a cleared patio for about 50 feet and then there was a waist high metal gate. Between the airport doors and the gate there were several men dressed in camouflaged uniforms and carrying large rifles. On the other side of the gate, there were swarms of people. At 3:15 in the morning, there were more people at the airport than I ever could have imagined. I nervously scanned the crowd and saw two men carrying a sign that said “Welcome, Kathryn Whitlow.” I let out the biggest sigh. I had made it! I was really in India and I had gotten there all by myself. This may not seem like a huge feat to some, but this was the biggest challenge of my life so far. The two men rushed over and greeted me warmly. They introduced themselves at Vitthal and Dilip. They grabbed my suitcases and within minutes we were in the large forerunner, honking our way through the crowds to the road. Vitthal and Dilip could not have been more friendly. They instantly began asking me questions and apologizing for not knowing “enough good English.” We chatted as we drove through the city. The car doesn’t have AC, but the breeze from the widows was literally a breath of fresh air even though there was an inescapable tinge of staleness. I playfully complained to them that I hadn’t slept much on the plane because it was so uncomfortable. They both told me they had never been on planes, but they heard sympathized with my long journey. I began starring out the window as we drove through the congested city of Ahmedabad. I had never seen anything like it. Until that point, I had thought that I was somewhat prepared to come here. I have seen shantytowns when I was traveling in Mexico City, read books and watched movies about poverty, and talked to what seems like hundreds of people in the last few months who have been to India. Nothing could have prepared me for that car ride. We drove for about an hour and almost every mile of road was lined with people sleeping in the dirt. They were sleeping on steps of storefronts, on the tops of cars, sitting up in chairs, and in virtually every other position you could think of. I wanted to eat my words about being too uncomfortable to sleep on the plane. Clearly, I had never been to India. We had been driving for about 30 minutes when Vitthal pulled over to a hut in the side of the road. Apparently it was a coffee and tea stand and both my escorts had gotten up very early to come and get me and needed a pick me up. There were about 15 men, a dozen stray dogs, a large cow and a camel cart all congregated at this stand. They offered me tea, but I was already dripping sweat and could not imagine drinking something warm. They exchanged a few friendly words with the strangers, yelled at the dogs, and then we were back on our way. We drove most of the way on dirt roads and chatted about everything from food to bug spray. At a moment of silence Dilip turned around from the front seat and said to me, “Katie, you are very nice. We really like your spirit.” I was, and still, am speechless regarding this comment. The DSK campus is in a small village of about 2500 people called Nanideviti; we arrived there about 4:00am. It is gated and we had to honk several times for the guard to let us in; apparently had had fallen asleep waiting for us. Vitthal and Dilip escorted me to my room, which is a modest 10x14 square with an attached small “bathroom.” I say “bathroom” because although there is a sink and a drain, no water flows I through it and it is without a toliet. My water must be collected in the courtyard and brought back in buckets. The toilets, which are not Western toilets by any stretch of the imagination, are about 200 feet from my room. This will take some strategic planning on my part. There are screens and my three windows, but somehow some friends found there way in. I had the task of getting two lizards and several other critters that shall remain nameless out of my room before I could officially claim it as mine. The most important feature of my room is a large ceiling fan that runs on high and while sitting directly under it I have found that the heat is relieved enough to keep sweat from violently rolling off my skin. I opened my suitcase, found my power adapter to charge my computer, fought some ants in the bathroom who decided that I had brought the water in for them, made my bed (with my sleeping sack and thermarest!) and dozed off. And that brings me to now. I should tell you that I am in culture shock, except that the term doesn’t seem to cut it. I am staying in accommodations that no one in the US would call “upper-class” as it is labeled here. And yet I am incredibly thankful for what I have considering I have already seen hundreds of people who literally have nothing. This, India, the person I must adapt to be to survive here, will take some getting used to. I was told that I have the liberty of resting today, so hopefully I can explore more of the campus and meet more friendly faces. I do not know what I expected to find here, but in the 6 hours I have been here I have been shocked more times than I can count. The princess in me will have to go on a long vacation for the next three months. I have talked with friends in the past about whether your heart or your head is stronger and how they usually take turns getting you through stages of life; I am going to need both my heart and my head to be in tip-top shape while I’m here. Wish me luck! Love you all!