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.