Spark in the Eye, Fire in the Belly

The rains have come to Gujarat. The long agonizing days of triple digits are behind me now; the cool monsoon rains have drastically changed the temperature and the atmosphere. I had never been in a monsoon, so when the winds first started thumbing on the walls and the thunder began cracking overhead, I was in awe. I sat outside for about an hour watching the storm roll towards me, realizing how far from home I really am. The new weather has brought many new pests into my life. Mosquitoes and flying ants (that are the length of a match and the width of a French fry) are a package deal with the rains. I must say, I’m not sure the rain is worth it. Vivien and I have spent about two hours this evening battling the bugs. They are everywhere and they are absolutely relentless. We have barracked ourselves into our room and have tapped the bottoms and tops of all our doors and windows to stop their steady entry. We look like we are in a bomb shelter and through the windows we can see their bodies stammering to get in. It feels a bit like a horror film. I am praying that we have trapped a few lizards in the room with us so that they can help catch any stray mosquitoes. In the middle of doing this, we looked at each other and realized that for 10 days we have been wishing for rain and now we would gladly go back to the hot arid and bug-less nights. At least we could open our windows and get a slight breeze. We are just hoping that the generators make it through the night so that our fans keep our little space from truly becoming a sweatbox now that we have sealed out all air/bug flow! Telling you this leads me to another problem we have encountered due to the rain, mud. When you spend your days in dusty villages with no paved roads that are littered with trash, you think, “Wow, this is rough living.” But then it starts to rain and it rains so hard and with such gust that you wonder if it will ever stop; and the once dusty roads are now a muddy muck filled with floating trash. Sound delightful? Try walking a few kilometers through it to where your car is parked. This has been my experience over the last several days. I can’t help to but laugh to myself. India gets more challenging every day. It’s as if she is testing me gradually to show me how naïve any sense of comfort I feel is. Life is India is hard and water, although it is a blessing, only makes things harder.
Despite the changing in the conditions, Vivien and I have been very active. Last Wednesday, June 2, we made the long drive to Patan, a district in Gujarat about three hours from Ahmedabad, to attend a Child Right Rally. The rally was organized by the youth program officers of Navsarjan Trust. Over 40 villages were represented by children ranging in age from 8 to 14 years old. We met at a school house in the center of Patan and instantly I was overwhelmed. The sight of more than 700 children all seated and eager for their cause was quite a sight. Vivien, Sam (intern from New York), and I were invited to sit with Manjula on the stage. In typical Indian fashion they opened the rally with several songs about liberation and strength. There was also a crowning of a picture of Dr. Ambedkar, which I thought to be for this special occasion only, but have seen several times since. The Dalit community of Gujarat is very, I mean extremely, fond of Dr. Ambedkar. They identify with him as their true hero, as he was a Dalit himself. Due to his education in London, he was able to return to India much more powerful than when he left and became a fearless social leader against the discrimination of the caste system. He is the sole reason that caste distinction was made illegal in the Constitution of 1950. His memory gives his people strength as they continue to battle the social implications of centuries of tolerated discrimination. So back to the rally…after the opening crowning and songs, children from all the different villages came forward to speak about the discrimination they face in attending the public, government run, schools in their villages. They told of being beaten, forced to clean the urinals, fed day-old food, being excluded from cultural events, and being ignored by their teachers. The children in most of the village schools are forced to sit by caste in the classrooms and in the dining halls. Dalit children are often not given desks or chairs and are restricted to sit behind all of the other children. Many of the children still do not know how to read or write, even after attending years of primary education, because they are simply ignored by their teachers. I was astonished. These children came forward and spoke with such resilience and strength. Never once did I sense a feeling of shame or embarrassment, only empowerment. I would have shaken holding a microphone in front of that crowd, but they filed up one at a time and spoke clearly and with purpose. I fell even more in love with Dalit children sitting there. Once all of the villages had been represented by a child speaker, Manjula spoke to the children. She told them that she was so happy they knew that what was happening to them was wrong, but that they should not get discouraged or be moved to anger. They strength would come from working together. The children all cheered and with that room erupted with movement. Carrying signs and chanting “Dalit Shakti” (Dalit Empowerment), we began marching through Patan to the Chief Magistrates office. We marched through the busy streets in one long jumbled line. We had to break for the occasional cow crossing, but that was nothing that the children weren’t used to. The walk was long, about 7 kilometers and it was an astonishing 119 degrees, yet you would never know it by looking at the faces of these children. They were all smiles and giggles. I tried to walk different legs of the journey with different groupings of children and each little face I met shared the same enthusiasm. As you can imagine, this is quite a spectacle and by the time we reached the Magistrates office, the police and the press were waiting. They held us outside the building until the Magistrate was ready. It was as if they were trying to break the spirit of the rally. They forced us to stay outside in the heat for about 45 minutes before finally allowing us an audience with the Magistrate. The police only allowed 5 children into his office, because the small room was like a freezer (first place I have felt air conditioning in India) and he didn’t want all the cool air to escape with all 700 children. The children who went into the room presented the judge with a list of their grievances and told him personally how serious they wanted their education. Manjula was with them and as he looked over the document, she pleasantly quoted the constitution’s article 14, which allows all children equal opportunity to primary education. He smiled politely and told the children he would look into the matter. You could smell the bullshit on his breath from the back of his freezer like office, but the children didn’t seem to notice. They skipped out of the room triumphantly and you could see the satisfaction in their eyes. Leaving that scene was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I felt extremely emotional. The combination of the heat, lack of water, and frustration at the situation made me a mush. It has taken me almost a week to try to describe it for all of you and even now I cannot give the day its justice. I just cant get over the fervor of these children. They are so driven and so eager despite the extreme conditions that they have faced their entire lives. They do not know what equality is. It must seem mystical and exotic and I couldn’t help but think about how I have taken my own education for granted. It was an amazing day.
I also must note two small accomplishments that have made my experience even more authentic. First of all, Vivi and I have discovered a passion for Indian sweets, ghulab jamun in particular. They are like little crunchy donuts soaked in syrup and full of wonder! I could eat a thousand of them, good thing I haven’t figured out enough Gujarati to order correctly. Secondly, Vivien and I have been recently getting around by rickshaw. Riding on an Indian rickshaw that is built to hold 5 people, but regularly transports 15 to 20 is like nothing you have ever known. They blast Hindi music and people literally hang on to all sides and sit on each others laps and we drive through bumpy, uneven roads. The first ride we went on, Vivien and I could not stop laughing. The sight was hilarious and even though we have been here for a bit, we felt like our rickshaw ride signified real India.
Today, we accompanied Manjula to Anand District to attend a meeting with five villages about the right to water. Water availability is one of the largest issues or Dalit communities. Dominant caste villagers forbid Dalit’s for using the same tap as them and so women often have to walk miles and miles to another tap and then carry the water back. Despite not being allowed to have equal usage of the water taps in their villages, the Dalit community is still charged a water tax. This backwards system is very aggravating (understandably so) and violence often erupts in villages over these water issues. I sat with one group of women for about an hour while we waited for the rest of the villagers to arrive. None of them spoke a word of English, but we had the best time. They made fun of me for being so plain and forced me to try on their jewelry and they wrapped their extra sari material around me so that I looked just like them. We laughed more than anything and at the end of the meeting one of the women gave me her necklace. She had strung it herself and as she gave it to me she touched her heart and then her head. I think she was telling me not to forget her. I wish I could have explained to her how impossible that would be. On the way home we stopped for lunch and we asked Manjula how she got her start working for Navsarjan. She told us that she has been working for them for 18 years and was hired first as a social worker. She said that there was only one position open and 40 people applied, but she was chosen because she had a spark in her eye and fire in her belly. This is a perfect description of her and of all of the wonderful people I spend my days with. I hope they rub off on me.