The Power of Words

Looking back at the time when I was at SRIJAN, there is one lesson that keeps coming back to me. It is that words have power. When you explain something or are talking in a meeting, what you are saying is having an impact on someone in the group. And as professionals working in development, we have a responsibility for what we say.

I remember a clear example of this lesson when I was forming clusters of SHGs in Bundi, Rajasthan. I had organized a meeting of women from three different villages. They had some difficulty coming together and I had promised a very important message in the meeting. By that time, I had formed a couple of other clusters and had a set agenda for introducing the concept. I had a story that I would tell in the beginning of the meeting, about an event I had witnessed while visiting the federation in Duni, Rajasthan:

A large group of around 50 women had come together to go talk to a local dairy, who had bought milk from them but had not paid them in the full amount. Rather than going individually or even in their SHG groups, all of them from different villages had come together to go talk to him and settle their accounts. Seeing such a large group of women had frightened him and he had listened to them. However, these women would not have been able to organize this event if they had not met with each other regularly and discussed their problems.

I had told this story many times, stressing the importance of collective action and how there is power in numbers. The story had been important in convincing women to form clusters. Until that day, I knew that the story was powerful, but I did not realize just how powerful it was.

The next day, I got a phone call from Rakesh-ji, whose villages I had visited. The women from all the different villages had come together and realized they had a similar problem. While they had completed their work for NREGA, they had not received full payment for their work. They had talked after my meeting and concluded that they would get women from their villages to come together. All of them would go to the local government office in Nenwa to sort the problem.

It was then that I realized that my story had caused them to take action to solve a problem in their own lives. I also realized that I had a responsibility to work with them to solve the problem. If they were able to talk to the government officers and receive full payment for their work, they would be completely convinced of working together. They had the potential of forming a very strong cluster.

I told them to wait a few days, while we found out who they should talk to. I also told them that we would alert the local newspapers and come with them to make sure everything was successful. We eventually went with about 50 of the women and they talked to the government. Some of them were interviewed by the local newspapers. Perhaps most importantly, they realized that if something is wrong in their lives, they can come together as a group and take action to make it better. I realized that my words made them come to this realization. Ever since then, even if I repeat stories and go through a set agenda at meetings, I never underestimate the power of the words and stories I have to share.  

Tomato cha Saar (Tomato Coconut Soup)

This is one of my favorite Marathi recipes. It’s a type of soup that you eat with rice. But it tastes delicious on its own. This is also one of the first things I learnt from my mom, since I knew I couldn’t live without it. Plus, with my mom’s shortcuts, it’s super easy to make.

Ingredients:

1 can tomato soup

½ can of coconut milk

2 green chilies

Cumin seeds

Turmeric

Asafoetida powder

Oil

Salt

Sugar

Recipe:

Cut the green chilies into small pieces. I like to leave them big enough that I can take them out as I drink it. You can also use more or less chilies depending on how spicy you like it. In a pot, heat about six tablespoons of oil on medium heat. When the oil is hot, add a quarter teaspoon each of asafoetida powder and turmeric and add one teaspoon of cumin seeds.

After the spices have mixed in with the oil, add the can of tomato soup (plus however much water the can says in needed for the soup) and the half can of coconut milk. Let the pot come to a boil. Then, add about a teaspoon of salt and a quarter teaspoon of sugar. Let the soup come to a boil again.

Serve hot with rice or on its own. Enjoy!

Bhindi ki Sabzi – (Indian Style Okra)

So as some of you may know, the Kuber Report is about many different things that I think about and do. Recently, I have started cooking a lot. So I thought I should share some of my cooking experiments. While I do not want to make this a cooking blog, I do have some favorites that I would like to post.

This is my first time writing a recipe so please bear with me. I decided to share a very simple Indian dish that I make often. Bhindi ki Sabzi is one that is popular all over India. And I’m sure everyone has their own version of how their moms make it or how they make it; and here is mine (learnt from my mom, of course):

Ingredients:

2 pounds okra

Sesame seeds

Cumin powder

Coriander powder

Turmeric (Haldi)

Asafoetida powder (Heeng)*

Red Chili powder

Mustard Seeds

Oil

Salt

*If you don’t have this or any other spice, you can skip it.

First, wash and dry the okra (make sure it is dry completely as this will reduce the sliminess of it as it cooks). Cut and discard both ends and chop into thin slices (about a quarter inch thick).

In a wide pan, heat about six tablespoons of oil on medium heat and add the half a teaspoon of mustard seeds. When the seeds will start to make a popping sound, add a quarter teaspoon each of asafoetida powder, turmeric and red chili powder.

(You can use more or less red chili powder depending on how spicy you like it. My version is about a mild level of heat)

When all the spices have mixed in with the oil, add the okra and stir, making sure all of it is covered in the oil and spices. After about two minutes, the okra will have changed color slightly. Then add one teaspoon each of coriander and cumin powders. Add two tablespoons of sesame seeds. Add half a teaspoon of salt.

(You can add more salt if necessary after it is cooked)

Stir to mix all the spices. Leave uncovered on medium heat, stirring occasionally. The okra will start to turn slimy. But as it cooks, the sliminess will decrease. The okra at the bottom of the pan will start to brown. Stir to make sure all the okra has browned. This should take around 10 minutes.

After it is done, serve hot with roti, naan or bread. Enjoy!

Next up: Mushroom Masala and Tomato cha Saar (Tomato and Coconut Soup)

A blow to literature and freedom of speech...

So, in an effort to start blogging more regularly, here is something that made me sad this morning, on many different levels:

After much debate, Salman Rushdie is not going to the largest literary festival in India, which began today. This started with protests in Uttar Pradesh by a cleric on allowing Rushdie into the country. The trip was cancelled because of an alleged plot to assassinate the author at the festival.

As someone who is a firm believer in freedom of speech and is proud of India for being a democracy which stands for that right (more or less), it makes me sad that an author, born in the country, is too afraid to come back. Now this is an author I “take credit” for, as being brilliant and from India. But instead, I’m having flashbacks to articles read about Chinese artists fleeing and/or not going back to their country for fear of their lives.

To make matters worse, this might not have happened in another time, since it happens to be close to elections in Uttar Pradesh. Politicians have succumbed to listening to people whose votes they want, which I know is not a new phenomenon. However, it does mean that the country doesn’t even stand firmly on one side of the “for/against freedom of speech” argument, but will flip flop depending on what is convenient. Now, which is worse?

While the argument can be made that no one, especially not the politicians, prevented him from coming to the festival. But, while rumors got to him that people from the underworld were hired to kill him, he clearly did not feel that adequate protection would be given to him if he did come. He did not obtain any voice of support from politicians in India either.

Positive Note: Rushdie is getting publicity out of this. For me, the worst opinion to have about someone is a lack of it. In that you don’t deem them important enough to have any kind of response. Yes, Rushdie wrote something a long time ago. But it doesn’t matter now and neither does he. That would hurt.

Irony: The people speaking out against Rushdie do not represent the majority opinion in the country. They are in fact, exercising their freedom of speech by expressing their opinion.

Disclaimer: Author is a biased, huge Rushdie fan! J

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-india-16644782

Ladakh cont'd.

It’s obvious that Ladakh hasn’t been a tourist place for a long time. Even now, it’s not for someone who wants to lounge by the pool, go shopping, or enjoy the comforts provided by some of the more traditional tourist resorts in India. Our hotel (actually a set of cottages) was a good example. It was clean, with a bed, many blankets and a bathroom. It had a flat screen TV. But, hot water was only available from 6 to 9 in the mornings and 6 to 9 in the evenings. Not to mention there was no electricity during the day. It didn’t bother us too much because we were never home during that time.

The cottages were used by many travelers as places to stay in Leh in between excursions to nearby places. Therefore, on any given day while we were there, there were less than 5 guests. On the first day, the head waiter (Dev Kumar – DK) asked us what we would like for dinner, as it was just the two of us:

- Well, what do you have?

- We can make anything you’d like.

While the offer was generous, we realized that this was just the politeness that comes with hospitality training. In fact, there weren’t too many vegetables available in the area – potatoes, cauliflower, spinach, cabbage, etc. Kidney beans, rice and rotis were part of the stable diet of most people. Even with this, each day we got a different array of dishes. And each day we were amazed by how delicious even the simplest of dishes could taste. In the mornings we got omelets and toast, and of course chai. The food was nutritious, filling and pretty much incredible! But only because it was the kind of food we liked to eat, and we didn’t crave (or ask for) pizza or pasta.

DK told us that in order to serve food that isn’t grown in the area, it needs to be brought up from down below, making it expensive and not worth it, especially towards the end of the tourist season, which is when we went. A “restaurant” near Pangong Lake was a clear demonstration of this:

The sign outside said: Rice, Rajma, etc. The restaurant was a giant tent, split into the area where the customers sit and the “kitchen”. There were two waitresses, one of whom spoke no Hindi or English. After going inside we realized that they served three main dishes: Rice and Rajma, Roti and Potatoes, and Maggi. We first ordered one Roti/Potatoes and one Rice/Rajma. After finishing that we realized that we needed more food. Upon asking for more Roti/Potatoes, we were told that they were out. So we had more rice. A large group that came in after us got only Rice and Rajma. A couple who came in later was told there was only Maggi left. There were no apologizes. That was the only food available. Either eat it or go the next tent. Most people stayed. All I can say is: the rajma was awesome!

Other restaurants and the sites reflected the same type of services at the hotel. Every place had everything that you would need, but nothing that would be a luxury. I guess even these basic necessities were so much more than what most locals have so that even they are considered luxuries. I would recommend Ladakh as a place to get away from it all, but don’t go if you are also expecting to get it all.

Ladakh - The Landscape

As I looked through the plane window, I saw before me something I had never seen before. Every shade of brown, with bits of green and white, stretched out before me as far as the eye could see. It was as if someone had taken a piece of wrinkled cloth and spread it, without smoothening it out. I could almost imagine how centuries of earthquakes, volcanoes and plates shifting had formed this magnificent landscape.

Driving through the mountains and valleys, I stared at what I saw before me. It was beautiful. There wasn’t much there. In fact, there was nothing. Everywhere else we associate beauty with something natural or artificial or at least with living organisms (trees, birds, animals). But this was something rare. It was the beauty of nothing. Earth in its most raw form, shaped by the different forces of nature. Just rocks, dirt, gravel, sand. Nothing else. At one point, we got out of the car and looked all around us, mountains, everywhere. Not just mountains, but there was no horizon! Strangely enough, I didn’t feel small standing there, nor insignificant. It felt awesome, in the true sense of the word, the sense that isn’t used often nowadays. AWESOME. And soon, I was going to be a part of it. Soon, I was going to land on the highest civilian airport in the world, in Leh, Ladakh.

In certain areas of the mountains, we saw evidence of another element: Water. This evidence was most apparent climbing down a mountain. At the top there would be snow. And then as we entered small crevices in between two peaks, we would see a network of veins, spread across the skin of the mountains. Even the smallest of these would have bits of green lining it, moss or grass, the first signs of life. The major arteries of the area would have proper meadows, with goats grazing and yaks lounging in the sun.

Aside: An anomaly to my evolutionary view of climbing down a mountain is these gorgeous purple flowers. On the side of the mountain, surrounded by rocks, there are these bushes, each with bright purple flowers. My first question when I saw these: Where did you come from? Upon further inspection, there would be a SMALL water source nearby. True to my biologist roots, I marveled at the adaptations made by this plant:

Coming further down the mountain, near the Shyok river (in Nubra Valley or Valley of Flowers), we found fruit trees. Trees loaded with apricots and apples, easy to pick and eat. This was when we camped in a tent for a night. Living in the campsite, which had dining hall and a building for shower/bathrooms, I didn’t get a sense of encroaching on nature. It felt as if we were being allowed to live there by nature. In a sense, it was true. This was one of the few places nearby where human beings (particularly tourists) would be able to live – for at least couple months out of the year.

In fact, I got the same feeling after going to villages in the area (and now we’ve

reached the bottom of the valleys). There was never a sense of man conquering nature. Not even of man and nature living in harmony. But it was nature allowing man to access its most remote parts and make them habitable. Houses were built into the side of the mountains, wherever the ground was stable enough. Food was grown wherever the ground

was flat, irrespective of size or shape. And the roads were the best part. The roads were carved into the mountains, going for long periods of time in one direction, only to curve towards the opposite direction, as we slowly inched up the peaks. Nature made its decision loud and clear: I don’t care if the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. We go by my rules here.

Next up: Ladakh – The People

Tulsi Baug

Ok, so this post was written before Eid/Ganesh Chaturthi. So its a little late...

In the heart of Pune’s Old City, about a minute’s walk from my grandmother’s house, is a mixed (open and closed air) market made up of two narrow lanes that cross each other: Tulsi Baug. It is one of my usual destinations for small trinkets, odds and ends as well as occasional clothes shopping.

During this trip, as my mom and I stood waiting for her purse to be mended (new straps put on to completely match the old ones), we decided to get some ice cream at the always-crowded store, Kawre Brothers. As I stood outside the shop and ate my butterscotch cone, I marveled at the uniqueness of the place I was in. There are not that many places (fewer still outside India) that can boast the diversity that Tulsi Baug has to offer.

I start with the numerous livelihoods of people who work at Tulsi Baug. At the top you have the larger stores (pakka – with four walls, some of which take credit cards). These are stores you can get all types of cosmetics, fake (and semi-real) jewelry, clothes, etc. Now the term jewelry in India encompasses infinite number of pieces, some of which I’m sure men wonder, where does this go again? You can get bits of shiny metal to adorn yourself from your head to your toes. Case in point: This time I bought to such shiny pieces to put in my hair bun (one that I wore at my engagement and one just for fun!). Moving on the cosmetics: while Tulsi Baug still sells henna and organic soaps and shikakai for hair, shopkeepers have kept up with the times. Alongside henna cones, you can buy Maybelline lipsticks and Cover Girl eye shadows (the fake kind and the authentic for at least twice as much). In a lesser number, there are stores that sell pots and pans, fake flowers for ALL your religious needs, bindis, random plastic items (soap dishes, etc.) and “western clothes”. There is even a store dedicated to: fake hair! So really, anything and everything you need can be found here. I unabashedly admit, if you need bangles… I know a guy.

And those are just the stores. Right outside the stores you have the stalls. These are slightly cheaper places where you can get hair clips, mobile phone covers, some cosmetics and jewelry and purses (D&G anyone? How about a Gucci?). For us, these stalls are primarily used for cheap hair clips as well as henna cones (yes they are cheaper than the stores and produce the same results). At the lowest level of the food chain are the street sellers who usually carry whatever they sell and wander up and down the lanes. Now people have an interesting relationship with these sellers. I find them irritating. They usually sell items that I have not yet found the need to buy (welcome mats, dish washing pads, moth balls and those glow in the dark stars that people put on their ceilings). I kid you not, these are the same items they have been selling for years. I would like to share with them new marketing techniques. They should analyze their consumers and approach ONLY them. However, they seem to approach everyone, including me. I’ll be walking purposefully to my bangle guy when out of the blue: Madam, door mats? No thanks. I believe door mats are something that you would put on your list before you left your house. They are hardly an item that you would randomly remember in the middle of shopping. But, I may be wrong. My brother on the other hand, appreciates the fact that they do not discriminate. However, for the last time, I don’t want eeeeshtars!

Another main reason for my forays into Tulsi Baug is to go to my tailor (for salwaar khameezs, not sari blouses – that’s a different guy). Now to get to this tailor, you have to look carefully between two stalls, there is this narrow one way traffic lane. For Harry Potter fans, I think of it as the Lane of Requirement, it only appears when you need it, because otherwise it’s invisible. At the end of the lane is a staircase – dark and damp. It is one of those staircases into which unintelligent females venture into in bad scary movies. Every time we go up it, my aunt (or mom) say: Don’t touch anything! I recommend not looking at or smelling anything either. On the first floor is a tiny room, with men who seem to be on sewing machines permanently. However odd the location, they really are the best tailors. And the clothes they are sewing are proof – they have the prettiest and most expensive looking blouses and salwaar khameezes hanging behind them.

While I ate my ice cream, I categorized the livelihoods Tulsi Baug had to offer into these three levels. I was amazed at the number of people employed in these two gallis (lanes). However, in those ten minutes, I also people-watched – something I’ve never done in Tulsi Baug. Because of the crowds, my previous expeditions have been of a search and retrieve nature. What I found was something that I absolutely LOVE about India. It is the week before Ganesh Chaturthi and Eid. Therefore, Tulsi Baug is ridiculously crowded. However, there are few places in the world (repeating myself but o so true) where you can see people of two huge religions mingling together. These are conservatives of both religions out to celebrate their different festivals. Women in all black, men in beards and skull caps haggled at prices of socks and handkerchiefs alongside women in saris (the Marathi kinds – pants style) and men in dhotis. A unknown fact about the world is that the universality of human beings is seen outside jewelry/cosmetic shops – men (holding shopping bags) standing outside looking bored while women crowd around the counters.

Now Old City Pune is just that, its conservative, OLD school, where I have gotten stopped on the road and chided (by random unknown lady) for wearing a skirt. However, in Tulsi Baug, you can find people from all different generations. You can find the pre-independence old people, going to the temple or to their usual stores and you can find college girls (yes sometimes wearing a skirt) giggling in large groups as they buy earrings. Likewise you can see the occasional foreigner, a little overwhelmed at the sights, smells and sounds, and you can see the whole family from a nearby village, making a day trip to Pune to buy everything they need for the next couple months.

So there is religious diversity, varying levels of modernity, rural vs. urban divide in Tulsi Baug. Additionally, there are literally every combination of human relations that are known to mankind. I saw whole families, young couples (married and not), old couples, really old couples, mothers with children, grown children with their old mothers, fathers alone with children (buying ice cream and balloons), siblings running errands, college friends (all female, all male, mixed), aunties shopping together, etc. If I’ve missed a combination, ask me about it and I’m sure you can find it at Tulsi Baug. With all the types of people in Tulsi Baug, I’d like to think of this as a miniature India.

I’m not sure if I’ve conveyed the true essence that is Tulsi Baug. But since it is an integral part of every trip of mine to Pune, I had to share it with those not fortunate enough to experience it themselves.

East becomes West… while West sips on Chai Lattes

Globalization is a phenomenon that has received a lot of attention in the past decades. Now, I don’t claim to know whether globalization will have a positive or negative impact on the world. However, I do know that it’s here to stay, we can’t fight it and that we might as well make the best of the situation. At the present, my limited observations of America and India seem to suggest that we are not doing the best we can. In fact, things must change if we want to reap the benefits of our shrinking planet, especially if we want to stop our expanding oceans.

Now for the purposes of these ramblings, I am going to use the terms East and West (also because I claim artistic license and it makes for a cooler title to the essay). And while my observations are from America and India, I am going to see whether I can apply them more generically to the two different hemispheres.

We will start with what the “East” has learnt from the “West”. The past decade has pretty much shown us that the East has learnt to do what the West does, except faster and cheaper. The latest example is a 35 dollar laptop, making it available to a much larger audience than ever before. I wonder how long it will be when the number of computer owners in India will surpass America. Not that I should ever talk about numbers and India (they seem to “win” in any numbers game). But they did surpass cell phone users a long while back. Speaking of cell phones, the number of networks and the ability of these networks to work even in the remotest areas is something that continued to surprise me. As I sat next to a herd of goats, in a village where there was no tar road or electricity, I was able to have a clear conversation with my parents in Washington DC. The East has definitely seen the advantage of a “mobile” network and covered even the most under-developed areas. Last example: call centers and outsourcing. Need I say more? However, overall I commend a lot of these adaptations as they have done wonders for the Indian economy.

But opening up the economy did mean an invasion of Coca Cola. I haven’t even begun to mention brand name fads and fast food chains in India. Because I was mostly in rural India, I didn’t have much exposure to cities. However, my few stays in metropolises and catching the latest Mickey D’s commercials (advertising Masala Fries!), I can pretty confidently say that the East has learnt how to make cheap and quick food as well, American style, which is necessary since pav bhaji stands have been on the streets for a while now. What that says for the arteries of city dwelling Indians only time will tell (I’m lovin it – NOT). But how far has this movement really gone: Kentucky Fried Chicken! (Ok fine, chicken might be widely eaten – but what Kentucky is may not be as widely known). But TGIF? Ironically in many places, there are six day workweeks. So “Thank God It’s Friday” doesn’t even make sense! Can they think before they blindly copy? Apparently not.

Ok, before I have a couple billion people up in arms, I’m not letting the West get off that easily either. Let’s see what they have taken from the East. For an area that came up with the most amazing astrological and mathematical discoveries, the latest things to come out of the place and into the hearts and minds of the West is… chai lattes. Yes, while I am glad that “chai” has become a familiar word in America, is that really all the East has to offer? I almost forgot about yoga! In the poshest parts of Manhattan, I see advertisements for Bikram Yoga classes. I’m sure the sages of the old are turning in their graves (metaphorically speaking of course) when they see the growing industry selling yoga mats, and yoga pants and yoga balls, etc. The word has lost its true meaning and is now done in quick one hour sessions after work and before happy hour. Can you really find peace in that hour to balance out all the stress and worry that fills the rest 23? Henna tattoos, shirts with Chinese symbols, hummus are all new discoveries that have slowly infiltrated the West. Quick aside: my favorite one is the genius of AR Rahman, because I can be an elitist and say that the world is discovering something I knew for ages. But as Amartya Sen put it in a lot more words (and bigger words), after colonizing, the West seems to be apologizing by trying to learn from the East. Unfortunately, all they have done is proceed to “exoticize” the East.

I believe that for the most part the West has taken all things exotic from the East and stopped there. But, the East has also played up its own exoticness. Neither side has questioned whether there is more. Being in villages in India, while I saw a slow infiltration of “foreign” ideas and objects, I saw that there is WAY more. I saw a way of life which is in harmony with the earth. Now before you say I’m going tree-hugger on all of you, please hear me out. As part of my project, we tried to get farmers to use LESS chemical fertilizers and pesticides: a practice clearly copied from the West. We tried going towards sustainable agriculture with the eventual goal of going organic. Ironically, the western “fad” of organically grown produce was being brought into in the area. The concept of organic farming, if taken back through time, was prevalent much more recently in the East than in the West. The elders in the villages would listen to our methods and talk about how they used to do things that way in the first place, before the existence of big fertilizer and chemical companies. While the younger farmers had to be explained how to make compost pits, the older ones knew and had done it themselves. How odd was it to teach a way of life to people who had only recently forgot it and introduce it as something “foreign”?

But farming is only one example, recycling is another. You know those cloth bags that every store seems to sell now. Go Green! They will say. And stop using plastic bags. Well, guess what? That’s been around in the East for YEARS. It was actually the norm, until recently. I can’t wait to find Go Green bags in Indian supermarkets. My favorite example is from a couple houses in Rajasthan. Now, with certain mobile SIM cards, apparently you get a free CD. Having no computer to play the CD and because it has no songs/movies on it, it has no use for the villagers. The next logical step is to throw it out, right? Wrong! The women make intricate wall ornaments from the CDs and decorate their houses with it. It sparkles and shows off different colors in the light and looks quite beautiful. Why would you just throw away something so pretty? I’m sorry, that’s just second nature for a lot of people in the world.

So, is the cup half full or half empty? My answer is always that it is half full. While I have commented on how both the East and West are doing things the wrong way, I do have a positive outlook on life. First of all, in the future, I believe the boundaries of East and West will fade and we will all become more homogenous. As this happens, I think it is important to take the best from each culture and make sure that culture retains it and that it spreads across the world. In the end, its great that there is a slowly growing “Go Green” movement in the west, regardless of where it originated! I think they have realized that in order to survive in this world, we will all have to go green. All I have to say is that I hope the east does not go through all the same stages the west did, in order to reach the “go green” stage. East: You don’t need a “Silent Spring” or “The Jungle” to get you back on track. Remember that you already know how to go green. Not only keep it alive, but also teach it to others. All I have to say is that we have so much more to learn from one another, other than chai lattes and TGIF’s. As a unique blend of East and West, and a true child of the globalization, I want the world to do what I have done in my life: take the best of both worlds and make the most of it.

Identity and Gender: Meeting in the Middle

Feminist. Now that is something I never classified myself as. Ever. I have always believed in the general equality of men and women. As in women should earn as much as men and men should help out in the kitchen. These were values I grew up with and thought they were just widely accepted. But a feminist to me was someone who took out her soapbox and screamed at the world, someone who was fighting the world every minute of her life against evil men. I did not have the time or the energy for that (while I appreciated those who did fight for the rest of us). I had other issues to worry about.

All that changed in India. Values I had held to be, well self-evident, were nowhere to be found. And as a result of me being in conservative, rural, Rajasthan, I was suddenly… the Feminist. It didn’t start with the label, it started with me getting worked up about things I saw happening in society around me. Or seeing what place women had in society (at times quite literally). What got my dupatta in a real twist was the fact that this was the status quo for them and I was the one with the strange new ideas about equality. Discovering this new aspect about my persona was a little unnerving. What happened to not having time for “women’s” issues?

Well, let me tell you what happened. I took them up. I decided that while I was there, for however long or short time it was, I was going to do something about it. For those who know me or saw me work, I can assure you that I went about it my own way. When faced with opposition (yes, the evil men) or in some cases the women, I didn’t believe in arguing and debating to change opinions (opinions that have been in place for centuries). I believe that education and DOING things is what changes society. And so began the upward battle: teaching women to write their names, involving them in the smallest of decisions, having them speak in public in front of visitors. These were how I decided to change society.

You might think these are small achievements, especially in a place where child marriages and female infanticide happens. But this was our feminist movement.

As I became accustomed to my new role, the strangest behavior started to manifest itself. To gain acceptance from the community (both men and women), I realized I started getting… more conservative. Oftentimes I heard myself say: “No, of course you need to ask for your husband’s permission” and “Yes, women do need to learn how to cook and clean the house” (silently adding that they should also learn to take financial and livelihood decisions). In many meetings and conferences, I was called upon to give motivational speeches, to get the women standing up and believing that they can bring change in their lives and communities. But, in order not to scare them, I had to show them that I was at a place where they would be comfortable meeting me: half way.

While analyzing my own journey, I started seeing the journey of some individuals, “community leaders” that emerged as time went on. I realized that the journey for them was much harder than it was for me. While my demons were internal, oftentimes they faced taunts such as “Masterni” and “Netaji” (teacher and politician – yes I know, HUGE insults) as they left the village for meetings. But the ones that came forward turned a deaf ear towards these taunts and realized that they were doing something for a greater good. They were becoming spokeswomen for their sisters and mothers (who never had this chance). They are creating a different world for their daughters. And most importantly, they are creating an identity for themselves, sometimes from scratch.

The journey was most evident at a conference I went to in Sanchi, Madhya Pradesh. Women from different areas of SRIJAN’s projects had come together for two days. I remember standing in a circle (of around 70-80 women), holding hands. We had all come from very different places, speaking very different languages and had taken different paths. But we had all ended in that same circle, working towards the same goal.

If you think of a spectrum of feminism (conservative to liberal, traditional to modern), think of me as starting at one end and the village women starting at the other end. Through the course of the year, we all build identities for ourselves and met, in the middle.

For me, that also meant getting used to (and changing the definition of) the label, feminist.

Are they the same everywhere?

I have always believed that if you look at kids from anywhere in the world, rich or poor, regardless of language, culture, or anything else, that they will be exactly the same. Toddlers will have the same curiosity of the world around them, small boys will have that mischievous glint in their eyes right before they play a prank and teenagers will always be moody.
My dad gives the example of a small child being dragged by his mother at an airport. Now the mom was speaking in French (or Japanese, I can’t remember which). While my dad did not understand a word, he knew she was saying: I ASKED you if you had to go to the bathroom five minutes ago and you said no!
Things like these cross cultural boundaries…
However, I have come to realize that for certain children, their lives are changed by society so that they are not allowed to have the same childhood enjoyed by everyone across the world. My recent trip to Tamil Nadu put me face to face with two such examples.
It took three nights and two trains to get to TN and the same to get back. On the way back, a bunch of us caught a train at midnight. We got on and silently put our luggage away as the rest of the passengers were sleeping. Now our suitcases wouldn’t fit below the seats and they normally do. We tried shoving really hard but then we realized something was blocking them. As three of us peaked down, we saw a small boy (of around 7-8 years old) lying on the floor with a bundle of cloths next to him. Of course, we panicked. He had his eyes tightly closed but of course he wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t have been after having our suitcases shoved on top of him repeatedly. We asked him if he wanted to come up or wanted anything to eat or a place to sleep but we got no reaction. While all of us had no choice but to go sleep on our berths, I know we all fell asleep wondering where he came from, where he was going and what was forcing him to travel like this. He clearly did not fit in with the theory of “kids are the same everywhere”.
In the middle of the night, I decided to get a blanket out of my bag. I climbed down and completely forgot about the little boy. As I reached down to open my bag, he also came up from under the seat. It was a split second when I know both our hearts stopped and we both gasped. After that second, without thinking I suppressed a giggle because it was actually pretty funny. I won’t forget the moment when as soon as I smiled, he almost giggled as well. That second was enough for me to know that somewhere deep inside him, there lay a naughty little boy as well. In the morning, he was gone…
On the same train came a group of kids doing acrobats (yes on a train). Of course everyone’s reactions were to cling to their purses because the nimble kids will also be nimble in other ways. After cartwheels and backflips, this little girl came up to us to ask for money. She was the sweetest little girl, with two red dots on her cheeks. Of course I refused to give her money. Instead, I offered her oranges or a packet of chocolate cream biscuits. She refused both. WHAT CHILD REFUSES CHOCOLATE? I was appalled. I talked to her for a bit, told her to eat these things with me, but no, she wanted money. It was shocking to see the level of brainwashing done to these children. She went away slowly, empty handed.
While you may think this is a depressing entry and will think, why did I write this? I take this as motivation as this is what drives me to improve the world we live in…

Are they the same everywhere?

I have always believed that if you look at kids from anywhere in the world, rich or poor, regardless of language, culture, or anything else, that they will be exactly the same. Toddlers will have the same curiosity of the world around them, small boys will have that mischievous glint in their eyes right before they play a prank and teenagers will always be moody.
My dad gives the example of a small child being dragged by his mother at an airport. Now the mom was speaking in French (or Japanese, I can’t remember which). While my dad did not understand a word, he knew she was saying: I ASKED you if you had to go to the bathroom five minutes ago and you said no!
Things like these cross cultural boundaries…
However, I have come to realize that for certain children, their lives are changed by society so that they are not allowed to have the same childhood enjoyed by everyone across the world. My recent trip to Tamil Nadu put me face to face with two such examples.
It took three nights and two trains to get to TN and the same to get back. On the way back, a bunch of us caught a train at midnight. We got on and silently put our luggage away as the rest of the passengers were sleeping. Now our suitcases wouldn’t fit below the seats and they normally do. We tried shoving really hard but then we realized something was blocking them. As three of us peaked down, we saw a small boy (of around 7-8 years old) lying on the floor with a bundle of cloths next to him. Of course, we panicked. He had his eyes tightly closed but of course he wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t have been after having our suitcases shoved on top of him repeatedly. We asked him if he wanted to come up or wanted anything to eat or a place to sleep but we got no reaction. While all of us had no choice but to go sleep on our berths, I know we all fell asleep wondering where he came from, where he was going and what was forcing him to travel like this. He clearly did not fit in with the theory of “kids are the same everywhere”.
In the middle of the night, I decided to get a blanket out of my bag. I climbed down and completely forgot about the little boy. As I reached down to open my bag, he also came up from under the seat. It was a split second when I know both our hearts stopped and we both gasped. After that second, without thinking I suppressed a giggle because it was actually pretty funny. I won’t forget the moment when as soon as I smiled, he almost giggled as well. That second was enough for me to know that somewhere deep inside him, there lay a naughty little boy as well. In the morning, he was gone…
On the same train came a group of kids doing acrobats (yes on a train). Of course everyone’s reactions were to cling to their purses because the nimble kids will also be nimble in other ways. After cartwheels and backflips, this little girl came up to us to ask for money. She was the sweetest little girl, with two red dots on her cheeks. Of course I refused to give her money. Instead, I offered her oranges or a packet of chocolate cream biscuits. She refused both. WHAT CHILD REFUSES CHOCOLATE? I was appalled. I talked to her for a bit, told her to eat these things with me, but no, she wanted money. It was shocking to see the level of brainwashing done to these children. She went away slowly, empty handed.
While you may think this is a depressing entry and will think, why did I write this? I take this as motivation as this is what drives me to improve the world we live in…

Bus! Ok, I haven’t had enough yet though…

Have you ever traveled on a bus in India? A local bus? I mean, the kind that stops every two feet and everyone seems to know each other.
Well, over the course of last year, I’ve travelled on such buses many many times. Now let me explain to you the significance of these buses. To the city-dweller it seems irritating, to stop at every cluster of houses and taking the longest possible route between points A and B. But to the villager, this same bus is the only source of transportation for ANYTHING and EVERYTHING. At every stop, there will be a group of people waiting by the side of the road, oftentimes not near any distinguishable form of habitation. The women will be sitting in a close circle, faces covered and whispering. Usually its just one woman who has to go, but everyone else is there to see her off. As soon as the bus appears, there is a flash of relief in the eyes of the men. “Areeeee, bus aaaa giiiiiii”. Then everyone slowly starts gathering their odd shaped packages of cloths, vegetables, shawls, etc.
How do I know this? I’ve sat in that circle and have experienced the same relief when the welcoming sound of motor and rattling of the local bus is heard from far away.
Let me tell you about finding a seat on these buses. Initially there might not be any, but it is a “survival of the fittest” skill. Spot one from far away and you better be quick. Now a seat is literally just that, a small patch of square leather on which you can sit. However, your ticket does not include air space, the area above the seat, which will include arms, elbows and small children belonging to other passengers. Now I realize that it is a bus and not an airplane and that I shouldn’t talk about air space. But given the road quality, sometimes the bus is not in contact with the ground for long enough to qualify for at least drinks and pretzels.
Ok, I call it a bus but you have to realize that its so much more than that…
It is a school bus… picking up and dropping off the lucky kids who get to go a school a little ways away from their village, usually because their village only has an elementary school. For the younger kids, its just another place to fight and play and make fun of each other. If they are lucky they get a seat, or even a chance to get on the bus (for at times they are banished to the roof). For the older ones, it is a place to study and to spend time with friends while not worrying about house work. They get on and immediately look for other schoolmates and start discussing why someone didn’t come today, what she said yesterday and who rode their bicycle to school today.
It is an ambulance… once or twice I’ve seen old women and men being literally carried onto the bus, because they don’t have the energy to walk. They are being taken to the local hospital, usually after days of being sick in the village. As a last resort, they are being taken to the doctor. I remember one woman slowly, I mean SLOWLY climbing the stairs. Each step she put down was put down so gingerly that it seemed that the ground might break her ankles if she stepped any harder.
It is a place of wonder and excitement, from whose dirty grimy windows you can glimpse nearby towns and cities…. Children visiting their aunts, uncles and grandparents, going on once a yearly trips, can hardly contain their excitement at the thought of getting on, and YES, actually riding the bus. The excitement is in every molecule of their body, the energy clearly visible as they are unable to sit still even after getting a seat. It is all a game to them, finding a seat, getting a ticket. Every time the bus stops, they will ask, where are we? Are we there yet? Which village is this?
It is a place of terror. One woman, sitting in the back corner with her face covered, looked up with fear as the ticket collector came closer and closer to her. The tension that had started with getting on the bus got exponentially higher and higher until… Where do you want to go? Indergarh came the timid response. 25 Rs. please. A trembling hand gave a 20 Rs note. 5 Rs more please. I…I…I don’t have any more money. A frustrated ticket collector sighs and leaves. The woman breathes a sigh of relief.
The most miraculous part of the incidence isn’t that he let her slide. It is the small baby sleeping soundly against the woman’s chest. With increasing heart beats and sweaty palms, the amazing skill of motherhood is that worries are never transferable.
While I travelled a lot on these buses, its nowhere near the daily up and down on DC metros to get to GWU for two years. With the invention of the iPOD, who knows what I missed out on?
O wow, I forgot the excitement that I experienced every time we stop at a major town…. A cup of tea J

I am woman: hear me roar, but not too loudly

So its been almost 6 months since I’ve been here. As you can see from my blog I have not had time to update anything while at the same time so much has happened. I don’t have too much time to dwell on things because most of my time is spent doing things and planning things.
I thought I should start writing again, before I forget little things that happen and the thoughts that run through my head on a day to day basis (usually at night as I am trying to fall asleep).
Today I wanted to write a big about gender and development. I should let you know that I’m the only girl on the team here. Not to mention I come from a very different cultural background. While we are working on women’s empowerment, I’ve come to learn that with that – you have to move very slowly. Initially when I came here, the women would only want to talk to me, especially in new villages. I became a type of role model for the women and girls who’d come to the self-help group meetings. Being a woman working in this field is a very interesting position. I am there to teach these women to leave their homes, explore new roles (such as handling money and speaking in small groups). At the same time, I have to show them that I’m not too different than them. If I come across as too forward and too independent, they might get scared of the kind of effect I would have on their society and not accept me as much as I would want them to. Not to mention the kind of effect it would have on the men here.
The other role I play is in the community I live in. For example, I don’t cook my own food and I go to all types of stores (including the mechanics) and buy what I want (rather than sending some guy to do it as other girls do here). So in that aspect I am a whole lot more independent than anyone else around. I think its great considering we work with women’s empowerment. At the same time, there are moments when I get put into traditional female roles which I tried to fight for a very long time. For example, we had a party with a lot of food (cake and all) and when it came time to serve no one came forward. I was the one who served all the plates and handed it to people. I thought it was very odd that these men worked for women’s empowerment yet didn’t come forward to help me. It made me mad at the moment. Its at that time that I realized that the way I “balanced” my role in villages (as empowered woman as well as someone they can relate to) that I have to “balance” my role at work as well. Another example: I got put incharge of finding a maid for our office – um why me was my first question. Once again I realized, I have to balance my role and figure out where to play what kind of role.
I hope this wasn’t rambling and made some sense. This is something I’ve pondering for a while now. I hope to update this soon again.

Belated shout-out to my parents

This was supposed to be near their 25th anniversary, but its much later than that. I can’t believe I missed it. I promise to keep this short and not too emotional. I have been reflecting pretty much on how amazing they are, my parents that is. People here always say: how can your parents send you this far? It gets me thinking – how can they? Every time I do some new and adventurous, which sometimes is more than once a day, I have to stop and appreciate the freedom I have been given. I would not have been able to take one step out of the house if it hadn’t been for the unyielding support of my parents. They have always let me explore what I want to. This time they have crossed the limit. I’m not even sure I would have let me go if I had been in their shoes, if that makes any sense at all.
So I just wanted to give every single bit of credit I receive to my parents. And for the record, since I am currently self-sufficient, this is in no way a plea for financial support! No seriously, it isn’t.

O the people I meet…

Along my month long journey across Delhi, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan, I have come across many many interesting characters. I thought I should talk about some in more detail, strangely enough a lot of them are on trains.

OCD Man:

 On my overnight journey from Delhi to my first exposure visit, I had trouble falling asleep, partially due to paranoia. I had the bottom berth. In the middle (around 2 o’clock) I was woken up by a man who had to climb into the middle berth. I stood up, thinking he would climb in immediately. Boy was I wrong. He first proceeded to unfold a sleeping bag and carefully place it on the seat. Then he took out a blanket and tucked under the sleeping bag. All of this was done very methodically and seemed like it took hours. Ok, good done! Just kidding. He then took out a pillow which he filled with air by blowing into it – the slowest process ever. Then he realized he would have to leave his bag under my berth. So he had to lock it and chain it to a bar. All of this was done with me breathing down his neck. I hope he slept well that night, even after all the curses I muttered at him.

Mother and Son:
 Second overnight journey – from second location to third: I was sitting, calmly reading my book when suddenly my window came crashing down. I struggled frantically to get it up. I like knowing what station we are at, even if its at 3 am. Seeing me struggle, this boy (around my age) came to help me. Then I hear:
- So Miss Neha, you are from Jhansi?
Him and his mother are then smiling. I am likewise freaking out! Jhansi happens to be the station I am getting off at.
- No

I stop looking at them while at the same time wondering whether I should know these people. Finally I look up at which the mother reassures me that they aren’t weird stalkers. They don’t have confirmed seats so they are looking for free ones. So they looked at the list the Ticket Collector had and happened to come across my name. I am slightly relieved. I don’t want to seem rude so I start talking to them. It happens that they are going past my stop and are extremely talkative. They seem really interested in hearing my story (I tell them the truth as to my “hometown” after a couple hours of conversation). I hear all about the boy’s brothers and how he is the only one not getting married early. He talks about his bank job and how he dreams of something more. I am briefed about Jainism and how that somehow makes them “safe” to talk to. Of course we share a cup of hot tea in the middle of the night. The mother decides to pass out around midnight. Not before inviting me to their house if I am ever in Gwalior, which of course I should consider my own home. Of course! I plan to go to such random people’s houses all the time! I get off at Jhansi at 1 am. Most importantly, the boy helps me with my luggage (which I’m growing increasingly tired of).

Man with a Rifle:

 I kid you not. This is at the third location, the most poor, tribal and feudalistic area I have visited. I am standing by a village school with a fellow colleague, waiting for women to come to start a meeting. We are talking when suddenly I see a man on a motorcycle coming towards us. He is big and burly with a large mustache. Most importantly, he is carrying a rifle slung over his shoulder. My mouth goes dry. I hope he passes by us but to my alarm he slows down near us. I am avoiding eye contact at all cost. He says, Namaste very loudly. To my surprise, the boy I am with greets him as old friends. They chit chat about various subjects, such as farming and rainfall. He asks about the gun to which he gets the mysterious response: for protection… The man then asks if I have stayed in HIS village for the past three days. The boy says yes (as I am screaming NO in my mind). He then abruptly leaves to go monitor work on a nearby dam. Apparently he is the village head, whom I have heard a lot about, and has crazy amounts of power in the area. Regardless, I am much more concerned about the gun…

Retired CBI Officer
 This is my last train character. On my way to my final posting (Lakheri, Rajasthan), which I will write tons about, I am running towards the train followed by two coolies who are carrying my suitcases. I get on to find the only place to keep these suitcases is on top of the seats. They put them up there at which point I begin to worry about how to get them down before my stop (where the train stops for 3 minutes). I am hoping to sucker in some character who will sit next to me. As I settle in, this elderly gentleman (very properly dressed, English style) comes and sits next to me. Man! No help there. Another man near us asks us to watch his luggage. Previous elderly gentleman (EG) says to me, what if there is a bomb in there. I am already alarmed. EG does not help. I smile and nod. We start talking about where we are going and what we do. Turns out he runs an NGO to help start schools for underprivileged rural children. We are equally intrigued with each other’s jobs. He then tells me that he is retired from the CBI (FBI in India). EG is your classic retired officer. He has a habit of randomly quoting things in English… loudly. For example: Make many friends, but trust only a few. He tells me this at least 10 times in 4 hours. I am entertained throughout the journey by various cases he’s solved and the crimes he’s seen over the years (one involving cannibalism!!). Our friendship is eternally sealed with a cup of tea (of course), which I offer to pay for. He replies: I don’t take money from my daughters. He agrees to let me buy chips though. Each time his cell phone rings he takes it out gingerly. He tells me he has been forced to buy it by his children. He shows me his phone background and says: “That is your aunty.” Its so sweet. I ask about her to which he says “She passed away last year, but I figured we spent so many years together, we might as well spend a few more.” I want to cry at this point.
 As my station nears I tell him I need to get my bags down. To my surprise, he gingerly takes down both bags and says I shall deliver them on the platform for you! I tell him I feel ashamed for having him help me, especially because he’s 72! He brushes me off and safely ensures that I and my bags are off the train at the appropriate place and time. I thank him to which he replies: Don’t stop until you have reached your objective. Ok, slightly random but still SO SWEET!!

I got stung by a bee and flew like a butterfly…

So last story first, I’ll work backwards. Last day in Tikamgarh – my last destination – my visit has already been extended by three more days. I love it here so I’m glad. There are five team members and me. We all eat together and all the girls live together and all the boys live together. 
Ok back to last day – me and a guy who works here, Prajwalit, were coming back from visiting far away fields (once again of chili, pomegranates and papayas). Happily coming through the fields and dirt roads on his bike, we have to go under this tree. Just as we go under, I see a boy throw a stick at the tree and suddenly things are swarming around us. They are really small and look like flies. I’m not sure what’s happening but suddenly Prajwalit speeds up, knocking the wind out of me. Imagine a motorcycle racing into a village, followed by bees… ok so I know it looks slightly funny. It wasn’t so at the moment. I’m screaming – what’s going on? Suddenly, piercing pain in my hand!!!! AHHHH dumb bee. We stop. I can’t take out the sting. Prajwalit has been bitten twice. We were a sight to look at. Eventually the bees leave, as we try to cover ourselves as much as possible. Then the crowds come:
- Your hands going to swell to twice that size
- You should get a shot
- The bees want their own self-help group, they are mad
- You should pray to the bees now
And my favorite:
- The bees follows you because of one of you stepped in cow urine (of course we blame each other)
Many suggestions later, we get white powder put on our wounds – which stung like whoa. But alas, we weren’t done with work. So off we went with wounded hands to visit more fields. We never did find that boy who was behind this…

Three Days and Two Nights with the School Teachers, and Repeat…

So my schedule right now is 6 days per project. And I’m visiting 3 projects. Out of those 6 days, I spend 3 in a village, learning from the people, seeing the project first hand. So here are random musings….
So I’ve survived three straight days in a village, Mendki, near the famous Buddhist Stupa of Sanchi. I’ve also survived my first village assignment: understanding village dynamics, a small impact study of microfinance work done, cost benefit analysis of three families. And, after eleven self-help group meetings of about 10 women, I have a thorough understanding of the microfinance work being done in the area. I feel comfortable enough to run an SHG meeting myself, a huge accomplishment if you ask me…
Lets see, I was with a school master’s family in Mendki. Unfortunately, they were told I’m from Washington. I became the center of random questions from everyone!! Some of them were really sweet and innocent – one lady asked me: “Did you come on your scooter from Washington?” I don’t even know how to respond to such things… I’ve decided not to tell village people where I’m from.
My favorite part of the stay, or most memorable I should say, was when I was having my first cup of morning tea, a girl comes in. She says I’ve been asked to come talk to 10th grade class in the school as a role model for young women. Ummmmmm, I’m terrified at this. How am I supposed to do that?!?! Then I realized their 10th grade class is a group of four girls. We all sat in a circle on the rooftop and I talked about what it was like being a girl and becoming educated, going away from home for work, etc. It was really unnerving at first and I still can’t believe they later shyly told me that they wanted to grow up to be like me. Now this isn’t at all part of my job or job description, just something that happened to come my way because of who I was staying with.
All of this was in Vidisha. I’m now in Ichhawar (two buses and one taxi later – all by myself, of which I’m very proud). Lets see what this project location brings.
So I’m back from the three day stay at Ichhawar. My stay was again at a school master’s house. Actually it was an older man with his four sons, all school masters. It was fun because I was with a girl who is 20 years old. She kept me company at random down times. Manju (her name) had recently gotten engaged and was all giggly (everyday) about it. So, she secretly talked to him every day, but get this – she had only met him once. It was really cute because she would ask me to keep watch if any of her family members were coming.
Along with such entertainment, SRIJAN is teaching farmers to plant vegetables in the area – an experience in itself. They usually plant wheat and soybean so its hard to get them to donate a little bit of their land for the more profitable vegetables. I also had to learn really fast to identify plants and to talk to groups of men about their farming practices. Never done that before but welcome to my life.
I think I’ve rambled enough. I might elaborate in the next few days. I had to get this out before I forgot it all.

The Sounds and Smells of India

I know what some of you may be thinking. How can a post labelled the smells of India be something pleasant to read? Well, let me clarify. These are sounds and smells that are distinctly Indian. It is how I identify where I am. They can be pleasant, unpleasant or completely neutral. I'm sure you may know what I am talking about. Its like when you are not quite awake but lying in bed, and you can't see what is nearby, but the smells and sounds that drift by paint a picture of what time it is, where you are, and what other people in the house are doing.
For example, if I hear the milkman dropping off the milk, I know its still early. If I hear the trashman banging on his bin, then its a little later. The smells of the morning at my grandmothers are incense being burnt and a faint smell of trash burning nearby, and a small shrill bell ringing would mean my grandfather is doing puja. With mid-morning comes smells of food being cooked and pressure cookers letting off steam in nearby houses.
Even walking near my grandmothers house, I know what is nearby - a temple (bells ringing, incense), school (different kind of bell ringing, incessant chatter of children), restaurants (fried food - yummmmmm), cows (do I have to explain the smell?), and so on. Even new clothes bought in India have a distinct smell. The night ends with hearing fire works, set off for reasons unknown.
Now I always knew I was a smell oriented person but I didn't know to what extent. Its a curse and a blessing at the same time, obviously depending on the smell. Since I have no pictures to post yet, I decided it would be better to try to give you a glimpse of India through some of our other senses.

I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello...

Welcome to another edition of the Kuber Report. It was on hiatus as I tried to find a job. I figured if I wrote on my blog it would be about me rambling and wouldn’t keep up to previous blog entry standards : ) . But as I embark, once again, I realized I needed to get some thoughts out about the whole process.
So far I have been pretty good about not thinking or talking about me leaving and focusing on the practical matters of packing and buying things to take with me. But as I get into the last week, there is no running away from the fact that I am leaving and that I won’t be in the United States for the next year.
I guess I should say how much I’m going to miss family and friends. But I feel like that goes without saying and I’m really bad at saying it to people. But for everyone who is close to me, there will be times when I think of you, lots and lots of times. When there is a person who reminds me of you, when something happens that I think you’d find funny, or when I eat a certain type of food (or drink chai ; )). I don’t say this often enough and I really should. I WILL MISS YOU! All of you. Don’t ever think otherwise : P
I’m done. My next entry will be from the other side of the world. Keep reading and posting comments!!

Tiredness, Tire Trouble and Tigers (or not)

Yesterday we went to Ranthambore National Park which is located in Sawai Madhopur, Rajasthan. It is one of the best places to go to see tigers and the government has organized safaris that take you in open jeeps through different parts of the jungle. It had been on our list of things to do for a while and because yesterday was a Sunday and our work is now winding down, we decided to go. Local people told us that if we get there before 8 am we can catch a morning safari. Now the place is 4 hours away so we thought we’d start at 3 am and get there comfortably. Tanvi and I both woke up at 1:45 to shower, get ready, pack food and our purses, etc. Manish (another Master’s student), Anurag (same) and Pankaj (Srijan professional) all requested wake up calls. We were all assembled at 3:30 when we realized that the driver (Hari Ram – same one who picked us up from Jaipur) had fallen asleep again. By four we had finally started but weren’t worried since we still had enough time (it was closer to 3-3.5 hours away). Now Hari Ram drives a Tata Indica (think Civic but slightly smaller). So we fit four people in the back seat, in hot weather, no AC. If we weren’t friends at the beginning we certainly were by the end.
Once we got on the highway, Hari Ram said he needed some tea since it was pretty early and we weren’t exactly entertaining him (we all took turns sleeping). So we stopped at a truck stop (note: only girls for miles around) and sat on the cots and had some tea. There were definitely truck drivers sleeping around us. It was a blast. Back in the car, I believe we talked about random things although my memory of five in the morning is pretty hazy. After we got off the highway, having travelled 40 km, we hear this thumping and realize we got a flat tire. We are near a village so we get out to find the spare doesn’t have enough air. There is some tire shop nearby so we go to get air in it. There is some milk collection happening nearby so all three boys with Rural Development degrees got really excited. Here is a picture of the tire being fixed:

Back on the road, we were a bit more talkative this time, with the tea and the chance to stretch our legs. About 20 minutes later, we hear the same thumping. We couldn’t believe it, another flat tire? O yes, the same tire had gotten flat and it was our spare as well. We all sat around in the car while the driver went to go get it fixed:

It was like in one of those bad horror movies, where you are stuck in the middle of nowhere and one by one people go off (usually to find the previous people) and never return. . . But fortunately our party did and we got the tire fixed and were on our way. At this point we were all awake to sing songs loudly as well as look out at the sights (usually at different water harvesting structures we saw along the way – once again, the rural development knowledge was shared).
We got to Sawai Madhopur, the town near the sanctuary. In the town, we went to a place that had safari information to find out that the government sponsored tours start at 5:30 in the morning and that we would have to wait for the 2:30-3:30 tours which can only be booked at 1:30 in the afternoon. The times and prices were said very quickly to the boys (in Hindi) so my number knowledge was useless and I had to find out what was happening later by asking (this was a reoccurring theme of the trip, Tanvi and I were routinely left standing with no clue as to where the boys have gone and what is going on). Since it was about 9 am we realized we have a while until we can book the safari. The plan until then was discussed, of course. . . over a cup of tea. Now there is a very large fort within the sanctuary that is open to the public. In the fort is a famous Ganesh temple. Manish, who is originally from the area, has family connections with the temple and wanted to visit it pretty badly. So we decided to go to the fort and temple and make it back for lunch and safari reservations. While all of this was being decided, Tanvi (and I) amused ourselves by photographing camel carts and jeeps (with literally around 40 people in it) that passed by the road-side “café” where we had tea.

Back in the car, we were happily off to the fort and temple, when suddenly. . . we hear that awful thumping again. Seriously. . . it can’t be ANOTHER flat tire:

O no, but it was. After hailing the next tractor that came our way, the driver took the tire and left us with a locked car. We decided to use our time wisely by wandering towards a very pretty looking fort (or potentially a really nice hotel) that was in the distance. Off we tracked through fields that had not been explored ever before (except by the farmers and construction workers who were walking ahead of us). Someone suggested that we should carry shovels in our hands and then maybe we’d be let into the reconstructed fort/hotel. For some reason I don’t think that would work. Now here is what Tanvi called the “Rang De Basanti” picture (an Indian movie about young people who try to change society, or something like that):

Now for those who have seen the movie, I have matched characters from it with the three boys. Its pretty scary how well they match. First one in the line is Pankaj (I want to fight for my country and change the bad things in it – Madhavan in the movie); second one is Anurag (I will make jokes about everything and constantly have a huge grin on my face – Sharman Joshi in the movie); and last is Manish (I am tall and make random poems out of everything – Kunal Kapoor in the movie). Tanvi and I do not match up : ). And I refuse to assign Amir Khan to anyone.
After being shown around the hotel (mostly because there were two tired girls who wanted to rest for a bit) we got back to find the tire fixed. We promptly fixed the spare in the trunk as well, since you never know when another flat tire will come our way… Finally, we were at our destination:

Now after riding in the car through very cool forests and seeing LOTS of monkeys, we descended into the depths of the jungle to find. . . the fort!

After climbing up slowly (due to Neha’s feet, the heat and . . . repeat) we made it to the top. By this point, I was seriously overheated (it was about 100 degrees) and running out of water. We wandered for what seemed like forever all over the palace and fort and it was absolutely gorgeous! I can’t imagine what it was like when lots of people lived there. O look, they have a water harvesting structure!!. . . ok fine it’s a lake.

I liked the stone structure in the background better. Finally the temple!

O wait, no that’s just a random resting place. The temple was in one corner surrounded by touristy shops, eating places and lots and lots of people. There seemed to be a line to go inside and the outside was not impressive at all. It was around noon so we didn’t have much time to get back down and make it to the reservations place. So Manish and Tanvi went in for a quick look while the rest of us hung outside. While I regret not seeing the idol, my main concern was that if I didn’t get food and water at that point I was ready to faint. So having eaten and drank water (and sufficiently scared the others) we made our slow journey back down.
The reservations were made through a long and complicated process in which we circumvented the “middle men” who should have been bribed. Instead we took the idealistic, longer way and did everything ourselves. A form was filled and another line was formed to take money and then we finally got tickets. Mind you we didn’t know what was going on at all at the time and were explained vaguely at the end. End result: we got a private jeep safari for 3:30. Now the sanctuary has different zones (1 is useless, 2 and 3 are good for tiger sightings, 4 and 5 are the “dangerous areas”). The zones are decided by lottery. We then went for a late lunch in the town and made it back to find our jeep said zone 1 on it. After complaining that all the cars around us said zone 3, we decided to cool off (neha joke) by having some ice cream. The driver came to explain that we were in fact going to zone 3 as well. Happily we sat in the jeep. Wait wait, first the boys made sure we had a spare with enough air in it. We couldn’t explain it to the jeep driver but I could just foresee having a flat tire in the middle of tigers.
Now the entrance into the jungle was something straight out of the Jungle Book. It was absolutely breathtaking. As soon as we went in all of us realized that whether we saw tigers or not, we were perfectly content just wandering through the jungle.

As for the animals we saw: there were deers (lots and lots of deer), peacocks (yay!!), owls, storks, alligators, monitor lizards. Sadly there were no tigers. They were all up in the mountains where it was cool. They usually come down for water but because of recent rainfall there was no need for that either. At a couple times during the safari we heard the warning calls of deer which meant a tiger was somewhere nearby. But by the time we got to the area, there were no signs of deer or tigers. At another point, the naturalist who was in the jeep abruptly told the driver to stop. He said a tiger just passed by the area. He vaguely said something about footprints but didn’t show us any. Apparently it’s a line they use all the time. I would still like to believe we were very close to a tiger at the time. And so at the end of the safari, we were slightly disappointed, completely enamoured by the jungle, and thoroughly exhausted.

The main reason given by the boys for the lack of tigers was: Aaj to Dunnike sher aa gaye hai to phir yaha ke sher to daar gaye hai. (Because tigers from Dunni are in town, the real ones are afraid to come out). Clearly they have no inhibitions falsely complimenting themselves. On the way back everyone fell asleep immediately, except for Manish who was kept awake by the driver. Therefore plans were made while we were asleep. We all woke up to find ourselves at the foot of a tall hill with a temple at the top. Manish really wanted to go see the Chot Mata temple. Everyone else was extremely grumpy, half asleep and annoyed at having to climb again. But because it was a temple, we trudged up (me seriously complaining in my mind – did he forget my issues from this morning?) and sat in the cool breeze for a while. We came back down and promptly went to sleep in the car (Tanvi and I). We woke up to find ourselves at the same truck driver’s stop from 5 in the morning. After a quick and quiet dinner, we fell back asleep to find ourselves home at around midnight (a whole 24 hour trip). All in all it was a complete adventure and I had a blast. The trip can only be described as Tiredness, Tire Trouble and Tigers (or not).