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.