Namaste, Let Me Liberate You

We roll into the tribal village five SUVs deep. We aptly call ours 'Big Red' because it is big, red, and a tank. To get to the village requires some serious off-roading as the roads consist of more rock than cement. Portable iPod speakers blast Jay-Z and Johnny Cash from the fold-down seats where the trunk space should be. We discuss glory stories from home and imagine the taste of a steak burger, complemented by fresh avocados, basil, and goat cheese. 

When we arrive we stumble out of the car, muscles contorted and cramped from the treacherous ride there. Armed with Ray-Ban aviators, scuffed Longchamps, and trusty digital cameras, we disembark into the world of an Indian tribal village.

The first heads peer out from behind the openings of the cow dung houses, followed by a seemingly silent alert that notifies everyone else in the village of the white man's arrival. What started with one curious child, quickly turns into the whole village, standing around, staring at us, laughing at us? With us?

Are we symbols of the benefits of capitalism? Representatives of everything Western? Smile broader. Laugh deeper. We are Western liberators, hear us roar.

Time to turn on the trusty digital cameras as we imagine taking the next National Geographic cover shot. The image of the beautiful young child in the desolate environment, eyes filled with hope and wisdom well beyond his/her years. With a big smile and little laugh to show our harmlessness, we inch closer to the children, slyly turning on our cameras, preparing for that money-making shot. 

So who is in the zoo? They stare at us while we stare at them. We do not know their language and they do not know ours. Their hunger is alien to us and our abundance alien to them. We are different in innumerable ways. But a smile is a smile, a laugh a laugh. 

Click the picture. Click a couple more. Step into a photo or two surrounded by the children for good measure. 

"Namaskar!"

*shy smile*

"Tumhara nam kya hai?"

*inaudible reply*

"Oh!! Mera nam Alison hai!"

*shy smile*

"Picture?"

*confusion*

*click*

Make eye contact with some of the women and then smile. Feel deep inside that in some way you are making a difference, giving them hope for the future, reassurance of the beauty in the world. Forget that the villagers have lived without you for centuries, and that they will continue to live without you as soon as you get back in the SUV and drive away. Instead, feel some innate confidence in your power to make a difference through simply being.

Maybe we will remember this day in another twenty years or so as we are mingling during a dinner party and the subject of India and poverty, or just poverty in general, comes up. We will recount our experience, embellish it with horns and whistles, give a smile that exudes deep knowledge of the outside world. 

Or maybe we will remember it when we come across the pictures we have taken. The slight smiles of the disheveled and dirty children with their bright eyes and high-pitched laughs. We will again wonder why none of them were in school, conjure up some more memories from that semester abroad, and then continue our flip through the photo stash.

It is time to get back in Big Red. Our imminent lunch feast is calling out to us, and we follow without even a sigh of protest. Chapati, paneer, dal, and rice run through our dreams, quickly replacing thoughts of poverty, inequity, dirt.

Turn the iPod speakers back on and choose an appropriate "leaving desolate tribal village" vibed song. 

Roll down the windows of Big Red for big waves, big smiles, last goodbyes. But wait a second, were there ever any real hellos?

Hinder me Hindi

"Me, India. You...?"

"United States."

"Huh?"

"America!"

"Oh! Obama!"

Day in the Life of a Casual Monday

1. Alarm goes off at 6:30am. Makes me reconsider the choice of study abroad programs.
2. Bucket shower in the bathroom, hot water extra hot this morning. Still feel like I'm in a music video while pouring the water over my body.
3. Attempt to dry off with a still damp towel -- fail. And by towel I mean a piece of woven cloth. 
4. Dress for success. Leggings and a new kurta, accessorized with some street stall gems, finished off with a stick-on bindi. 
5. Find light mold growing on my old pair of Rainbows -- fail, again. 
6. Scrub off the mold with nail polish remover. Resourcefulness is a virtue.
7. Cup of scalding, but delicious, chai with Natalie in our bedroom. 
8. Head out for the short walk to school. Disturbed that I'm no longer startled by seeing a naked child sleeping on the middle of the sidewalk. 
9. Breakfast at the center of veg puffs, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, bananas, and peanut butter balls. And I thought I was going to lose weight in India...
10. Study for tomorrow's Hindi test. Mera nam Alison hai. Tumhara nam kya hai? 
11. Development Economics class with one of the best teachers I've ever had. Class almost got locked in the room today. I wouldn't have freaked if all the windows hadn't been surrounded by iron bars. Luckily I busted the doors open with some hidden strength. I like to think of myself as a hero from time to time. 
12. Lunch at Roopali. Tomato Uttappa. 
13. Almost got hit by a public bus, and then an auto-rickshaw, while crossing JM Road. 
14. Hour spent in Fab India buying new clothes. I need to stop using the exchange rate to justify every purchase I make. 
15. Wore my new scarf around my head to pretend to be an Indian princess, but people still spoke to me in English. Third fail of the day. 
16. Saw clips of a film in film class today on the 2002 massacre in Gujarat, India. In three days 3,000 Muslims were slaughtered, raped, and tortured by Hindus. I had never heard of it before. Crazy to find out how little I actually know about the world. 
17. 2-hour Bharatanatyam dance class today in a hidden studio -- run-down, no mirrors, stray dogs. I feel very old NYC dance world… except I'm in India. 
18. Had to sit half the class out because I thought I was going to throw up. India is single handedly ruining my digestive system. 
19. Late night rickshaw ride home = insufferable exhaust from all the cars and scooters + blaring horns + a feeling of unadulterated freedom as we speed through the bright streets and I realize I'm across the world
20. Late night dinner with the host family. I'm going to miss all the spices and a home-cooked dinner every night.
21. Debate whether a fire work show or civil war is occurring outside my window. 
22. Pretend to do some homework. 
23. Time for sleep. The concretesque, hard bed is growing on me. The light, woven "blanket" is still a little less than sufficient. 

Muse With Me

Time and again I romanticize the poor. I see beauty and nobility in families struggling to get by, integrity and humility in those who have never had the opportunity to venture outside their local villages. 

When I came to India I believed that the real India was the India of the slums. The India that toils away, back bent, face darkened by the ruthless sun, feet calloused from the thousands of kilometers trudged. My real India lay in the tears from gross inequality and the cries of oppression during the British rule. Like a classic scene out of an old Indian film, I found honor in simplicity, beauty in ignorance. 

I keep telling myself that all that is not true. It would be like limiting the definition of America to those who live in trailer parks or work on farms. Just as you cannot focus on the wealthy while ignoring the poor, you cannot romanticize the poor while belittling the wealthy. 

But as I sip chocolate espresso in the Chocolate Room, eat the Chicken Maharaja Mac at McDonalds, run on the treadmill in a sky terrace gym, and indulge in manicures and pedicures at a local salon, I cannot help but worry that nothing has changed since leaving the States. It seems like you can throw me across the world and plop me down in any city whatsoever, and I will manage to seek out all that resembles America and then formulate a simple routine around those discoveries. 

I wanted this semester to change me profoundly. I stacked up all my dreams and pegged them on this four-month period. Have I sprinted away from the real India and sought out the pre-packaged, limited warranty version? Or have I just acclimated quickly to this country and refuse to be surprised anymore? 

I am starting to fear that I cannot run from my American-bred, materialistic, capitalist self. Like a shadow, it follows me wherever the sun shines, which is literally everywhere. Except maybe for the North Pole, or Seattle. 

Being an American on September 11

Do not walk around in big groups of white people. Wear Indian clothing. Hide your light hair. Stay away from Koregaon Park or any other location where Westerners usually gather. Do not draw attention to yourselves. Keep English to a minimum. 

To me it seems crazy that on a day when all I want to do is wave a big American flag and belt a country rendition of Proud to Be an American, I have to pretend that I am not American. Hide behind traditional dress and cover light hair and fair skin. In India this year, the anniversary of the September 11 attack on the United States is the same day as the final event for Ganapati, during which millions of Indians will flood streets across the country to honor the Hindu deity Ganesh in the final processions for Ganesh Chaturthi. On the day of an event which already has severe terrorist threats, especially after the attack in Delhi a couple days ago, the ominous date of the final day of the festival does not lead to much reassurance. 

So what does it mean to be an American on this day, especially an American abroad? The September 11th attacks defined my generation. We are the children of an age of fear, apprehension, and the realization that American invincibility was an ill-constructed myth. But we are also the children who list the United States as our country, America as our nation, and red, white, and blue as our colors. We might have missed out on JFK, Martin Luther King Jr., and Vietnam, but we were there when the United States trembled, and we were there when we regained strength. 

Being abroad has opened me up to another world of different cultures, beliefs, experiences, and notions of reality. It has shown me a world I never truly realized existed. But maybe most importantly, it has enabled me to really appreciate all that the United States has given me. While in no ways a "perfect" country, as an American citizen I am awarded more privileges and opportunities than I know what to do with. I am allowed to vote without fear of murder, go to school and know a teacher will show up, and attend trial with the confidence a jury will be present. 

On September 11 I will be proud to be an American. I might stand out in a crowd, or evoke a couple grimaces and a ton of stares, but honestly at the end of the day I am willing to stand beside all the reasons people would want to harm us. Capitalism? Freedom? Democracy? Gender equality? Economic liberalization? I knew I brought my American flag bandana for a reason…

Welcome to the Other Side

We just discovered the other side of Pune. The side that doesn't hear the chaos of the streets or feel the hands of the beggars in their hair. This side sips wine and eats salads at rooftop bars.

The Story:

Exhausted and disgustingly bloated from too much masala dosa and ice cream, Hilary, Lila, and I went to check out a new gym on the terraced 9th floor of the ICC Trade building on SB Road to see about getting memberships. Keeping expectations low, we rickshawed into the general area and then navigated ourselves to the actual building. Security guards surrounded the entrance, two metal detectors (which always beep but never mean anything) separated ourselves from the lobby, and photo IDs were required to pass through, but per usual we were able to merely walk by because of our race. The lobby was beautiful -- dark marble floors, edgy art, expertly placed shrubbery. We got into an elevator with a group of young, groomed, well-dressed, Indian men who got off on the floor below the gym. Hmmm... our expectations slowly began to creep up.

And the gym was beautiful. All new equipment and a view of the entire city from the treadmills, a DJ spun beats out into the gym, filling the rooms with the latest music. Zumba, kickboxing, pilates, super cardio. Personal trainers walk around and are available to time your squats, push you into a stretch, motivate you through sit-ups. Chilled water and hot showers. A deep turquoise pool on the outdoor terrace that looks out at the entire city and lounge chairs nearby to soak up the view during a break. Filled with attractive, young Indian men, with a sampling of a couple women, I felt more like I was in a Bollywood movie or Indian soap than actually in India.

And did I mention it's only $130 for four months full membership -- including classes, trainers, full gym access 6am-11pm? Yes, the exchange rate here is making my student bank account look like a millionaire's Cayman Island hideaway savings account.

The experience was amazing. 

Picture Story

Call me Alison India from now on.

At the program bungalow before class.

Tribal village visit at Durashet (orientation site). 

Street protest in Pune in support of Anna Hazare and his fast.

Vegetable sales on Laxmi Road during the Monsoon.

Shrine for Ganapati at my host home.

Rangoli designs during a street parade for Ganapati.

Ganapati festival takes the streets in Pune.

Maya Fe, Lila, and Zac -- Night out on the town in celebration of Lila's birthday. Curfew? 9:30.

Visit to the Sikh Temple in Pune.

Night at the O Hotel in Koregaon Park for Lila's Birthday!

Group dinner for Lila's Birthday!

Shocker

I've started to feel my first twinges of total culture shock. I think when you get into a new environment you instantly compare it to everything you already know as, or believe is, real. And then you start judging it -- putting everything you know from home as superior, and categorizing all that is new as inferior, backwards. So I've decided to just get it all off my chest and then deal with it and move on.

But I want to preface this list with the fact that I absolutely love it here. I've only been in India for about two and a half weeks, and it is still completely bizarre and new, but there is something that is addicting and I know for certain this will not be my last time in India. Every day I become more accustomed to the way of life here -- the chaos, beauty, dirt, and fervor. I no longer hesitate eating only with my right hand, and I'm not fazed when I walk into a bathroom and there's a hole in the ground and no toilet paper.  While Pune might be lacking many things we take for granted in the States, it is undeniably an extremely vibrant city.

But here it goes. 

My Culture Shock =

• No toilet paper... anywhere
• Bucket showers, aka literally filling a bucket with water (semi good chance I can get the hot water heater to work) and pouring it on my body
• Drivers speeding up on the roads when they see a pedestrian coming, and then proceeding to blare their horn for a good five seconds even after you have sprinted by
• Little kids defecating on the sidewalks
• Beggars touching your hair and body, following you down the road for money. And then the worst, the quick hardening of the heart to the point where seeing a starving beggar barely even triggers a response from you whatsoever
• Indigestion
• Curfew is 10pm. I honestly don't think I've had this early of a curfew since 7th grade. Add on top of that, Indian women really don't drink that much. 
• Full-on slums on the sides of the bridge
• Zero traffic laws
• Having to eat everything with only your right hand. I don't know if I'll ever get fully comfortable using my hand to pick up sticky rice and dahl, but we'll see
• Holes in the ground for toilets
• Ratio of men to women on the streets
• Western women are instantly looked at as whores, unless you want to go super crunchy, which I do not
• Naked beggar children
• No salads or super fresh vegetables -- and if there are some, you can almost be certain they're infected with a random strain of bacteria 
• Regular power outages
• Thousands of stray dogs and cats
• Coating of dirt on everything outside
• Everything in a language I currently don't understand... at all
• No dryers --> constantly damp clothing, possessions, passports, towels, shoes, bodies
• Being a minority and the never-waning stares that follow you everywhere, anytime
• Inability to drink tap water or eat anything that could potentially have come in to contact with tap water
• Entirely new apparel -- no showing of shoulders, legs above the mid-calf, stomachs, lines of the body, cleavage
• People taking pictures/videos of you while you walk down the street
• Trash piles everywhere
• Metal detectors at the entrance of shopping malls
• No concept of to-go beverages
• No wifi 
• Streets with no street names

Morning Prayer

Good morning India!

Before your sun rises this morning, I race through your streets on the back of a speeding, swerving, dipping, dodging two-wheeler. Some of your children are still asleep on the sidewalks, dirt caked into callouses, heads dipped into chests to avoid the steady rainfall. Guards meander their monotonous back-and-forths, pausing to kick a soda can, answer a text or two. Packs of stray dogs begin to disperse and groggy auto-rickshaw drivers stretch out their legs in preparation for another day of waiting. 

Wind whips across my face, blows my head scarf back farther and farther, showing more and more of my white skin and light hair. India is mine at this moment. Finding solace in the empty streets, straining to hear the silence I had begun to forget existed.

But as the sun rises and we drive farther into old Pune, your sleeping temple begins to quiver and your children begin their days. Countless newspapers in an assortment of languages are stacked, sorted, distributed, carried on the front of two-wheelers by young men protecting them from the monsoon with out-stretched parkas. And then I see them. Hundreds and hundreds of worshippers who had risen before me. Decked with offerings of coconuts, rupees, and flowers, they approach the Ganapati temple, haltingly moving in a winding procession of faith. The temple is temporary, the structure erected just prior to Ganapati and will be dismantled quickly after the 10-day holiday. But "temporary" does not give it justice. It is adorned with glistening chandeliers, a pure silver-eared Ganapati, paintings and statues, jewels and precious metals, holy men waiting to bless those who give. This glistening, vibrant, iridescent, and entirely temporary temple is flanked on either side by derelict and crumbling buildings. Stadium lights positioned on the tops of neighboring buildings light the temple throughout the night and well into the morning, but manage to keep the surrounding poverty in the shadows. 

I struggle with the clasp on my sandals and finally manage to slip them off, leaving them among the others at the side of the procession. Tucking my hair back under my scarf and adjusting my kurta, I take my place in line. Shift forward, pause, press, strain, wait, in ensemble.

"What is your name?" 

I glance down to the little girl beside me who stands giggling with her other friends. Open eyes, full smile.

"Alison! What is your name?"

She takes a photo of me and runs away, giggling excitedly at the image of a lone white girl standing in the sea of brown faces.

Push, shove, force, calmly in ensemble towards the stage. Give your bag to the soldier at the side, walk through the entirely defunct metal detector, reach back for your bag, continue forward. I reach the front and snap pictures of Ganapati, trying to capture an image that I do not understand. Continue the push and exit the temple. Fulfilled? Potentially.

Your country confuses me, bewilders me, discomforts me, terrifies me. It excites me, surprises me, and stubbornly nudges me into an adoration and understanding that I do not know if I am yet ready to accept.

Trash, Saris, and Monsoon Rains

So basic clarification -- this should've been written around Aug. 25, but life moves quickly in Mother Land India.

Before our drive from Mumbai to Pune, I had never realized how enormous slums are. They go on for miles on the side of the highway. Miles and miles of falling down huts, alleys with no street signs, looming piles of trash, stray dogs and stray children. You think it is going to end, think there is no possible way there could be more people, more poverty, more desperation, but it continues. And then you look out past the weaving lanes and alleys of all the tin "roofs" you can see, and you realize that there is so much more still that you cannot see. So much that can only be seen as a faint blur. Maybe that is why there is no international aid, no Indian uproar -- the gross depth of the poverty is incomprehensible to the blind, human eye.

The only way for me to process (/pretend to process) is through lists, so indulge me:

• People defecating on sidewalks
• Women in beautiful saris trudging through squalor
• Cows meandering
• People just waiting around
• Saried (sp?) women casually riding on the backs of speeding, death-defying two-wheelers
• Pure green rainforest and cascading waterfalls
• Massive puddles of monsoon rain like cups of milky chai (had to throw that one in)
• Horn OK Please

Trash EVERYWHERE -- literally I do not even know how to explain to another Westerner just how much trash there was. But just try and imagine not having trash cans anywhere in New York City for years. No where to throw out your Starbucks cup, newspaper, to go box, etc. So instead, you just toss it down on top of the huge piles of trash that are already there and continue walking. But the piles of trash never stop. Walking in the most beautiful of landscapes, lush trees canvasing the hills, make sure not to look down towards your feet. Creeping into your vision will be the unmistakeable logo of another factory derived concoction. 

Let's Get Caught Up -- Arrival

India is crazy -- I honestly do not understand it at all. Since coming here I keep trying to relate/judge/place/compare it in contrast to the US (or more appropriately "the States") and have been failing because it just doesn't work. The simplest facets of American life I always took as universal (silverware, toilet paper, cleavage (sorry mom), dryers, flush toilets, clean water, Humane Society, normal rain cycles, waste disposal services) are mostly absent. But then there are the experiences/sensations that I had never known before getting here that potentially might reshape my whole "universal" definition (yellowed right hand finger nails, constant indigestion, seduction and beauty through showing no skin, bucket showers, no shoes at the door, side stepping careening auto-rickshaws, people literally everywhere).


To make things easier for my mind to digest, I'm going to break things up into sections. This should be my first warning that this blog is essentially for myself as a way to record everything that's going on.


1. Arrival


Flight from Newark, NJ to Mumbai, India in coach = severe body contortion. Literally my muscles did not fully regain movement for a couple of days. Before and on the flight, everyone on my program basically knew who the other students were -- easily identified as the passengers who were jittering, checking cell phones for last minute texts of comfort, fixing hair and make-up to ensure quality first impressions, picking up the super intellectual book to master the student vibe, and basically the only people on the flight who were traveling alone under the age of 40 years old and wearing makeshift Western interpretations of Indian clothing.


Stepping off the flight into Mumbai airport I put on my tough, street-sense persona, clutched my bags close to me, and hopefully gave off the accurate vibe -- "I'm here for cultural immersion, but will beat you up if you try and steal my bags or touch my body" -- as the guide books suggest. First bathroom experience in India = all squat "toilets", no toilet paper.


After meeting with the other students and Utaraa (our Residence Director) we headed in over-packed vans (casual quadruple belting) to the hotel where we would spent the night before leaving for Durashet, our orientation site.


Coupled with awkward, summer camp/freshman year orientation introductory remarks, exhaustion gave way to early good nights and those little lingering doubts you always try, but can never seem, to ignore. 

The Pre-Beginning

***Okay, so I originally posted this on Aug. 17, but then forgot the email address I used to create the previous blog account... SO I'm restarting my blog, and giving this whole cool/mysterious cyber girl thing (debatable) another go. And here it goes. Take two:

I leave for India in 3 days. I can do all the preparation -- make the airline flights, pick up the malaria pills, stock up on contact solution, decide what "inappropriate" clothing I can make work, and read countless novels on India, but I'm still terrified and have no idea what to expect. Since signing up for semester abroad program in Pune, I have unwaveringly romanticized what I expect the semester to entail. One of the images that has passed through my head, embarrassingly many more times than once, is of me dancing in a beautiful, flowing sari, surrounded by Indian children who stare up at me with wide eyes and beaming smiles. My views of India, and what I expect will happen, have been completely shaped by standard Western perceptions of India. Despite my studies of developing countries and international relations, my viewpoint of India is fundamentally orientalist. Ignoring everything I know to the contrary, I continue to subconsciously view myself as the Western liberator, a Western knight in shining armor (or maybe more realistically, an American princess in a flowing sari). I want that to change. I don't know how it will, or if it will, but I want to start beating that perception down until I see myself as no better, and no worse, no more just or fair, than the people I will meet.


The moment I fear the most is getting off the plane and entering the baggage claim area. As I mistakingly booked my flight a day early, I will be arriving before the rest of the program students and will have to navigate the area alone. I'm looking at this experience as sort of a super intense roller coaster. The preparation for the trip is filled with anticipation, the slow climb up to the peak of the roller coaster, during which you continue to build up fear and apprehension, as you don't really know for sure what's on the other side of the peak. Then comes the peak. The point at which you feel suspended mid-air -- your stomach flies up to your head, eyes opened wide, and a scream develops deep in your chest. This is what I anticipate as the first moment when I can no longer pretend I'm in America. The moment when the voices around me begin speaking in an alien language, and my skin, hair, eyes, mannerisms, clothing, and voice immediately give me away as someone who doesn't belong.


A lot of people have asked me why I chose India for my semester abroad, and my reasoning is three-fold:


First, despite my fear of what is to come, I want to be shocked. I want my comfort zone to be stretched and distorted, to find myself in a place that makes me question who I am, what I think, why I think I am what I am, etc. I feel like I've been on the same general path my entire life, and I think it's time I shake things up a bit.


Second, I fell in love with the fact that through the program I am able to create a documentary film about any aspect of India that fascinates me.


Finally, it's India. What better place to study international development and political economy?




"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover" -- Mark Twain


On that note, see you in India.