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?
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