size

Yesterday while walking on Kopikar road (the main shopping district of Hubli) I noticed an elephant ambling slowly towards me from a perpendicular street.

Atop the elephant sat its owner, and together they slowly made their way down the busy street, completely unconcerned about the bustling traffic surrounding them.

It's hard to understand just why I felt so overwhelmed by this elephant.  As it walked past me, I shyly reached out to touch the hide of its belly but was immediately whacked away by a powerful swish of its tail.  In that moment of contact however, I felt this kind of insane jolt of something!

Some kind of sudden connection with the power of nature.  I mean, in the states, when do we really every actually have the chance to stand right next to a giant elephant and just kind of view it in perspective to your own tiny size?

Or rather, let's think of the things that we usually touch in our first world lives.  We touch plastic, metals, textiles, rubber, maybe some vegetation (but not often for most people). Depending on your personality, maybe there is some human contact thrown in there, if you have a pet, perhaps you can touch the fur of a dog or a cat.  But I never realized how removed-- how detached-- I was from the sheer power of the natural world until I touched this elephant.  This was literally the largest land animal to walk the planet and it was simply bustling with life.  To think colonies of cells (like those in humans) have been collected together to work to create this elephant is amazing.

There was something sad of course that this grand example of the power of the natural world was being used as a man's livelihood, chained and was walking the streets of a very elephant-inappropriate urban jungle.  But it does bring to attention what is right and wrong with the way that we treat the living things on this planet-- there is something fundamentally off about surrounding living things with non-organic materials.  There is a prison-like quality present.

peace

In the morning sometimes I wake up early enough to catch breakfast at my hostel landlord's house.
It's a couple minutes walk from my building and the house is a small and modest one.  Well, it could be larger, but I haven't ventured much further than the dining area.  When I reach the entrance, I take my shoes off on a rust-red colored stoop and take a seat on a large plastic chair inside.

Well actually, I try to remember to greet Suerna, the cook, first.  I've met a lot of ladies/girls in the hostel, but (and I realize how child-like this must sound) Suerna is definitely my favorite of them all.  She is extremely soft-spoken, calm and mature feeling.  I think I like her the best because she reminds me of my mother.  I don't know why....she certainly isn't old enough to be my mother, nor do I really know quite enough about her to make such a comparison, but I guess it's just a feeling.  Around her, I just want to smile a lot, be very nice and do something to make her return the smile (maybe it's because she always looks a little bit sad?).  Some kind of lingering childhood need for approval and a pat on the head. The world is suddenly such a simple place.

Anyway.  So I sit down and then Suerna brings me a plate of food.  I never have any idea of what breakfast is going to be but it's usually some kind of bread item (dosa) and chutney.  Or this roasted rice thing with peanuts.  Or (and only when I'm extremely lucky) aloo parata, a thick tortilla of sorts stuffed with potato.  It's kind of amazing.

And I eat in silence.  Occasionally making some small talk perhaps with another girl from the hostile or with Auntie, but our conversations never last long because her English is limited and my Kannada is composed of exactly three phrases.  But it is good.  And I gaze out the door and maybe see a stray dog or cow or motorcyclist pass by.  The silence is decorated with the ring of my metal spoon on my metal plate, or Suerna's cooking, or the hum of a nearby TV. So I sit, usually underneath an arch of laundry hanging to dry and I notice a Shrek figurine on the table and I let out a sigh.

Then Suerna brings me my chai and I mime an expression of gratitude and she asks me if the food was good to which I always reply that it was (one of my three phrases) and I give her a broad smile.  And that is the extent of our communication but I feel warm inside (is it the chai? Or the homeyness?).

These moments have been when I feel the most peaceful and while the effect isn't always long lasting, it sets me on a rhythm, a cadence of calmness.  Of few words, but meaningful expressions.   It is a reminder that the human experience need not be a loud one of many brash happenings.

Then I take my malaria medication and am off.  

superstar

I feel like it’s common for travelers/workers returning from a developing country to post pictures of themselves surrounded by hoards of happy, local children.  I always was a little envious to see these things and I wanted to be that person—that person embraced so lovingly by the locals.  I am certainly in no role to criticize but I will record how I actually feel about this issue at the moment, and that is that the desire for these pictures, for this kind of proof of your awesomeness is a kind of materialism.  A first world luxury that, if unanalyzed and recognized, can blind you from the reality at hand.  The reality is that you are not here to take pictures.  The reality is that for all their smiles, these children are living in poverty. 

But smiles can be distracting, and god damn, they smile a lot. 

Perhaps it is hypocritical of me to be so critical because suddenly I have tons of pictures of me in these very same situations.  When I go to primary schools, when I walk down residential neighborhoods, if I even show the slightest interest, if I even reveal the presence of a camera for a moment, I will be mobbed.  Mobbed by jumping, dancing, clapping, screaming, laughing mobs of children who are just dying for a handshake, for my name, and if they’re lucky, for a picture or autograph.  It’s easy to just shrug it off and be flattered, to amuse the kids and to amuse yourself but, I have come to realize, the situation is not so simple.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that I noticed how blinding a smile can be.  I was searching for a particular primary school in Old Hubli, and when Dev (our local staff) pointed out that we had reached the school I could not help but feel a piece of me stand still as the rest of me moved onwards.  Does that make sense? I felt pinned in a way…pinned by shock? Surprise? I don’t know.  But the thing is, if Dev didn’t point out this school to me, I would have walked straight past it assuming I had just passed an old building or run down office space.  Rather, there was a Kannada medium school there.  240 children squeezed into a three classroom building.  No desks, no chairs, no lights, no toilets/latrines—not even broken ones.   So little room that the students cannot even experience a full day of school because standards 1-3 use the area from morning to noon, then standards 4-6 have class from noon to late afternoon.  My whole impression of the infrastructure can be summarized in one word: dark.  Everything was dusty, dim or damp.  The administration (one principal) and teaching staff (4-5 teachers per session) were clearly devoted to their students but nonetheless had forsaken the competency of their government.  But the students could not help smiling…and for the first time I could not bring myself to smile back.

I couldn't smile back because in the midst of all these smiles, all this flattering attention, all the effort put into noticing stares and avoiding stares and feeling like some kind of Bollywood superstar, I had forgotten to take a look around and put things in an objective perspective.  Like really look around and really think.  If I remembered to have done these things I would have noticed sooner that despite all these smiles and happy faces, these children are living in conditions that are just completely unacceptable by any standards.  

I don't really know what I'm trying to say.  Only that....when I first came to India, I happily declared that I was a foreigner and I can't be anything but a foreigner.  But I didn't come here to be a foreigner (and certainly not a tourist), I didn't come here to stand out or draw attention or bring a little excitement to the lives of others.  Maybe these things will just happen naturally, but that is not my purpose for being here and I need to stop letting it faze me because it clouds my vision.  I need to stop viewing things from a foreigner's perspective, but rather from an objective one-- and the object of this endeavor is to make a change, an improvement, in the life of another.  By any means necessary.  

the female experience

There was a lot about India that surprised me.  Most of the preconceptions I came in with turned out to be excessive.  But really, what has been really special, particularly surprising and just kind of nice is the sense of camaraderie I have felt with my fellow women in this country.  Maybe it’s because I live in a lady’s hostel and have had the opportunity to interact with more women, but I get the feeling that it really is a cultural thing. 

From the very beginning, while taking the train in Mumbai, I felt….taken care of in a sense? Standing on the crowded platform a bit nervous to jump on a train that will only stop briefly, I was offered some respite by India already from the fact that there are women-only cars that I can use.  So I was standing there, and this lady right next to me started talking to me. 

“Where are you from? First time in India?” Yes. I nod.

“Be very careful when you enter the train, it can be dangerous!” And it was kind of scary, everyone really just clogs the doorway the moment a train arrives so as to get the available seats.  But it was also nice, none of it was in ill-will.  Being a woman in a woman-only car…..yeah I was a foreigner, yeah people stared at me, but I also felt like we were all aware of that which we had in common: the female experience. 

I feel so inarticulate and ineloquent, because the feeling is so much more beautiful than my abilities are letting me express right now.

In my hostel, I often meet my neighbors in the hall or stairs and we have conversations! Somehow! Part broken English, part broken Kannada (on my part), part just body movement and expression, but mostly just communicating through female compassion.  Our conversations don’t move much further (verbally) than “how was your day? “Was your day good?” “Did you eat yet?” “Namaskara” “What is your name?” but there’s some kind of deeper understanding.  We can look at each other after a broken conversation and just laugh in unison, and everyone knows we’re friends.  We’ll take care of each other.  We are women.  We are companions. 

It’s so simple.  And pure. 

Before coming to India, people kept on cautioning me about the dirtiness, dangerousness and general unkempt/uncivilized state of the country.  And yeah, there is truth in these statements.  But what has stood out to me is a cleanliness in spirit that I have never quite experienced to this degree in the states.