summer in india

the report

2007-11-15T16:57:00.000-08:00

dear all
i am posting a link to the ifmr website, where the final report from our SHG study is now located....

http://ifmr.ac.in/cmf/category/all-posts/

the report has received a lot of positive attention... i still would like to add more to the study, and maybe even at some point in the future, go back and do follow-up work with myrada....

I think the report does contribute a lot of interesting observations and reflections. I wish it included more experiences of the women I spoke with, but unfortunately, because I was not in Chennai during its compilation, not a lot of the case studies that I developed are included... (I only sent a few over, because by the time they were compiling the report, I was into week 3 of school...)

while the last few months have flown by, i still continue to reflect on this summer's experiences. i am glad that i had the opportunity to go to india and do this work, i learned a great deal and more importantly, it gave way to more questions that i have about development, community integration, women, livelihoods, education, poverty.... pretty much everything...

more on this later.

signing off from internship!

2007-07-30T07:47:00.001-07:00

for those of you following my blog..i added an entry that sums up my study ..its actually two entries, that talk about my overall impression of the first phase of the study and the interview process.. because they are listed sequentially, they are further below... so please page down and check those out, because I think it will give you some sense of the types of information we were trying to gather. of course, its a preliminary analysis, that comes solely from my own impressions and recollections of interviews and interactions i had with the rural women in karnataka.

another intern will be carrying a second phase of the study on with an ngo in tamil nadu called hand in hand... i will definitely try to keep updated on what happens with that part of the study, as we will eventually collaborate in the fall to write a paper of our results..

i am now writing from a internet cafe in kolkata, which is a really awesome city... i have some updates to post when i have more time, but for now, i will say that my last few weeks in chennai made me really miss home... it was hard to shuttel between people's floors and random hotels... i think i could work abroad, but i would need one place, even a dumpy place, to call my own... traveling here and there, with just a backpack and no sense of "home" really got to me. at the same time, it was nice to realize that despite the vast differences and challenging experiences i had this summer that i'm not averse to coming back and doing a period of extended research here in india...but i will need my own place..

okay please read below, because i would love to hear your comments...

more from me later :)

identity crisis

2007-07-23T09:52:00.000-07:00

i am sort of apprehensive about this post because of the positive feedback from the last post. I feel like anything I write has the potential to disappoint, as many of you (three to be exact) mentioned that the last one was the most "veena" that you have seen thus far. (Ha! I act like I'm JK Rowling and Harry Potter 7 just came out.. :) )

Anyway, something has been bothering me for the last few weeks, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until today, when I rode for five hours on the KSRTC bus down to Bangalore. In order to set up for this post, I am going to reference the following excerpt of my own writing:

"I was sitting in the sixth floor lounge of my school at 2am with the only other person in the building. We were both feverishly working on projects that were to be turned in early the next morning. The lounge was dank, and filled with yellow light. Each of us had spread our things all over a table and were trying to make sense of complex topics at such a late hour. We both happened to be looking around at the same moment, as so often happens when one is working late into the night and eventually got to talking. We meandered through topics until we arrived at the topic of Indian culture. He was Indian, but unlike me had grown up in India but had completed his higher education in the United States. His accent had a touch of Bombay and a smidge of British. Somehow we managed to talk about how being Indian had impacted our youth. The next thing I knew, I found myself recounting in detail the way we would celebrate everything from Navaratri (“nine nights”, a festival celebrating good over evil) to Krishna Jayanti (Lord Krishna’s birthday) at my house.

I recalled the way my grandmother would paint little feet on our front porch to depict young Lord Krishna sneaking into each home to steal sweets. I explained that one of my fondest memories was of Vinayaga Chathurthi (Lord Vinayagar’s Birthday). This holiday was of particular importance because it was my “favorite” god after a toothache incident in Chennai circa 1987. Vinayaga Chathurthi was also the holiday where we would get home made korkatai (steamed sweet rice dumplings filled with brown sugar, nuts and ghee). Lalithamma would go so far as to shape the korkatais into a small Ganesh, complete with kum-kum (red powder that is applied to the forehead as a blessing).

On Navaratri, my mom would work for weeks to set up this beautiful display of dolls, stacked on silk sari-lined steps. We would have people over every evening; women would sing and talk and admire the dolls that my mom had taken great pains to display, while the men who visited would sit in the living room and eat through tons of bakshanam (snacks and sweets) that mom and Lalithamma had made. We would end the day by doing an arti (small ceremony involving a valakku (brass candleholder using a handmade wick) and a mixture of manjal). During Navaratri, my mother, sister and I would also visit others' homes, who would also setup a gollu display. During that same week, we would wrap up our school books for Saraswati Pooja, and my dad would hand them back to us after the pooja was complete so that we would do well in our studies.

The other holiday that I loved, was Tamil New Year (Vishugani) because we would wake up with our eyes closed and be led by my parents downstairs to the god room (room in our house where with all of the religious idols/books, also where my dad and grandmother did their daily prayers). When we opened our eyes, we would see a room full of fruits, grains, rice and a small mirror that sat in a pile of money. We would get money from mom, dad and Lalithamma (who would always take the opportunity to slip us a $20 :) or more...) and sometimes on Diwali we would get new clothes...

Then there were the daily things - we spoke Tamil at home, especially with my grandmother and always spent time with our family on weekends. Oh yeah, I recalled with a laugh "my dad made me stay at home during the first few months of senior year in high school so I could study for the SATs." At the time I remember thinking, "only Indian parents are like this!" There were also droves of relatives dropping by unannounced, plenty of good food on a daily basis, sweets and yummy fried treats (bhaji, pakora, casery) that would be whipped together in minutes at the nearest hint of a visitor. There was general hospitality, a love for song and dance and family; Bharathanatyam and Karnatic music classes and the obsession on the part of both my parents for us to get a good education.... and the conversation continued like this."

These events, I recounted to my friend, were the things that made up my "Indian" identity.

Until I got here this summer, had never thought that these things might just be a version of Indian, and not what it was all about. Well I suppose the naive part of me thought that south indians were similar to me, in the way I was raised, the food I ate, the values we held important. I was wrong, but I had no idea how wrong I really was. Being an ethnic Indian in America is nothing like being an Indian in India. The language, the culture, the mannerisms, the way things work, everything is completely different.

Something else that has been really confusing to me is that if I speak Tamil at a restaurant or to anyone anywhere really, they will say "Are you a Brahmin?" This has happened to me about 15 times over the course of the summer, which I think, is a lot. I couldn't figure out what I was saying that would lead people to this conclusion, albeit it is in fact true, I do hail from a Brahmin family. The other night, the waiter at the restaurant knew I was Brahmin when I told him Lalithamma's village, "Kalpathy." It is bizarre, if someone is a Brahmin, they get excited to talk to me, will tell me about their family etc. Its as if I have some bond with them, that I had never known about - is there a brahmin connection of which I am unaware? All of this has made me so confused - i thought caste was dead in india? yeah, i know, naive! and while it is not pronounced, it still exists, in the way people talk and treat one another based on who they are and where they are from. I think some people, after realizing that I am Brahmin, are sort of annoyed with me, while others are happy/proud (the latter being when they too are Brahmins). Also the Indians here, who grew up here, have this whole thing about "Tam Brahm" which is apparently some label for Tamil Brahmins and the way they are...I still have not figured this out, but it sounds like a very condescending, negative label from what I have inferred. I will say now that I am no Tam Brahm, my family hails from Kerala and as far as I know, I don't have any snobby Brahmin characteristics...

But I guess this just goes back to my initial confusion or conflict about what it means to be Indian. It is certainly not one thing, but could it be that there are nearly no similarities between me and the 1 billion people here aside from facial features, skin tone and hair color? How is it that only in a relatives home, a palaghat tamil speaking home at that, do I feel like I do in my own house, and not even then, depending on whose home I am in? Is this why masses of people are still so grounded in their own traditions, because each region, the next town, could be so different they dont want to risk dealing with change?

What about the super rich indians? The ones that scare me because they are young men and women, dressing sexy, going out late at night, drinking, dancing, acting like they are ...well.... americans/westerners - whatever you want to call it... are they acting like us? or was this cultural evolution imminent?

When I was sick a few weeks ago, I spent several evenings watching "B4U" television and other music video channels and was shocked, half of them i couldn't actually watch the whole way through because of the overtly sexual nature of the videos. Its so weird to me because when i watch a janet jackson/j-lo etc. videos, they are sexy, they might even be about sex, but I'm not offended by them, I don't feel like the directors are screaming "SEX" However, when i watch the new "hey baby" Hindi music video, where young Indian men, spray girls with champagne, as girls, with tight tops and short skirts dance around in a Fergie-like fashion, I think "oh my goodness is this really India? The modest, conservative India I thought I knew?"

And its not JUST the hindi movies, its all the channels, even the south indian films; instead of women in clubs, its men and women in a village. The women will be wearing a small top that exposes her midriff, an embroidered miniskirt that shows off her legs, while she dances in an inappropriate way, that is not reminiscent of talent or culture. Perhaps it is more affronting because of my understanding of Indian culture. Perhaps I (veena the American) make more allowances for the sexy/sexual behavior of American pop culture icons than I do for Indians. Perhaps again, I am looking at Indian pop culture through my conservative upbringing lens, and therefore I cannot look at it the way other Indians do...? Then I think, what about Bharathanatyam? What about classical dance, and the amazing lyricists and songwriters you have here? What is this new obsession that this country has with sex/modernity/money etc?

The most confusing thing is that while the movies, commercials, billboards and tv shows seem to display this semblance of modernity, I still see the same gender, caste and class rules play out here. It actually seems like they are more pronounced, then they are in other parts of the world. I see that girls are still expected to behave a certain way, follow their parent's rules, marry the man they choose for her and so on. An Indian girl, even from a family who encourages her college education is still less likely to work after she is married. You also won't find that many women out at night. If you are out at night (at least from what I can tell) its because you are really rich and you have a driver and your parents will allow you to go out. I am led to this conclusion based on my experiences at a few Bangalore/Chennai hotels/bars.

Then there is the inter-class/caste relations.... The way upper caste people treat their housekeepers (or servants as they are called here), their drivers and cooks. The fact that people in the Dalit community, still live on the outskirts of villages and are not mainstreamed into the regular parts of society. The way even children yell or command their ayahs (nannies) or maid servants to "come here! get this!" The shock that is displayed when I go to rinse my own plate, as if it isn't a job that I am not supposed to do...(this happened to me several times in Delhi last year when I was visiting friends of my cousins).

where are they going? who am i? is there a connection? is my palaghat indian upbringing within the US so structured that I cannot relate to the struggles with modernity, issues of caste/class etc? What would life have been like had my parents decided to come back to this country? (I will say that I am so thankful that they didn't because as a woman, I enjoy freedoms that are still not common here in India.)

I guess what I am left with at the moment is more questions.... Do I have any conclusions? Not really...

But - I do know that i am not an (I) indian, as in, I am most definitely not from this country. I'm also not an NRI (non resident indian), because its not as if I relate to anything at a sociocultural level, i don't have a "well" of Indian knowledge to draw from. I guess that leaves me with POI (person of Indian origin), yes, perhaps thats the one that makes sense... I identify with some part of this culture, but overall, I am from somewhere else... I, veena, nationally an American, ethnically Indian, culturally/socially/emotionally --- Im still not certain about the answer to this....looks like what I have is a slight identity crisis. ;)

on cleanliness

2007-07-19T11:33:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in my dirty hotel room literally counting down the hours till I can leave this place, ChitraDurga. Namely, the Aishwarya Fort, which remains the dirtiest hotel at which I have stayed. Now, I have stayed at worse establishments, but they usually add an "s" to hotel (hostel....mmmkay?)

There are all of these odd stains on the walls, on my sheets. The other night I was trying to get some sleep because I had a stomach virus from something I ate, from their kitchen, when I woke up to the apocalypse, or so I thought. It turns out that my room was directly above the dishwashing area or something. I was so furious. I was sweaty, achy and feeling so ill from not being able to keep anything down all day and now I was waking up to pots and pans. I called the room service guys and all they could say was "umm what madam? ...room number?" Its at times like these I am so frustrated with how things work here. No one should have been sleeping in that room, it was so loud I was boggled as to how they ever rented this room out to guests. At that point, I ran downstairs and complained about the noise and they moved me to the third floor. The room was identical, though this time there was no underwear in the bathroom, so that was a slight improvement.

oh yeah, in the last bathroom, i even found a bindi still stuck to the bathroom wall and a tiny little spider in the corner next to my sink.

oh it gets better.. i went down to check to make sure i didn't leave anything in the room, and the boys had already "remade" the bed, in the dirty stomach virus sheets I had just gotten out of! i was like "YOU HAVE TO ChANGE THEM I AM SICK!" and they nodded "oh okay madame" i feel bad for the next guy who has to sleep there...ewwww....

From what I understood, people who stay in hotels in these remote areas are those who do not have relatives to stay with and therefore a hotel is a last resort. (no pun intended!) My Mani uncle mentioned that Indian hotels weren't even majorly used by businessmen until the last 30 years, and in rural areas, this is still not a common thing. Some of the nicest, five star hotels I have been to are in India, but I guess the lack of need in more rural areas, means that they are not held to as high standards. .... either way, i don't get stains on the walls and not changing the sheets, that to me, is just common sense, regardless of what country i am in.

i guess all that to say is that while i always thought there was this over emphasis on cleanliness in indian culture, it really isn't there in a widespread nature. people might broom the hell out of the area in front of their small shop, but then they will broom all the dirt from their shop straight into the street. "chakadai!" as my family calls it.... so even though someone's storefront is clean, the actual street and surrounding location is still disgusting, full of trash, poop etc.

This week I was waiting for someone to recharge my cell phone, when I saw this little girl with a pavadai chattai (outfit for younger girls that consists of a matching top and silk skirt with a big border). She screamed something in Kannada at her mother, then lifted up her skirt and just peed right there in the street. It was one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen. Its bad enough that all over the rural areas, and actually even in big cities, that men pull up against any wall on a major or minor road, to take a leek, but to see a little girl, just lift up her skirt and have no cares, as she stepped over a puddle of her own pee, was just too funny. It was also definitely gross, and resulted in me doubting every wet spot on the street thereinafter.

I don't get how people can hire all these people to come clean their dishes, dust everything, wash the floors, on a daily basis, and also simultaneously throw shit out onto the street. People drink tea in those little plastic or paper cups and they just throw them out. The only garbage cans around, don't get cleaned out often and always are swarming with flies.

I know I'm painting a really dire picture, but it really frustrates me that theres a cleanliness hypocrisy here. Indians are obsessed with cleanliness within boundaries, and beyond that they are completely comfortable littering the streets, not caring for the environment even a little bit. It happens even in NYC, but not to the degree with which it happens here, at least thats the way I see it.

Also - this seems to carry over into the way they are doing business. They are happy to pollute and use extra pesticides, and reason that the western countries had their opportunity to destroy the environment. While this is true, countries like India, China and Brazil, that are now major manufacturers of everything from cars to designer jeans need to learn from our mistakes, not make them again, because things like global warming and climate change can't be put on hold. We got a lot of hogwash from one of the TATA directors, who talked all sorts of BS about Corporate social responsibility but also could not answer the simple question of "do you practice what you preach? are your factories really green?" Of course they're not TATA! you can't talk green and not walk green or something like that.... more on this later when i get more research...

closing remarks on myrada interviews

2007-07-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, July 18, marks the end of our field visits with Myrada SHG groups.

Over the last month we have talked with almost 100 women, who are long-time participants in Myrada self-help groups or sanghas. With the exception of two groups, all of the sanghas are five years or older. The majority of the women that we have spoken with are involved in agriculture, daily labor and small businesses like tailoring and petty shops. Most of the husbands and other family members are also involved in similar trades. We have seen from our initial survey responses the sangha women usually take loans to bolster an existing family business or more often, purchase items like seeds and fertilizers for agricultural purposes.

The number of people who own their own homes and own land is rather significant. However, most landowners have less than ten acres of land, with very few families having landholdings that exceed this amount. Several families own their own home or live with (and in some cases care for) parents and in-laws. The sangha members have often told us that they will eventually inherit these family homes when their parents or in-laws pass away. Often, this property is inherited from the husband’s parents.

We found that people save by purchasing gold and livestock when they had larger sums of money. Often sangha women mentioned that they pooled resources to take a loan out or use the interest on savings to purchase gold or sheep for each woman in the group. Overall however, the savings in sangha is minimal, with women saving only Rs. 10 – 20 weekly, which amounts to about Rs. 40 – 80 in a month. Those women who can afford to save more, usually do so in a post office or a bank. Some women even told us that the way they save money was to lend to others, which is often financed by a loan from the sangha, or other income. While there is the existence (moreso in rural areas) of chit funds, PIGMYs and ROSCAs, they seem to be more common amongst men and people who are not sangha members.

In terms of loan usage, as described above, most people use loans for business and agricultural purposes. We also saw that several parents who sent children for higher education took loans for things like nursing school and technical training. What we did see however, was that there were several cases, where sangha members or their family members have loans from both the sangha and other sources, mainly money lenders and family/friends. Banks seem to offer the best interest rates (Rs. 1/100 and in some cases 80 paise / 100) but more often than not, people would have taken from moneylenders. Most people mentioned that they took from other sources for weddings, sudden illnesses and agricultural purposes. Often, it was because they had an existing sangha loan and still needed more credit for the aforementioned reasons or others.

Most women who have young or adolescent children seem to be educating them till at least SLC (10th grade), which is the equivalent of getting a high school diploma. Education beyond SLC requires additional funding even for government colleges. Students need to pass and write government or private exams to get into pre-university courses. Often, we have heard that children have gotten to SLC and decided not to continue their education because they failed the college exams. Other difficulties in accessing higher education include travel costs and cultural concerns, especially when it comes to young women. Some mothers have mentioned that schooling beyond SLC is the decision of their daughter’s future husband.

However, for the most part, it seems that there is a trend towards completing education at least until SLC. This is in deep contrast to the number of sangha women who are non-literate, having never attended school. Most of their husbands and parents are also predominantly non-literate as well. The generation of children that ranges anywhere between 5 and 22 seem to be more likely to attend and continue with school at least until they are done with their high school diploma, which is a shift from their parent’s generation. Many women have explained that being in the sangha has enlightened them to the benefits of education, namely, economic benefits by way of better jobs. (This includes secure government jobs.) As a result, it seems that several children are also attending technical degree programs that range from teaching certificates to auto mechanics. Many of these children are young women, who are trying to secure good government positions in teaching and on the KSRTC. Several of their children seem to be working in a range of jobs in the larger metropolis of Karnatka like Bangalore.

Overall health does not seem to be a major concern, with only the bout of bird flu impacting family members and communities throughout the survey areas. Otherwise, there were relatively few reports of individuals going to the hospital for physical ailments or sicknesses. However, we did find that several women mentioned that alcoholism is a problem in their communities, and even amongst their own husbands. Aside from legal restrictions there seems to be no medical attention addressing these issues.

Interview Process

The interview process itself has been fairly straightforward. We drive to a location, meet with an RC manager or designated RC (or federation) representative, who then locate the women at a previously designated location. For the most part we have been able to meet sangha members in the home of one woman. Otherwise we meet sangha members at a central location like the local nursery school (anganwadi) building or at the community center. The three women usually arrive together, and observe one another’s interviews. While we tried to emphasize the importance of individual interviews, it is very difficult to find these women completely alone, as even in their homes, there are in-laws, children and grandchildren milling in and out to observe the interviews. Often, the women will help the respondent when she doesn’t know the answer to a question, or hesitates about what to say in response to the translator’s question. Moreover, random villagers, especially children and young men will come to observe anything that transpires during our interview sessions. While at first, it was difficult for our translator to focus on just the interview, after some prompting, he would get the women to focus on the questions and also explain to others that they would have a chance to participate in later parts.

The latter groups that we visited, we only dealt with the three sangha members, and an occasional relative or passerby. However, they did feel more comfortable when their other sangha members were present, during the interview.

I conducted some mini-focus groups by utilizing the times we had when several sangha members would be present for interviews. During these times, we allowed all people to respond to questions in sections 9-11 (community development, drop outs, new members) and the general sangha information. This allowed us to get a cross-section of data from several different members. We found early on that despite asking individual members the same questions, they were giving the same reasons for new members and drop outs. So after a few days, I decided to allow the entire group of women to respond to this section of questions. This also helped in jostling their memories, as each person recalled only one or two pieces of information related to these topics. Most of the women were very clear on details like why people dropped out and how people joined. However, community development was a more difficult section to answer, because they often did not recall what they had done as a sangha and in some cases did not realize that they had participated in community development because they had just simply taken direction from the RC supporter’s suggestions.

We were able to interview three GP members, who were also part of our sangha members, and we can use these three women for mini-case studies. One GP woman in particular was extremely open to answering questions as well as her husband, so we should have some colorful highlights in this section.

Finally, interviewing the representatives did not prove to show that they had any extra or additional information. In many cases, they looked to other, more vocal members for guidance about what had transpired during the years of the group.

veena, the american

2007-07-14T01:54:00.001-07:00

So as I mentioned in an earlier post...some people think that I am an American. Not a South Asian American, but a White American. Yes, I know for my friends who are reading this, they are thinking "umm Veen... are you sure?" Yeah, I'm sure, I have polled several people (even the training center staff) and they all assumed I was. In addition, most of the sangha women, will ask Vijay (my translator) or Rafi (our driver) in Kannada, "where is this woman from?" They will also make remarks like "Oh my such a long distance she has traveled to see us!" when they find out that I am from "Ummm AY ree ca!"

This was a helpful realization... After finding this out, I asked the translator to curtail my introduction by only mentioning that i was a PG (post graduate) student, studying savings and loan usage amongst sangha women in accordance with Myrada. If after the interviews are done, they ask about where I am from, Rafi or Vijay will explan that at one time my grandparent's/parents etc. were from Kerala but they eventually moved and have resettled in the US for the last thirty years.

On one such occasion, I had interviewed three sangha women, in a more remote part of Holalkere district. The first woman, was rather reserved, she had a few daughters that she was waiting to marry. (One had been recently married.) A second woman was very talkative and rambled on and on about her children, her exhaustion from working as a daily laborer and other things. Towards the end of each survey, there is a section that focuses on trainings that the women have taken or would be interested to take. When we asked this woman whether she would want to take training, she agreed that she would like to. However, she mentioned that it was not possible because her husband was a drunk and was known to come find her and harass her no matter where she was. He was known for causing a commotion, and therefore she couldn't leave the home in the evenings.

The last woman, whose home we were in, had two children, an older girl, who had completed her BS in engineering and a son, who was doing the same. Her husband was a professor and she stayed at home and maintained their home and watched over there 8 or so acres of farmland. Later on, she explained how her daughter had the opportunity to work in Singapore for a year, but because the grandmother (an old lady who laid on the bed in the far corner of the room) was against it, the daughter could not go. I asked her to explain why and she mentioned that "hajji" (grandma) was afraid that the daughter would meet someone and run off and get married etc. or just lose her way. (I had to suppress laughter, because these are things I had heard growing up, but have not encountered in several years, not even from my own grandmother in her later stages of life.)

Then, they started to ask questions about me, "what do her parents do?" "how many siblings do you have?" Rafi and Vijay responded, business man, two, and older one is married. Hajji then asks "did her sister marry an Indian?" At this moment, I felt frustration because I knew what was coming. "No," I responded, "he is an American." Immediately everyone grew very quiet and grave, like I had just told them that someone died. Even the driver and translator looked akward, some people looked down, or stared out. It then hit me, the women actually felt bad for me; when I realized, I wanted to laugh or scream, but I just said "Oh! I musn't forget to take your photo!" as I rushed everyone outside for my customary ending picture.

So I felt like two things were going on, had they (Rafi/Vijay) never mentioned that I had grandparents from India, these four women would have been perfectly happy and excited to entertain the "American" for an hour or two. However, Veena, the American, the South Asian American, had strayed from the Indian path. At that moment I felt bad for them, because they only know two states of living "the known" and "the unknown" and things will certainly not in Hajji's lifetime. It was also interesting to be assaulted by someone else's values or opinions and feel their looks of disapproval and in Hajji's case, disgust.

The disgust bothered me. It got me thinking for two or three days and at the end, I still could not wrap my head around how those women had reacted to something "different." I don't even think of relationships between people as "inter-racial." I don't see it like that, I don't know how. I mean I joke occasionally about "brownness" "whiteness" and so on.... but it doesn't really mean anything to me. What I have learned is that relationships are a lot more about building friendships...supporting one another's interests...celebrating your differences.

religion and caste are polarizing forces. Even though people in these rural areas get along with one another, have mixed sanghas, with women of both the Muslim and Hindu faiths, an inter-marriage between religions or castes is still seen as absolute blasphemy. They live in relative peace but limit themselves to the confines of the known.

Women continue to marry young, to bear children young, to stay at home and let the men go to work unless the family needs the supplementary income. Most young women do not work, as they are almost in the endless marriage waiting room...

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that Veena...the American is quickly realizing that while she grew up in a very traditional Indian home, waking up to Suprabatham early on Saturday mornings and smelling incense before my eyes ever saw sunlight, this same woman is also very bold, willing to challenge the structures.

Wow what a bizarre conversation I just had! ... Veena the American sat and defended American culture and everything else for the last hour to a guy who just didn't like "westernization." He was so staunch about the importance of family in Indian culture and the higher marriage rates.. And I kept saying "numbers" do not represent the success/failure of a marriage. Just because people stay in a marriage doesn't mean its good...Moreover, there are so many unreported cases of domestic violence and divorce is a no-no in this culture. As a woman, you are looked down upon and ostracized in society. (At least in more rural areas.) He kept saying but if you look at marriages! You know Americans... and i said "umm I think you are generalizing that all Americans are blonde with bikinis!" or something like that.... He really seemed affronted by "western culture" or what he called was the"breach of Indian culture." He says that he comes home every weekend even though he works in Bangalore, because its his duty and he could not wrap his head around the idea of "own" experiences or individual experiences. I was like, my parents are happy when I go skiing or read a nwe book, you are supposed to celebrate those things. He was also shocked that I only visited my parents once or twice in a month... I kept thinking "ummmmmm do you even know how often other people visit thier parents?" Also, I felt so frustrated because he did not realize that "American" doesn't mean just one race, we are a country of a diverse set of races, religions, cultures... just like India..but... its weird bc despite all of those differences, they share this social pressure blanket.. the "dos and donts" of culture. Whereas we have so many "Dos and donts." It is odd because I am realizing how strongly I hold to some "American" values, that I think are "American" and at the same time, others' American values are probably directly opposite, it was hard to articulate this to this man.

Okay I am going to leave the computer lab, sorry about the rushed nature of this blog post.. I have to really absorb this conversation, before properly addressing it..It just happened to be that the guy from the computer lab decided to engage me in this conversation.... Also, this totally explains his look of disapproval for me initially!

More later.... (Ps.... I couldn't sleep for the last two days due to unexplicable abdominal pains and woke up and found that the veg noodles i ate last night did not sit well with me. (i will leave it at that.) I can't seem to eat anything..managed to get some coke and cadbury's down just a few moments ago.)

I still don't like this city or my dirty hotel.... at least there was cable! (PS I watched big momma's house II on television, and it was really funny... im not sure if it was bc i hadn't eaten all day or what.)

Also... being in places like this...and just realizing how long I have until I can go home..or see a familiar face is making me homesick.... yes, i admitted it! :)

goodbye holalkere

2007-07-14T01:42:00.000-07:00

Today was my final visit to a sangha in Holalkere. While I initially dreaded the thought of spending a few weeks at what I like to call "Indian Camp Shahola." (We used to spend Memorial Day Weekends in the Poconos as children at this camp with all these other Indian families from when I was young until well into my adolescence.) I realize that I have grown quickly accustomed to my "country life"; I have found some friends and most of all found comfort in the great amount of solitude that I have in the evenings and on weekends. I think that while I spend a lot of time alone in New York, this experience has taught me to spend time alone in a useful way. Instead of of just simmering in a pit of self-loathing by looking at photographs on my laptop (shout out for Louie!) I have read through two good novels, gotten back into practicing Spanish, written a bunch and have worked on my i-movie skills. I also, while it is rather difficult since I don't speak any of the local languages, have tried to spend time with the staff at the training center and people who work at the RC who also live here. In particular, one RC manager's son, Arshid, is one of the most adorable kids I have ever seen. (Krish - remember when we sat at Bridgewater ages ago and rated baby-cuteness? He is a 10 :p. ) I try to pop in and see him and his mom. She usually cuts a mango and makes me tea, and is really sweet, even though we have about 30 words in common.

I should go through my routine of the last few weeks, just to demonstrate the simplicity but relative peace of the last few weeks. The first week and a half I was here, I would get up at around 7 or 7:30, turn on my water heater and do regular-morning things: say hello to spiders, count lizards, put on contacts, brush my teeth and so on. At around 8:30, Toufiq or Mudhasir, two really nice guys ( brothers) who work here, would knock on my door to call me for breakfast. Each morning, they were setting my breakfast up in the training director's room: breakfast and tea, and solitude. I would then meet up with my translator, Vijay, and Rafi, the driver (who has also been really great about answering all of my questions about agriculture/religion/social practices) and we would drive and do 9 or so interviews and come back in the evening. Afterwards, my back would be killing me, from having sat on the floor, indian style for 8 hours, so I would grab my book, turn on the fan and my anti-mosquito repellent and lay on my bed inside my mosquito net, and read for two hours. At around 8:30, Toufiq would knock on my door for dinner back in the training director's room. I would sit there and eat, while Toufiq kept me company and we would try and tell and understand one another's stories while I slowly ate my dinner.

This week, since the training director was back, I opted to have my meals back at the mess hall. The nice part is that there are more people to chat with including the translator and this other guy, Nihal, who is a recent MA and is pretty conversational. We would eat and chat and this stray dog that seems to love me, would come around and try to pilfer food from our plates.

I have to say it is amazing how actions and facial expressions can really help in communicating with people. I recognize that while only a minimal amount of information is going back and forth between me and anyone else here, at least some messages are being passed. The staff, Sujata, Chittappa, Appu do not speak any English at all. They are all really friendly, helpful and kind.

I will also miss being in such a green place, its quiet, aside from the fat beetles that think my bathroom door is a moshpit and most importantly, its safe.

While I expressed frustration in a regular routine and having to be on a schedule, I have to say that I will really miss being at the center because I really did feel so much more at home than I do now at my dirty hotel in Chitradurga. (Traveler's Note: the only big "hotel" in Chitradurga the closest "city" in this area is a place called Aishwarya Fort... don't be fooled by the largess, its still probably a 1.5 to 2-star establishment....when I got to my room today, I noticed that in the bathroom there was a pair of dirty underwear hanging up.) I am going to ask them to move me to a clean room. Also, it seems that I should not trust any of the staff, especially all of the men who work there, so that is just great... Oh Holalkere how I will miss you.

perpetually pre-pubescent

2007-07-09T01:31:00.000-07:00

I took a bus into Chitradurga today after Toufiq dropped me off at the Holalkere bus station. I hopped on and noticed that I was immediately the topic of conversation. I sat in the last row with my big laptop bag and carefully arranged my laptop bag so that it acted as a barrier between me and any other passengers mostly to avoid any close contact with any of the strange men.

This is the second or third time I have taken this bus either back or forth and each time the bus drivers and anyone else in the back of the bus talk either mumble things, or more often than not, shout in loud raucous voices, things in Kannada that are peppered with "America!" and "Myrada!" I think that most people around this area recognize that any foreigners in the area must be associated with Myrada, since Holalkere is not exactly a tourist location. It really doesn't bother me (anymore) that the men, and occasionally women stare or talk about me. However, their (men) bizarre pre-pubescent need to sit next to me or stand near me, and observe me, almost like I am a caged animal, is what really frustrates me. I just sit there, covered by my shawl, that covers my baggy cotton kurtha and work to ensure I don't move too much and have enough space between me and the next passenger.

After I had jumped on, a small girl who was maybe 11 or 12 got on the bus, and sat down. I immediately slid next to her and put my bag to the right. The two of us shared five minutes of shy smiles, as the bus jostled us up and down. Being on the bus to Chitradurga is like being on an old wooden roller coaster at great adventure. (Rolling Thunder comes to mind.) At any moment, you could be lifted from your seat and find yourself and your belongings airborne. A second later, you land with a thud, back in your seat, and prepare for the next insane turn or set of pot holes, as the bus rambles down the only main road.

I am always suspicious that the drivers are high on something, because of the way they drive. However, these experiences remind me of the bus rides from my father's stories, with people literally hanging from the bus, as it drove 60km an hour, winding down narrow roads. The only difference being that you can replace the narrow city streets of Calcutta with the narrow country roads. Instead of tall buildings and shanty towns, imagine farms of arekka nut, maize, sunflowers and other local crops, stretching for kilometers on either side. The passing country side is peppered with grazing buffaloes, goats and sheep and their herders in tow. Every few kilometers, there will be two bullocks engaged in plowing a field or traveling down the road with a farmer. The bus will let out this song-like beep that will inform people of the stops and will also obnoxiously belt its horn "BHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP" throughout the journey to warn anyone on the road of its presence.

We rambled on, and the little girl got off after a few kilometers. I continued to read the book I had brought with me; The Inheritance of Loss. One of the ticket takers, decided that out of all the available seats, the one right next to me was the one for him. He sat and watched me for almost twenty-five minutes, as I read my book. I could feel his eyes on me, but I wasn't sure exactly what he was looking at, because all I was doing was reading. He kept peering over, as if I was going to change color any minute. To make things worse, or perhaps just to emphasize the mentality of these men, there was yet another atrocious Kannada film playing on two televisions posted up-front, where the leading man dragged the leading lady all over, (because he was just so much stronger), while he screamed at her and at one point dunked her face in a mud puddle. I observed the passengers on the bus, as everyone; men, women and children sat captivated by the film. I am convinced, having watched enough Sun TV (Tamil TV) that most of the South Indian film and mini-series are extremely trashy and unprogressive. They always depict helpless women and fear-inducing men, who are so strong they can drag their woman with one hand while they fight people with the other, all while the helpless women just stands there and screams. Then, there is the other extreme, which are these extremely sexually charged dance scenes, where men and women dance in ways that are reminiscent of Britney Spear's "Slave 4 You."

Which leads me to my next point.... I think that the majority of men here, especially in rural areas are perpetually pre-pubescent. The way in which men look at women, is really just insulting and is very reminiscent of the seventh grade. The environment is chock full of repressed sexual tension just waiting to burst out of every man in the street. (No wonder parents don't want to send their female children out!) However, this does not only apply to young men, it applies to all men, even older married men. It occurs most consistently amongst the crowd of people who don't seem to have actual employment, aside from standing in the street, drinking a coffee, chewing and spitting pan, shooting the breeze and eve-teasing. (A phrase I picked up from Shashank that means making fun of women/heckling women etc.)

I should stop here for a second and mention a few things: 1. I am in no way referring to all of India, because this country, as I am quickly learning, is so different from region to region, urban to rural etc. 2. I say all of these things with no reference to my own vanity, rather, I think it is the fact that I symbolize "different" in a comparatively homogenous world. 3. I found out a few days ago, that some people actually think that I am a white woman. I am not sure if it is the hair cut or the fact that I am slightly lighter-skinned than most people in this region, but according to some folks, they think that I am,which would explain the way people greet me and peer at me. It is bizarre, because until I came out to this area, it was only people of non-Indian descent that got this kind of attention. (I just got the "you are a different/modern kind of Indian" attention.) 4. I feel more affronted by "city men" or "town men" than I ever do by farmers, who actually are really friendly, especially the 45+ crowd.

I digress.

I disembarked in Chitradurga, hopped in auto, that promptly dropped me off at the internet cafe, where I spent three happy hours with a broadband connection, finalizing loan applications, checking on bank statements, responding to e-mails and confirming the few facebook requests that had collected. After those three joyous hours I tried to find a place where I could recharge my phone. I stopped at three shops, before I could find someone who could understand English. The guy I found seemed pretty legit, he even had a chart of TamilNadu top-up rates and had been helping his young son with homework when I had walked into his hardware shop. He added some credit to my phone, then I asked for another 501 rupees top-up. In the meantime, I had taken out my wallet, to see if I had enough cash to purchase all of the credit, when he suddenly started demanding that I pay him. I said "Did you put in the recharge yet?" He responded back impatiently in a thick accent "Justtu give me the munney madummm!" I responded "No! charge my phone first" and put the money back into my bag and stared at him until he punched the information into the phone and extended his chubby fist at me, showing me the amount and phone number. After I received my echarge sms, I shoved the money in his hand, grabbed the change and left in a huff.

I walked down the wide main street and observed as men, pointed and laughed and giggled. Men of all ages and creeds at the only "western" woman for miles. (A side note: Those of you who are close to me know that I can be overly paranoid, but as I mentioned before, I really think this has nothing to do with "me" per say, it has to do with what I symbolize in an otherwise significantly homogenous area.)

Well I finally made my way back onto the bus, where I had to stand up as the bus attendants excitedly talked about the "American" on the bus. One of the ticket takers yelled for two men sitting in a three-seat to move in, and they obliged. I plopped down, and made sure I left at least an inch between me and the gentleman next to me, dressed in crisp white dhoti, shirt and headwrap. I pulled out my book and read another few chapters, as another film blared and the ticket takers told conspiracy theories about why I was on their bus.

Eventually we pulled into Holalkere and I jumped off the train and away from the creepy ticket takers into the pouring rain. I walked across the soaked muddy ground and hovered under the large bus stand that marked the town centre. Hundreds of mens huddled in small groups talked and spat pan (sort of like Indian chewing tobacco - I think), while others smoked cigarettes, as we waited for the rain to stop. I slowly traversed around large puddles filled with shit, swarming flies and remnants of guterral spit and waded through people and a few livestock to find a small clean patch to wait out the rain. It poured for a few more minutes, and then let up. I took the opportunity to pop down to the Srinivas Iyengar Bakery, and get a "sandwich" (a piece of white bread, topped with an onion and chile saute). I topped it off with two small pieces of pastry. Grand total: 5 rupees; the perks of rural life. I stopped by the ISD/STD booth and made a call to Alan. The shop owner and a few others had to listen as I talked rapidly and boisterously in English for around 8 minutes. Grand total: 111 rupees. The phone call cleaned me out of the last rupees I had. (India to Kenya is not cheap.) After stopping at the ATM, I headed towards the side of the bus stand to find an auto.

I walked from the opposite direction to which the autos were parked. I glanced up and saw this boy, light skinned, pencil thin mustache probably about 18, who had passed me by on my walk Saturday afternoon. He had tried yesterday to give me a ride, to which I had declined, since I was on a walk, but he had driven away sticking his head out of his auto for about 30 meters. He saw me, his eyes got big and he grew terribly excited, telling me in Kannada that he could take me. I am not sure why, but I agreed, after ensuring that the price was 15 rupees to the training center. Immediately, the two men, probably in their late thirties who had been sitting in the back of his auto were forcefully asked to leave by way of some desperate hand gestures. Then the boy bellowed to his friend, the same young boy of 14 or 15, who had been with him the day before. He ran over from the next auto and hopped in the driver's seat. Then, the boy turned out some kind of music, as he revved up his auto. Again, the music was so loud, we could have held a block party. As we turned out out of the bus station, they yelled to another little boy, who initially jumped into the front, but I yelled that it was dangerous, and he came and sat on the other side of the auto. The young driver, kept using his mirror to look at me, while the other two younger boys stole shorter, slyer glances. The one who sat next to me seemed a lot less "street" (I just finished reading "on beauty") than the two up front.

The entire time, I laughed to myself, as I realized how much older I really was than these very young boys who were going through a critical stage in their lives: puberty. However, I also wanted to yell at them, and say "don't like at women like that! treat them with respect!" and many other cliched mom-like things. It was so odd, to sit there and observe how these boys act around women, especially different women. It explains the behaviors of their older brothers, fathers, uncles and grandfathers. However, I still cannot understand why men in these parts have not understood how to properly interact with women; they are more comfortable holding another man's hand, than they are standing next to a woman, let alone talk to her like she is a normal human being.

Anyway, we finally got Myrada and I gestured for him to stop the auto. I hopped out, gave the young driver two ten rupee notes and asked him if he had change. He looked at me confused. I repeated myself a few times, "changeeeee!" These two women who had walked by got involved, by explaining to me, in Kannada, that the ride was 25, and I told them that the boy told me 15. By this time, he had gotten out of the car, and came around to the other side, as to act as an intimidating force. I looked at his lying face, told him sorry, and walked through the Myrada gates, as he called after me "Madame!" I left him standing there with two ten rupee notes, still five too many. I think that on top of the western woman, there was also "rich" woman, somewhere swirling through his woman-crazed mind.

I know that at this point, some of my male Indian friends (if they are reading) are standing in staunch protest of such a characterization of men in this society, but I really do think there is a lot of repressed sexual tension that is really never released due to the insistence on tradition. Men seem to be mesmerized by images of women in tight, minimal outfits, singing and dancing in a film. However, many of these same men, believe a woman and his daughter's should behave and dress in a certain way, and any dalliance with Western culture, is immoral. I think there is a tension in this society, part of India is moving so fast, towards this very Western ideal of modernity, tight jeans, short skirts and opulence of all kinds. At the same time, there are so many whose feet are rooted to the traditional ground. They cannot reconcile that there needs to be some balance between the crazy notions of Western life and the traditions and culture that make up India.

In the mean time, some men will continue to be perpetually prepubescent ....

(Traveler note: I should mention that while recharging your phone is a real convenience, if you are out of state, the Indian phone system really fails you, because they charge exorbitant rates. Find a friend, who can help you get a new sim card for the new state, otherwise, just try to use an isd phone booth for long distance. I hate all the top up/ validity garbage. I like the good ol' American phone system where I can talk anywhere in the US for a flat rate. :p)

2007-07-08T02:38:00.001-07:00

interviews take one

My first week of interviews is complete. We interviewed about thirty women, starting with 12 on the first day. The first few interviews were clumsy, confusing and long. It did not help that half of Myrada was sitting in the room, which made it seem more like interrogation than just a simple interview. Of course the training director who had berated me for being late a day earlier, showed up three hours late, only to interrupt and then proceed to take over the second interview. He treats the women so badly, it embarasses me to be in his company. However, these women are either not aware of it, or realize that they cannot do much to change things (I'm not sure which is worse).

He talks down to everyone, and is typical bougie Indian yelling from his desk for everything from dialing a number to a cup of tea. Moreover, when he sees me, he talks to me like I am a child. This lasted about 2 hours before I got really angry and came out guns a blazing the day after I was ill. I laid out my requests, was curt, direct and used such a strong voice that suddenly he was at least paying attention. I have to give him another dose of "American bitch-in yo face don't mess with me because i'm meaner than i look" tomorrow because instead of telling ME (the person in charge of the research) about who was accompanying us to villages, he found it easier to tell my translator, Vijay ( a man). Grrrrrr.

In any case, the first day ended with a really great interview. I got to interview, Janakamma, a really wonderful woman, about 35 years old. She lives with her four children, her husband and her aging parents. At first, I think her family was really skeptical of me (as most people are) but soon after we both warmed up to one another, and I had a really wonderful time. She is one of those women you can't forget because she inspires something in you. Her four children are really sweet, especially her 13 year old daughter, whose birthday it was. (I think I was way more excited than the little girl was!) We sat on the floor with the family in her living room (most other interviews happened at the Myrada RC buildings) and talked through the interview like it was a regular conversation. She had really detailed answers and was really willing to explain things to me. I even got to ask her mom some questions. She wants to send her children all for higher education. At present, she works in her own family shop and also acts as a bookkeeper for several other SHGs, since she unlike most of the women I have met, has attended school till SLC (10th grade) level. (Her mom, when I asked, mentioned that she wanted to send her daughter to school because she had not gotten the opportunity to complete because of marrying so early and having children etc.)

This interview was in stark contrast to the women I spoke with yesterday morning who basically contested the purpose of having a female child study beyond the seventh grade. The woman, about 35 years old, answered forcefully when I asked why girls shouldn't be sent to school. "There isn't any point! Besides its not safe to send them to school far away." I probed some more and she explained that girls "will go to thier husband's homes, its up to thier husbands to decide whether the women will leave the home. " This particular group of women were all of the Muslim community. From what Rafi has told me, a significant majority of Muslim families throughout this area do not allow young women to leave the home after a certain age. Married women are more likely to have a chance to leave their home to work, but single women, are pretty much banned beyond a certain age. (Also, a lot of women around this area wear the full hijab, I was surprised both at the size of the Muslim community and how traditional some of them are.)

I did meet two Muslim women on Friday, whose children had studied beyond 7th grade and actually mentioned that they would like to see thier grandchildren seek higher education. (These women were however, in the town and not in the rural villages, I am wondering if this makes a difference.)

I was surprised to know how many women had never even gotten to attend school. I expected this from the women who were 40+, but was surprised to find that most of the younger women, many of which are around my age (25-35 years old) have never even attended school.

However, when we ask the "future plans" question, more often than not, people will hope for the higher education for thier children/grandchildren (where relevant). Most of them link education to improved economic status through way of "better jobs" especially government jobs, which have good pay and benefits.

It is hard to make a deep connection with the women, because I spend so little time with them. Many of them, from what I understand actually think that I am a white woman from America, and not an Indian from America. Most of the time, the translator gives a short explanation of why I am there, but many are skeptical as to why I would bother. (not all, but especially in the poorer villages, they are very skeptical.) Moreover, many of them, when I ask "do you have questions for me?" will respond that they wish I would contribute to the sangha. To which I have to politely respond (through the translator) "I'm sorry but I am just a student etc."

Finally, it is interesting how people react to me, even when I am decked out (each day) in a salvar kameeze (tunic and baggy pants that make up traditional indian wear). The children in villages and pretty much everyone else (men and women alike) will come to wherever we are interviewing and just watch me and when I look over and smile at the children, they giggle and act really shy. The whole thing is really interesting, becuase they really do view me as a complete stranger.

more later. i think i will leave the internet cafe, three hours of broadband is enough even for this internet junkie:) and head back to do some results...

also, (it aint over till i sing!) i have to say that while i was initially lonely, having some books and music has really had a great effect... i wish i could interact with the community more in the evenings... but unless i drag my translator to each village after work hours and ask him to help me talk to people, i am basically in a silent world...bc kannada is still quite foreign (even though there are some cognates with tamil). i am really awaiting my short field study period in tamil nadu, because at least then i will be able to talk to people....

lastly i hate being on other people's time.... i want to do things when i want to..but i have to wake up eat breakfast at the same time, and dinner etc.. its sooooooooo bizarre!

okay ... i think this was more venting than an informative blog post :) more adventures to come!!!!

(to my readership...thank you) readership = akka! :)

2007-07-08T00:44:00.000-07:00

July 1, 2007

Breakdown I had a break down today, I was feeling really ill, had palpitations and the impending doom of an anxiety attack and suddenly felt really helpless. I have heard from different people that this happens when you go away for a while, especially when you are away from familiar things. I knew it, and it still shocked me, as I sat weeping in front of my laptop for no apparent reason. I think I was just tired, having traveled back to Bangalore just to check e-mail and fill out loan applications and buy some books. I just did not know how to get back on the bus and it was a good thing - I ended up getting really sick later that night, likely due to the random places that I had eaten at over the weekend.

I am still quite ill, but after a much-needed talk with my sister, I am feeling better, at least mentally. Physically, I am exhausted, I have lost probably 5 to 7 pounds over the last week and I feel more sapped of energy than I have in a while. The 5 hour journey back to Chitradurga did not help this feeling. I took this picture on the bus back this morning.

At first, I was afraid to admit, so publicly, that I broke down. Then I realized that maybe (just maybe) I am not the only one who feels just a bit lonely, when you are the only one who speaks the language and are far away from everything even a proper phone connection. I have been okay for more than a month now, but I realized that the isolation of my field site coupled with an environment that is not necessarily welcoming (literally - see previous post on bugs), has just weighed a lot more heavily on me than I had ever expected.

to top it off, my first day of fieldwork was a disaster... i got here late, was late to meet the SHG members who had come from villages all over, and had some kind of stomach virus. All in all, it was a terrible way to start my work, but hopefully I will come through it and make this project a success.

Also, it did not help that the training director of the NGO is so overbearing and insensitive and did practically everything but accuse me of lying about being sick. He started treating me differently as soon as Doug (my RA) left. Its so interesting to me how some of the Indian men here, treat me like I am some sort of child that they can boss around and disrespect unless there is a Westerner present. I am finding more and more how deep-rooted thier vision of women is, at least in more rural parts of the country. I felt it a lot more since I have come to this rural pat of Karnataka, because before this, gender roles did not seem so pronounced.

hampi

2007-07-03T00:56:00.001-07:00

June 30, 2007

We traveled to Hampi today. Hampi is a town that has the last major empire in the South. It was a beautiful day and it was an amazing place. The Dravidian architecture was so detailed and so unique.

Here are some pictures:

One of the temple pillars on the left, Vittala palace on the right

We went to several different parts and then decided to have a quick lunch before heading to the last location, Vittala's Palace. We stopped at another "hotel" that literally frightened me. The sink had no running water, so we washed our hands with water that was meant for customers' drinking needs.

Vittala Palace was built I believe around 400 or 500 years ago, by the last series of reigning kings in South India. (I will update this with history, at the moment I really do not recall!) After looking around and taking pictures, a young boy approached Doug and asked him if he wanted a guided tour of Vittala Palace. We agreed to take a tour, for a price of 50 rupees. The boy led us around, shared some facts about the famed chariot that sits in the middle, the palace architecture and the musical pillars. (It is said that one can actually "play" the different pillars and that during the time it was built, dancers were commissioned to dance to the music played on the towers.)He showed us another part of the palace where pillars did still make music. (People are no longer allowed to use the pillars because the reverberations weaken the building.)

Then, he for some reason, shooed the others in our group away (we had gone with the couple who does the cooking at the cantene here on the Myrada campus and Rafi, one of the Myrada drivers.) He mumbled something in Kannada and decided to take us to the last part of the tour. He began by posing a question "why are so many poses in the kama sutra at the temple?" I had to bite my lip not to laugh outright. He continued, "You see, we don't have sex education in this country, not even in this day and age and so thats why parents would tell their children to go to the temple after marriage." "At the temple," he enlightened us, "they would see all of these kama sutra poses and think hmmm what is that?" He then went off in a direction that made me laugh uncontrollably for fifteen minutes, I just could not help myself, it was the funniest thing I had ever heard in a long time, told to me in a very interesting English. He pondered, "What would a man do if his wife did not want to have s*x?" He responded, "He needs to make her feel nice." He gestured to a carving on one side of the wall, that indicated just that. I couldn't believe it, I had never really looked at a temple in that way, and then there was this 20 year old man, who did not know anything about anything animatedly telling us about the kama sutra. I cannot fully recount everything he said here, because it does go into some unnecessary detail, ending in some knowledge about how monkeys conduct themselves. (See me for the complete story when I get back in late August.) .... I really wish I had turned on my digital voice recorder. It was so funny, and the fact that this boy was speaking in this accent, made it all the funnier, especially when he kept using the phrase "pregnancy positive." Except it came out more like "prug nooon ceee po zeezz tivvv." .

(Frampi/Joe - you guys would have really thought this was funny...I am being presumptuous and assuming you both are excitedly reading each bit of my blog hehee.)

I really did laugh though :) ....

ps. I suspect that non-western tourists don't get the "kama sutra" section of the tour... just a thought

first SHG meeting

2007-06-28T00:07:00.000-07:00

We visited a self-help group meeting in a nearby village. We got out of a truck and entered a dimly lit temple, where about ten or so women were seated against a wall. Without warning, they burst into a religious song. Looking over at the windows, we saw that a crowd of men and children had gathered in either of the square glassless windows at the temple. Doug and I were told that it was because we were visiting, that such a crowd had gathered. The group we were visiting has been together for sixteen years.

The members each introduced themselves and any relevant title. We learned earlier that day that the leader(s) of the group are only known as representative and do not have titles like “president” etc., so that there is no contention amongst the group. We also introduced ourselves, and where we were from. (It's really interesting they always introduce me as "Veena Madame.")

The meeting progressed, as each woman came forward with her loan repayment and savings contribution. One woman explained how they always seat themselves in order of their passbook number. They also explained how the elected chairperson of the meeting is the one who collects the money and mediates the meeting. They use their passbook numbers as an indication of who will be each week’s chairperson. They also mentioned that 2-3 people are trained to write the books and keep records to ensure that if there are absences, that records are accurately recorded.

There are fees associated with not contributing a savings or loan payment; 20 rupees for loans, 5 rupees for savings. The interest rate on loans is 24 percent. This, we were told is common for most mature SHG groups. Including a loan from Sanghamithra (Myrada’s MFI group-lending arm) the group has taken nearly 4 lakhs.

We also came to know that they had some small business ventures as a group. First, they purchased large cooking vessels by taking a bank loan of 13,000 rupees. Now, they are able to rent out the vessels to anyone in their village for special occasions like weddings. The group member who maintains these vessels also receives 20 rupees a month. The group also purchased 10 rams that was raised by one member, who received 25% of the cost after the rams were raised and sold to other people. The group got the other 75%. I felt that this group was really enterprising and seemed to be very cohesive.

In addition, they have contributed to the building of a temple and

We then talked with the women about their loan usage. The pattern of loan usage seems to generally follow a pattern of “consumption, production and asset creation,” according to Myrada officials. Loans were taken out for "bore wells, petty shops, house repairs, fencing, horticulture, mangos, seeds/fertilizer, sewing machines, cows, bullocks, flower businesses and irrigation." Most of the dropouts from the group are due to migration and marriage, not the reasons that we had initially expected like bad group dynamic etc.

Finally, the women managed to band together to get rid of an arekka (alcohol) shop in the village. They banded together to contribute the 7000 rupees that the alcohol shop was paying for the funding of a local temple.

Okay more on this stuff later.

It's a bug's life

2007-06-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

Well after meeting with Myrada on Monday, we decided we would head up to Chitradurga on Tuesday morning. Tuesday, we got everything together, purchased bus tickets in advance and made our way to the bus station. En route we stopped to get coffee which took longer than it should have (while Cafe Coffee Day has a similar menu to Starbucks, they have not quite mastered the efficiency that comes along with receiving a cafe mocha in under 2 minutes). Suddenly we were rushed to take an auto towards the Magestic Bus Station, which was a 30 minute ride away. We hopped in an auto and he slowly made his way to the bus station. When we got there, we had five minutes before our bus. We got to platform 1 and asked someone if they knew which of the buses was embarking for Chitradurga, he gestured that we had to go back to platform three. We found the conductor yelling "durga durga durga!" and hopped on the bus. About ten or fifteen minutes later when we presented our ticket, the bus conductor laughed, " this is the karnataka state transport (KST) you have to buy a ticket for this bus."

Traveler's note: while the bus system in Karnataka is thorough, it is really confusing as to which bus you are taking; the type, the time, the route. You could have a volvo option (which I know now means a private A/C bus) or you could take the KST bus, which usually has more stops and as I was told many times "no reclining seats!"

Well instead of starting over, we stayed on our existing bus and rode for almost five hours until we reached Chitradurga Station. We then took an auto and met our contact at the Myrada office, Mr. Vijay Kumar. He was really enthusiastic and walked us through the general framework of Myrada's SHGs (self help groups). Something interesting we learned was about the way in which federations (organized groups of SHGs) and RC's (resource centers) interact and allow Myrada to have an "invisible" hand in the SHG work. After about an hour, we hopped in a jeep, driven by Rafiq (also known as Rafi), and headed to dinner at a hotel. (Travelers note: In India, eating at a hotel is actually eating at a restaurant or possibly a hotel with restaurant attached.) I had a sweet corn soup and aloo gobi and naan. (I only wrote this here to show how vivid my memory has become since I got to India!)

In any case, after making a quick stop at Mr. Kumar's house for his travel pack and at Rafi's to drop him home, we headed towards Holalkere, which is where the Myrada training center was located. We arrived and were greeted by two or three men who helped us take our bags to our cottages. I opened the door to my room and was met with a scene from "It's a Bug's Life." There were flying beetles, mosquitos, and giant spiders with the longest legs I had ever seen in every corner of the room. I immediately had a panic attack and did not know what to do, I had never felt so overwhelmed by such tiny things! I ran over to Doug's room and rapped on the door frantically, "Is your room filled with bugs!?" He was happily sitting on his bed and laughed "they don't seem to bother me." Upon closer inspection, I could see that he did not have hardly as many bugs as I had in my room and the ones that were there did not seem to bother him. He said that he would trade with me, but I felt that if I was going to be scared of bugs, then there was not much hope for me over the next few weeks, because bugs (innocuous at that) were a lot less significant than some other things. I am proud to say I did not kill a single one. Instead, I talked out loud to the spiders, the pallis (small harmless lizards -- yes akka there are TONS!), beetles, and random bugs I had never even seen before. I got dressed, too scared to take a shower and jumped underneath my mosquito net, after making sure that the spots on my net were not moving. At first, I was frightened of sleeping, I could hear the beetles bumping into the wall, the flies whirring around and probably the pitter patter of a small palli's feet. The net thing I knew, it was 7:30am.

When I awoke the next morning, I continued my strange tradition. I began to check each corner of the rooms and speak out loud to the bugs. The worst was in the bathroom because the windows are not closed, there are just metal bars, so anything that can fit, can fly in and out. I kept an eye on each giant spider, each mosquito, everything as I cautiously filled my bucket with hot water and finished my bath.

When I returned later in the afternoon, I went to use the sink when I saw the BIGGEST cockroach I have ever seen in my life. I started throwing water on him and screaming at the top of my lungs. I felt like I was trapped in the corner and I could feel the spiders in the corners just laughing at me. I threw some more water at the cockroach and darted through the bathroom door and slammed it shut. My heart was beating fast and my face was flush, I yelled out loud "okay! you got me, I'm scared!"

The first few days on this campus were really rough; I was constantly talking out loud, trying to negotiate with bugs that don't actually respond or care and trying to slowly get myself to just relax and remember that nothing here, except the mosquitos were really interested in biting me. (Or so thats the line I was fed ;)... )

Ready, Set, No?

2007-06-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Getting to my final project site here, in Holalkere, Karnataka has been an unexpected adventure. I thought I would get on a bus, then another bus and meet an NGO staff, and begin my research process. This was certainly not the case...

I finished packing Sunday afternoon and was just sitting and talking to Alan on skype until it was time to leave which was around 9:00pm. Once my RA, Doug, arrived, we hopped in an auto en route to Egmore rail station, where we had to catch our bus to Bangalore. After some confusion, we ended up on Kenneth Lane (the same road as the Pandian hotel) and found our way to where Parveen travels had a large luxury bus waiting. When we boarded the bus, the gentleman looked at our tickets and laughed, "you are on the wrong bus!" he said to us in a mix of Tamil and English. Upon closer examination of the tickets, we realized that the bus from Egmore departed at 8:45pm, but the bus from Royapeta only left at 10pm, going to Bangalore. I'm not exactly sure what happened next, but he allowed us to stay on the bus, and we began to leave Chennai. There were only a handful of others on the bus. In the meantime, our driver said he would radio the bus we were actually supposed to be on and mention to them, that we were on his bus.

About 30 minutes later, we arrived at another bus station and were asked to get our belongings and jump on another bus. Like everything else in India, the people there seem to have a sense of how to take care of things, even when you don't think there is anything to be done. We boarded the other bus, which was meant for Bangalore. I still don't know whether this was the bus we were meant to get on originally, or if he finagled two seats on another bus, what I did know was that we were finally on the way to Bangalore. (Side note, people here like to help tourists, to the point of extremely bossy behavior.)

I luckily got a seat next to one of the few women on board, and Doug was diagonally across the aisle sitting next to a man, who was really restless throughout the course of the ride. The bus was not bad at all, it allowed passengers to fully recline and even provided a warm blanket and a bottle of water. Unfortunately for me, I was paranoid about luggage on a bus, after hearing one too many horror stories from the other interns. As a result, I had Louie's bag underneath my feet. This resulted in minimal leg room for me, and even though I eventually fell asleep, I kept waking up because my legs were cramped.

I woke up at around 3:30, to find that the woman seated next to me, Smriti, was getting off the bus. I fell back asleep, until I heard a loud voice yelling for everyone to get off the bus. "Last stop!" he cried in Tamil (I think). I looked outside and realized that we had been dropped off in the middle of a lonely street at 4 in the morning. Doug and I gathered our things and unsuccessfully bargained with an auto driver, who finally offered to take us to our hotel in Koramangala (Bangalore) for the moderate price of 170 rupees. (Note to travelers - after 9:30pm, Bangalore auto drivers are legally able to charge twice the fare price. In addition, they seem to think that this also implies that they do not have to put on their meter during late-night fares... I am so glad NYC taxi drivers do not have such rules.)

In any case, our driver dropped us off in a neighborhood close to Forum Mall, where the IFMR Bangalore office/apartment is located. We went through a small front gate, around back and climbed three short flights of stairs till we got to the door of the office. We tried to open one of the windows, because another IFMR associate had mentioned that they would leave the key in the window. However, there was no key to be found. We were SOL.

At this moment, I was exhausted and starving because I had not eaten anything since 2pm that day, in fear of having to use a bathroom en route to Bangalore. Doug called this interesting toll-free Indian number (8888888), "get it now" which allowed you to call and get phone numbers for virtually anything. It started sending him information on hotels in the area. We called one place and they said they had a double room available for check-in. We lugged our stuff to the main road and waited until patiently until we got an auto, who informed us it would be another 150 rupees to our new destination. The roads were eerily empty because of the late hour. We began to drive to a part of town that had awful roads and limited street lights. As we drove, we happened to come upon a parking lot where vegetable vendors were bargaining with suppliers. There were several wooden hand-drawn carts and men dressed in dhothis lining the streets. Our auto maneuvered through trucks and the wooden carts and finally got us to the neighborhood where our hotel was.

We got a little lost, but eventually found a hotel, deep in a very bizarre part of the city, on a corner. Doug stepped out of the auto and approached the front door of the hotel. After a minute or so, the door opened by a very sleepy-looking security guard and a bemused desk attendant, who was young but balding. Doug and I gave each other a sidelong glance and he mumbled to me, whether this was a good idea. He suggested we look at the room, so the desk attendant bellowed. Suddenly, what I thought was a sheet on the floor, sprang up from the floor - it was the "bell boy." I was startled, but pretended that it was completely normal as he led us into the elevator, that promptly began to play some interesting light jazz. He opened the door to one room, which was okay, but for the fact that that it needed to be cleaned. We took the jazz elevator back down and spoke to the manager and let him know that there was other rooms available. He began to explain that no rooms were available until 7 or 8 am. As he continued his explanation, that was largely directed towards Doug, I glanced over to the small lobby area, when out of nowhere, a giant animal ran across the floor at top speed. Halfway through its journey across the lobby, I realized it was a giant rat. I gasped loudly, and looked at Doug with eyes bulging out of my head due to fear. The hotel manager simply laughed, like a small puppy had run through the lobby. My heart was beating so quickly, and I immediately began to scan the room for any other rodents.

At that moment, Doug happened to get another phone call, while I spoke with the hotel manager who assured me that his other "sister" hotel would have other rooms. He said that because of some convention that we should stay in their neighborhood. I politely listened as Doug spoke on the phone and waited, till he mentioned that he found rooms elsewhere. He asked me if we should try and go to the other place, that he found back in Koramangala. I sighed relief, and agreed with him. We walked back to the main road till we found another auto driver, who was kind enough to take us again for 150 rupees back to where we were. (ha!) By this time, the sun had come up, and more cars had taken to the road. We arrived on a small residential street, across from Jyothi Bakery. A gentleman, who also seemed to have just woken up, led us to the room. I walked in and immediately, I was at peace - the room was clean, no rats in site. I promptly passed out.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, just checked into the IFMR office, did some work from there and made a necessary trip to Cafe Coffee Day. (Sort of an Indian starbucks that also happens to serve chicken tikka sandwiches among others.)

In the evening, I took an auto to Wilson Garden where I spent two wonderful hours with Shantha Mami who had made a lovely dinner of poori masal, yogurt rice and so many wonderful varieties of mango pickles. I felt like I was home. I later visited Mani Uncle's home and saw Chitra Aunty and Veda and Surya and Mama. It was really nice to visit with them, even though it was brief. I will hopefully be able to see them before I leave Karnataka.

Later, they were worried about me going home so late, so I called Doug and asked if he could get me on his way back from dinner. When I got into the auto the driver promptly turned off the vehicle and decided that he wanted more money. He then got out of the car and proceeded to try and talk with random strangers to get them to translate his demands into English. Both people who walked by, a pizza delivery guy and a random neighbor mentioned that he was just hiking prices because we were tourists and that he should show us some respect and treat us like regular Bangalore people. He eventually settled at 30 rupees higher than agreed, and drove us back to the hotel. When we arrived, he apologized for his behavior. Oh auto-karan, you trouble me so! :)

ps. Happy Birthday Mom :)!

case of the mondays

2007-06-19T00:08:00.000-07:00

This might sound harsh, but I have to say it. I don't really like Chennai all that much at this moment in time. Most people would attribute this to the pollution and dirty streets but I attribute it to auto drivers. I have had so many bad experiences with auto drivers in the last three weeks that they have really left a bad taste in my mouth. This morning my auto driver agreed to a rate of 40 rupees from Nungumbakkam to Fountain Plaza in Egmore. After we arrived, I asked him if he knew the address and he responded "we don't know things like addresses." Then he proceeded to tell me that I should give him 50 rupees because he had to come around the overpass to drop me off on the other side, to which I responded in Tamil "I didn't plan the traffic, we agreed to 40 rupees, take it or leave it." He asked if I was threatening to not give him any wages. He asked in Tamil again, "oh so you won't give me any money at all?" I responded "you can take it or leave it, this is what we agreed." I walked out of the taxi after shoving the money in his hand and said something along the lines of "You know I am not a complete idiot." He gave me a really dirty look and I glared at him right back. This irritation was exacerbated by the fact that I had a bad run-in with another auto driver, who gave me the fake 10 rupee note the day before. In addition, I was late to work and had absolutely no clue where I was.

I ended up walking up and down Pantheon Road for almost thirty minutes not knowing how to get to the Egmore office. (I had the address, but street numbers, street names and other such "conveniences" don't often exist in extremely urban parts of India.) I eventually bumped into Chitra, an intern at CDF and we again walked up and down, confused as to where this supposed 8 story building could be. Turns out the building isn't directly on Pantheon Road, and since there are no building numbers its almost impossible to know how to get places.

Eventually, I called Sybill and she had Jessica and John Paul help us figure out where to go. John Paul was so sweet, he came down from the office and met us at the children's museum right across from the office. I eventually cooled down, and after an hour or so around the other CMF interns in our very raucous conference room, I had forgotten about the incident.

The best part of the day was during lunchtime when a group of us went downstairs to the juice guy, and I got a fresh banana mango juice, squeezed fresh on the spot. The taste was fantastic, and the price, 20 rupees was definitely unbeatable. I proceeded to drink some version of a mango shake for the rest of the week.

training week 2

2007-06-18T23:48:00.000-07:00

Well this week of training, I felt was slightly gratuitous. There were some interesting speakers, but overall, I was not enthused to be sitting in a classroom non-stop for 8-12 hours a day. The material got a little repetitive and I think most of the interns were feeling antsy about really getting started on their projects.

We did still manage to make it a great week. I have to say (if I haven't already) that it is really nice to find like minded people who are also easy to get along with. I have really enjoyed getting to know all of the interns.

We had hindi movie night with pizza and beer during one evening. We watched Dilwale Dulhanya Le Jayenge (DDLJ for short). I am sure I butchered the spelling. According to one friend it was the coming of age film for Generation X. (Including some really hilarious scenes of a bunch of Indian people on the beach in very short, neon bathing wear.) We also managed to make it to Saravana Bhavan (a cheap but tasty eatery) near the Pandian at least twice in the same week.

A definite highlight of training was the visit to IIT, where we got to watch a demonstration of an ATM that has been designed for rural areas. It is smaller, lighter and cheaper. Moreover, the machine has biometric authentication (fingerprinting) so that users who cannot read can still utilize funding from the bank. Check out Jess' blog for more details...

Not too much to report, except that we all breathed a sigh of relief when training was over, we were all ready to get started...

you're not a hindu!

2007-06-17T05:04:00.000-07:00

On Sunday morning I awoke from a nice long sleep and got dressed to go to the temple. I met some people for breakfast and then we walked ten or so minutes through the ever-busy Madurai streets. Upon arriving at the temple, we took our shoes off and then walked across the extremely hot (ouch I can't step on the ground) pavement and made a beeline for the small shaded area along the side of the temple entrance. Once inside, we walked towards the ticket booth. There were at least a thousand people just in the main corridor. There were small wedding parties, all these men and women heavily garlanded surrounded by family and friends and I am assuming the rest were tourists from within India and abroad, because this was not the type of crowd you would want to traverse just to get a glimpse of the Meenakshi idol.

My friends, who were all from France thought it best for me to try and go into the temple alone since "non Hindus" are not allowed inside the main chamber. I made my way to the ticket booth to purchase one camera ticket for Edward and an admission ticket for me. The "line" was just a giant group of men, who were all fighting for a space at the window. Determined, I pushed past some of them and finally reached the window. As I was about to open my mouth, another man came right up next to my arm and started to ask and I yelled "This is a line!" My words fell on deaf ears, lines do not exist in India. I then proceeded to ask the ticket gentleman for a ticket and one camera pass. He mumbled something and threw my money back at me and then eventually wrote a camera ticket. I patiently asked him in Tamil "enna achu?" (what happened?) I was really confused as to what was going on. He again grunted something, gave me a dirty look and sent me packing. I realized, as I walked a few steps away, that he had only given me a camera ticket and not a Meenakshi temple ticket. I went back to the counter and asked again, "enna achu?". He again mumbled something indecipherable. This time, I got annoyed and began speaking in English. I asked again and finally realized that he didn't have change and wanted me to pay 15 rupees for the ticket with change. I said "thats all you had to say!" and under my breath I said "jesus" in frustration. From the back of the small office, a man yelled "Don't say Jesus, we are Hindus, we don't believe in Jesus." I, completely fiery at this point, yelled back that "I was raised to believe that we accepted all religions, thats the Hinduism I learned." To which this gentleman and the ticket man responded "you are no Hindu." I yelled back "I am too a Hindu, how dare you talk to me like that!" and stormed away from the window. I was completely taken aback, and really upset because I felt really insulted by their words, this was not the Hinduism I knew.

I eventually got in line and waited 15 or so minutes, until I finally got to the main area. (This temple sort of reminded me of a ride at great adventure.) As I finally got to see Madurai Meenakshi, a black statue set deep into the chamber, with glowing lights all around her, I was yelled at by the priest and Madurai Meenakshi's "bouncer" to "Go!" The gentleman who had been standing in front of me, had been kicked out because he had prayed too long and the families behind me were pushing, even the four year old children. The priest continued to yell at me so I yelled right back. (big surprise right?) I said to him " This is a place of god, you can't yell at people when they are praying!" I was really respectful and patient, but he just kept yelling for me to go. It was so frustrating, I ended up storming off and as I looked back he gave me the "yeah see thats how it is!" look.

Needless to say, I made a promise that the next time I went to a temple, it would be small and there would be no great adventure like line, because it really isn't worth it. After all, as I have been told many times, you don't need to go to a temple to pray or think about god - which is how I feel about it anyway. My overall impression is that the types of people who work at the temple and even attend the temple (aside from tourists) are mostly functional Hindus, they follow rules that are dictated to them by society, but they never question why things are the way they are. I suppose that this hinders thier ability to be tolerant of other religions/practices. (I would be interested to see what people think about this...)

Mahabillipuram

2007-06-16T00:22:00.000-07:00

Well after two weeks of training, the entire group was looking to get away and relax. (Oh I know I said we wanted to work, but come on!) :)... Some people headed up to Mahabillipuram on Friday night and others headed there Saturday..

I was in the saturday contingent. I left my hostel and caught an auto and met Jess and Nicole at the Pandian. We jumped in the same auto after shrewdly bargaining and made our way to the bus station.

Once we arrived, we settled at the Siva Guest House (which is a really cute little place in this small neighborhood that is rather chill and designed for tourists... its in the Lonely Planet for those of you who might visit!)

We then had breakfast at this little French/Indian place called "Le Yogi" which, is one of my favorite places...Ever! I got crepes with banana and nutella and a black tea... Their menu was just what I needed after 2 weeks of poori masal for breakfast.. (The restaurant is pictured at the right... it was so relaxing inside, just a fan and good music...everyone sitting on the floor or on small benches.)

We ended up doing a lot of really nice, relaxing things... Walked around, saw some of the sculptures that are now housed in this large park. Later, some of us took fishing boats out and went swimming in the ocean. (The waves kicked my a$$!) In the late evening, we had dinner.. some beers..and just hung out..it was great...

The next morning some of us walked along the beach for almost two hours and took pictures and talked. (Pictured below are Christian and Jessica. Right now I don't have time to adjust the HTML, so just pretend they are in a row instead of scattered randomly throughout.) We eventually made our way back to Le Yogi, where I had a lovely meal of meusli and mixed fruit (mmm!). Then four of us, Sybille, Christian, Jess and I took the city bus back to Chennai. It was really hectic to figure out how to get on the bus. (Traveler's note: auto drivers and everyone else will tell you to take an auto to the main road to increase the likelihood of catching a bus, but in fact, they do come right into the bus station area on the main road.) It was great, Christian and I sat on the steps of the bus in front of an open door pretty much the entire way. (I have some good video of the road, that I will eventually put on youtube.)

this weekend was a lot of fun..and super relaxing.. im glad we did this!

Back in chennai...

In the evening, we four met up for dinner at Vasantha Bhavan - easily my favorite place to eat in Chennai. Why? because theres this nice "uncle" who came over to our table and began chatting with us. Once he found out I spoke tamil, he was really excited and would try to enter our conversation to ask random little questions. We went back later that week and he is always so nice, asking questions, making sure had everything we needed. The bus boy started to call me "akka" (big sister) which is a nice way to demonstrate respect/affection. (What was funny about this man, and lots of people that we encounter is that if they know that I speak Tamil, they suddenly "cannot understand" the other people at the table, especially if they aren't Indian. Therefore, they will talk only to me and ask for "clarification" when others are ordering even if they said the EXACT same thing. Ie. Jessica says "I would like a MA SA LA CHAI" and the gentleman would look at me and say "enna chonna?" (what did she say?) and I would repeat verbatim "she would like MA SA LA CHAI" and suddenly the foggy expression would be a knowing smile "Oh of course!") hahaha..totally psychological. :)

a conversation

2007-06-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning we woke up and met downstairs in the hotel lobby by 9 am. The interns chatted as we waited for the RAs and organizers to trickle into the lobby. Eventually, we boarded two buses that had been provided by the Dhan Foundation, the NGO we were going to visit. We drove for about twenty five minutes until we got to a large compound. We got off the bus and walked through a large house-like building - it was one of those homes where there were indoor and outdoor spaces within the walls of the house. We we were led into a small room that had a few overhead fans and several folding chairs that lined the perimter. There was a large projection machine on a folding table in the front of the room. A man came in and greeted us and then launched into a long presentation about the Dhan Foundation and its many initiatives. We learned about the many departments and projects that were going on throughout the organization. After the first hour, the heat had finally gotten exhausting. We all sat in the room, sweating and waiting for the presentation to be over. The gentleman who gave the presentation was really informative, but he was just too detailed for our group.

Lunch finally came, and we all walked to another part of the compound where a large buffet style lunch had been prepared in large silver andas (big silver containers for food). We ate some vegetable korma, mixed rice, yogurt and potato chips. The highlight (for me) was the strawberry ice cream at the end of the meal. If you haven't had Indian ice cream, it has a wonderfully soft texture and is lightly flavored and is surprisingly not over-sweetened.(Korma, is not worth the trouble, in my opinion. however, i am convinced korma is some kind of madurai specialty because it kept popping up all weekend.)

After lunch we had two more hours of presentations around Dhan's microfinance program and the mechanics behind their SHG-linkage model. I had been convinced the day before that the Grameen style model was much better, but after talking with the field officer who presented, it seemed like the women had a lot more autonomy. Though, I can't say that I was listening too closely towards the end of the two hours, I was simply itching to get to the site visit and talk to the women.

Before we departed, we had a snack of fresh apples, hot masala tea, sweet lime juice and dried lentils. the sun was so hot above, so we all stood on the steps of the house extension and enjoyed the fresh fruit and juice.

finally, it was time to depart, and two groups boarded two minibuses and were driven off to different locations. our car drove for maybe twenty minutes and as we got closer to the village, the road got narrow and the homes and shops grew sparse. we were driving along the road when all of a sudden we heard loud, blaring religious music coming from somewhere. it was so loud that it felt like the sound was swimming through the bus. however, upon closer examination, we saw that there were large (old fashioned) loudspeakers hooked up to lamp-posts that were blaring the music. we finally parked the car and got out of the vehicle, only to land in another area of the neighborhood where the music was incomprehensibly loud. (this for many corroborated the theory that people here in India are less sensitive to loud sounds, the jury's still out for me.)

We followed Mr. Kartikeyan towards a small temple in the center of the village where we were instructed to take our shoes off. In the mean time, Mr. Karthikeyan (our representative from Dhan) tried to gather the women for their monthly meeting. As we waited, several children had come over to the temple. They were surprised when I spoke Tamil with them. Some of the kids were walking up to the other interns and asking them questions. There were three little girls Chitra, Kartikeya and Vijayalakshmi. (No, akka and krish, I did not take those names from one of dad's "kuti mohan" stories...)

They kept asking "what is that akka's name, what is that akka's name?" (they were referring to sybille, jessica, alison and nicole. They kept repeating the names out loud. The boys were asking Sybille for pictures. They were following all of the interns everywhere; they were really excited and happy. (For those of you who don't know, I love kids, and half or more of me would have been perfectly happy just sitting with the kids and asking them questions all afternoon.)

The women eventually gathered in what we later found out was the school house. we sat on one side while the meeting got under way, and the women sat in a large circle conducting their business on the other side. They had their accountant present, and he talked with the women as they each paid their loans and collected savings. While this transpired, the leader of the group, an older woman with curly white hair, big mouse-like eyes and weathered skin that was the color of pokkodam, came over to me and started chatting. She talked about how she had a yogurt business. She gestured by showing me how she would carry the yogurt all about the town, still on the top of her head. Then she gestured again, drawing her finger across her neck while she mumbled something I could not quite understand. I finally figured out that she was trying to tell me that her husband had died, and as a result, she had to work. Also, all of her sons had gotten married and left the village she lived in. She told me she was seventy years old and was tired of working everyday. (It was really nice to be able to have a one on one conversation with someone and just hear about their life. I suppose it was really a one to many conversation since I was trying my best to translate everything this lady told me to the entire group.) At one point during the conversation, she yelled at someone to go and do something. A few minutes later, she happily doled out "morru" (homemade buttermilk) from a large silver pot. She made all of us drink glass after glass and was not interested in taking no for an answer.

This lady reminded me just a little bit of my own grandmother. I'm not sure if it was her weathered hands, or her warmth, but I found myself really missing Lalithamma (my grandmother) during the course of this day. Meanwhile, the women in the group were going about their business, collecting money, doling out the savings and making sure the accountant recorded everything correctly. They were not at all phased by our presence in the corner of the school house.

When the meeting was over, we expanded our circle so that we could have a conversation with the women. Again, I found myself interpreting questions and remarks from the interns to the women. I also found that I still needed quite a bit of help from Mr. Karthikeyan, because there were lots of phrases and expressions I was not able to comprehend.

I explained who we were (graduate students) and why we were there ( to learn about their lives so we could help more people) and then began by asking questions. The initial questions were similar to those that I mentioned in previous posts, but our group had gotten quite creative since the day before. This time, we asked some colorful questions like "Do you think your husbands could do this?" The response was a resounding "NOoooooooooo!" Some women laughed, others rolled their eyes, the older woman made a fist with her four fingers and pointed her thumb towards her mouth, gesturing "drunken" behavior. I asked if alcohol was a big concern and some women murmured "yes mmm hmm." They also talked about how men just don't have the patience. Another woman told us "Oh, my husband doesn't have the patience to sit here, but he wants to know what happened at the meeting, who I fought with, who got to take home savings." Other women agreed that their husbands were interested in the details as well. Also what was really interesting was the fact that the majority of these women were in fact housewives, and did not use the loans from the SHG for small enterprises, as is commonly perceived.

This visit made me feel a lot closer to the women I was talking with. I think that all of the cmf interns that were there also were able to better relate to the women, since it was more of a large group discussion versus a Q/A session. There was a lot more laughter and participation from all of the women.

I found myself thinking a lot about Lalithamma. I kept thinking - "thank you!, thank you for insisting that i learn Tamil, because otherwise today would not have been possible." I don't think that my grandmother insisted on us learning Tamil thinking that one day I would come back to a village in India to talk with women not much different than herself, but she did insist it was important. On this day, it made a world of difference. This day showed me that there was a whole other world that I could explore because of the gift that my grandmother and my parents gave me.

I have always known Tamil because it was spoken in my house. However, since my grandmother passed eight years ago, there has been no reason to speak continually in Tamil. Instead, my parents and I weave in and out of a mix of tamil and english. Not until I arrived in Madurai and tried speaking with these women did I realize how much English is really mixed in with my Tamil. I had to fight to recall the words that I had otherwise never used it was so challenging, and I found myself leaning often on the NGO staff for helping me translate things. Lastly, on the linguistic front, it was really interesting to me, that the women could understand most of what I was saying, but I on the other hand, could not understand a significant amount of what they were saying because their dialect was so varied.

At the end of the discussion, I ended up meeting several women. They said so many wonderful things to me. One woman, whose name was coincidentally Subhalakshmi (my mom's name) said "romba sandosham" (rough translation: overwhelming happiness) about our visit to their village. i later met three other subhalakshmi's which was quite amazing, because I thought it was such a unique name! (I guess not in the motherland....)

Talking it over with the other cmf interns, it sounded like everyone that had come to the village had a really pleasant and worthwhile experience. It was nice to talk, to listen, to ask questions and to answer questions. It was nice to tell the women about where we were from (france, germany, switzerland, united states, mexico) and see their faces full of excitement.

At the end, my little grandma-like friend insisted I give her my phone number. I didn't have an India number to give at the time, so I gave them my name and e-mail instead. After writing it down another woman slowly voiced "veena vasudevan CO lum bee ya yoou nee versity." I asked her if she spoke English, she said she learned in school, they all had. It made so much more sense as to why they could understand things I had said when I could not come up with a Tamil translation.

Finally, after shaking hands and taking pictures and saying goodbye, we were getting back on the bus. As I walked out of the schoolhouse, the old lady wanted to show me something. Everyone else was nearing the minibus, but she insisted I follow her. Sybille and I watched as she took a key on her hip and unlocked the front door to a small house, right in the village center. There was a small television, in the front room and a fan blowing a big pot of cooling milk; she was making thyrru (curd or yogurt). She had not wanted us to leave without showing us what she did every day. I was very touched that she wanted to share this with us.

We eventually said good bye, and waived to all the kids and women as our bus traveled back down the dirt road and into the blaring Tamil music.

Here is a picture of our group (including our guide and driver) on the steps of Hotel Supreme after returning from our visit.

patience

2007-06-13T05:42:00.000-07:00

on friday night, we got back from our first site visit and some of us decided to meet downstairs to go check out the much talked about "madurai meenakshi cotton market." many people had mentioned how tailors located close by to the temple could replicate anything you gave them. (When I heard this, I imagined a quiet dirt path on the way to the temple that housed a wall of cotton, blowing in the wind. there would be several tailors, dressed in white shirts and pants (like men of my grandfather's time) ready to take measurements and sew beautiful outfits on their sewing machines that shined in the sun.) Sadly, this fantasy only held true in my head.

In any case, about ten of us decided to start walking from the Hotel Supreme to the Meenakshi Temple (where the cotton market was located). The streets of Madurai are packed with people, cars and animals. (I know, technically I described all of India.) However, the drivers are even more erratic and the streets are significantly more narrow. I imagine that the Madurai city planners did not intend for the masses of people that come on a daily basis to the temple. As we came to the first major intersection, most of the group was able to cross, but three of us got left behind because of a crazy motorcycle driver who nearly took of a few of my toes.

On our way, a gentleman randomly started chatting with us and then insisted that we go and see the golden view of the temple. He kept talking about how the tickets were free and that he didn't want any money, his dad worked for the temple and he was just promoting it because the view was just so beautiful. this scheme was presented to us all three days of our visit. we realized after a minute or so, that this man was entirely too excited about the temple view and was probably trying to make a few extra rupees.

anyway, we eventually made our way towards the meenakshi temple and then onto a road that paralleled it, lined with several street vendors. I asked a gentleman in the street if he knew where the cotton market was. He decided that he would lead me to a store that was not the cotton market, but instead, it was his boutique. He, like the other man, had noticed our group of tourists and decided to coerce us into buying things at his shop. I said that we were looking for the big cotton market and eventually the three of us found our way, to a big sprawling semi-outdoor bazaar. It was a lot more chaotic than I had envisioned and definitely less peaceful. (see first paragraph) I traversed the long aisles, that were lined with several tailors, small clothing shops and other knick knacks. The tailors, were mostly dressed in undershirts and dhothis (cloth that men in india wear fastened around the waist), sewing on their old steel machines. From every small booth people called "madam! sir! very nice cloth madam ...." It went on like that throughout the market. I had initially been excited about getting something made, but it was so chaotic and there were so many people trying to sell us stuff, so i eventually just lost interest.

it was definitely an interesting culture shock - i was having a much harder time dealing with all of the vendors and random people in the streets trying to become friend with us. my friends, on the other hand, who have traveled more than me were were used to being pestered by shopkeepers and the like and took things in stride. (Advice to anyone who comes to Madurai or any real touristy place in India, the situation is completely within your control, just as long as you realize that the people there are doing their job, you just have to keep up the bargain by doing yours....)

I am still learning that lesson..

site visits in madurai

2007-06-12T10:19:00.000-07:00

Our first site visit was with an organization called Mahasemam Trust which is a microfinance organization headquartered in Madurai. When we arrived at their main office, Mahasemam's fundraising lead gave us an overview of their activities and initiatives. We learned that they recently converted from a self-help group model to a Grameen-group model, which has increased their repayment rates. Mahasemam also provides health insurance, access to hospitals as well as new initiatives in housing, infrastructure and sanitation. Once the general presentation was over, we were split into groups and driven to one of the central Madurai offices. We got a presentation on their new housing program and also got to see the organization's record keeping materials. We were shown large journals, receipt books and even the small passbooks that women used to track their loan repayments. Afterwards, a gentleman gave us a presentation on their housing initiative. They have built around 200 houses, that members of Mahasemam are then able to purchase. It seems like a really great opportunity for their members, especially those who have not yet had an opportunity to own their own home.

after the housing presentation we ate lunch and then we climbed back into our mini-buses and headed off to separate sites. our bus ended up at a local field office where several loan officers were working. the office was located in a semi-urban neighborhood and we were told that this office was around 10 kilometers from all of the groups. as we walked off the bus into the office, we saw a group of women, who we assumed were loan recipients. i was hoping that we would get to speak with these women at some point during the afternoon. we were shown to a room upstairs and as we walked into the second floor space several of the loan officers sprung into action to find seats for our large group of fifteen people. after a few minutes of sitting and waiting expectantly for what was going to happen next, mike, one of the interns, decided that it might be a good idea to try and chat with the women we had seen earlier. so, we asked the branch manager if it would be acceptable to chat with the women who we had seen and he obliged.

A small group of us walked downstairs as the branch manager bellowed to the women that were still around and asked where the rest of the women had gone. In a few minutes, the women, which were a group of 10 or so women, gathered at the steps of the branch office. the branch manager, in tamil explained that we were interested in asking the women some questions and asked if they would participate; the women agreed. I'm not sure how it all started, but i somehow found myself in the middle of a conversation with this group of women using my limited tamil. My fellow interns had several questions, as did i, so with the help of the branch manager, we were somehow able to have a conversation with these women. It was the first time I had ever acted as any kind of interpreter. it was also the first time i was forced to reach for words that I had only heard in passing by my parents or grandmother, but never included them in my own vocabulary. moreover, I was trying very hard to engage with the women but also was trying to ensure that all of the non-Tamil speakers were able to participate in the conversation as well. It was a really challenging but exhilarating situation.

The women, we eventually found out, were actually their to get their yearly loan disbursement, so we caught them on the right day. We asked them a lot of questions "is your life better after joining a group? what do you use the money for? have you utilized the health clinics? how many of you have children? how many of them are in school? what type of work do you do? do your husbands work?" and so on...

in general, it seems like having loans make life a little easier for the women. they said that they do utilize the health clinics and that they use the money for their home businesses and consumption smoothing. All of them had two children (at least), of which school-aged children were attending. Finally, the women did a range of work including sewing to making and selling pappadam (a crunchy south indian snack).

The best part about this exchange was that it was a very informal, conversational interaction. They were joking around and telling little stories and laughing a lot, which put everyone at ease. At one point, I had said something like "thanks so much for taking the time out of your day to talk with us." The one woman, who was the leader of the group and also quite a personality responded by saying something along the lines of "listen, i don't mind taking a break, we all don't mind stopping work, but we do mind if something cuts into our lunchtime." She proceeded to put her hand on her stomach and the entire group laughed. It clearly loses something in the language/social context translation, but nonetheless it was hilarious and a good ice breaking moment. (The woman I am referring to is the woman in the blue sari standing in the front left.)

A side note, this was the first of several exchanges where I went back and forth between the group of women and group of interns and a more authoritative figure, in this case, the branch manager, who often was translating my tamil into tamil that the women would understand. so it was sort of like cmf interns -> veena, veena -> branch manager, branch manager -> ladies, when my vocabulary just didn't include the tamil words necessary.

The women eventually left to get their loans and more importantly to get lunch :) Our group boarded a bus that dropped us off in another semi-urban neighborhood, where we were going to observe one of the monthly group meetings. We disembarked from the bus onto a street that was lined on both sides by houses and small shops. The neighborhood seemed The women were sitting facing the opposite direction. From the bus we could see that they were sitting in rows of five with their group members. All of the women had their Mahasemam sari on. The branch manager somehow decided that I would be the official interpreter for the day, and after the song was played and the meeting had come to a close, he asked me to begin the interview.

I began asking a similar set of questions, but this time the dynamic between the interns and the women was a lot more formal. They were sitting in rows, almost like it was school and listening to my questions and statements, but not really engaging in a conversation with me. The women said many of the similar things... "life was better, they appreciate Mahasemam..." and so on. However, it was a lot more difficult to have a conversation because of the environment. I will add pictures to demonstrate. I didn't feel right taking pictures at this place because I didn't have an opportunity to get to know the woman.

I should also mention at this point that the children and other people who were not involved in the group meeting had come out of their homes to observe what was transpiring in the street below. the little kids were walking by fascinated at all the different people sitting in their neighborhood. After the meeting, women came to talk to us, one woman asked me to tea, another asked if I could help her son find a job. I was sort of taken aback at the amount of responsibility or faith they had in me after talking with me for ten minutes.

We eventually left these women and got back on the bus and drove another fifteen minutes to another neighborhood. we found out later that the women had already conducted their meeting and had been waiting for us to show up. we walked down a road that had significantly dilapidated homes, piles of bricks and trash in the road. When we got off the bus, several of the children in the village began running towards us. They followed us as we walked with the branch manager to the site of the next group meeting. They were talking to all of the interns, practicing their English and asking all kinds of questions. Some of them were shy, some of them were bold, some of them were giggling every time we would respond to questions. We turned the corner and made our way down one more small path to a little clearing by a seemingly polluted pond, where another group of women sat waiting for us. These women did not have matching saris, and were a lot more boisterous; they were joking and laughing a lot more.

After the branch manage explained why we were there, he turned the "stage" over to me. At this point, we had been on our feet for hours, and everyone was tired. However, no one wanted to leave without making an effort to talk with these women. I asked a similar set of questions that I asked the first group of women. They responded in some similar ways. However, unlike the first group of women, these women were not running joint businesses. Most of them were involved in their own businesses. They seemed to be much bolder than the previous group and I think had more issues with microfinance because towards the end, the group leader seemed to be in a heated discussion about how she wish Mahasemam would provide more educational loans so the kids in the village had an opportunity to go to college. While they do provide educational loans, each loan cannot exceed 3000 rupees per school year and they can utilize this for up to two children. However, there are currently no opportunities for these women to use these loans for larger more long -term consumption like college.

as we left this group meeting, the women and children all came to shake my hand. at that moment, i felt so touched by everyone around me. i smiled at everyone, asked "eppidi irrikail" (how are you) to all of the people as I passed their homes and walked towards the bus. I was overwhelmed again, by the kids' enthusiasm, the warmth of the community and the patience of the group members, who had waited more than an hour for us to arrive.

as we got back on the bus, i sunk into the back row, covered in sweat and dust. i was happy, i was just where i wanted to be...

to madurai we go

2007-06-12T09:38:00.000-07:00

as my last post left off, we were just getting ready to walk to the train station... a group of about twenty interns and RAs (research assistants) made our way to the chennai train station, which was just around the corner. we entered the through construction and droves of people and finally reached platform 4, where our train was waiting. i have to say that i was pretty nervous about 3rd class A/C, as it did not sound all that enticing. The only trains I have taken at home are local commuter trains and there was no such thing as third class. i later found out that 3rd class a/c could not have been nearly as bad as 8th class, which is how many there were on this particular train!

we got onto the train and it wasn't that bad at all. since we had such a large group, we fumbled around until everyone found a seat. the ticketing system in 3rd class isn't the greatest... you have a reserved spot, but you can't get an entire cabin area to yourself, so you will have 4 seats, and the other 3 or 4 might belong to complete strangers. it was funnier because we were a big group of foreigners... loud foreigners...

i ended up leaving the area where my backpack was parked and moved over to where more friends were and chatted with them for quite a while. at some point during the ride, we got shushed by the conductor and looked around to realize that most people around us had laid out their sheets and pillows and were ready for bed. indian trains do provide sheets, pillows and blankets for all of the a/c sleeper classes from what i understand.

for more information on the indian train system see this site: http://travelindependent.info/india_trains.htm (thanks jude!)

since none of us was interested in sleeping, we moved out into the cramped hallway where the bathrooms and sinks were located to chat. we carried on like this for almost a half hour. finally, the train staff got frustrated and asked us to move. we moved further into the train "hallway" until we found the repository for sheets and pillows. We sat by an open door chatting and watching the late night Tamil Nadu country side pass by. Eventually, the train staff tired of our presence in this area as well, and we all dispersed to go to bed. I made up the bottom row of the bunk with a sheet, threw on a sweatshirt and socks and laid down on with my hand bag just beyond my below. I was rather uncomfortable as the pillow I requested turned out to be a folded sheet in a small pillowcase. I'm not sure what it was, the steady hum of the train, the constant jostling of the train car, but I fell asleep. I woke up a few times to bravely defend my bag, but no one seemed interested in stealing my copy of freakonomics and set of energel pens.

I woke up around 6:30 the next morning to lots of activity. Some people were brushing their teeth, others were grabbing a coffee, while others were packing up items that they had used for their journey. I was afraid to use the train bathroom so many hours after I had boarded, but it was surprisingly clean. (My suggestion is to stick to the Indian toilet, much more sanitary and lower instance of germs.) Either way, travelers should make sure to take anti-bacterial hand gel or spray, because soap is not always available in public toilets.

I stood by the open doors and looked out at the Tamil Nadu country side, as we approached Madurai with 30 minutes to go. The scene was spectacular: palm trees, mountains in the distance, rice paddy fields all glistening under a golden warm sun. We finally pulled into Madurai train station at around 7:30 am.

The entire group walked to Hotel Supreme, located on a somewhat busy street in what I guess could be considered downtown Madurai. I met up with other interns and had a breakfast of poori masala, toast and jam, black tea and a fresh mango juice. (I got my 100 rupees worth on this on-call buffet!)

Once breakfast was over, we boarded two mini-buses and headed to our first visit at Mahasemam Trust.

training week 1

2007-06-11T08:03:00.000-07:00

"total immersion" training started at the early hour of 10 am on monday june 4th. i walked into bhagirathi hall on the ifmr campus just a few minutes short of 10 am. the room was bustling with interns and research associates. i walked towards the right side of the room and met five or six interns. The morning wore on with a series of presentations (that were supposedly going to be short!) and then it was finally time for lunch. Twenty-five or more interns and groups of RAs lined up to catch autos to a nearby haunt, Sangeetha Vegetarian Restaurant. (For you travelers out there, this restaurant is located on Nungumbakkam High Road and is definitely a good spot for cheap but good food.)

We returned back to meet our first speaker, who was a professor from Chennai University. He gave us an overview of India's political/economic history.

The week went on like this, speakers and information sessions on the various institutes. There were also several skills workshops that covered things like how to conduct an interview and how to put together surveys. Overall, the sessions were interesting. However, some should definitely be curtailed to maintain the interns' attention in future training sessions.

One of the highlights of the week was a first trip to Spencer Mall. Being the first few days in town, all the interns were eager to find shops so that they could fill their closets with appropriate cultural garb and purchase cell phones. It was also the most entertaining option for a Wednesday evening. Of course, as soon as class was over, everyone went in ten different directions; some caught autos, others took a car and others (me) got left behind at the hostel unbeknownst to all groups. Not to be thwarted at a chance to reenter the mall, I quickly jumped in an auto and headed to meet up with the other interns. I had a feeling that most people would be in the food court area as it was nearing dinner time - and I was right. I caught up with Christian and Sibill and we eventually found our way to Sree's Sweet Shop. (I think I mentioned this in a previous post.) We ended up buying tons of different little sweets. By this time Ricardo and Suba had also joined us. After we feasted on some gorgeous looking sweets, we joined the others at the Spencer Mall international food court. It was interesting to see everything from Pizza Hut to a local version of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Of course, like in any place, the large group of non-Indians attracted a great deal of attention. Sibill and I ate at the place next door, I don't remember the name, but the chat was pretty good. I also had some toast with jam. For those of you who are first time visitors - jam in India is syrupy sweet and does not really taste like fruits. (not advised for jam-lovers...) we eventually hopped into autos and found our way home to rest before another rigorous day of training.

thursday was short ... we were getting ready to go to madurai..by overnight train. after classes we packed our bags and shamanthy and i hopped in an auto and met our fellow interns at the Hotel Pandian, where everyone else is staying... we all gathered our belongings, bought last minute things like water, biscuits and bananas from the local street vendors and headed to the egmore train station....

time for my first overnight train in india (since 1993!).... more on madurai later.

stares, stores and more

2007-06-03T18:00:00.000-07:00

friday, i spent the morning trying to get my laptop fixed and then spent the rest of the day with family friends. i just spent the afternoon with them talking and catching up. i got back late and then spent the evening until i went to sleep back in the computer lab.

saturday was my first real day as a chennai explorer. i woke up and joined family friends on a visit to "globus" a fairly nice department store somewhere in central chennai. i ended up purchasing a few salvar kameeze separates that im hoping combined with my random kurthi tops will be enough indian clothes to get me through the summer. afterwards i went home, had lunch and then walked to the local spencer's grocery store in search of ice cream with shreeja, who is 8 years old. we couldn't find ice cream, but i was happy that i was able to find garnier fructis conditioner and other products that i had feared would not be available in chennai.

Later, I regressed back to my hostel, where my temporary roommates were planning on going on a shopping trip. So, of course, I skipped the reading and work I had to do and jumped in an auto with them. We stepped outside of the IFMR gates and walked down the street until we were able to flag down an auto. After bargaining for a few minutes, we got the price of 50 rupees, which was still over priced but better than other prices.

We sped past one very foul smelling river and traffic-packed intersections to our final destination: spencer mall.

We jumped out of the auto and into a multilevel shopping mall. I will say that I was impressed, because I didn't realize that Chennai had such a large mall. I know this is an ignorant assessment because the last time I spent more than 2 days in this city was almost 15 years ago. In any case, I walked by tons of retail stores including a bunch of American retailers like Guess, Florsheim and Giordano. The only reason i point them out was that the window displays in these stores were somewhat risque' as compared to the clothing styles of most people in Chennai, from what I have observed.

We stopped at regal shoes where I purchased a pair of over priced chapals (Hindi word for sandals). What struck me was the number of people available to help me find a shoe, select a shoe and try on a pair. Once i had purchased my chapals, we walked up to the food court. On our way we walked by an Australian bakery that was being manned by young men probably around the age of twenty. They gave us each a free cookie, hot from the oven; chocolate chip with sort of a coconut twist. Then we stopped by Sree's Sweet / Snack Shop. This is the kind of place you see in Edison, NJ, serving chat items and a range of home made sweets, the difference being that the food quality was really good. The counter service was also friendly and quick, which I really liked. (The woman manning the sweets counter allowed us to try two different kinds of sweets for free.) This is a good place for an unhealthy and tasty snack if you are in the neighborhood.

As we made our way to the door, I realized I had made a mistake and did not like my slippers. So, I went back to Regal Shoes to return the shoes. When I approached the manager he told me in no uncertain terms that I could not return items. His words were "I'm sorry madam, we do not return items only exchange." I was polite and let him know that I would be back when I had more time. (For you shoppers out there, just be warned that while stores can do refunds, they tell everyone that only exchanges are available.)
When I stepped back out into the central mall area, my roommates were gone. I looked around, walked through the door and asked one of the many store security guards milling around, but no one had seen them. I thought I would try to call them, when I realized that I didn't have my book of phone numbers. So, I roamed about trying to find them. As I traversed through the mall, I began to notice the overwhelming stares coming from families, groups of young teenage boys and less commonly from girls. Some of the groups of boys would not only stare but follow me around for a bit. I noticed that I was not the only person receiving such attention. Every Western tourist was being stared at in sheer fascination. I had not realized to the extent to which this cultural trait would be in existence. However, I will say that it did bother me because as a New Yorker, I am used to everyone minding their own business. What bothered me more was the sly under the breath comments that were uttered at everyone "different."

Later, after finding my roommates, we tried to catch a taxi outside of Spencer Mall at the main entrance at Mount Road. If you are ever in this area, it is heavily saturated with tourists which also means it is heavily overpriced. Every auto-karan (auto-guy) will charge exorbitant prices, so it is best to walk away from spencer's and catch an auto down the street. its frustrating and at times insulting the way you have to argue for a good price, especially when you get a mean guy who laughs and drives away. of course, its not really that bad if you compare the amount we would pay an nyc taxi cab driver. however, i think now i simply get a thrill out of arguing and yelling numbers out in tamil.

at this point, i am sort of weary of being a woman in chennai. i do not feel as free or confident as i would in new york. i will explore this in future posts.

beep beep

2007-06-02T05:58:00.000-07:00

i awoke to a bumpy landing just after 8pm, as the plane touched down in chennai airport. i gathered my things and joined the line of passengers disembarking from the plane. i walked into the baggage claim area and waited anxiously for my bag. my mom had told me way too many stories about people rummaging through luggage. luckily, my luggage did not meet such a fate on this journey. i got my bags and then prepared to walk through the masses of drivers who would be holding signs for expectant passengers. i walked just outside of the doors and found a young boy holding a sign with my name on it. relief washed over me and i walked over and waited for him to go and collect his ambassador. (old school indian car.)

I hopped in the car and sat looking out the window at Chennai. My driver was a young boy who could not have been more than 19 or 20. It always makes me feel bad when someone who is a kid is working at 9pm at night doing something as laborious as driving around the city at odd hours. (though that can be said for many parts of the world.) in any case we sped down one very long road, that was packed with traffic. i was actually surprised at the traffic since it was 9pm and the last time i had come to chennai it had been relatively less trafficky. however, there were cars, motorbikes, lorries and of course autos - everywhere i looked. i also had forgotten how insane the traffic could be. people cutting one another off, driving so close to the next car that you could literally reach into someone's window and grab their purse if you were so inclined. however, no one india seems to view edgy behavior/ cutting people off as rude, it is just sort of part of the rhythm of the road. if you are a first time visitor, just trust that your driver does know what he's doing, even if it seems like he does not.

at times i thought i was going to be driven off to some far corner of tamil nadu, but as promised, my driver, after 40 minutes of intense driving, got me to the ifmr campus in nungumbakam. when i arrived, a security guard and another gentleman who ran the cantene were there to greet me. "Veena?" I was surprised, and happy to know that they had in fact heard of my arrival. The security guard helped me lug my bag up to the third floor. (He had a harder time picking it up than I did.) Also, he only bothered to help me after the cantene manager prompted him. After three long flights of stairs, we finally got upstairs, only to find that my roommates were not available. I ended up depositing my things in a neighbor's room and going to the computer lab. My roommates eventually made it home and I finally walked into a simple air conditioned room with three beds and a television that was blaring hindi. begin: life in india.

This is a picture of my hostel. I took this on Friday morning.

en route

2007-06-01T20:16:00.000-07:00

i left my apartment at 5:45am on wednesday, checked into my flight and was flying across the atlantic ocean shortly after 8:00am. after a short layover in london, in the most gorgeous airport lounge i have seen (the virgin atlantic lounge) i hopped on a plane to delhi.

somewhere between watching 'stomp the yard' and eating spicy cashews, i fell asleep and awoke to find that we were just about to land. the journey was so long, that i had almost forgotten we were about to land in india, and that this was no short vacation. (of course it wasn't - i was arriving in the dead of summer!) I was hit with reality by way of a gust of hot air as I stepped onto the jetway and walked into the terminal. The heat was overwhelming; I was in India.

I moved quickly through customs and managed to finagle my way into the A/C lounge where I found the only other American in the airport. He was a businessman from Texas. He had a thick drawl and was visibly uncomfortable due to heat and whatever else. Dressed in a polo shirt, jeans and dress socks with penny loafers, he didn't exactly look prepared for the terrain. we rode the shuttle to the domestic terminals together and that was the last i saw of him. i think he was en route to bangalore.

in any case, i was minding my business on the airport bus (after the texan got off, i was the only one left) when the security guard who had been riding up front came to the passenger part of the bus and sat across the aisle from me. He immediately began to ask me questions, which got increasingly personal. "Where are you from?" "What are you doing in India?" "Are you married?" These questions, that were spoken in broken English were then followed by some highly inappropriate comments. "You are so beautiful and intelligent." " I am so glad to have met such a beautiful girl." Luckily, my stop came before the conversation could take any more awkward turns. Needless to say, this man, who was probably older than my father, did not have any sense of propriety.

I finally got to the ticket counter at Jet Airways to do an early check-in only to be laughed at by the counter staff because I had arrived 4 hours early. Of course, they did not know I had just stepped off a plane from New York. However, the little stub of a ticket I did have did allow me entrance into the Delhi terminal. Translation: A/C. I lugged my 50+ pound bag, my laptop bag and my northface backpack around the airport until I finally came upon a spot directly opposite to the revolving fan. I leaned my samsonite up against the pillar and plopped on top of it and took out a newsweek. Occasionally when my glance went above the top of the magazine, i would catch the unsubtle stares in my direction. at one point, an entire family, gestured at me and spoke softly in hindi. this type of exchange went on for 3 hours, as i quietly sat atop my suitcase and tried to read a book.

i eventually got to enter the boarding area and managed to find a real seat next to this woman who happened to be a professor at rider university. we chatted and she commented on the mass chaos in the airport. Then only did I realize that every flight being announce was backed up and there was no boarding procedure just droves of people fighting for a spot in line. my flight was of course delayed. by this point, i was exhausted, sweating because the large outside doors were allowing hot air... I couldn't understand why everything was so slow, so disorganized, especially compared to my last visit. (I suspect that summer time traffic had a lot to do with it.) Eventually however, my flight was announced, and I pushed past several people and boarded the bus that took us to Jet Airways. I was finally on my way to Chennai.

short

2007-05-29T20:16:00.000-07:00

short. that describes:
- the time i have left in new york city....
- the length of my haircut....
- the extent of my temper (please ask for unrelated story about my socially challenged subletter)
- the length of this post

getting back to the point.... i cut my hair today, short, shorter than ive ever had it in my life... my sister and i donated to locks for love, which is a great cause. i was uneasy about cutting my hair, because again, i was worried about fitting in. (see last post) i somehow thought that by cutting my hair short, i would drawing more attention to myself in india. however, as alan pointed out, my long hair and appropriate cultural garb might have given me the appearance of someone from india, but as soon as i open my mouth, they are going to be aware that i am not from chennai/india/wherever. which was my experience when i went to india in '06.

however, i realized that cutting my hair short is not nearly as challenging as moving to hot and humid chennai for the summer. besides, change is good...right?

see for yourself:

less than 24 hours till...

stares

2007-05-23T17:48:00.000-07:00

i have been doing research on traveling/staying in india and i keep coming across the same advice: women should cover themselves if they want to avoid stares. I immediately thought, "mom, did you write this?" Since I was young, my mother's mantra before visiting India has always been "dress conservatively... dress modestly" and so on. So, while I knew this to be true, I didn't realize that it would be in every online travel guide.

I also can't figure out why staring and lack of personal space are so common. especially in a country where modesty is being constantly emphasized as a really important quality. if you are supposed to be modest, then why are people still staring? what are they so intrigued about?

in any case, my suitcase is packed with lots of colorful indian tops that my mom purchased on her last visit. most of them still have tags on them, as i didn't want to get stared at in nyc for wearing such colorful clothing... (isn't it ironic...?) hopefully with these baggy tops and a pottu (dot) on my forehead, i'll at least look indian enough to blend in...

in any case, i just find it intriguing that i am not even in india yet.. and i am already starting to worry about things. it would be different if i was just traveling, because then it wouldn't matter whether i stood out. however, im going to be working in the field - and as a result i don't want people to be more concerned or interested with my appearance/ with my differences than with the exchange between us.

1 week to go...

india preparations

2007-05-22T11:08:00.000-07:00

Last night I got bit by a mosquito in my apartment and I got quite upset, because it reminded me that I needed to buy a new net for my window. I then realized that I was going to be in South India for the summer and that mosquito bites were going to be a lot more common. I came to this conclusion after recalling my previous summer trips to India as a child. I think that I traveled three or four times between the ages of six months and 11 years old and each time I came back with mosquito bites that were inconceivably large.

However, it got me thinking. Aside from insect repellent, what does one need to move to another country for a few months? I visited for three weeks last year, but in a travel/work capacity, where I was always at home in someone's residence or at a hotel. This time, I will be there semi-permanently. I won't be able to run to the rescue of a relative or family friend when I need something, I will just need to deal with things. I will need to be prepared with a lot of different things. But this is not so much a discussion about whether or not to pack insect repellent as it is what things I need to be prepared with that I cannot pack in my bag. What websites should I read? What phrases should I know? Will my Indian appearance make it more or less difficult for me to navigate the culture/language etc.? Will people even understand my dialect of Tamil?

Questions, I have so many questions.

In seven days time, I will be embarking on a journey for which I have been waiting almost ten years. This will be slightly more structured than I had initially imagined my three or four month research stint in India, but I think that it is a good way to get acclimated.

I hope that I will be brave enough to take dance lessons, visit schools and villages and take other calculated risks so that I come back with at least one or two answers. I hope that I come back with even more questions.

7 days and counting.