I know this jumps back a bit, but I realized that I promised you I would inform you of my time ont he Arabian Coast, so here it is.
As we touched down in Kochin (hot spot of the southern state of Kerala), it was pouring rain. We didn't know really what our plans were past the night that we had booked at the home stay in Fort Kochin, about an hour from the airport. The five of us got really lucky and jumped in a cab with another family that was headed the same direction. As the rain hit hard on the car, we made our way to Fort Kochin to our home stay. Upon our arrival, as per usual in India, we were informed that our reservation had been booted and they had no room for us. They offered for us to stay in their brother's home stay, and after trying to communicate to the non English speaking driver, we found our way to the Ark Home stay. While the air was humid here, were happy to be steady after a very long full day of traveling.
As a group, we had decided to save money on food by cooking our own breakfast. This, of course, meant that we needed to go out in town and find some food for the next morning. After talking to our home stay/temporary travel agent, we found our way to a grocery store. As we were walking down the main street, we were approached by two gentlemen that wanted us to be in a "bollywood" film. I, of course, was skeptical about the offer and told him I was not up for getting up that early. The next morning, I decided to sleep in and when the rest of the group had returned from their morning walk, they told me they were approached by the same man who asked them the same thing and gave them his business card. They informed me that we would need to call soon, as the bus would leave for the set in two hours. After seeing the excitement in their faces, and having the owner of our home stay call the guy and set up a deal for us to get paid, I decided to indulge and grab my stuff and head onto the bus. After an hour's drive we arrived at a private resort and walked a few yards to a private beach were there was indeed a full on Bollywood set in action. We were asked to do a number of dance scenes, but basically I was paid to enjoy the Arabian coast, get to know some European travelers from England and Australia, and eat free food. I must say, it was truly and amazing day as I saoked up the sun on the Arabian Coast.
At the end of the day, we went our to dinner with our new European friends and woke up the next morning to go on a 7 hour back waters boat tour. After seeing the amazingly beautiful back waters and how those people use the few resource they have (mainly coconut and shells) to make everything from rope, to food, to some clothing, we made our way back to Fort Kochin in just enough time to see the traditional Kataculli dance of India. As they told the story of a God and Goddess love gone wrong through brilliant hand and body movements, we found our way back to the home stay (hotel) in just enough time to catch a few hours of shut eye before we woke up early the next morning to start on the 5 hour drive to Munnar ( inland) to spend a night in the middle of the rolling Tea Farm hills. Munnar, needless to say, was amazingly beautiful. It had rolling hills for miles and on the way we even had the chance to stop and wash Elephants int a river. After washing these majestic creatures we had toe opportunity to ride them. I must say, it is an experience that I shall never forget. To feel the warmth of the Elephant ear brush up against your crinkled toes, is a feeling that truly has embedded itself into my heart's memory.
After returning from Munnar, we decided to head south to the beautiful beach town of Varkala where most of the tourist in Kerala go. At first, I was weirded out by the idea of seeing tourists as we had spent the last two months with nothing but Indians. Even though I was skeptical of the whole thing, it turned out to be an amazing experience. We sat on a not so crowded beach on the Arabian Coast and swam in the Arabian Sea. I could not believe it. Me, Aukeem A. Ballard, had gone from Tacoma, Washington all the way to the Arabian Coast. I couldn't help but just sit there and stare for a while sometimes. The first night, we decided to go to a popluar restuarant and ended up having a dance off with some people from Ireland, England, Australia, and France. After spending a considerable amount of time hearing their stories and exchanging contact information, I made my way back to our bamboo hut "hostel" and woke up to the rolling sound of the waves of the Arabian Coast crashing against the northern rocky shore. I spent yet another day on the Beach writing in my journal, listening to music, and swimming int he Sea.
That night was our last night of travel and since we had to get up relatively early the next morning to catch a train and then a plane to meet up with the rest of the LC group in Bangalore, we had decided that it would be best to pay the owners what we owed them for the two or three nights. That morning at around 7 am, I was woken up by our friend that was traveling with us and staying in the next room over that we had been robbed while we were sleeping. At first, I thought it was a joke, but was quickly brought into reality as we walked out and saw our things thrown about and scattered in the alley next to the huts. As we gathered our stuff and quickly checked for our identification documents, I went back to check my things. Now, usually I can spotted by my red back pack and my orange hooded sweatshirt. Usually, that same red backpack is with me always. This night, I decided to put all my luggage together, up against the wall. It turned out that somehow, it was the only piece of luggage to remain untouched between the two rooms. Out of some miracle, my camera, ipod, flash drive, and money had been the one set of valuables out of the five of us to be spared.
After gathering ourselves, we used the money I had left over to grab breakfast, a cab to the train station, and a lunch before the plane ride to Bangalore to meet up with the rest of the LC group. Needless to say, the four other people I was traveling with were heart broken over the loss of their memories in the form of journals and pictures, but they were determined to not let that one instance spoil their amazing experience on the southern State of Kerala. As the saying goes, Oh the Places you'll go...
Friday, December 4, 2009
time to catch up
hello dear friends,
I know it has been some time since last I wrote and for that, I apologize. Internet usage is few and far between in a land that is still trying to figure out how to develop. At any rate, in the next two weeks I hope to catch you up on what has been going on with me and some of the experiences I have had that have stuck with me. A few of them shall be contemplative, but most will be descriptive of my journey.
After we left Varanasi, the holy city, we set out on a series of adventures. We did not stay in one set place like we did for the months of September and October, but instead moved through Bangalore, Ponukonda, Nagraholi, Mysore, and the BR Hills. In Bangalore we had the opportunity to learn about the part of India that is developing at a higher speed than the US, which was interesting to say the least. After meeting with a software company, it was insanely interesting as we stepped foot onto a completely different part of India. It was almost as if we were stepping onto the a mini Microsoft campus, which if you're familiar with is really nice and really modern. The interesting part about this was not only the switch in scenery, but also the switch in mindset. As we met with the head Human resources manager, a few new employees, and one of the founders of the company, I found myself diving deeper adn deeper into the questioning of my own life style. While there were many things that stuck with me, one of the main things was the seemingly lack of realization the employees had about the two different India's. This term "two different India" is used to show the difference between the one third of the peple that are in poverty here and the two thirds that don't. It was clear that these workers were indeed part of the latter group. When asked how they went about dealing with the two worlds, they simply said that " it is how they have lived since the beginning of their time, so it was not complicated". While I cannot blame them for this as I too have thought to myself that it's just how things are, I still couldn't help but contemplate the amount of things that I had ignored in my life. The injustices that I let fall to the waste side for convenience, or because it's just been the way it's been. However, I walked out of the day long discussion and presentations with a keen eye towards justice and a new necessity to keep asking questions.
Oh the places you'll go!
I know it has been some time since last I wrote and for that, I apologize. Internet usage is few and far between in a land that is still trying to figure out how to develop. At any rate, in the next two weeks I hope to catch you up on what has been going on with me and some of the experiences I have had that have stuck with me. A few of them shall be contemplative, but most will be descriptive of my journey.
After we left Varanasi, the holy city, we set out on a series of adventures. We did not stay in one set place like we did for the months of September and October, but instead moved through Bangalore, Ponukonda, Nagraholi, Mysore, and the BR Hills. In Bangalore we had the opportunity to learn about the part of India that is developing at a higher speed than the US, which was interesting to say the least. After meeting with a software company, it was insanely interesting as we stepped foot onto a completely different part of India. It was almost as if we were stepping onto the a mini Microsoft campus, which if you're familiar with is really nice and really modern. The interesting part about this was not only the switch in scenery, but also the switch in mindset. As we met with the head Human resources manager, a few new employees, and one of the founders of the company, I found myself diving deeper adn deeper into the questioning of my own life style. While there were many things that stuck with me, one of the main things was the seemingly lack of realization the employees had about the two different India's. This term "two different India" is used to show the difference between the one third of the peple that are in poverty here and the two thirds that don't. It was clear that these workers were indeed part of the latter group. When asked how they went about dealing with the two worlds, they simply said that " it is how they have lived since the beginning of their time, so it was not complicated". While I cannot blame them for this as I too have thought to myself that it's just how things are, I still couldn't help but contemplate the amount of things that I had ignored in my life. The injustices that I let fall to the waste side for convenience, or because it's just been the way it's been. However, I walked out of the day long discussion and presentations with a keen eye towards justice and a new necessity to keep asking questions.
Oh the places you'll go!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Lucknow: The colonial city
Dear Friends,
I apologize for the lack of posts lately. Internet access has been sparse these past few weeks as we travel to many different places. I have many stories to catch you up on and will be posting 5 or so more posts over the next two weeks. For now, here's one from the beginning of October that has taken me a while to put into words.
-------------------------
Growing up in a "fear or be feared" neighborhood such as the one I have come to love, violence is not a foreign concept. In schools, metal detectors were routine, and fights with knifes were entertainment for some. Although my neighborhood has come a long way, I guess when you cram people into the same run down neighborhood with next to zero quality resources and even fewer examples of a better way, there is not much that can be done in the way of non violence. Being raised in such an environment would seem to prepare any person for all sorts of violence, but the city of Lucknow, or at least its train station, has proved that there are just some things that no person or amount of experience can prepare you for.
The tender city of Lucknow sits on the Gomti River and holds the never forgotten whispers of unmentioned fallen soldiers and homeless victims of social and personal neglect closely to its banks as the waters attempt to wash them away through the friendly process of "erosion". Sadly, I've come to expect this sense of destitute to wash over me as we step onto the dark concrete of any major or busy Indian city. While some, if not all, of us have resigned to the notion that perhaps it is best to ignore the things about this country that we do not like, those things are still made apparent. In effect, we've given up our liberal belief that we must change the things that our moral compasses cannot accept. Although, I would be remiss if I did not recognize the possibility that some of us may very well have only temporarily suspended those very beliefs. No matter what we believe or chose not to believe, however, the same sounds, colors, smells, and sights still come into contact with our receptors just as the sounds of begging children and annoyed travelers flooded my ears as the feet of 26 or so well educated adults came into contact with the cold concrete of the Lucknow train station. Per usual, we were stared at by seemingly puzzled and intrigued Indians. Per usual, we were annoyed by this. Per usual, we began to ignore this and walk away. Per usual, I took a position in the back of the crooked line of LC Students and associates to make sure no one was left behind. Life seemed to go on as it has been in the past weeks here in India. Just at the moment that I was getting comfortable with the new environment, the forces that be rocked me unsteady. Just as we made our way up the stairs, the little girl that was asking us for money was running after us in what I can only imagine was a desperate last ditch effort to get someone to take pity on her as a seemingly wealthier gentlemen(although I would argue he was far from a gentleman) began to "help" us get rid our our problem. As this man proceeded to yell at the little girls with words and facial expressions that I may never understand, familiar feelings washed over me. I had known all to well the pattering feet to avoid the swift and heavy open hand of a parent. However, there was something different here. It may have been that this guy didn't seem to be related to the little girls, or that they just seemed to be so much smaller than this mammoth of a man as his hand was probably half the size of her body. Whatever it was, it made it so I will never forget what came next. As the little girls scattered, the feet started to turn over as fast as they were able, but they proved to be no match for the weight of the man's human paddle and the length of his over arching reach. It seems as though their best efforts to protect their backs and their dignities were also of no match for the embedded anger he carried. As the girl was thrust upon the dark concrete steps of the Lucknow trains station, I saw her face grimace as tears sprinted down her cheeks, and the well educated and experienced Lewis & Clark student that writes to you today could do nothing more than freeze.
I stood there just watching. I felt too incredibly helpless and at the same time so immensely ashamed and embarrassed of not only myself and my own inaction, but also for that little girl. Could it be that those social psychology discussions of not ignoring the things that are happening around us in hopes of someone else taking responsibility really didn't sink in? Had it come to the point where I believed that cultural differences and cultural relativism could be used as an excuse for suspending my own deeply rooted beliefs of non-violence unless in the defense of those who cannot help themselves? Was I not the kid that told his summer campers to "increase the peace"? I had to shake myself out of this spiraling confusion as the group was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps.
As we made our way out of the train station I reached the bottom of the steps and had to turn around. There was something clawing at my heart strings and violently plucking them until the recent memories had become murderous melodies in slow motion like an old time horror flick that keeps skipping up and down the screen, but was never really meant to be played in the first place. I finally gave into the plucking and turned my entire frail body to face back towards the steps. I don't really know what I was looking for, but I suspect my upbringing that valued the morals of such world figures as Jesus, Gandhi, Dr. MLK Jr., Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, and other people who fought for those who could not fight for themselves had a large influence on that decision. As I peered over the dispersed sea of people, the two little girls stood at the top of the steps, and the one that was thrown to the ground pointed a finger in our general direction. She stared towards the doorway and something in me must have wanted to see if she was ok, because I was able to turn around after she stood on those steps, pointing her fingers like I imagine the prophets once did as they stood on a hill above their followers, leading the way they wanted them to go in order to do their bidding, whether it be for good or bad. Only this time, there was something hanging over me like a forgotten birthday of a loved one that hard recently passed away because my eyes started a war with my inner emotions and lost the battle as the emotions destroyed the dam that kept the tears at bay and they snowballed down my cheeks as I caught up with the group. I stayed in back so no one would see how ashamed I was of myself. We walked to the bus and the little girl followed. I plopped myself in the back of the bus and could not help but tear up again as the little girl played on the abandoned bicycle outside as if nothing had happened. As if the tears she cried when falling to the ground were all too often wiped onto her torn t shirt.
I tried discussing it with friends over breakfast that morning, because my western upbringing had taught me that talking about it was the way to process it. Clearly I was not ready as I had to leave the table in fear I would burst into tears again. Thinking back, I've had to bring into question my most core perceptions of India, myself, and how we've been interacting. What is it about India's culture that makes it acceptable to hit unknown kids in public without any sort of consequence or retribution? Perhaps equally as important, what is it about my upbringing that makes me so in tuned with children rights? I have to wonder if the many different environments in which i was raised had a profound impact on the way I view human rights and civil liberties. To take it a step further, I now wonder if cultural differences are enough of an excuse to suspend my own set of beliefs.
Seeing that little girl and reflecting upon my own experience in India has made me recall my initial experience on the intense part of Delhi called old Delhi. Upon my initial reflection of the old city of Delhi, I came to the conclusion that there is no better way to describe it than the "jungle that got a hold of technology." Now, experiencing what I have, I can't help but wonder if the jungle mentally has been internalized by those whose education has not been focused on critical analysis. I recognize my own bias that is passed along through my own upbringing, but at the same time I want to cling tight to those beliefs that I have come to hold so dear. What is more, is I was deeply moved by the notion that education, if focused correctly, can indeed act as a foundation to start dismantling some of those aspects of culture that are perceived to be "uncivil".
I may not have the answers to the questions raised by this experience, but I am now clear on one thing; intense and serous acts of violence on people that cannot defend themselves, such as homeless kids, no matter what they be involved in, is unequivocally wrong. I make that statement fully aware people may differ in their own values, and fully prepared to defend it.
Oh, the place's you'll go...
I apologize for the lack of posts lately. Internet access has been sparse these past few weeks as we travel to many different places. I have many stories to catch you up on and will be posting 5 or so more posts over the next two weeks. For now, here's one from the beginning of October that has taken me a while to put into words.
-------------------------
Growing up in a "fear or be feared" neighborhood such as the one I have come to love, violence is not a foreign concept. In schools, metal detectors were routine, and fights with knifes were entertainment for some. Although my neighborhood has come a long way, I guess when you cram people into the same run down neighborhood with next to zero quality resources and even fewer examples of a better way, there is not much that can be done in the way of non violence. Being raised in such an environment would seem to prepare any person for all sorts of violence, but the city of Lucknow, or at least its train station, has proved that there are just some things that no person or amount of experience can prepare you for.
The tender city of Lucknow sits on the Gomti River and holds the never forgotten whispers of unmentioned fallen soldiers and homeless victims of social and personal neglect closely to its banks as the waters attempt to wash them away through the friendly process of "erosion". Sadly, I've come to expect this sense of destitute to wash over me as we step onto the dark concrete of any major or busy Indian city. While some, if not all, of us have resigned to the notion that perhaps it is best to ignore the things about this country that we do not like, those things are still made apparent. In effect, we've given up our liberal belief that we must change the things that our moral compasses cannot accept. Although, I would be remiss if I did not recognize the possibility that some of us may very well have only temporarily suspended those very beliefs. No matter what we believe or chose not to believe, however, the same sounds, colors, smells, and sights still come into contact with our receptors just as the sounds of begging children and annoyed travelers flooded my ears as the feet of 26 or so well educated adults came into contact with the cold concrete of the Lucknow train station. Per usual, we were stared at by seemingly puzzled and intrigued Indians. Per usual, we were annoyed by this. Per usual, we began to ignore this and walk away. Per usual, I took a position in the back of the crooked line of LC Students and associates to make sure no one was left behind. Life seemed to go on as it has been in the past weeks here in India. Just at the moment that I was getting comfortable with the new environment, the forces that be rocked me unsteady. Just as we made our way up the stairs, the little girl that was asking us for money was running after us in what I can only imagine was a desperate last ditch effort to get someone to take pity on her as a seemingly wealthier gentlemen(although I would argue he was far from a gentleman) began to "help" us get rid our our problem. As this man proceeded to yell at the little girls with words and facial expressions that I may never understand, familiar feelings washed over me. I had known all to well the pattering feet to avoid the swift and heavy open hand of a parent. However, there was something different here. It may have been that this guy didn't seem to be related to the little girls, or that they just seemed to be so much smaller than this mammoth of a man as his hand was probably half the size of her body. Whatever it was, it made it so I will never forget what came next. As the little girls scattered, the feet started to turn over as fast as they were able, but they proved to be no match for the weight of the man's human paddle and the length of his over arching reach. It seems as though their best efforts to protect their backs and their dignities were also of no match for the embedded anger he carried. As the girl was thrust upon the dark concrete steps of the Lucknow trains station, I saw her face grimace as tears sprinted down her cheeks, and the well educated and experienced Lewis & Clark student that writes to you today could do nothing more than freeze.
I stood there just watching. I felt too incredibly helpless and at the same time so immensely ashamed and embarrassed of not only myself and my own inaction, but also for that little girl. Could it be that those social psychology discussions of not ignoring the things that are happening around us in hopes of someone else taking responsibility really didn't sink in? Had it come to the point where I believed that cultural differences and cultural relativism could be used as an excuse for suspending my own deeply rooted beliefs of non-violence unless in the defense of those who cannot help themselves? Was I not the kid that told his summer campers to "increase the peace"? I had to shake myself out of this spiraling confusion as the group was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps.
As we made our way out of the train station I reached the bottom of the steps and had to turn around. There was something clawing at my heart strings and violently plucking them until the recent memories had become murderous melodies in slow motion like an old time horror flick that keeps skipping up and down the screen, but was never really meant to be played in the first place. I finally gave into the plucking and turned my entire frail body to face back towards the steps. I don't really know what I was looking for, but I suspect my upbringing that valued the morals of such world figures as Jesus, Gandhi, Dr. MLK Jr., Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, and other people who fought for those who could not fight for themselves had a large influence on that decision. As I peered over the dispersed sea of people, the two little girls stood at the top of the steps, and the one that was thrown to the ground pointed a finger in our general direction. She stared towards the doorway and something in me must have wanted to see if she was ok, because I was able to turn around after she stood on those steps, pointing her fingers like I imagine the prophets once did as they stood on a hill above their followers, leading the way they wanted them to go in order to do their bidding, whether it be for good or bad. Only this time, there was something hanging over me like a forgotten birthday of a loved one that hard recently passed away because my eyes started a war with my inner emotions and lost the battle as the emotions destroyed the dam that kept the tears at bay and they snowballed down my cheeks as I caught up with the group. I stayed in back so no one would see how ashamed I was of myself. We walked to the bus and the little girl followed. I plopped myself in the back of the bus and could not help but tear up again as the little girl played on the abandoned bicycle outside as if nothing had happened. As if the tears she cried when falling to the ground were all too often wiped onto her torn t shirt.
I tried discussing it with friends over breakfast that morning, because my western upbringing had taught me that talking about it was the way to process it. Clearly I was not ready as I had to leave the table in fear I would burst into tears again. Thinking back, I've had to bring into question my most core perceptions of India, myself, and how we've been interacting. What is it about India's culture that makes it acceptable to hit unknown kids in public without any sort of consequence or retribution? Perhaps equally as important, what is it about my upbringing that makes me so in tuned with children rights? I have to wonder if the many different environments in which i was raised had a profound impact on the way I view human rights and civil liberties. To take it a step further, I now wonder if cultural differences are enough of an excuse to suspend my own set of beliefs.
Seeing that little girl and reflecting upon my own experience in India has made me recall my initial experience on the intense part of Delhi called old Delhi. Upon my initial reflection of the old city of Delhi, I came to the conclusion that there is no better way to describe it than the "jungle that got a hold of technology." Now, experiencing what I have, I can't help but wonder if the jungle mentally has been internalized by those whose education has not been focused on critical analysis. I recognize my own bias that is passed along through my own upbringing, but at the same time I want to cling tight to those beliefs that I have come to hold so dear. What is more, is I was deeply moved by the notion that education, if focused correctly, can indeed act as a foundation to start dismantling some of those aspects of culture that are perceived to be "uncivil".
I may not have the answers to the questions raised by this experience, but I am now clear on one thing; intense and serous acts of violence on people that cannot defend themselves, such as homeless kids, no matter what they be involved in, is unequivocally wrong. I make that statement fully aware people may differ in their own values, and fully prepared to defend it.
Oh, the place's you'll go...
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Holy City
Dear Friends,
I want to apologize for not keeping you all up to date with my travels. We have just finished our stay in Varanasi, and I had less time to use the Internet than I thought. None the less, here's my update so far.
Varanasi. known to many as the holy city. It is the place that most Hindus send their deceased loved ones to be cremated (if they can afford it) and then sent down the River Ganges. I think it is because of this high traffic level of people that many had warned us to stay close together and watch out in Varanasi as there are plenty of thieves and other people of the sort. After spending about three weeks there, with one to two day trips to other places around it, I have to say that it has been one of my favorite places so far.
When we arrived in Varanasi towards the beginning of October, we were given the task of doing a field research project in which we were to pick a specific area of interest, and perform field research with the aim of writing a paper and presenting on that research at the end of our stay in Varanasi. I chose to do my project on how student affairs are run on college campuses in Varanasi as a reflection of student affairs in greater India. The time limit forced me to focus mostly on Benares Hindu University, the major university in this region. I will put up my findings on that another time, but embedded in our time in Varanasi was also the opportunity to experience the city from within. We had lectures on feminism in India, education and education reform, politics, religion of Varanasi, and the social and modern historical make up of the city and India. Along with all this, we also took field trips through out the city and outside of the city. The majority of our time in Varanasi was put together by an NGO called Nirman. Nirman is a NGO focused and dedicated to post colonial education as a means of social progression. In keeping with their dedication to that above notion, they have set up two campuses for educating children and adults. One is in the city of Varanasi itself, and the other is a rural campus in the village of Betewar, which is about an hour drive outside the city. During my first week or so, 12 of us students were stationed at the campus and commuted back to the city to join the rest of the group during the day. It was a really good experience to be a part of that rural campus. The staff there were good people who always made sure we were comfortable, or as comfortable as possible in a rural village in India. The facilities themselves were not bad at all. We had about 15 windows in our room (it doubled as a class room so it was really big) and three fans so a good breeze was always there. The bathrooms had a squat toilet, a sink, and a bucket. If you haven't heard or guessed by now, about half of the places we've been have been equipped with bucket showers. A bucket shower literally consist of a bucket that you feel with cold water and pour over yourself. Having a hot shower is nice in the US, but when you are coming in from the humid heat of 90 to 100 degrees, a nice cold shower is pleasant and welcomed. Although the staff themselves spoke little English, you find little ways to communicated the necessary things. That being noted, the person I had the warmest conversations with was a cook known as DeedeJee (Deedee means sister in Hindi and Jee shows respect and affection, often for elders). While I could never pronounce her name, nor could I understand her, she always had a huge smile and even taught me how to cook. At the end of the week there, I started wondering about how we manage to let trivial things, such as language, come between us as people. I learned how to cook with a lady, and we could barely understand each other. It made me realize how much we can use the walls that supposedly divide us as people as bridges that can connect common ground.
After that week, 18 students (half of the ones from the rural campus) were put into home stays and 6 of us were placed at the urban campus. This was a different experience in and of itself. This is were I really began to get to know the city and start my research. In the first few days we all went exploring through the city and many of us went towards the river. On the way back, we got lost and I had to stop and ask for directions. As I turned around and around looking for anything familiar, a girl stood at the door of her house. I stopped and asked for directions and she showed us the way. The next day, I was exploring again, and was lost yet again. Unaware that I was in the same place as the day before, I looked around, very puzzled. I saw a girl laughing outside of her house and began to ask for directions. Just then it clicked that I had been there before. We both had a laugh and she pointed me in the right direction again after exchanging names. I went back to that house and talked to Pyul ("pile"), her 4 sisters, one brother, two nephews, one niece, and two parents often. They were incredibly nice people who are from the clothe washing caste. They invited me in often and offered me tea and coffee and joked about how lost I looked that first time. As I left the city of Varanasi, I stopped back by the house to say thank you and goodbye. They sat me down and talked to me for over an hour and offered me food and chai of course. Afterwards, they insisted that I come back with my sister so she and Pyu, who are the same age, can get to know each other and hang out. I told them it would be doubtful that I would be back in India, but if I chose not to go to Nepal after the study program, that I would indeed return. They told me they would miss me and sent me on my way. Just as I was turning to walk away, Pyul stopped me and told me the should would miss me and proceeded to take her multi-colored wood glass bracelet off and slip it onto my wrist as she smiled and said that "this is for my new big baiya" (which means brother in Hindi.
This was one way, that I chose to get to know the city, but many others did it in many different ways. We saw music shows and plays. We took part in crazy festivals and danced in Parades. We met with leaders of communities within the city and village heads, but nothing proved to have more of an inside view of the city and really India than our home stays. After the week at the urban campus, I moved in with my home stay family. This family of musicians is lead by the father, who's had music in his blood for 5 generations. He was known to me as Gurujee as that is how he insisted we address him. He is a kinds man, with a lot of knowledge of music and very proud of the music that runs within the family tree. The house was filled with musicians as well. All three of the suns were musicians, the aunt was a singer as well. There were also two cousins, grandparents, and an uncle that lived with them them that were musicians as well. The eldest son, Ankur, played the Sitar and was fabulous at it. He is studying literature at BHU (the main university) and loves it. It was interesting though, that he does not expect to go into any field that involves literature. It's like he told me, " I love my studies, but we are a family of musicians. It's not what we do or who we are, it simply is us." I still have a hard time grappling with the notion that they sons have no say in their future, but I guess that is a western notion and sense of freedom. Like I have said before, the perception of freedom is completely different here. For the boys in the family, it isn't a question of music or not, it's a question of what instrument. The other son, plays the Tabla (a form of drums), and the youngest plays the violin. I spent some time hanging out with the youngest son and hearing him play the violin. He is an incredibly sharp kid. He could go on and on about stuff that I knew nothing about. He loves to play on the computer and listen to music. I introduced him to some new music from my ipod, and from that moment on, we were brothers. I just hope that he is able to express that intelligence and love of technology in more ways than his older brothers were...
The last few days of the home stay were dedicated to putting together and writing my paper. The last day, 5 of us got on an overnight train to Delhi, and from there caught a plane to the southern state of Kerala to start our first week of independent travel which has brought me here, on the Arabian cost of India. But that is perhaps another story, for another time. This time, however, I promise it won't be so long...
I want to apologize for not keeping you all up to date with my travels. We have just finished our stay in Varanasi, and I had less time to use the Internet than I thought. None the less, here's my update so far.
Varanasi. known to many as the holy city. It is the place that most Hindus send their deceased loved ones to be cremated (if they can afford it) and then sent down the River Ganges. I think it is because of this high traffic level of people that many had warned us to stay close together and watch out in Varanasi as there are plenty of thieves and other people of the sort. After spending about three weeks there, with one to two day trips to other places around it, I have to say that it has been one of my favorite places so far.
When we arrived in Varanasi towards the beginning of October, we were given the task of doing a field research project in which we were to pick a specific area of interest, and perform field research with the aim of writing a paper and presenting on that research at the end of our stay in Varanasi. I chose to do my project on how student affairs are run on college campuses in Varanasi as a reflection of student affairs in greater India. The time limit forced me to focus mostly on Benares Hindu University, the major university in this region. I will put up my findings on that another time, but embedded in our time in Varanasi was also the opportunity to experience the city from within. We had lectures on feminism in India, education and education reform, politics, religion of Varanasi, and the social and modern historical make up of the city and India. Along with all this, we also took field trips through out the city and outside of the city. The majority of our time in Varanasi was put together by an NGO called Nirman. Nirman is a NGO focused and dedicated to post colonial education as a means of social progression. In keeping with their dedication to that above notion, they have set up two campuses for educating children and adults. One is in the city of Varanasi itself, and the other is a rural campus in the village of Betewar, which is about an hour drive outside the city. During my first week or so, 12 of us students were stationed at the campus and commuted back to the city to join the rest of the group during the day. It was a really good experience to be a part of that rural campus. The staff there were good people who always made sure we were comfortable, or as comfortable as possible in a rural village in India. The facilities themselves were not bad at all. We had about 15 windows in our room (it doubled as a class room so it was really big) and three fans so a good breeze was always there. The bathrooms had a squat toilet, a sink, and a bucket. If you haven't heard or guessed by now, about half of the places we've been have been equipped with bucket showers. A bucket shower literally consist of a bucket that you feel with cold water and pour over yourself. Having a hot shower is nice in the US, but when you are coming in from the humid heat of 90 to 100 degrees, a nice cold shower is pleasant and welcomed. Although the staff themselves spoke little English, you find little ways to communicated the necessary things. That being noted, the person I had the warmest conversations with was a cook known as DeedeJee (Deedee means sister in Hindi and Jee shows respect and affection, often for elders). While I could never pronounce her name, nor could I understand her, she always had a huge smile and even taught me how to cook. At the end of the week there, I started wondering about how we manage to let trivial things, such as language, come between us as people. I learned how to cook with a lady, and we could barely understand each other. It made me realize how much we can use the walls that supposedly divide us as people as bridges that can connect common ground.
After that week, 18 students (half of the ones from the rural campus) were put into home stays and 6 of us were placed at the urban campus. This was a different experience in and of itself. This is were I really began to get to know the city and start my research. In the first few days we all went exploring through the city and many of us went towards the river. On the way back, we got lost and I had to stop and ask for directions. As I turned around and around looking for anything familiar, a girl stood at the door of her house. I stopped and asked for directions and she showed us the way. The next day, I was exploring again, and was lost yet again. Unaware that I was in the same place as the day before, I looked around, very puzzled. I saw a girl laughing outside of her house and began to ask for directions. Just then it clicked that I had been there before. We both had a laugh and she pointed me in the right direction again after exchanging names. I went back to that house and talked to Pyul ("pile"), her 4 sisters, one brother, two nephews, one niece, and two parents often. They were incredibly nice people who are from the clothe washing caste. They invited me in often and offered me tea and coffee and joked about how lost I looked that first time. As I left the city of Varanasi, I stopped back by the house to say thank you and goodbye. They sat me down and talked to me for over an hour and offered me food and chai of course. Afterwards, they insisted that I come back with my sister so she and Pyu, who are the same age, can get to know each other and hang out. I told them it would be doubtful that I would be back in India, but if I chose not to go to Nepal after the study program, that I would indeed return. They told me they would miss me and sent me on my way. Just as I was turning to walk away, Pyul stopped me and told me the should would miss me and proceeded to take her multi-colored wood glass bracelet off and slip it onto my wrist as she smiled and said that "this is for my new big baiya" (which means brother in Hindi.
This was one way, that I chose to get to know the city, but many others did it in many different ways. We saw music shows and plays. We took part in crazy festivals and danced in Parades. We met with leaders of communities within the city and village heads, but nothing proved to have more of an inside view of the city and really India than our home stays. After the week at the urban campus, I moved in with my home stay family. This family of musicians is lead by the father, who's had music in his blood for 5 generations. He was known to me as Gurujee as that is how he insisted we address him. He is a kinds man, with a lot of knowledge of music and very proud of the music that runs within the family tree. The house was filled with musicians as well. All three of the suns were musicians, the aunt was a singer as well. There were also two cousins, grandparents, and an uncle that lived with them them that were musicians as well. The eldest son, Ankur, played the Sitar and was fabulous at it. He is studying literature at BHU (the main university) and loves it. It was interesting though, that he does not expect to go into any field that involves literature. It's like he told me, " I love my studies, but we are a family of musicians. It's not what we do or who we are, it simply is us." I still have a hard time grappling with the notion that they sons have no say in their future, but I guess that is a western notion and sense of freedom. Like I have said before, the perception of freedom is completely different here. For the boys in the family, it isn't a question of music or not, it's a question of what instrument. The other son, plays the Tabla (a form of drums), and the youngest plays the violin. I spent some time hanging out with the youngest son and hearing him play the violin. He is an incredibly sharp kid. He could go on and on about stuff that I knew nothing about. He loves to play on the computer and listen to music. I introduced him to some new music from my ipod, and from that moment on, we were brothers. I just hope that he is able to express that intelligence and love of technology in more ways than his older brothers were...
The last few days of the home stay were dedicated to putting together and writing my paper. The last day, 5 of us got on an overnight train to Delhi, and from there caught a plane to the southern state of Kerala to start our first week of independent travel which has brought me here, on the Arabian cost of India. But that is perhaps another story, for another time. This time, however, I promise it won't be so long...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Short Slam Poem on Delhi
Short Slam Poem Slam about Delhi:
Oh Delhi. How your smells have sounds and your sights have smells. Too ugly to reject and too beautiful to consume. Full of empty children with hands cupped to the faces of strangers as if they were waiting for communion from hollowed stares of twice removed memories that were never meant to be holy in the first place. The entanglement of your logic sows chaos into my hair fibers as the shock of it all sends messages of momentous discoveries cascading across the smiles of 11 million citizens. They say that One third of your population is in poverty. It's no wonder hope sinks to the bottom of the concrete wells instead of floating to the eyes of children her. One third. One third never gets mentioned by the media, but always gets studied by academics. One third of your population bares whiteness to murders and rapes, but the 7 walls of your 7 original cities have climbed too far backwards to let out the cries. Tell me, will you ever really let your memories vanquish your nightmares? Will the millions of Indian slaves that built the infrastructure of your own demise ever see the light of the kingdom they were promised?
Oh Delhi. How your smells have sounds and your sights have smells. Too ugly to reject and too beautiful to consume. Full of empty children with hands cupped to the faces of strangers as if they were waiting for communion from hollowed stares of twice removed memories that were never meant to be holy in the first place. The entanglement of your logic sows chaos into my hair fibers as the shock of it all sends messages of momentous discoveries cascading across the smiles of 11 million citizens. They say that One third of your population is in poverty. It's no wonder hope sinks to the bottom of the concrete wells instead of floating to the eyes of children her. One third. One third never gets mentioned by the media, but always gets studied by academics. One third of your population bares whiteness to murders and rapes, but the 7 walls of your 7 original cities have climbed too far backwards to let out the cries. Tell me, will you ever really let your memories vanquish your nightmares? Will the millions of Indian slaves that built the infrastructure of your own demise ever see the light of the kingdom they were promised?
Delhi, an uncommon journey
I would love to say that New Delhi is all good, but I fear that would be giving false hope. We have seen many things in and outside of Delhi. We have stood in the center of city ruins from the 13th century to the present. We have hovered under the shadows of The Taj Mahal and century old Mosques. The smells of Delhi have filtered into our noses and took residence inside of our clothes. The sounds of packed street and hungry cries have curled up into my memory and found the record and replay button.
While i cannot say I would live in Delhi, it was a truly eye opening experience to live in and explore that city. One of the ways in which I was able to explore the city was through getting to know the people itself. We often forget that it really is the citizens that give cities their character. One of our assignments was to get to know the city through one of its citizens and then to write a paper on that experience. While meeting new people is something I love to do, I came to the realization that "making a friend" is hard in that city. The difficulty stems from many factors, but the central is safety. Normally, I am not that concerned with my own safety, but when it comes to other people, that easy going mentality changes. One of the first things we were told when we arrived in Delhi was that girls were never to walk alone. We actually had to divide into groups, with each group containing a male for some of our assignments and field trips throughout the city. While I eagerly did this task, I found myself walking around with clinched fists a lot of the time. This was particularly difficult for me as I am a person that very much believes in non violence, but when your friends start getting groped in public places by people who's only image of American Women is what they see in movies and music videos, what can you do? Who can you really blame for that one? While human beings must take some responsibility for their actions, it really makes one think of how much we don't address and how much privilege I have living in the states alone. While it was difficult to make a friend while I was the chaperon for a lot of the time, I ended up meeting a very nice Coffee shop worker.
What is interesting is looking at all these issues while keeping in mind that my culture and background contribute a great deal to how I perceive and react to the different things in Delhi. I have to wonder if my life, while not luxurious in the least bit, has shielded me from seeing the world with an unfiltered eye. It is also interesting to see how we, as a group, react to these things. It reminds me of how we are in a constant state of privilege just by being able to walk around and not be dismissed because of color, or women being able to speak their mind and be forceful in their opinions. While I do not condone the way they treat women and children here, it really reminds me of how far we as a human race still have to go. It reminds me how the whole world doesn't work the way we work in the US. Some things o which we have become accustomed, just don't fly over here. Looking back, I am so grateful that I went through what I did in Delhi. Even after the racism, sexism, and insanity it really is an interesting town. The "Delhi friend" that I met said it best, "I love Delhi. The people are so friendly, but I want to visit some place where the people are not so rude."
That being noted, all of India, fortunately, is not as harsh and overwhelming as Delhi. I had to opportunity to take a trip with a few students to a hill town to visit a school up there in hopes of meeting with some interested students. Before we answered their questions about Lewis & Clark college, we had the opportunity to walk about. While it was misty outside, the scenery was absolutely stunning. The drop in temperature fell upon our shoulder the minute we stepped out the car. We were in paradise! When they said "hill town", I assumed it was like hills back at home, but it was far from it. We really were in the foot hills of the mountains.
While i cannot say I would live in Delhi, it was a truly eye opening experience to live in and explore that city. One of the ways in which I was able to explore the city was through getting to know the people itself. We often forget that it really is the citizens that give cities their character. One of our assignments was to get to know the city through one of its citizens and then to write a paper on that experience. While meeting new people is something I love to do, I came to the realization that "making a friend" is hard in that city. The difficulty stems from many factors, but the central is safety. Normally, I am not that concerned with my own safety, but when it comes to other people, that easy going mentality changes. One of the first things we were told when we arrived in Delhi was that girls were never to walk alone. We actually had to divide into groups, with each group containing a male for some of our assignments and field trips throughout the city. While I eagerly did this task, I found myself walking around with clinched fists a lot of the time. This was particularly difficult for me as I am a person that very much believes in non violence, but when your friends start getting groped in public places by people who's only image of American Women is what they see in movies and music videos, what can you do? Who can you really blame for that one? While human beings must take some responsibility for their actions, it really makes one think of how much we don't address and how much privilege I have living in the states alone. While it was difficult to make a friend while I was the chaperon for a lot of the time, I ended up meeting a very nice Coffee shop worker.
What is interesting is looking at all these issues while keeping in mind that my culture and background contribute a great deal to how I perceive and react to the different things in Delhi. I have to wonder if my life, while not luxurious in the least bit, has shielded me from seeing the world with an unfiltered eye. It is also interesting to see how we, as a group, react to these things. It reminds me of how we are in a constant state of privilege just by being able to walk around and not be dismissed because of color, or women being able to speak their mind and be forceful in their opinions. While I do not condone the way they treat women and children here, it really reminds me of how far we as a human race still have to go. It reminds me how the whole world doesn't work the way we work in the US. Some things o which we have become accustomed, just don't fly over here. Looking back, I am so grateful that I went through what I did in Delhi. Even after the racism, sexism, and insanity it really is an interesting town. The "Delhi friend" that I met said it best, "I love Delhi. The people are so friendly, but I want to visit some place where the people are not so rude."
That being noted, all of India, fortunately, is not as harsh and overwhelming as Delhi. I had to opportunity to take a trip with a few students to a hill town to visit a school up there in hopes of meeting with some interested students. Before we answered their questions about Lewis & Clark college, we had the opportunity to walk about. While it was misty outside, the scenery was absolutely stunning. The drop in temperature fell upon our shoulder the minute we stepped out the car. We were in paradise! When they said "hill town", I assumed it was like hills back at home, but it was far from it. We really were in the foot hills of the mountains.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Dr. Seuss at a Mosque in Delhi
Dear Friends,
I apologize for this late postings. I meant to post this before my reflection on New Delhi...
We have seen ALOT. We have visited ancient ruins form the 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. Although we have seen many different ruins from different rulers, one thing is clear. Delhi has a deep history with so much that is often not realized at first glance. What is perhaps more interesting than the structures themselves, are the stories they tell and the stories about them that are never told. Along with learning about these structures, we have had the opportunity to gain insight into their connection to the present. After all of this, I really do believe that there is no substitute for standing in the middle of the court of a 14th century ruler.
One of these ancient structures that I had the privilege of seeing is the Taj Mahal. The story and mystery behind this mammoth of a structure is remarkable. To stand in the middle of a structure that was built entirely out of Marble for the sole purpose of a 17th century tomb was incredible. As the subtle color changes of marble sparked through my eyes, I realized why people had spoke so highly of this structure. If the look of it alone is not enough to catch interests, the history behind it is some what of a mystery, but intriguing just the same. It is perhaps the single most symmetrical building in which I have ever had the honor of walking. Now, being at such a structure that has so much detail to it, one has a lot to look at. Logic would follow that the others visiting this structure too would spend their time looking at the remarkable beauty set before them. While I wish this were true, the people that were there would prove other wise. Every room Keletso ( fellow LC Student from Botswana) and I walked into, there was someone wanting to snap a photo of us. More than a few times, people actually asked if they could be in a photo with us. There was no hope of money in return, just the sheer joy of being in the photo with such strange beings, I guess. As we tried to ignore it all, which you could imagine is pretty difficult to do, we walked through these beautiful structures and tried to articulate what attention to detail Shah Jahan (the architect and ruler of the time) must have had. Sadly, our time of amazement had come to a necessary end as we proceeded out of the Taj and towards a bench to put our shoes on. It was here, that I really felt as though some of the people in the group were celebrities, or perhaps attractions depending on the way one views it. As we put on our shoes on in the hot Indian weather, a family came up and asked to take a picture with Keletso. While this had become some what usual, we weren't expecting the family to proceed to move out of the picture and set their infant child on Keletso's lap and take the picture. All I could think was, "oh the Places You'll Go!"
Another story comes at a holy time for Muslims in the city of Delhi. As we gathered on the steps of what is believed to be the oldest and most visited Mosque in Delhi (Jama Masjid), we listened to our Professor and waited for two other students to arrive as the usual crowd of 10 or 15 gathered around to watch and stare at us. After about ten minutes of our professor talking, we took another look around and the crowd had grown to about 60 or 70. I decided to take a picture with one of the students on the trip (Rosie), and my book, Oh the Places You'll Go, by Dr. Seuss. Since we we're already waiting and I had an audience, Ava Wagner (former 3CE employee) asked if I could read it out loud...So i Did!!! I showed the pictures to all the kids and people gathered around us as they stood there the entire time! I'm sure they didn't understand me, but they were grateful and clapped just the same. During the story, you could see some of their faces open up with smiles a mile wide, and it seemed as though parents knew it was a "children's" book. Reflecting back upon it, I would argue that for once, it seemed as though the crowd of Indians actually were smiling and laughing with us, instead of standing at a distance, watching our every move. The barriers that we as human beings have set up for ourselves seemed to have been made into bridges of curiosity and wonder, even if only for a short ten minutes. As for the rest of the group, it seemed to be a point of necessity. We all felt like we were going through something together. The fact that some of the pictures and frases hit spot on with some of our current experiences was uncanny. One that I will not forget is a phrase that talks about going down unmarked streets and not being able to find your way at first. If you ever visit India, you'll know what we're talking about as none of the streets are clearly marked, and if one is, you're in the wrong place :)
I apologize for this late postings. I meant to post this before my reflection on New Delhi...
We have seen ALOT. We have visited ancient ruins form the 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. Although we have seen many different ruins from different rulers, one thing is clear. Delhi has a deep history with so much that is often not realized at first glance. What is perhaps more interesting than the structures themselves, are the stories they tell and the stories about them that are never told. Along with learning about these structures, we have had the opportunity to gain insight into their connection to the present. After all of this, I really do believe that there is no substitute for standing in the middle of the court of a 14th century ruler.
One of these ancient structures that I had the privilege of seeing is the Taj Mahal. The story and mystery behind this mammoth of a structure is remarkable. To stand in the middle of a structure that was built entirely out of Marble for the sole purpose of a 17th century tomb was incredible. As the subtle color changes of marble sparked through my eyes, I realized why people had spoke so highly of this structure. If the look of it alone is not enough to catch interests, the history behind it is some what of a mystery, but intriguing just the same. It is perhaps the single most symmetrical building in which I have ever had the honor of walking. Now, being at such a structure that has so much detail to it, one has a lot to look at. Logic would follow that the others visiting this structure too would spend their time looking at the remarkable beauty set before them. While I wish this were true, the people that were there would prove other wise. Every room Keletso ( fellow LC Student from Botswana) and I walked into, there was someone wanting to snap a photo of us. More than a few times, people actually asked if they could be in a photo with us. There was no hope of money in return, just the sheer joy of being in the photo with such strange beings, I guess. As we tried to ignore it all, which you could imagine is pretty difficult to do, we walked through these beautiful structures and tried to articulate what attention to detail Shah Jahan (the architect and ruler of the time) must have had. Sadly, our time of amazement had come to a necessary end as we proceeded out of the Taj and towards a bench to put our shoes on. It was here, that I really felt as though some of the people in the group were celebrities, or perhaps attractions depending on the way one views it. As we put on our shoes on in the hot Indian weather, a family came up and asked to take a picture with Keletso. While this had become some what usual, we weren't expecting the family to proceed to move out of the picture and set their infant child on Keletso's lap and take the picture. All I could think was, "oh the Places You'll Go!"
Another story comes at a holy time for Muslims in the city of Delhi. As we gathered on the steps of what is believed to be the oldest and most visited Mosque in Delhi (Jama Masjid), we listened to our Professor and waited for two other students to arrive as the usual crowd of 10 or 15 gathered around to watch and stare at us. After about ten minutes of our professor talking, we took another look around and the crowd had grown to about 60 or 70. I decided to take a picture with one of the students on the trip (Rosie), and my book, Oh the Places You'll Go, by Dr. Seuss. Since we we're already waiting and I had an audience, Ava Wagner (former 3CE employee) asked if I could read it out loud...So i Did!!! I showed the pictures to all the kids and people gathered around us as they stood there the entire time! I'm sure they didn't understand me, but they were grateful and clapped just the same. During the story, you could see some of their faces open up with smiles a mile wide, and it seemed as though parents knew it was a "children's" book. Reflecting back upon it, I would argue that for once, it seemed as though the crowd of Indians actually were smiling and laughing with us, instead of standing at a distance, watching our every move. The barriers that we as human beings have set up for ourselves seemed to have been made into bridges of curiosity and wonder, even if only for a short ten minutes. As for the rest of the group, it seemed to be a point of necessity. We all felt like we were going through something together. The fact that some of the pictures and frases hit spot on with some of our current experiences was uncanny. One that I will not forget is a phrase that talks about going down unmarked streets and not being able to find your way at first. If you ever visit India, you'll know what we're talking about as none of the streets are clearly marked, and if one is, you're in the wrong place :)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
New Delhi
Oh the Places...
We reached New Delhi about a week ago. The humidity washed over me like the screams of thousands of Beatles fans, just waiting for a response of some kind. The arrival was interesting for me. While it was not the first time for me to be out of the country, it was the first time for me to be off the continent. I had contracted a really bad cold, and was sick the entire plane ride and for the first week here really. That occupied a lot of my free time, which is why it has taken me so long to get started on this blog.
We have a wonderful teacher (Professor Sunil Kumar) who has been very beneficial in our acquiring of knowledge of India, and more specifically Delhi. We have come to realize that the history of this country is deep. Knowing the history helps to better understand some of the things we have seen as well as the people with which we have come into contact. One prime example of this is the staring, or lack there of sometimes...
As you may have guessed, a group of 24 students that are clearly foreigners and mostly white, walking through the streets of Delhi gets a lot of looks. We learned in class that the people here, on the whole, tend to be very into getting their skin to be lighter. If you contrast this with the amount of people that try to get tan in the US, it makes for a very intersting case study. However, when it comes down to the other end (darker skin) it is usually seen as a sign of low class here.
This notion that was learned in class came to a reality as me and 5 or 6 others from the group walked to a market a few days ago. I started out behind the group because I had to talk to Sunil, and I noticed people staring at the rest of the group. As the people on the streets would pass me, however, they would look right past me as if I were another face in the crowd. I thought this was interesting, because when I was walking with the group, we all got stares, but alone and behind the group they looked right passed me, right after they literally almost turned their entire head in a full 180 just to catch a glimpse at the group of European looking students in front of me. After we walked a little further, we stopped at a street corner to wait to cross. There was a boy that stepped up to the group. His clothes were tattered but his smile was not. As he went up to the members of the group he cupped his hands as if he were receiving communion and asked for food or money. Most had nothing to offer. A couple people gave candy. As I reached into my pocket to pull out candy, I awaited the arrival of his cupped hands. While I was in the middle of the group, the boy took a quick look at me and quickly diverted his attention to the other members of the group who happened to be white. I later asked Professor Sunil (who lives in Delhi) about this incident. As he let out a gentle chuckle he said, "poor little boy. He missed out on the candy. To him, Aukeem, you were probably just another poor fellow like himself."
I inquired about this matter further and found ut it's just the way they are raised. To most Indians, a darker skin signifies a lesser class. I am still not sure how this sits with me, but it is clear that human beings have a necessity to compartmentalize even other human beings so that there is indeed the "other". While it is obvious that classism and racism and discrimination still exist, this experience has proven to me that education is absolutely essential. If there were ever a doubt that the solution to many of our problems as a human race is indeed education and critical thought, that doubt is now blown to pieces. Oh New Delhi, how we have yet to meet... I look forward to th places you will take me!
We reached New Delhi about a week ago. The humidity washed over me like the screams of thousands of Beatles fans, just waiting for a response of some kind. The arrival was interesting for me. While it was not the first time for me to be out of the country, it was the first time for me to be off the continent. I had contracted a really bad cold, and was sick the entire plane ride and for the first week here really. That occupied a lot of my free time, which is why it has taken me so long to get started on this blog.
We have a wonderful teacher (Professor Sunil Kumar) who has been very beneficial in our acquiring of knowledge of India, and more specifically Delhi. We have come to realize that the history of this country is deep. Knowing the history helps to better understand some of the things we have seen as well as the people with which we have come into contact. One prime example of this is the staring, or lack there of sometimes...
As you may have guessed, a group of 24 students that are clearly foreigners and mostly white, walking through the streets of Delhi gets a lot of looks. We learned in class that the people here, on the whole, tend to be very into getting their skin to be lighter. If you contrast this with the amount of people that try to get tan in the US, it makes for a very intersting case study. However, when it comes down to the other end (darker skin) it is usually seen as a sign of low class here.
This notion that was learned in class came to a reality as me and 5 or 6 others from the group walked to a market a few days ago. I started out behind the group because I had to talk to Sunil, and I noticed people staring at the rest of the group. As the people on the streets would pass me, however, they would look right past me as if I were another face in the crowd. I thought this was interesting, because when I was walking with the group, we all got stares, but alone and behind the group they looked right passed me, right after they literally almost turned their entire head in a full 180 just to catch a glimpse at the group of European looking students in front of me. After we walked a little further, we stopped at a street corner to wait to cross. There was a boy that stepped up to the group. His clothes were tattered but his smile was not. As he went up to the members of the group he cupped his hands as if he were receiving communion and asked for food or money. Most had nothing to offer. A couple people gave candy. As I reached into my pocket to pull out candy, I awaited the arrival of his cupped hands. While I was in the middle of the group, the boy took a quick look at me and quickly diverted his attention to the other members of the group who happened to be white. I later asked Professor Sunil (who lives in Delhi) about this incident. As he let out a gentle chuckle he said, "poor little boy. He missed out on the candy. To him, Aukeem, you were probably just another poor fellow like himself."
I inquired about this matter further and found ut it's just the way they are raised. To most Indians, a darker skin signifies a lesser class. I am still not sure how this sits with me, but it is clear that human beings have a necessity to compartmentalize even other human beings so that there is indeed the "other". While it is obvious that classism and racism and discrimination still exist, this experience has proven to me that education is absolutely essential. If there were ever a doubt that the solution to many of our problems as a human race is indeed education and critical thought, that doubt is now blown to pieces. Oh New Delhi, how we have yet to meet... I look forward to th places you will take me!
TIme to start
Dear Friends,
I hope this post finds you well as September falls upon the shores of our journeys wherever that may be.
Throughout the summer, I would tell people of my future travels and the insisted that I keep some sort of documentation to let everyone know how I'm doing. At first I felt as though it wouldn't be worth it, but because I will be going on two study abroad programs this year, if nothing else, it will allow for me to track my journey. Thus, I this is the first entry of "Oh The Places".
The title comes from the the book, Oh The Places You Will Go, by Dr. Seuss. I chose this, because I plan on taking a photo with that book in hand at everyone main stop in India, Australia, and eventually the world. While this may be a blog about my adventures, I hope you use it to reflect upon your own life and adventures. Remember, life itself is perhaps the most amazing journey. It's your job to make it into the novel of the century!
So I hope you come along and hold on as the roller coaster throws me into crazy cities, intense wild life, great waters, aboriginal camps, moral dilemmas, and much more.
I hope this post finds you well as September falls upon the shores of our journeys wherever that may be.
Throughout the summer, I would tell people of my future travels and the insisted that I keep some sort of documentation to let everyone know how I'm doing. At first I felt as though it wouldn't be worth it, but because I will be going on two study abroad programs this year, if nothing else, it will allow for me to track my journey. Thus, I this is the first entry of "Oh The Places".
The title comes from the the book, Oh The Places You Will Go, by Dr. Seuss. I chose this, because I plan on taking a photo with that book in hand at everyone main stop in India, Australia, and eventually the world. While this may be a blog about my adventures, I hope you use it to reflect upon your own life and adventures. Remember, life itself is perhaps the most amazing journey. It's your job to make it into the novel of the century!
So I hope you come along and hold on as the roller coaster throws me into crazy cities, intense wild life, great waters, aboriginal camps, moral dilemmas, and much more.
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