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...
Thursday, November 19, 2009
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...
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