Leaving (On the Plane from Paris - Mpls)

I was sitting here on

the plane

and realized i have my phone

so i can call when i

land.

then i realized

i dont really want to.

instead,

i have been filled with

a paralyzing fear.

i dont want to get off

this plane.

and i definitely

dont want to

go through

those sliding doors after

customs.

i get nauseaus just

thinking about it.

because once i

step through those doors

it’s real.

it’s over.

and i dont want it to be.

Leaving (On the Plane from Bangalore - Paris)

i left a lot of people i love today.

although i cried at Bandhavi earlier, there were no tears as i drove out of Visthar. or when i said goodbye to Sid and Roshen because, honestly, it didn’t really feel like i was going anywhere. but when i sat at the airport reorganizing my things - alone - and found Jyothi’s card, that’s when it hit me that it’s for real and i dont have any idea when i will see any of them ever again.

and that sucks.

my body resisted as i boarded the plane and the tears started as i walked down the jetway. i walked back and back and back and was a bit peeved to find that i was the end of the row of crying babies. but then i had to laugh, because i am crying just as hard {if silent} as any of them. i felt like Mel, sitting on the airplane crying. the flight attendant even asked if i was ok or needed anything.

i was comforted by the woman next to me speaking Kannada to her fussing daughter. but then she called her Akshaya, and the tears began all over again. the woman asked where i was going, and i laughed when i said america through my tears - home. normally people are thrilled to be going home for christmas. not me. i would rather spend it in india.

we started down the runway, and with each rotation of the wheel i felt myself resisting more and more and found myself chanting, “i dont want to leave i dont want to leave” we stopped, and i took a few deep breaths. i was going to be ok. nope. then we took off, and when the plane jetted into the air i literally felt my heart rip in half. and it hurt. so badly. i couldnt breathe, i started heaving, and i had to hold onto the handles i was in so much pain.

this is the strangest feeling/emotion i have ever felt {and i’m going to stop writing soon because my eyes and head hurt so much}. it is a good emotion though - it means i have loved, and deeply. but it also means that love has now been left behind. and this pain, well, i dont think i have felt anything like it. ever.

and the funny thing is, as i laugh through my tears, i’m going home for christmas. christmas! aren’t you suppoed to be excited to go home for christmas? because i’’m not. at all.

Leaving [Waiting to Board]

this sucks, dude.

why the heck am i

leaving india?!?

sucks. sucks. sucks.

sucks.

sucks.

i really wish i were

more articulate right now.

but as my girls’ faces

and laughter

replay in my mind,

i didn’t even get

to give everyone a

real goodbye,

there's so much more

i want to learn,

and my final image of

Roshen is him peering

through the window

clutching in his arms

a precious gook, giggling,

i wonder why.

and i tell myself,

this sucks, dude.

Goodbye India

Today, I'm leaving India. This country, these people, have captured a piece of my heart, and as I leave, and this piece remains, my heart is breaking. This song by Carrie Underwood is one that has played through my head often over the past few weeks as I've prepared to say goodbye, and although it is a song about a boy and a girl, it really resonates and captures what I am feeling as I leave this place and people who I have loved and who have loved me for the past six months.

So hard to see myself without you

I felt a piece of my heart break

But when you’re standing at a crossroad

There’s a choice you’ve gotta make

I guess it’s gonna have to hurt

I guess I’m gonna have to cry

And let go of some things I’ve loved

To get to the other side

I guess it’s gonna break me down

Like falling when you try to fly

It’s sad,

But sometimes moving on with the rest of your life

Starts with goodbye

I know there’s a blue horizon

Somewhere up ahead just waiting for me

But getting there means leaving things behind

Sometimes life’s so bittersweet

Time heals the wounds that you feel

Somehow…

But right now

I guess it’s gonna have to hurt

I guess I’m gonna have to cry

And let go of some things I’ve loved

To get to the other side

I guess it’s gonna break me down

It’s like falling when you try to fly

It’s sad,

But sometimes moving on with the rest of your life

Starts with goodbye

Oh my life.

Today was just another day in India -

I woke up this morning turned on the hot water,

and as I prepared to start filling my bucket, the phone rang.

It was Nazar, which for some reason didn't worry me.

We had a program this morning, but never did I think that he was calling with bad news.

"Jen, the children are coming today at 9:00. I will not be there. I have a proposal that is due by noon and I have to work on it...I will be there to do pottery, but I need you to run the program."

Awesome. Typical, and I shouldn't be surprised, but neither was I looking forward to this.

There were 52 2nd-graders coming in an hour, and I had to run their program. So I showered, had breakfast [it was a dosa day, which always makes things better], and as I was walking back to my room at 8:30 Nazar called again to tell me we needed to use a different space than usual. As I was talking to him to figure out where we could host 52 students, Rathi came running up to me: "Jen! The children are here!"

Awesome. I was still in my pajamas. And nobody else was here - not Nazar, not Vinoj [who I had recruited to help me with the nature walks since Debbie is busy facilitating another program], not even Siddo, who was coming to film the program. Just me.

So I herded the kids together, brought them to the ampitheatre, did a welcome, played a game, learned their names, explained Visthar. But they are not only 2nd standard. There were kids from 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 12th. Ha. Finally everybody showed up, we got the kids situated, but nothing really settled down until they left at 1:00. The kids were naughty, Nazar was in and out, Vinoj left, and at one time I had two groups [like 30 people] with me on a nature walk...a nature walk during which they didn't listen or even follow my directions. At one time they started stroking my arms and pulling my hair, at which I wanted to say, "Don't pet me, pet the cows!"

As I sit here recovering, I feel like I should feel a sense of accomplishment. But I don't. What I do feel is wonder - wonder that, even after 6 months of working in this crazy and inefficient Indian culture, and after days like today, I still don't want to leave. After the program, I was chatting with Nazar and found out that he didn't know that I am leaving on Monday. I think he almost cried. That's ok though, because I did too. Even though I shake my head at all this nonsense now, I'm going to miss it.

Released.

Well, I just got back from 4 days in an Indian hospital with Devaney...and it is like I just got released from prison. I feel so free. [I also feel very behind in my work, but that is a different story.]

Indian hospitals are not like American hospitals. Actually, I don't really know because I thankfully haven't spent an extended amount of time in an American hospital, but...yeah. It was quite the experience. And even more of an experience because I was with Devaney. And I just want to give a shoutout to all you nurses out there...because we were "That patient" and I want to thank you for your patience with people like us, God bless you for wanting to spend all day every day caring for the sick and needy.

Love my Life

Last night [slash this morning because it was like 1am] when the kids got home, the first thing that kyle did was ask if I wanted to go for a walk this morning. Which absolutely blessed my heart. And it was incredible. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and as we walked to Dodda Gubbi I took in the sights and sounds – children laughing, dogs running, fruit stands opening, and a man on a bicycle behind us singing at the top of his lungs. These are the things that I will miss in India. I will also miss these heart-to-hearts with my students. We talked about my month, his month, the things he learned while traveling, and the questions that it provoked, especially about faith and community. I love my life, I love the position of mentorship that I have with my kids, I love that my job is guiding their learning and listening to their growth. In India. Basically, I love my life.

Best. Day. Ever.

Today was probably my last day in Bangalore. And it was by far my best day in Bangalore. I had to go in to pick up my new sari that was being stitched and pick up a few final gifts, so into town I went. In the interest of time, I decided to take an auto into the city…and I am so glad that I did, because not a single bus passed us on the way to town.

I walked down commercial street and I had to stop at the explorer store…just had to. This is an incredible store filled with antiques and gadgets that the owner’s “men” have collected from all over India. It’s like a time warp, and I could spend hours in the tiny hallway of a store. But today, I discovered the upstairs: rickety staircase, lots of dust, and soooooo many old knick-knacks that I could barely even move. I picked up a few old coins and went back downstairs, and the man asked me what I found. I showed him the coins, and he said, “I have older.” For the next hour, he proceeded to show me his coin collection [most of which he just keeps to show people, it isn’t even on sale] and the stories behind each: who was the ruler when these coins circulated, if he was loved or hated, how many British officers it took to kill him, etc. It was awesome.

Then….I walked to cornerhouse. And had ice cream. By myself. Is that healthy? I don’t know. But it was delicious, and it was fun to sit on the front porch and watch Bangalore go by while enjoying one of my last choco-mocca sundaes.

It was time to pick up my sari. It was supposed to be finished yesterday, so I was looking forward to just picking it up. “Sorry Madam, it is not finished. It will be finished tomorrow.” Excuse me? It was supposed to be finished yesterday. “Sorry madam, we had no current. I can be finished by 6:00.” Sir, I life 45 minutes outside of Bangalore. I cannot be here until 6:00, and I cannot come back tomorrow. “One or two hours?” he asked. I looked at my watch – 1:10. One hour, I told him. Can you be finished by 2:00? “Give or take 5-10 minutes?” He asked. Deal.

So….that gave me a good excuse to go to my new favorite textile shop. I browsed, I felt, they served me tea and I pointed to fabrics I wanted to see as I enjoyed my chai. I felt like a queen, and before I knew it the 500 rupee-per-yard silks and linens had accumulated quite a pile…to the extent that 500-rupees-per-meter wasn’t that big of a discount anymore.

After I made my purchases, I headed back down to pick up my Sari. The man pulled out a chair for me, and I watched him say something to the man at the sewing machine who pulled out my sari fabric and STARTED to make my blouse. Oh man I was mad. It was supposed to be done yesterday, I came to Bangalore for the sole purpose of picking up my blouse, I don’t know when I will be back. Definitely not before next Saturday, which is when I need it. So I sat, pissed, for awhile, trying to have body language that portrayed my anger so that they would be able to hurry.

After awhile, though, I chastised myself realizing that that wasn’t really a very gracious way to behave. And that here I was, stuck at a real Indian tailor’s…so I might as well tak the opportunity to watch them sew my blouse. So I leaned in and observed, and an hour later my blouse was complete. I didn’t have the gumption to ask for a discount, and even though I watched the process I was still a pretty uptight and angry American as I left.

At this point, I was exhausted and more than ready to go home. Thankful that I had planned to take an auto, I made my way to the auto line. I didn’t even have the energy to barter…I accepted the “Meter + 40” that the man offered me. On the way, we chatted a bit and I started to loosen up. He asked me if I like India and I started to cry [seriously, this is happening to me way too often]. At a stoplight, he turned around and asked, “Would you like to learn to drive an auto rickshaw?” Ha. I said heck yes! And so after we hit Ring Road, he invited me up to the front and I took the handlebars.

It was…strange. Different. Like driving a stick-shift, but the gears are in the handlebars. After a while I was doing so well that he offered me control of the foot brake as well, but I decided that for both of our safety he should probably keep his foot on it. Once, though, I even drove by myself. He got out of the auto to start it, and then walked beside until I stalled. Prettttty cool. The only downside is that I as the only one in the auto, so I have no photos or video to document my experience. I was a little nervous that we were on the main road, and got a little anxious as I found myself face-to-face with oncoming traffic in typical India fashion. But it was exhilarating, kind of like one of those racing video games when you don’t have to stay in the lanes and your goal is just to get to the finish line safe and sound.

And I did J

Tomorrow My Life Will Change

Hm. Just a month ago I had a blog post with the same title. Time flew, as usual, and here we are again…tomorrow my life will change. My kids are coming home, and I am so excited. Roshen and Siddo are coming home too, which makes me really happy. Let’s flash back to the last time I was waiting for the kids to come: nervousness, excitement, fear. Now: excitement. Excitement. Excitement. I’m excited to hear about their month. I’m excited to hear what they learned. I’m excited to hear what questions they have. I’m excited to see how much more they have grown. I’m just plain excited.

Just Another Day in India

Well today started awesomely - I was happy, I was well-rested, I was motivated. Breakfast was delayed but I didn't let that put me off.

What put me off was morning tea. First, David asked a question about the calendar - he had a big dream for it that made perfect sense in his head, but both Debbie and I provided logical responses that proved his ideas to be not-so-good ideas. Which made him unhappy. Then the team who is working on the Bandhavi Day program (which is next weekend) presented their plan for the ceremony. They have been working very hard, the plan was made, there was an hour-by-hour schedule, a budget, and a theme, which was "Do Boys and Girls have Equal Roles in Society?" This is a super important theme for Indian students because of the radical patriarchal social structure that persists in India today and is perpetuated even in the school systems. However, long story short, they received nothing but bad feedback from the powers that be and had to create a completely different plan, return to the schools, etc. I know this is brief and may not make sense, but just know that it was a frustrating, prime example of Indian miscommunication, the dominance of authority, and lack of empowerment.

After morning tea, Mercy came to me and Debbie in the library. She had just received a call from a school down the road who had made plans months ago to come on a field trip to Visthar. She had forgotten they were coming, and had decided that Nazar (who was also in charge of re-planning Bandhavi Day), Debbie and I (who are leaving in 2.5 weeks and have loads of work to finish) should facilitate the program for 6th and 7th standard students. Ok, no problem. But wait, you will do the eco-tour. Debbie and I know nothing about the eco-ism of the campus; we were never given a formal tour ourselves. So what did we spend the afternoon doing? Going on a nature walk of the campus and then returning to further research so that we would have information worthy of a nature walk.

But wait, there's more. 10 minutes later, Mercy returned to the library. "Girls, I am never going to let you leave," she said. Why? Because she just heard from a gender workshop that she had committed to do next week but that she had forgotten about. "And I am want you two to come facilitate with me. It will be a great opportunity for you to run a workshop. We will plan tomorrow, because I will be in Tamil Nadu on Monday and Tuesday. Here's the schedule if you want to look at it." I took a look; the workshop is all day Wednesday. "You have some problem?" She asked. "Well, the students will be back and I don't know what their schedule is or what my responsibilities will be." "They'll just be writing their papers. You don't have to be here. It will be ok." But I insisted that I also have been working on a lot of stuff that I need to talk to Roshen about, so she said, "Fine. You talk to Roshen and find out if you can come, and we will plan tomorrow."

But after wasting the afternoon on a nature walk for a program that Mercy was supposed to prepare and forgot about, I decided that I wasn't going to waste another afternoon planning and a whole day facilitating another workshop that Mercy forgot about. It isn't fair to me, and it definitely isn't even fair to the participants - I am not a gender expert. I have no gender training whatsoever. And the thing is, when these things happen it is under the guise of empowerment. It will be professional development, an opportunity to lead. Yes, it would, and maybe if I had been invited to present a month ago I could have adequately prepared and been empowered through this experience. But not 4 days before, when I have other things to do as well and gender training isn't my niche or job description. Sadly, I didn't have the chance to [nicely] inform her of my decision before she waved me off and told me that it was ok, she and Debbie will do the training alone.

Thus is India. Or at least Visthar. and although my heart will break when I leave the people and the country, the work culture is definitely something that I will be more than ready to leave.

Falling in Love at a Sari Shop

I think that possibly, maybe I’m falling for you

Yes there’s a chance that I’ve fallen quite hard over you

I’ve seen the beauty your fabric cretes

I want to wear you…

I think that possibly maybe I’m falling for you

Yes, I have fallen in love. With the sari. With Indian fashion in general, actually, and with Indian textiles. The colors, the textures, the weight, the embroidery…all of it. Today I went Christmas shopping with Rachel Patil, and she brought me someplace I have never been before. It is the Mysore Silk Emporium, and I’m pretty sure that I was in heaven. It was like a dream – you tell them what you are looking for, they lead you to the appropriate counter, and bring out fabrics, scarves, saris of all colors and price ranges. The tears came when I climbed up the stairs only to find bolts and bolts of incredible, incredible fabric. I don’t think Rachel shares quite the affinity for textiles that I do, so I didn’t linger as I could have, but I have big plans to return by myself and spend at least two hours perusing, feeling, and absorbing the beauty of it all.

Walking to School

This morning I had to go into town to meet a friend,
and I left early because you never know how long it will take to catch the bus.
I saw two of the girls up ahead on the road, but I also knew that they were running kind of late for school so I didn't call to them.
However, about 5 minutes later, they saw me.
They stopped, waited, and took my hands.

I was walking to Kothanur, and they were walking to Kothanur,

and we did so hand-in-hand.

Soon we came upon the rest of the 6th and 7th standard girls,

and I walked with them all the way to school.

I had a great day shopping, but this short walk

was probably the highlight of my day

and is something I will remember forever.

Almost Fluent

It's really too bad that my time in India is almost over.

Besides the obvious reasons that I'm sad,

I am getting really good at Kannada.

And by really good, I mean I can make some sentences,

my vocabulary is increasing,

and I can understand tumba kannada.

It was hard for me to catch onto at the beginning

because it's SO different from the romance languages that I know,

but now I can make sense of the sounds and noises

and it's a language that I would really like to be able to speak...

too bad they don't speak it anywhere but Karnataka.

An Indian Thanksgiving

Wearing plaid, listening to Josh, I could see my breath on my morning run, and, with a little imagination, breakfast tasted like stuffing. It’s kind of really Thanksgiving J

Other than that, though, an Indian Thanksgiving is pretty uneventful. It’s clearly not celebrated here, and we were working, as usual.

One of my highlights, though, was a facebook message I got from one of my students. I had written to let her know that I picked up her sari blouse at the tailors, and I received back a much longer message thanking me, telling me they missed me, and then wishing me happy thanksgiving. With an, “Oh. I don’t know if you do this in your family, but if you do….” And she proceeded to write a list of all the things that she is thankful for, and invited me to do the same. It was so cute, and quite the blessing as I sat and thought, really, of what I was thankful for. From silly things, like Sid's plaid shirt I was wearing that reminds me of holiday festivities, to serious things, like how thankful I am that I was not put through the Indian school system, to meaningful, like the growth that i can see in myself and the ability to see who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, because the main purpose is to just be with the people that you love. And looking around today, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and amazement that here I am, in india, halfway around the world from my family and friends, yet I am still surrounded by people that I love. And who love me. And that, dear ones, is something to be thankful for.

All for Ice Cream

it’s funny what girls will do for ice cream. Anybody, really, but girls in particular. Debbie and I, specifically. The girls were on leave again today (seriously, I think they have at least one holiday every week. These government schools will do anything to get a day off…) so English class was canceled and we headed into Kothanur to do the errand-running that we didn’t do on Monday. Which culminated in going to Cornerhouse.

In order to go to Cornerhouse, we had to hail an auto, ask him to drive us there, wait for us, and take us back. Thankfully, we had a wonderful man who charged us on the meter plus twenty rupees to wait from the get-go, no bargaining required. Phew. I had to direct him as we went, because I don’t know street names, have only been to Cornerhouse on the bike, and it looks a lot different in the night than the day. We made it, though, and ate our ice cream. It was Debbie’s first time, and it was fun watching her fall in love.

We laughed on the way back, because we spent more time in the auto than we did in the ice cream parlor. We also spent more money on an auto than we did on ice cream.

But it was so worth it.

I Think I'm in Love

His name is Nazar, he’s about 35 years old, and he is married with one spunky daughter.

But seriously.

Nazar has a deep passion for children, and it is so evident whenever you talk to him. Not only does he love children, though, he is passionate about empowering them. For some reason, I hadn’t talked to him a lot about his work or how he got where he is, but I have been spending more time with him recently (we even chatted on the phone on Thursday night) and wish that I had placed myself by his side from the beginning.

His eyes light up when he talks about his work with the children in the villages, and the way the girls love and respect him is unbelieveable. He’s an educator, yes, but he isn’t a teacher who stands in front of the room. He places the power in the hands of the children, and to see the impact that that has is astounding. I think that I could stay on another six months just to observe Nazar. I would learn sooo much. And I hope that, one day, I can be as empowering, passionate, patient and gentle an educator as Nazar.

I wish I would Have...

Well, it is exactly 4 weeks until I start the long journey home.
And today, there are so many things that have happened, people I have met,
That make me wish I would have done it so much sooner.
Tonight Debbie and I were leaving to walk to Kothanur
And just happened to be going at the same time as Pramilla, Tungha and Jyothi, some of the RLC staff. When they heard that we were going to Kothanur, they invited us to make a larger circle and walk to their homes in Bayrathi Bunde before Kothanur.
We never made it to Kothanur.
We visited each of their homes, starting with Tungha’s, which is a small one-room hourse she shares with her daughter and two sons. She made us delicious coffee (wow how I am going to miss fresh coffee!) and her son went to the stand outside to buy us biscuits and juice. Then we moved on to Pramilla’s house, but on the way she stopped at the same stand to buy us a “Karnataka Special” snack…which tasted strangely like Bugles. Pramilla’s husband (who has now passed away) was a construction worker, and for that she has been blessed with a bit of a larger home that she shares with her 11-year-old son who reminded me SO much of JJ. We declined the offer of tea or coffee, but on the insistance of her son that “You must drink something” sipped the glasses of water that were offered to us as Debbie murmered under her breath, “And will we have diarrhea tomorrow?”
We ended our neighborhood visit at Jyothi’s house; Jyothi is new on staff and oh-so-cute. Her oldest daughter told me that she saw me yesterday at Bala Mela, which made me (a) laugh because in a group of 7,000 of course she saw me, I was the white girl in a sari and (b) a little bit nervous because it’s quite possible that she was one of the ones wanting to talk to or touch me that I ignored. Luckily, through our conversation I gathered that I hadn’t been rude to her.
It was quite the wonderful evening, full of SO much food and hospitality and Debbie and I returned to Visthar without completing what we set out to do, but so thankful we took the walk to Byrathi Bunde. It made me wish I had trekked over there earlier, because I could have connected with these ladies so much more if I had had months to walk home with and visit them…as it is, I now only have a few weeks.

Bala Mela

I hate carnivals.

The girls have been so excited – and I have too – for today. It was “Bala Mela”, which is a big festival put on by an NGO called ECHO for the NGOs of Bangalore hat work with underprivileged children. A day when each can come, the children can perform, and there are food and games. Nazar started working on a drama about the story of the Indian girl child with the girls, and he was gone in Koppal so I have been practicing with them. They really are talented, and the story is moving. So YAY we’re going to Bala Mela with 5,000 other children. Great, awesome, wonderful.

For some reason, it didn’t register until today that “food and games” meant, in essence, a carnival. I also didn’t think about the fact that I was going to be basically the only white person there.

Picture this: the Annandale 4^th of July carnival. Or any small-town Minnesota carnival. Old, dirty games, cheap prizes, nasty smells, loud noises, rude children and sooooo many people. Now imagine that, in addition, you are the only person attending from the city. Everybody else is a country mouse, and you can tell. Because you’re from the city, you’re a big deal. Everybody stops and stares, the brave come touch your hair or pinch your skin, the women ask you to tell their daughters they are beautiful and hold their babys’ hands. Oh, and all of the men ask where you’re from and tell you you are looking very beautiful today.

It’s a fine line for me, because while I don’t want to perpetuate the ideology that being white is better or more beautiful than being of Indian skin tone, but neither do I want to ignore people who are just trying to be friendly. Normally, I don’t notice that I’m the only white person, and I make short and friendly conversation with those who initiate it. But the girls have never been with me in this kind of situation, and you better believe that they noticed that everybody else noticed that I am white. And they didn’t like it one bit. Even for me, today was overwhelming. I became an attraction. I dreaded leaving the program pavilion. And the girls kept me there, because “There are very bad people here, Aunty.”

We were sitting on the curb waiting for our bus when some women walked by lookoing at me. I smiled, and one of the girls aske,d “you know her, Aunty?” no, I said, “But why did you smile?” she asked. I explained a little bit of Minnesota nice, and they laughed. A few minutes later a group of guys walked by and said, “you look very beautiful in the Indian sari today”. I said thank you and averted my eyes, and Renuka proceeded to tell me that the next time anybody said anything she was going to stand up and fight them. Deepa covered my face with her scarf so I wouldn’t have to see anybody when they looked at me. These girls are the sweetest, and the cutest, and I am so thankful (a) to have them and (b) that they don’t esteem me any higher than themselves because of my skin color…that to them, I am just an aunty and a friend.

Oh but P.S. our drama was awesome. Most of the other NGOs did dances, and a lot of them were to modern music. I was appalled because a lot of the songs were sexual…and these were vulnerable children. However, you can also note that the only reason I knew the content was that those parts were in English. Thank you, Western influence. Even the other dramas, though, were waayyyy too long or confusing. Ours was simply music, it was 6 minutes long, and it was powerful. I filmed it…

A World Where They Speak English?

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like once I return to America and understand everything that people are saying.

I am so used to the melodic tones of Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil, and Hindi. Never do I feel uncomfortable because I don't understand something...because most of the time, I completely understand contextually what is going on. But I don't know what they are saying, exactly. And I think that, once I return to America, it may be very overwhelming to suddenly be in an environment where I speak their language fluently....and they speak mine.

Hm. Interesting to think about.

Investing Work in Nothing

Last night, Debbie and I decided that we should have started a blog a looooong time ago about our life working in India. Because seriously, I think we would have a lot of hits. In fact, they would probably want to make a movie about us. The number of crazy and frustrating things that happen in Indian work culture are absolutely astounding.

At tea this morning, it was reconfirmed: we should have started a blog. I just wish we would have thought of it sooner, because by now we have purposely forgotten much of what has happened to us. However, to give you a snapshot, here are the highlights from just the last few days:

- There is a group from Germany here using the space for an art program. Mercy thought it would be a good idea to do a workshop for them on women in India using Francois’ dolls. The date was set for Saturday. On Wednesday, Francois was talking with the group and they said, “No, it the workshop isn’t on Saturday. On Saturday we are going to Chennai. We have the program planned for Friday.”
- A Dutch program left yesterday. They had stocked the dining hall fridge full of Kingfishers and wine and have been drinking it openly during meals. Visthar has a strict no-alcohol-on-campus policy. Therefore the staff was quite upset. The question that we are asking, though, is Did they know about the policy??? Francois didn’t know, and she has been here 3 weeks. The Germans, who saw the Dutch drinking, are now bringing alcohol to campus. But the directors think they cant do anything about it, because the Dutch did it and they can’t stop the Germans from doing it now. So clearly nobody told the Germans…
- Visthar annually produces beautiful calendars to raise money for an outside cause. The Bandhavi girls do the drawings, and they are printed on the recylcled paper from our paper unit. David is really gung-ho about marketing these calendars and after a conversation with the Germans told us that if we could translate it into German before they leave on Saturday, the group will purchase 400 to bring back with them and sell. So poor Debbie spent all day yesterday trying to translate a Native American prayer (only to discover that only the first and second paragraph were the actual prayer…the rest had been written by Mercy…but that isn’t the issue at hand) and when she told the group this morning that she had done so and were they interested in seeing it? They told her that no, they had absolutely no interest in taking home calendars this year; it was too late to purchase anything to market for Christmastime and besides, they already have many calendars from other organizations. Perhaps next year they would be interested in some, but definitely not 400. But maybe they would like to take a few English calendars home for their own use?
- We are expecting a visit from the Gustavus professor who will be coming on SJPD next year. We are also in the process of expanding this program. At our last meeting, we decided we would have the proposal finished so that David could bring it with him to MN this winter. Sid and Roshen (my power team) are in Hyderabad with the students so we have been struggling to work together via email to cobble it together piece by piece. Sid has been really gung-ho, and on Tuesday night when I told him that there really wasn’t a rush, he had other things to do and we can go more slowly he said, “Wait, didn’t they tell you? They want the proposal ready to give to the professor when he comes.” I said, “Sid. The professor who is coming on Monday who I am hosting for breakfast and planning a welcome ceremony for? Monday as in 5 days from now?” Yup. One and the same.
- Along the same lines…Visthar is very busy right now. We have a lot of things going on, but everything was kind of stopping to revolve around the visit of this professor. We are inaugurating a new campus in Koppal, about 12 hours north, this weekend, but one of the directors stayed back to have breakfast with the professor and me. This morning what did we find out? That the professor has canceled his trip.
- Speaking of Koppal, have I mentioned that the campus buildings were supposed to be finished in August? And then in October for the SJPD program to stay in when we visited? Well…we stayed in a hotel. And I talked to Nasser last night, who went up to Koppal on Sunday, and he said that everybody is working from 5am – 12:30am daily to get things done and make it look nice for the inaugeral.

Yup, there it is. A snapshot into the wonderful world of working in India.

My Dream Is...

In English class, we've started our dreams unit.

Earlier this year, I had a conversation with Lakshmi when she told me she wants to be a doctor and then asked, "What is your dream, aunty?" This is a conversation that takes place frequently, so I decided it would be reallly cool to take a picture of each girl and have them write a little blurb about what their dreams are, putting them into a book at the end. So that is our new English project, and it has been a little bit difficult for some of the girls to grasp the idea. We want to emphasize not only that dreams are what you want to be when you grow up, but to talk about WHY that is your dream, and that you shouldn't be afraid to dream big. Also, your dreams don't have to be only about you, but about the world. For example, My dream is to be a teacher so that all children can learn how to read. My dream is to visit Jen Aunty in America. My dream is that all children have food to eat.

I was a bit nervous to start this with the youngest girls; they're kind of rambunctious and I thought it could possibly be a difficult conversation. However, as usual, they surprised me.

We talked for almost a whole hour about dreams, and about their villages where children only get one meal a day and families live without houses, without blankets, without clothing. We talked about what kind of dreams they could have that would help these people, and to see their passion and their excitement thinking of a world that is better than the one that they know was absolutely heartrending and inspiring.

Big Night Out

Today, Debbie and I had a big night out.

By Big Night Out, I mean we left Visthar at 2:30. We went to town. We went shopping. We ate in a food court. And we went to an English movie. Today is Eid-ul-Zuha, so the streets were fairly empty and for once walking through Bangalore was relaxing, not wearying. It was the first time I've seen an English film in theatres here, and I loved being able to relate to the cultural references that were used...sometimes, I was the only one in the theatre laughing.

We got back to Visthar at almost 11pm. Which is way past our bedtime. But it was so worth it.

Proud Mama

I feel like a proud proud parent.

Kengemma, who I have been "reading" with every once in a while,

sounded out a word by herself!

Let me back up by saying that Kengemma is in 4th standard.

She comes to me, puts her hands in front of her face, and says,

"Aunty. English study?"

Coming from a girl who once ran away embarrassed when I asked if she wanted to read with me, this is incredible.

Reading for Kengemma consists of spelling out every word letter by letter.

I'm pretty sure that she struggles with learning differences (for which the Indian school system, especially the government schools, have no accomodation); she may read an "I" in one word, but in the next word she sees that "I" as an "S" or "T". Words are just a bunch of letters for Kenge, and they hold no meaning.

I would love to video our reading sessions, because she is the absolute cutest. If she doesn't know a letter, she'll hold up her hand to keep me from telling her the answer. But then she'll get this sneaky look on her face and whisper, "One Aunty, just one tell me". Gosh darn it she is precious.

Each time we read, I try to get her to sound out one word. Only one, and then every time we see it I ask her to pronounce it after she spells it. It had been awhile since we read last, so the word last weekend was "the". Today, after we reviewed "the" a few more times, I moved on to "it". "Is" was on the next page, and because they were similar, I took a leap and asked her to pronounce it. With a little help, she figured it out.

But the grand finale came on the next page. The first sentence had "the". Check. The next sentence started with "It is in." I pointed at "It" and she pronounced it. Pointed to "is" and she knew. Then I pointed to "in", a word that we hadn't worked with before...and she sounded it out all by herself!

I started to cry. I caught myself, but the tears and the welling up of emotion in my chest were definitely there. Throughout the next couple pages, we worked on identifying "the" "it" "is" and "in". These sound like small victories, and they are, but oh so meaningful!

New Earth

Now that poverty has become so much more personal to me,

I can understand so much more of the Bible

and of God's call for justice.

Before, I knew it was there

I would read God's heart for the oppressed,

my heart would break with his,

and I would feel anger towards structural injustice,

and a desire to do something.

But what, and how?

Now I have seen it, experienced it,

and I am walking through life with those who are victims of oppression,

and the call of the prophets, the life of Jesus, the responsibility of Christians

to bring God's kingdom to earth

has such greater meaning.

I think that often we read the prophets as something of the past,

a story of God's call to his people and to Babylon etc to repent.

What we in the West don't realize is that the injustices the prophets are crying out against

still exist.

Last night I was reading Isaiah,

and my heart yearned for the New Earth

that we always speak so much about...but whose meaning I don't know that we grasp.

At least I hadn't.

The sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more. Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; the one who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere child....They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit. No longer will they build houses and others live in them, or plant and others eat....my chosen ones will long enjoy the work of their hands. They will not labor in vain, nor will they bear children doomed to misfortune... (Isaiah 65)

When I read this passage, the images that come to mind are India. Not the superpower India that you hear about in business, and not the India that Obama interacted with when he was here last week. This is real India. Infants die malnourished, females are killed via gender-selective abortion or shortly after birth because girl children of of no use - they simply another mouth to feed and a large dowry to pay. India has the 2nd largest population in the world, but only 5.2% are over the age of 65. Many have been displaced by settlers and farmers, given instead a plot of land worth 45 cents, and rather than work the land for their own sustainability they are paid meager amounts to produce food for others. The work that most of India does is not for them, it is for the benefit of those who are already wealthy...or at least better off. And their children, their dear sweet children, are born doomed to the same undignified life.

I wish you could see the images that I have when I read this passage, the people who I've met who flash through my mind...I only wish that, when I read "Your kingdom come" in the New Testament, of "freedom for prisoners and the recovery of sight for the blind", of "setting the oppressed free" that the images coming to mind were as vivid...if not more.

Making Poverty Personal

Although I have been living among the poor for 5 months now,

have been meeting people

and spending time in village communities,

tonight the reality of the meaning of poverty became personal.

Yesterday, while we were watching a Kannada film (It's called Milano - I recommend it), Padma (our oldest girl) started to cry. She is generally strong - very strong - and when others cry she tells them to stop. Previous times when she has cried she has been ashamed. Yesterday though, she didn't stop. For about a half and hour she just cried. None of the girls knew why, and she didn't want to talk, so I just sat holding her hand and wiping her tears.

Tonight, she came to me and said, "Aunty. Yesterday I had a phone call with very bad news." Her brother had called, and he is not well. "Is he sick?" I asked. "No Aunty. In my village, there is no food." Now, already I knew that Padma's mother died about 2 years ago, 3 years this April. Her father passed away a month after her mother. I knew that she had a small sister (who is here at Bandhavi) and also two brothers who were aged similar to mine. And a cute 2-3 year old sister as well. For some reason, I hadn't realized that there were 8 children all together. Her oldest sister is married, and she has left the village with her husband, taking the smallest girl with her. Another brother lives near Bangalore, and this, her 13 year old brother, is living in the village with an aunt. "Aunty, there is no food. And my aunt is beating him," she said. My heart broke. "Is this the village you will return to when you are finished here?" I asked her. "Yes Auntie. But I am not going back. It is very bad in my village. I will stay here." "Here?" I asked. "You will be finished with Visthar when you graduate, Padma. Then what will you do?" "I don't know Aunty. I won't be here. I won't be there. It is very bad. I will be...somewhere." "Do you have a dream, Padma?" "No dream, Aunty. Dreams are bad."

This is common in India. Food shortages, domestic abuse, girls without dreams...girls who know they can't have dreams because they won't come true. All this I knew, and I have seen, but in talking to Padma it became real. It broke my heart. And I don't know what to do about it.

Children's Day

November 14th is Children's Day in India. It is Nehru's birthday (Nehru was India's first prime minister after Independence from Britain), and for some reason (nobody yesterday really knew why), they have decided to celebrate Nehru's birthday by celebrating children.

What a beautiful idea and a beautiful day. I celebrated with the girls and we invited children from Kotumba, a nearby NGO that is a home for disabled girls, to join us in the celebration. I gave a welcome speech, and there was singing and kolatta [traditional Indian dance], a drama and biscuits with juice.

Why don't we celebrate a Children's Day in the United States? We have Mother's Day and Father's Day...but not Children's Day. Maybe it's because in many cultures in America, we rush childhood. From the youngest age, we ask children what they want to be when they grow up. Throughout school, they are being prepared for when they grow up. Children are taught that every activity they do will go on their transcript, which will transfer to their college applications, which will provide experience for future jobs. Therefore nothing [and I am using the word 'nothing' in a harsh and over-generalizing manner] we do as children is for the fun, innocent joy of being a child. It focuses on the future. Children don't need to be celebrated in one day - Mothers and Fathers, now they do a lot of work. They definitely deserve a celebration. Some may argue that we do celebrate children daily because our lives as mothers and fathers, teachers and caretakers, revolve around them. Which is true, in a sense. But when do we actually celebrate childhood?

We can learn so much from children. Even my girls, who have experienced a lot more of the harshness, complexity, and struggle of this world than I probably ever will, still have a childlike trust, innocence, and blitheness from which I learn daily. Through the lens of a child, life is so simple and clear. One song that the girls sang was about the impact of America on India, on the impact of Western business and globalization on Indian lifestyle, economy, and livelihood. It wasn't a song they were forced to sing; they heard it on the radio, copied the words, and practiced to sing it because they believed it. "Before, we used to drink coconut water. Then coca cola came and started producing in India. It polluted the land and the water and made life harder for those in agriculture. Coca cola is bad for you, and now children want to drink it instead of coconut water. It is expensive and people cant afford it and they feel bad because they cant give their children what they want." This could clearly be quite a political song, yet for the girls, there were no politics involved; rather, as children they saw it as truth, plain and simple. There was no judgement; they just saw the effects on their lives and the people they love and wanted to tell us about it. (Another thought that would require another blogpost is this: would American children be aware of issues like this and care enough to sing a song about it?)

Jesus said we must be like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven...how often do we remember this? And what does it even mean?

Light in the Darkness

Tonight as I was riding with the girls to a dance performance in the city, we drove past the church with it's red cross aglow on its roof. The doors were open wide revealing the activity going on inside; it appeared as if a small choral group was practicing...

I smiled, as the warm glow and spirit exuding through the doors brought me home to my church family. I marveled at the small church and the lack of resources that I know it experiences, yet how just the fact that the door was open and there were joyful faces inside made me want to enter in.

Immediately I was brought back to "vision" meetings that I have participated in in the states. Let's build a big building - that will bring people to church! Let's have an arcade - everybody will want to come to youth group! Let's integrate celebrities into our dramas - then people will know that Christianity is cool! Our church will be on the map, and people will know who we are...and, of course, will know who Jesus is through us.

Something about that has always bothered me, and tonight I realized why.

Did Jesus ever say, "They will know that you are Christians by the things that we have"? No. In fact, Jesus probably didn't have much himself. Last I checked, it was, "They will know that you are Christians by your love." Church of America, do you know that much of our affluence and perpetuation of things is in fact what has turned most of the world - and much of America for that matter - away from the church?

The Kothanur church I speak of is small and one-roomed. There is no arcade, no ipod giveaways at youth events, no hot tubs at retreats [their retreat WAS trekking through a nearby jungle, though, which although simple is pretty cool], and I've never heard speak of a celebrity guest. However, this church is very involved in its community. From the few times I've attended I can tell you that its heart is for justice and for Jesus can't be beat, and on Sunday morning people are spilling out of its doors, with chairs set up on its front step and people lingering under the portico.

Micah 6:8 comes to mind, and as I reflect on the American church I can't help but ask myself, what on earth has made us think that we will bring people to Jesus through things? Although I do realize that living in American society amidst American consumerism, it appears as if this is indeed the way to do it. That this is the way to draw people to church and therefore to Jesus. But I wonder. We always say that money can't buy love...is it any different when it comes to evangelism, when we attract people to Christ through things? How did Jesus bring people to himself? Shouldn't we be spending that time, that energy, that money on loving people? Sharing those resources with those who need it?

Isaiah 58 says that, "If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

I would love to see American churches becoming lights in the darkness because they spend themselves on behalf of the needy rather than from the electric glow of the video games in the basement. And wouldn't you rather be known for being the restorer of streets with dwellings than as the church with the delicious cafe?

If I Had a Million Dollars...

I decided today that there are two things that I am going to do as soon as I enter the MSP airport. The first is to buy a postcard showing pics of Minneapolis. I am going to address it immediately and send it ASAP back to Visthar.

The second is to buy a lottery ticket.

Because if I had a million dollars, I would buy a very large house and I would bring each and every one of these girls home with me. Not right away, mind you, and not for forever. As they graduate from Bandhavi, I will send them back to their village for a month or two of leave. And then I will fly to India, pick them up, and bring them back to the states. They will live with me for the summer getting adjusted to America and will then enroll at the U of MN...with my lottery jackpot, I will of course be footing the bill for their tuition. They get to ride bikes around campus just like they do now, to and from school, and will become equipped to follow all of their dreams.

10th class is 9 girls this year...9 girls who are looking ahead to an uncertain future. Yes, it is brighter because of their time at Visthar, but these girls are bright. They are gifted. They are beautiful. And in April they will be returning to their villages in rural India, most likely not quite schooled enough to cross the bridge into college. By bringing them to America I would in no way be trying to save them from the poor country of India, but rather to help empower them to return to their country as strong women equipped for change.

Start praying that that Christmas lottery has my name on it...

Sweet Talk

Last night a man participating in a workshop here said to me,

Your eyes are like cat eyes (which I guess is a compliment here; I get it often), your cheeks are round like apples, your hair is soft like silk, your lips are like pomegranates, your teeth shine like diamonds.

Unfortunately, as usual, he was 32, married, with 4 children…why don’t guys that I actually have a chance with ever talk to me like this? Why don't American guys in general talk like this? I tell you, it'll melt girls' hearts....J

I Hate India.

I know the title of this blog post is contrary to everything that I have already written today. But sometimes, I confess, I do think this. And tonight was one of those nights.

My room is often damp, and sometimes smells. Welcome to India. So yesterday I washed all my laundry, took everything off my shelves, and washed them. Tonight I collected my dry clothes, packed for Bombay, made sure my shelf was clean, and proceeded to replace everything onto the shelf.

I turned to put a book into my purse, and when I turned back to my shelf everything – and I mean EVERYTHING – was swarming with baby carpenter ants. Seriously, it was as if something had hatched. I stood, paralyzed, not knowing if I should cry or throw up. [Please not that at this point it’s around midnight, I had just spent the night at Nandini with the kids before they leave tomorrow and I am planning on leaving Visthar by taxi at 3:30 this morning. I am exhausted and emotionally drained.] I was also alone, and could definitely have used some emotional support. So I texted Sid, and thankfully he provided the comic relief I needed to get moving. I threw the cardboard hairbinder box outside, because for some reason they seemed to be most attracted to that. Then I grabbed Ziplock bags (thanks mom for leaving them for me) and proceeded to place all of my clothing inside of them in hopes that, by the time I return on Tuesday night, all of the bugs will have suffocated.

I wiped down the shelf again and again with chlorox wipes until not a single bug was left moving.

When I finally climbed into bed and turned off my light, it was 1:45. But I don’t think I slept; all I remember was swatting imaginary bugs off myself. I actually even found some live ones on my blankets. No joke, they were all over the place. Ew.

It is times like these, and only times like these, when I find myself thinking, “I hate India.”

Emotional Breakdown.

I had an emotional breakdown today. It was bad – really bad. I think I could see it coming, yet didn’t expect it to really happen.

This morning I had a meeting with Roshen. The professor of the Iowa program died, and the program isn’t happening. Which means my job is ending, and there is nothing more that I can do here that would make sense for me to stay.

Sid invited me over for lunch; his family was having friends over, and it would give us some time to hang out since the students are leaving for a month tomorrow. I left around 3:30, hugged him goodbye, and got in the car. As we drove towards Visthar, I felt like I was in a movie. There were conversations going on around me, but it was just static. Instead, I was fighting the emotions that came up as I realized, not that I wouldn’t see Siddo, Roshen, and the kids for a month, but that in a month, I would be saying goodbye for quite possibly forever. I knew I shouldn’t break down sobbing in the car, so I forced myself out of my melancholy reverie to chat with Ruben about inconsequential things such as the fireworks that he set off last night for Diwali.

When the car stopped, though, I practically jumped out. I didn’t know what to do. What normally makes me feel better? the girls. So I headed over to Bandhavi, which was an awful idea. Because the second I got there, I just fell deeper in love. I stood in the courtyard watching everybody go about their Saturday afternoon business, and the sadness built. Subi came and did her usual, “Hi Jen!” and I weakly tried to smile to say with the same enthusiasm, “Hi Subi!” She struck a pose and said, “How are you Jen?” and I said, “I’m fine…” and started to cry.

And cry.

And cry.

This was concerning for them. Hugs, kisses, and “Aunty why are you baydger [sad]?” I told them, through gasping breaths and laughs, “I don’t want to leave”. “We still have one month. Don’t waste your tears.” Said Padma. I sat with Padma, Subi, and Raji for a long time on the step; girls came to hug me, to talk…but as we sat, I felt wet drops fall onto my hand. I looked up, thinking it was raining. But the rain was falling from Raji’s eyes, and Padma was wiping away her own tears. This made me stop, because I didn’t want to cause a fuss, didn’t want to make them all cry because I know there will be more than enough crying come December 21.

As I sat holding them (or rather, as they sat holding me), I realized that when I came to India, I knew that I would be okay. I knew it would be a great experience, and I knew that I wanted to make the most of it. I’m a “bloom where you’re planted” kind of girl, and honestly I think I could thrive anywhere. But what I didn’t know - or expect, for some reason - was that I would ever love it as much as I do. I started thinking of the other times that I have cried in India, and realized that except for the one time I lost if after Crystal left, all of the other times I have cried have been related to a love for India. And that is saying something.

Tomorrow My Life Will Change

It’s funny, because I’m pretty sure that I had a blog post with this title at the end of the summer before the kids got here. And it was me dreading the next day, dreading the change that was going to occur, and a little bit of fear of the unknown (will they like us? Sid and I were asking ourselves. But most importantly, will they like ice cream?).

And now, tomorrow my life will change again. Because the kids are leaving for a month. And it’ll just be me and Debbie and the girls. am I looking forward to it? Yes. Excited to spend more time with the girls, excited to hopefully get more work done. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t going to miss them!

I Can Stay!!!

It’s funny how love endures, even when faced with trials and tribulation. Work sucked today; not anything out of the ordinary when one works within the context of Indian inefficiency and lack of communication (both according to western standards), but if after a day like today I still well up with emotion when thinking about leaving, you know it’s true love.

For the past few weeks, ever since I first professed my love for India and how I never want to leave, Sid and I have been plotting and planning to try to figure out how I can stay. Our ideas have ranged from rational: “Let’s get this THAMBO program going and then you can stay to do the planning for the summer program”, to radical: “What if….we say you are pregnant. And you don’t know who the father is. So you can’t go home…and you just have to eat Cornerhouse every day so you gain the weight necessary to look pregnant?”

Tonight, though, I knew I had to say something to Roshen. I was leaving tomorrow for Delhi, and I wanted to make sure that in the next couple weeks he would keep in mind that I am willing and able to stay as long as they have a need for me. So as I slaved away finishing the 4 new proposals, and Roshen came to say goodnight, I told him that I was willing and able. And he smiled and said, “Yes, I think it would be a good idea if you stayed at least to the end of January for the Iowa program. Yes, that would be very good.” I was ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatic. EEEEEEEEEEEE!

Prowling

Last night two of my students met body builders at Hard Rock Café. They do this thing they call “prowling”, which is when they roll around town trying to meet Indian men. They’re smart girls, so Sid and I have determined that it is harmless and a fun way for them to be able to meet Indians in public spaces…so we play along. It’s fun to have a little bit of innocent girl talk and have drama that doesn’t include relationships among our students. But the very best – well actually, there are two very bests. The first is that they are body builders. And yes, I saw the pictures. The second was the conversation this morning, when, after regaling me with their prowling success story, Ibbs turned to Roshen and said, “So what did you do last night Roshen?” and he replied, “I was worrying about you.”

Sports Films Rock.

Have I mentioned that I love Indian cinema? Today the film was Chak de India, a film about the story of the women’s field hockey team. This film blended my adoration of Bollywood with my absolute love of inspirational sports movies…which means it was a winner. Sid was visiting his grandpa in the hospital, so I screened the movie for the kids…and the power only went out 9 times J Like most Bollywood movies, you could see the inspiration from American films like Miracle, but the way in which this film captures the culture and politics of India is really incredible. You can see the important and convincing role that Indian media plays in society, identity discrimination, gender roles, and even subtle things like the fanatical love that exists towards cricket players. Next time you’re looking for an international film, I suggest you pick it up. Even better, give me a call and I will bring it over J

India's Favorite Pastime

If baseball is America's favorite pastime, Cricket is India's. Multiplied by about a thousand. Cricket stars (alongside film stars) are the closest thing to gods on earth that you will ever encounter in India. In fact, people hawk their phone numbers for millions and billions of rupees.

Today was my first cricket game. Thanks to Ruben (who “knows people”), we were able to get club seats for our students for only Rs. 100 and they were pretty darn good. Sid didn’t sit with us at all; he was up at the gate, his fingers interlaced with the metal, watching the game like a kid on Christmas. I, sitting in the stands….fell asleep. Who can blame me, though – I slept for just a few hours on the train, waking up around 5:15, hadn’t taken a nap that morning, and was running on minimal sleep from a night of staying up way past my bedtime in Koppal (it was so worth it though). Plus, I didn’t really understand the game.

After teatime though (yes, in India the game stops and there is a break for tea time…both in the morning and the afternoon) somebody explained the game to me and I started to really get into it. Ok, that may be a slight exaggeration. But I started to enjoy it. Additionally, the feeling in the air was electric. It was only day 2 of a test match (look at me talking like a pro) but the fans were STOKED. And they did the wave better than I have ever seen at a U.S. sporting event.

The one thing that gets me, though, is that you can play all day long, 8 long hours, and only get 3 wickets down. And then come back the next day only to do the exact same thing. I would get so frustrated. If you think that baseball is a long game…just give cricket a try.

Loving my Job, Loving India

In the afternoon, we took the bus out to the rural areas and met two mothers of devadasis, a young boy who was in bonded labor, and a young boy who by choice had dropped out of school and was working for an income. I love the chance that I have had to hear so many peoples’ stories and to experience India. I especially love doing it with the students, and using my “experiential learning cycle”-style questions to process our experiences with them later.

On the bus after this final meeting today, Roshen came to ask me how I found our conversation with these boys. I hope he wasn’t disappointed, because while yes I found it heartwrenching and frustrating that these boys were being robbed of a childhood and forced into work, but this isn’t the conversation that impacted me the most – my mind was still on the defeated devadasi that we met a few days before. It did, however, change Julio’s life, and it was a joy for me to be able to listen to him process our encounter when I asked him this very same question later that day.

What this conversation did do, however, was connect another heartstring to India; a heartstring that is strengthened with understanding and compassion, and a heartstring that I know will never break and will make it very difficult to return to America. A few of the Bandhavi girls came with our guests, and they came to sit by me saying, “Hi, Jen aunty.” I was shocked. I had met them 3 days ago, they had met me along with 19 other people, yet they remembered my name, leaned on my shoulder and sat on my lap. As we drove back to Visthar, James asked me, “Jen. What would you say is the #1 thing that you are constantly thinking about, that is always on your mind?” And, as I turned from watching the sun set against the Indian countryside, my very first response was, “That I never want to leave India.”

I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to come on this field visit to Koppal. It has truly been a growing experience both personally and professionally. Personally, to really experience India, to grow closer to my students and staff [sometimes bonding just comes easier when you're traveling]. And professionally, to be able to facilitate some of the learning process, to have conversations, to observe field visits being conducted, to question ethics, everything. I loved it. The other day Sid said, "I can't believe you and Roshen want to do this for a living. It's exhausting." Which yes, true, it is. But it is SO rewarding!

Empowering Women?

This morning we met with the Dalit Women’s Federation; more specifically, the Sanghra self-help group. Sanghra is an intiative of Visthar and is a honeycomb women’s group, stressing the importance of savings and unity. The women were absolutely wonderful, but it was slightly frustrating on several fronts:

1) my students were tired. And since they were tired, they were having difficulty engaging in conversation and I found myself asking most of the questions. Along these same lines, it was our last day and we had spoken with dalit women about the same issues all week long…I think the topic was becoming somewhat exhausted.

2) one of Visthar’s male staff was sitting in our circle, and because of his presence the women were sometimes hesitant to answer and he would answer for them, telling us how life was for them rather than letting us hear their voice and

3) They told us about a new initiative that Visthar has, the Child Rights Initiative and Adcovacy Program and that this and all other Visthar projects in the communities will be initiated by the women’s federation. I got excited about this, thinking it was a tangible effect of the self-help groups, proof of empowerment and giving the women courage to take initiative and offer their leadership for something. Intrigued, I asked, “Is this leadership something that you as women offered or that Visthar decided that you would do?” They looked at each other, Nazar looked at them and at me, the Visthar staff walked away with his phone and they said, “Visthar decided.” Now, I am not saying that it is a bad thing that this is a responsibility that Visthar is giving the women; in fact, it is a wonderful opportunity that women of this caste and circumstance would never otherwise have. However, if they are seeking to use this as a demonstration of women’s empowerment, I think they are lacking. Because what I have learned over and over is that you cannot empower somebody. They must empower themselves. Giving them this opportunity is providing them with tools to be empowered, but it isn’t until we see the women having ideas, offering their leadership, and making change on their own that empowerment will truly occur.

Why are You Here?

“Why are you here?” This question was posed to me during a field visit to the

Kunchi Kuppu slum in Koppal, Karnataka, India. I was speaking with one of the few residents who had received a degree, and who was also one of the very few who spoke English. As I began to explain that we were university students from America who were spending the semester studying in India he interrupted me, asking again, “Yes. But why are you here? Why have you come to this community?” I faltered, stumbled over my words. What could I say? The truth seemed dehumanizing: “These students are studying social justice, peace and development in India and it seems to us that you, living in a slum, are the victims of structural injustice. We are using your situation, impoverished living conditions, and lack of opportunity as a case study so that we can try to save the world.” As we watched my students playing games with the community’s children, this young man handed me a diaperless baby and introduced me to the baby’s 5-year-old sister. “This girl,” he said, “lives on 10 rupees a day” (10 rupees is the equivalent of $0.23). He gestured to the laughing group of children who were playing games with my students and said, “These children don’t know anything about life outside their community. They don’t know about anything outside of India. And you have come to India to study us.”

Robo: The Movie

Today we watched the most expensive Asian movie ever made. It is called Robot, and it is Bollywood at its finest. It cost something like 126 crore ($29 million) to produce, and it has the greatest male and female Tamil actors in it. The hero, Rajinikanth is basically a god in India; before movies with him in it, people build and burn fires in the theatres. The heroine is Aishwarya Rai, who was Miss World in 1994 and is still the most beautiful Indian I have ever seen (and there are a lot of beautiful Indian women around). The film was produced in Tamil, but we saw it dubbed in Telegu. Which was only India for you, because the town we saw it in speaks Kannada. It was 3.5 hours long, and if you can imagine a movie that combines Iron Man, Star Wars, I Robot, Transformers, and about 14 other robot/electronics/action films – even Spiderman, you can start to get an idea of what it was like. The film was shot all over India (example: in once scene they go to a barbershop. That barbershop is in Jaipur. It is the only scene in Jaipur, but for some reason they felt the need to travel to Rajasthan to go to that barbershop) and there were songs shot in Goa (western Indian coast), the U.S., and – get this – Macchu Picchu. Yes, in Macchu Picchu they were wearing feathers and singing a song in a clicking language. Would that ever fly in an American movie? No way José. But Bollywood can get away with anything…during the movie, you’re taken for a ride. But it’s fun, it’s thrilling. It’s only afterwards that you sit, stunned, when you realize, “Was Chita speaking mosquito?” “Did ha robot really just deliver a baby?” and your mind is baffled by this beautiful, bizarre culture we call India…it was almost as much of a learning experience as our day’s field visits ;)

I'll hopefully be bringing a copy back with me...but in the meantime, you can watch the trailer here.

Caste No Bar?

Following our village visits, we visited a landlord. We are assuming that this landlord is the one who owns the land upon which the members of the village community just visited work. A member of this community joined us in our visit; she is a leader of the self-help group and was returning to Visthar with our staff. Our large group filed inside the landlord’s house, and it wasn’t until we were all seated and settled that I realized this woman was missing; she wasn’t inside. We chatted with the wealthy landlord; he had no reservations telling us that the women who worked his land made less money than men, yet he also boasted of the inter-caste marriages that his family had supported. They were progressive, he said, and caste was no bar in the marriages. Yet as we filed out of the house, there sat the woman from the community, barred from entering his house because she was a dalit. A member of the lowest caste, she was unclean to enter this landlord’s house. It is so difficult for me to understand this mindset; how one human being can consider another unclean and untouchable simply because they are born at a different socioeconomic level. Progressive, hm? Caste no bar? I think it may be necessary to progress just a little bit further…

Defeated Devadasi

The memorable event of today was time that we spent in a village that is filled with Devadassi women, both former and current. After meeting the community (there are SO MANY children!) we split into small groups (one group with each staff member) and visited the women in their homes. My group was all female (except for one member of the media group) and this was a gift because I believe that the sprit of womanhood that was present encouraged our hostess to open up a little more than normal in our conversation.

However, this doesn’t mean that the conversation was rewarding or encouraging. The woman (I’ve forgotten her name) was just one year my senior, yet the look in her eyes spoke volumes of life I have not known…and many parts of that life I will never know. She was dedicated as a devadasi as a young girl; her elder sister also is dedicated, and they are fighting the system so that her younger sister will never be. She has three children; one is eight. Which means she gave birth to her first child at the age of sixteen; her youngest was diaperless and being played with by her grandmother outside of their hut.

We asked about her life, about “the system”, if she thought it was good or bad. The system is evil, she said, and it is a good thing that it has been abolished. What is the difference between her generation of devadasis and her mother’s generation, we asked. The difference, she said, is that her mother’s generation didn’t realize that “the system” was wrong, they didn’t realize their rights. Why did that change with her generation? Because they had exposure to the outside through self-help groups, through rallies and programs. (While some would champion this as a victory, I still question: clearly these self-help groups, these rallies and programs are in place because someone outside has judged the system as wrong; it is an opinion that these women have been subjected to..is it a western culture being thrust upon the eastern? Or is it true?) We asked what she gets from these self-help groups etc., and she told us that she gets money (Does money bring empowerment?). We ask what the government has done for her, and she says not that much. What would she like the government to do for her? Giver her another house for her mother and sister, giver her money so that she can buy more sheep. What are her dreams for her children? That they can go to school and get outside the village. What are her dreams for the future? That her sister will go to school, get married, and leave the village.

This is her life. She is resigned to it, she has been defeated by it. She has no personal ambitions or dreams; for her, it seems, her life is over. Her life is over at the age of 25, and all she can do is work and hope that her children will have a better life than she has had.