From One Nation to Another, With Love

Housecalls magazine, December 2005

The two lanky Americans have been greeted with garlands and huge crowds upon their arrival at train stations, have addressed large gatherings to discuss the importance of amity between India and Pakistan, and have even been endearingly addressed as ‘angels of peace’. A modern day sequel to Attenborough’s Gandhi? “Not quite”, says John Silliphant with a smile, “but Gandhiji’s search for truth has certainly been an inspiration for this initative.” The initiative – taking peace letters and cards from children across India to children in Pakistan - is certainly a unique one, and has been reverberating in the hearts of children across the country, as reflected in the thousands of cards they have collected. “Where all else has not succeeded, perhaps this might work,” adds Mark Peters, John’s comrade-in-peace.

Though their aim is greater peace among peoples, the two are not diplomats or ambassadors, and neither are they in India in any formal capacity. They are here, they say, “simply to do seva, to serve.” While many non-Indians flock to India with the intention of absorbing some of the spiritual wisdom for which this country is renowned, these two are spending a year in India, living on their own savings, “to give back to a nation whose citizens abound in spirit and goodwill,” says John.

Their idea of seva does not conform to any particular religion, nor are they affiliated with any particular NGO. Their aim, John explains, “is to give all that we have, and make every moment an opportunity for service.” Their ‘giving-in-the-moment’ credo often leads to seva activities that cross the lines of social convention for many Indians. For instance, in the city of Ahmedabad, they have often left many a sweeper - and the gathered crowd - flabbergasted by their desire to sweep the streets. Despite this fact, they both stress that their acts have not met with scorn, but with heartfelt support. Says Mark, “Most have been very appreciative of our efforts, even stopping to work alongside us. Our hope is that this appreciation will extend to the hardworking folks that are doing this demanding work day in and day out, with little or no recognition.” In rain or shine, the two have continued to work assiduously and silently, without expectation of reward or personal gain; their aim is to grow internally through external action.

Despite their unassuming modus operandi, the duo has been receiving accolades from Ahmedabad city officials and citizens alike. The municipality has praised them for their work, and has agreed to their innovative proposal to install attractive dustbins throughout the city with the help of well-known architect Yatin Pandya. In an effort to highlight the importance of sanitation, Ahmedabad’s commissioner Anil Mukim, has even agreed to join the two on a day of cleaning public toilets. Anandiben, a slumdweller who was blinded when her husband threw acid on her 5 years ago, fondly refers to Mark as her ‘very good friend’. While walking through the Tekra slums one day, Mark noticed Anandiben sitting, depressed and unable to move, in an unlit room. Mark brought her to a local NGO called Manav Sadhna, a move that has transformed her life. “You can never imagine you are giving anything away - you always end up receiving so much more in return,” Mark says, “Anandi and her family have adopted me as an older brother into their family and showered me with genuine affection. I literally have a second home now.” In their 6 months in the city, the two were involved in numerous activities ranging from opening a Seva Café to tree-planting; until the government told them in early August that they had to leave the country within the next few days.

The order stunned the two. They were on 6 month tourist visas in the country, and hoped to bypass the expensive exit-and-reentry requirement by demonstrating to officials their service-intentions. Yet the government was adamant; they had to leave. While many might begrudge the government and leave the country embittered, John and Mark arrived at a Gandhian solution to their predicament: why not go to Pakistan, carrying gifts of peace messages from children in India? Within two days, they were able to collect thousands of peace-cards from children in Ahmedabad, after which they moved on to Delhi in preparation for their departure.

In Delhi, they continued their intensive campaigning in private, public and slum schools. Children embraced the idea, and took to colors and paper with a selfless ardor. Teachers and principals gave them magnanimous support. Within a few weeks, they had collected over 15,000 cards. Says John, “Whether we get 10 cards or 10000 doesn’t matter. What does matter is that for each and every child who sits down and writes from their heart to another child, an internal connection will be made, and a seed of hope for a harmonious future will be planted.” Given the success of the program, and the fortuitous receipt of a 3 month visa-extension, the two realized that they could take this program to children across the nation.

The two now plan to travel the country until October spreading messages of peace and collecting cards, after which they will carry the cards to Pakistan. Many ordinary citizens have been deeply moved by the idea; John and Mark have received cards from a group of living Gandhian freedom fighters, a communal harmony theatrical group, and many have requested that they take cards from India’s Heads of State. When asked why they have chosen kids to be peace-messengers in a politically sensitive matter, John replies: “The key to bringing change in this world is through our children. If seeds of peace are implanted in them, it is peace they will sow. They will then unleash a better, more loving world.”

(read more about the project and see more cards: www.friendswithoutborders.org)

Bringing the Virus Home

WORLD AIDS DAY: December 1

The Hindu, November 26th 2005

SMITA JAIN

Government campaigns on AIDS still target traditionally stigmatised "high-risk" populations but the truth is that the most at risk are women among the general population.

CAMPAIGN TO SENSITISE MEN: There is an urgent need to spread awareness. Photo Courtesy: Breakthrough

IT is a beautifully crafted music video that describes the love story of a happily married couple, enacted by celebrities Mandira Bedi and Samir Soni. The lilting lyrics are by award-winning lyricist Prasoon Joshi, the director is Arjun Bali of Red Ice Films, and the mesmerising voice is that of Shubha Mudgal.

Though it sounds like the perfect formula for the latest Bollywood Indi-pop single, the video couldn't be more different. The message of the video, called "Maati", is one that strikes you squarely in the face: are you the kind of man who wouldn't use a condom for the safety of your wife?

Today, India is home to the second-largest AIDS epidemic in the world (after Africa), with more than 52,00,000 people living with the disease. Of these, nearly 20,00,000 are women, and this number is rising fast. While the prevailing notion is that the majority of HIV-positive women are commercial sex workers, statistics show that they comprise only around one per cent of the total.

Grim reality

Given prevailing gender norms in Indian society, the reality that this points to is grim: the majority of women infected are married women whose husbands or primary sexual partners are engaging in high-risk sexual behaviour outside marriage and are, in effect, "bringing home" the virus.

The Economist magazine predicts that women will soon be a majority of those infected by HIV/AIDS the world over, "with male chauvinism largely to blame". Research has shown that women are more vulnerable epidemiologically, biologically and socially to contracting HIV/AIDS, and young women are particularly at risk. Indeed, it is estimated that women are nearly 2.5 times more likely to contract HIV than their male counterparts.

In a society where discussion of sex is largely taboo, there are currently few avenues for women to get reliable information about HIV/AIDS. "Far too many women do not know how AIDS is spread," notes Irfan Khan of the Naz Foundation. "There need to be more spaces where women and girls can access information about HIV/AIDS, and also engage in open discussions on sexual health and sexuality."

Alarming spread

The rate at which AIDS is spreading among women in the general population is alarming, and the Indian Government is not acting fast enough to check its spread. "I think the situation is pretty much out of hand as far as I'm concerned," says Anjali Gopalan of the Foundation. "We're seeing a tremendous rise in numbers of women who are living with HIV."

Government campaigns still mainly target traditionally stigmatised "high-risk" populations: sex workers, men who have sex with men (MSM), intravenous drug users and migrant populations. Yet the reality is that the new face of AIDS is that of a young, married woman, who may live in a home near you.

Recognising the growing risk faced by young and married women, the video "Maati" is a part of a multi-media campaign entitled "What Kind of Man Are You?" launched by human rights group Breakthrough, to promote dialogue and equality within marriage and encourage condom use among men. "The purpose of the campaign is not to place the blame on men," says assistant director Alika Khosla, "but simply to sensitise them about the issues that women face, and ask them to sit up and think about the needs of a woman."

While men usually contract the disease by engaging in high-risk sexual behaviour, for Indian women, marriage is often the biggest HIV/AIDs risk, with nearly four-fifths of new infections being amongst married women. For Indian women, who usually marry young — it is estimated that nearly 60 per cent of women in rural India marry before the age of 16 — there is an urgent need to spread awareness about AIDS and the importance of negotiating condom use with their partners. Yet AIDS is not simply an affliction only of the poor, rural Indian woman. The number of urban, affluent women afflicted by the disease is rising.

Change in attitude

"It is a misperception that all educated women in our society — married or unmarried — are aware of the disease, and are able to easily negotiate condom use with their partners," says Khosla. "When a woman asks a man to use a condom, men often perceive it as accusing them of infidelity. This attitude needs to change."

For many women, knowledge of their HIV positive status is often accompanied by violence, stigma and abandonment by their families and societies. Meena's husband threw her out of the house after learning about her HIV status, which she had discovered during a pregnancy-related check up. He refused to get himself tested, placed the entire blame of the infection on Meena, and abandoned her along with their three children. He filed for a divorce from her on the grounds that she was HIV-positive, and married another woman.

Usha, 26, found out her HIV positive status two years ago, as her husband lay dying of tuberculosis. "We sought treatment for months and months, and couldn't understand why he wasn't getting better. At a bigger hospital, they confirmed his HIV- positive condition. Immediately after, they tested me."

Her husband is the only person she has had sexual contact with, and she was unaware of his other sexual partners. She has not told her family members about her condition, as she is unsure what their reaction will be. "I don't want to burden people with my pains. Due to god's grace, I have not yet had a reason to think about my condition. I work hard every day, with the knowledge that my daughter may study and have a better life. I want to show people that even we can lead happy, positive lives."

"Women need to know more about AIDS, and myths need to be dispelled. I know that I will never marry again as I do not want to afflict anyone else with the disease. Men need to begin to think the same way."

Indeed, if India is to stem the threatening tidal wave of atrocities against its women — and prevent an epidemic of African proportions — an attitudinal change amongst men is urgent, and necessary.

E-mail the writer at: smitajain2@gmail.com

Choosing Action Over Apathy

Choosing action over apathy (The Hindu, Nov 6th 2005)

SMITA JAIN

Leaving behind the security of their homes and jobs, young non-resident Indians are working to change things in their home country. The Indicorps venture shows the way.

Exploring their relationship with India: Changing attitudes to social service.

A CROWD has gathered at Vijay Char Rasta, one of Ahmedabad's busiest intersections. Neither for a film shooting nor an accident, and neither is it a dispute. A street school, run by Ahmedabad-based NGO Indicorps, is in progress. In a land that is home to the largest number of illiterate people, it is unfortunate that the school stands as an exception in its urban setting.

Speaking of the school, an Indicorps volunteer admits, "Many of these children attend school only for the free breakfast, yet it is important that they come, as it is the closest many will ever come to a school in their lifetime."

Though the non-traditional setting is unique, what distinguishes this from other informal schools is that the teachers — despite their traditional attire and language skills — are in fact young NRIs. They have joined Indicorps, as the website states, "to leave their comfort zones, place others' interests before their own... and explore their relationship with India."

Inspiration

Young Indians can gain inspiration from the example set by Indicorps. Though the volunteers aim to kindle an interest in learning among underprivileged children, they are aware that the school also makes a powerful statement to the people around them.

By choosing action over apathy, they are sending the message that young people need to take change into their hands if India is to become a better place for its citizens.

For a country that is one of the youngest in the world — nearly 33 per cent of Indians are below the age of 15 — the apathetic attitude of many youngsters towards community service is tragic.

Indicorps co-founder, 28-year-old Anand Shah says, "One needs to awaken the spirit of young people. There has to be the attitude that change is our responsibility and not that of the corporation, the Government, the Gram Panchayat or the next door neighbour." Anand began developing Indicorps 10 years ago from his Texas hometown along with his sisters Sonal and Roopal.

The street school is just one of Indicorps' numerous initiatives in India. Its primary programme is a yearlong fellowship in which NRI youth, aged 21-35, work on pre-selected development projects across the country.

Fellows hail from the U.S., Canada and the U.K., though applications from NRIs from other nations are welcome. Now in its fourth year, Indicorps has supervised over 35 fellows who have led projects as diverse as building entrepreneurs in Kanpur's slums and promoting health insurance among rural Maharashtrian women. So that the fellows adapt quickly to their project settings, they not only live at the project site, but also they take on the lifestyle of the area's inhabitants.

Needless to say, living with basic amenities in often-remote settings and on a stipend of Rs. 1500 a month is a far cry from the lifestyle of even many resident Indians.

Does Indicorps have a difficult time convincing fellows to stick with the programme initially?

"The challenge," says co-founder Sonal Shah, who was awarded India Abroad Person of the Year in 2003, "is not in getting people to stay, it is in getting people to return from India because just as they are beginning to realise what they can do, they have to leave."

But what tempts these youngsters to leave the security of home and lucrative jobs for an austere lifestyle of development work in India? Time spent in development activities is not just about promoting change within a community, Anand explains, it is also a unique exercise in personal development. "A year with Indicorps is an investment in our abilities. One builds problem-solving capacity, communication skills, and one learns how to take a vision and turn it into something successful." In short, Indicorps is not only building a cadre of more sensitised and aware youth, but it is also building leaders who will carry these lessons into their future careers. Current Indicorps fellow Shivana Naidoo, a medical school aspirant who has spent the last year working on a musical programme to encourage Hindu-Muslim communal harmony in Ahmedabad, describes a powerful lesson the year has taught her: "It is the working children of India — the rag pickers, boot polishers, child labourers — who have shown me the meaning of selfless service."

Indicorps brands itself as a leadership programme, and firmly believes that the reflection and personal growth that accompany the experience in development will help in building better, more effective leaders who can handle the challenges of tomorrow — and today.

For the Indians

Building leaders who can better represent India in their respective nations is at the crux of the Shah trio's goal. However, they hope to get people from India involved in their programmes — and perhaps also begin an Indicorps for resident Indians. "It is not good only for NRIs to come to India and give their time to the nation. Even people from India should be joining us," notes Anand.

Currently, Indians can get involved through Volunteer Ahmedabad (VA), an initiative to involve Ahmedabadis in local community projects. In its yearlong existence, VA information stalls have been set up at many campuses in the university-city. The message that Indicorps is spreading to youngsters in India is a simple one: you don't have to give a lifetime, a year, or even a day. Give what you have of your time and skills and you can help make this country a better place.

For many Indicorps fellows, simply living in India is an once-in-a-lifetime experience that often proves to be deeply enriching. Though they do admit to feeling the pangs of homesickness at times, most come to cherish the year for the invaluable lessons they have learned.

Rupal Soni, an Indicorps fellow working in the desert regions of Kutch to preserve traditional women's handicrafts, puts it eloquently: "Before living here, I never knew how many stars actually called the sky home. The desert sat me down for a quick lesson. `Rupal, you fool,' he said, `there's a lot of the world that you have left to see. You have to leave behind what you think you know in order to see it.'"

Treating Women's Health

Treating women's health (The Hindu, Oct 23rd 2005)

SMITA JAIN

Without formal education and facing great odds, Parmaben has succeeded in her mission to bring healthcare to Kutchi women.

Pioneering work: Parmaben's activities have impacted the lives of women in her community. Photo: Gauri Gill

HER earlobes hang almost touching her neck. Thick, white bangles cover her forearms; her richly woven kanjaria and audni speak of her desert-home. She has never had any formal education, and has only recently learned to write her name.

Yet Parmaben Sava has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for her pioneering work in bringing health care to Kutchi women through the collective Kutch Mahila Vikas Sangathan (KMVS).

A Dalit by birth, Parmaben married into a family in the Kutchi village of Jam Kunuriya (near Bhuj). Following the tradition of her grandmother and mother, she served the community as a dai ben (a midwife) and was well known for her skill and care.

First encounters

She first encountered KMVS when the founders — Lata Sachde, Alka Jani and Sushma Iyengar — came to her village in 1988. She was intrigued by these women from the city who were camping outside their homes under the harsh desert sun, and speaking to women about forming a collective that would work for their well being. They identified Parmaben's unique talent in health care, and encouraged her to join the collective. Parmaben sought her husband's permission to attend the meetings, but met with severe resistance from the community. Despite this, she persevered.

Today, she is one of the pillars from which KMVS derives its strength. She has been successful in training a network of over 2,000 skilled midwives and conducts regular camps on reproductive rights, health and family planning across villages in western Kutch. She has delivered over 1,000 babies, and was instrumental in beginning the first clinic for women in Khavda.

She has inspired people around her; over 40 of her own relations hold positions of leadership in KMVS. Her grandson, a coordinator with KMVS, says, "Our family has learnt how to work from my grandmother. We realise that by following our heart and working according to our principles, only good will come — good for society and good for us. But we realise that she has struggled a lot to reach this point."

Parmaben smiles wryly thinking back to those years. "I had to fight many battles, and faced many struggles. My husband would always ask why I thought I could go out alone. It was a struggle to make him understand. I also had to bear the insults of society, but I tried to pay no heed to it and thought of them as barking dogs with no bite."

What kept her going, despite the negativity around her? "I had a deep understanding of the health problems of women from my community and wanted to uplift them. I realised that it was my duty to do it, even if I had to struggle. To gain something, you also have to lose something."

Before KMVS brought in its health initiatives, Parmaben says, the condition of women in the villages of western Kutch was deplorable. The social mores of Muslims and Harijans — two communities that dominate this region — dictated restricted roles and positions for women. Healthcare for women was almost entirely neglected and not believed to be important. Women's health-related problems were treated in a crude manner or left untreated. "If a serious health complication arose, the woman would be taken by foot to the nearby town (Khavda). It was not uncommon for the woman or the baby — or both — to die during the journey."

In Khavda, there was a general government hospital, but it was always poorly equipped and under-staffed. Besides, the doctors were always male. "Women, especially from our communities, feel embarrassed to speak about gynaecological problems with the doctor. Also, the men did not even understand the conditions we faced." In those early days, a clinic only for women seemed like a far-flung hope.

Yet in early 2005, after many battles with the Government, KMVS opened a women's health clinic in Khavda. "I had always dreamed of a health clinic for women," says Parmaben, "and now I am so happy that it is a reality."

Due to the efforts of leaders such as Parmaben in educating rural women about reproductive rights and training women in health care, thousands of women avail of KMVS resources in their villages and at the clinic.

Success

She has noticed that nearly all women from the region come to the clinic for their deliveries. Women have also been showing a greater degree of awareness and confidence in voicing their right to health care. Women across the villages look up to Parmaben as their doctor; indeed, due to her wealth of experience, she has often proved to be more effective than a doctor.

The previous week, Parmaben says, a woman in the final stages of her 10th pregnancy arrived at the clinic. Her baby was lodged dangerously in the side of her stomach.

She had approached the doctor at the government hospital, but he had refused to treat her on the grounds that the situation was too complicated and had directed her to the hospital in Bhuj. The woman could neither afford the trip nor bear the long journey.

She had heard about the new women's clinic and arrived there. That day, the clinic doctor was out of town, and Parma was the only one to receive the patient. Though she has had no formal training in handling anatomical emergencies, she began the treatment based on her experience. She began administering small doses of glucose, and slowly massaged the woman's stomach to ease the baby out. After a few hours of painstaking treatment, the baby was delivered successfully.

Parmaben believes that her inspiration comes from within, and from the good family values she has learnt. Women should be allowed to develop a sense of self-respect and self-esteem, she says. She laughs as she talks of her forthcoming trip to Canada. "For many years of my life, I lived behind my long ghunghat. It was difficult to even leave my house. This seems almost unreal."

Parmaben's nomination comes as a part of a project known as "1,000 Women for Nobel Peace Prize 2005". Since its inception in 1901, the Nobel Peace Prize has been awarded to 80 men, 20 organisations and only 12 women. The award is often given to statesmen who have been instrumental in negotiating formal peace agreements between countries. Yet the role of women in promoting peace within families, communities and societies is often taken for granted, and their tireless efforts in pursuit of the well being of people around them are not considered to be peace promoting. Recognising this "1,000 Women for Nobel Peace Prize" was begun in 2003 as an effort to identify and make visible the efforts of women across the globe who have had a substantial impact on their communities due to their courageous efforts in combating violence, injustice, discrimination and violence. Among the 1,000 women who have been chosen from across the world, 91 are from India, and 157 are from South Asia. Their work ranges from working towards communal peace, social leadership training to combating gender-based violence.

E-mail the writer at smitajain2@gmail.com

Keeping Gandhi's Spirit Alive

Manav Sadhna: Keeping Gandhi's Spirit Alive

(Published by Happy News, a newsmagazine dedicated to publishing positive news stories from around the world.)

An interested visitor to Ahmedabad, Gujarat in India might be dismayed at the few remaining traces of Gandhi's world-transforming spiritual and political philosophy. The city that once brought to mind the life and ideals of one of the greatest men the world has seen is, in recent times, being remembered for its communal violence and gigantic urban wealth divide.

One ominously recalls the words of renowned American political activist Martin Luther King Jr., who warned, "We may ignore Gandhi at our own risk." Though it may seem that India is treading the risky path of indifference, a trip to Manav Sadhna, which sits directly adjacent to the Gandhi Ashram in Ahmedabad, demonstrates that Gandhi's message is still resonating and continues to transform the lives of many.

A small, unassuming gateway near the end of the Ashram grounds leads one to a sign which reads in small letters, "Manav Sadhna: Service for All." The richly painted walls dance with the exuberant colors of traditional art forms; Gandhi's sayings are splayed across the walls. Children engaged in making Diwali cards of dazzling design sit in the verandah.

According to Manav Sadhna's Web site, the organization is a charitable institute, which works by the Gandhian principles of truth, non-violence, uplifting the poor and oppressed, promoting health and sanitation and educating the poor masses. It works in the area of education, nutrition, alternatives to child labor and medical aid to women and children living in the slums.

Through Manav Sadhna's Earn-and-Learn program, these children—who would ordinarily be earning money by scavenging, boot-polishing or ragpicking—are able to earn money, attend educational classes and leave with a nutritional meal in a positive environment.

When asked what he likes best about Manav Sadhna, a 12-year-old boy named Nagchi said he liked everything. "I like what I learn, I like how I am treated, and most of all, I feel happy being here."

Nagchi, who used to push a vegetable cart, heard about Manav Sadhna through a friend and decided to join. True to its Gandhian ethos, Manav Sadhna is cherished by many as a champion of the poor.

Established in 1992 by a group of three dedicated young individuals with the intention of eradicating child labor, Manav Sadhna has blossomed into a powerhouse of service activity with over 26 programs in domains as diverse as health care, nutrition, employment, vocational training and education.

Yet the emphasis in all programs, co-founder Jayesh Patel explained, is on serving with love. Love, he stresses, has the power to transform individuals to an extent that is unmatched by material giving. It also has the power to reach out to a vast number of people, both beneficiaries and donors.

From 70 beneficiaries at its inception, the organization now provides daily meals and support for over 600 children and 1,100 pregnant, lactating and widowed women. Empowerment of women is at the core of many of the organization's programs, Patel added, given the variety of injustices that are afflicted upon the health and dignity of women, especially in slums.

Many sit around Patel, waiting for a few minutes to speak with this man who exudes a spiritual goodness. He greets a woman named Anandiben and asks her how she is faring. Anandiben's husband threw acid upon her and her children five years ago; she was left blind and with only a thin layer of skin.

Through Manav Sadhna, she learned how to walk and slowly began to rebuild her life. Upon being addressed, a radiant smile lights up her face, and she replies that she has been doing well ever since she encountered Manav Sadhna.

Manish Barod, a 26-year-old who runs a number of programs including the street school, explained the positive sentiments experienced by many who associate with the organization.

"Here, one receives not only a future but a family, as well."

Barod was brought as a child by Patel, who found him, with burnt hands and a runny nose, selling acid near the Tekra slums. Health and hygiene have been cornerstones of the organization since its inception. Children's nails are routinely checked to make sure they are kept short. If the stray long nail is spotted on anyone he encounters, Patel will pull out his nail cutter and cut it himself.

"We may not have a pen," said a worker who develops innovative designs for the handicrafts made by the children, "but every Manav Sadhna worker always has a nail cutter in their pockets."

The importance of maintaining basic personal hygiene and good nutrition is woven into every program's daily curriculum and is regularly impressed upon the children. The results of this meticulousness have been far-reaching. Growth charts show that the children both acquire diseases at a slower rate than other slum inhabitants and also spread the hygiene lessons to other family members.

"It is not enough that our ears be feasted, that our eyes be feasted, but it is necessary that our hearts have got to be touched and that our hands and feet have got to be moved," Gandhi once said, articulating his support for the marriage of action and spirituality, a philosophy for which he has been forever immortalized.

Indeed, if he were to ever again walk down his hallowed grounds and catch a glimpse of the sublime radiance emanating through a tiny gate at the end of the ground, Gandhi would be pleased.

Revolutionary Initiative

Revolutionary initiative (The Hindu, Aug 28th 2005)

SMITA JAIN

"THE solution for a major health hazard that afflicts our entire nation," says Anshu Gupta of Goonj, "is as simple as providing clean cloth." In his matter-of-fact manner, Anshu went on to explain the modus operandi behind Delhi-based Goonj's latest revolutionary cloth-recycling initiative: collecting donated cotton cloth to create sanitary napkins for millions of women across the country.

Unconventional

Goonj's history and programmes show that the organisationand its founder Anshu Gupta, are anything but ordinary. While many in the development sector tend to seek macro-solutions for social issues, Goonj was founded in 1999 with the simple goal of meeting the clothing needs of less-privileged people by utilising clothing donated by those more privileged. In this way, the organisation revolves around a widely known but seldom-implemented philosophy: one person's rags can indeed be someone else's riches, especially in context of India's gigantic urban-rural divide.

Cloth, Anshu stresses, is one of three basic necessities for humankind, yet few agencies give it much importance. "We document the number of people who die of floods and of earthquakes. Yet how often has the Government ever counted the numbers who die — mind you, preventable deaths — of the cold everyday during Delhi's winters?"

Goonj's School-to-School programme, which recently won the Changemaker's Innovation Award for its excellence, involves a partnership between a privileged urban school and a rural school, in which urban students from give their rural counterparts school paraphernalia that they would normally have discarded. Schools that wish to participate in the programme are given reading material — printed on one-side used paper — to distribute. Thus, children are sensitised on issues facing their less-privileged counterparts, and are encouraged to think about the value of their own education and the ways they can help children in less-fortunate circumstances.

Goonj's latest project to utilise donated cotton clothing for creating sanitary napkins is based on the knowledge that many women — and hence their families — suffer major health consequences on account of using unhygienic cloth during menstruating days. This can lead to infections, which can cause multi-organ failure, infertility, and in certain circumstances, even cervical cancer. The consequences can also be multi-fold, as an infection can have an effect not only on the woman, but on the lives of her children born and unborn. The situation in India is not one to be taken lightly; indeed, India has one of the highest infant and maternal mortality rates in the world.

Needless to say, few women and even fewer men would dare to address this issue, preferring instead to keep the "dirty laundry in the house". Therefore, it came as a surprise to hear this Ashoka Fellow nonchalantly discussing the motivations behind his latest endeavour. "I have travelled far and wide across India, and everywhere, the situation is the same. Since menstruation is considered to be `pollution', women use the dirtiest cloth in the house — cloth that has been used to clean the floors, the bathrooms. And because it is imperative that the cloth be hidden from the neighbours, it does not ever see the light of day.

First step

Furthermore, there are usually two or three women in a household all using the same cloth. "And in this context of shame, of extreme health-risks, we often overlook this reality and give them lectures on reproductive health and maternity care. We still have a long way to go, but providing some clean cloth is a good first step." In fact, the gravity of the situation struck Anshu most deeply when a village woman in Uttar Pradesh told him how her sister had died of tetanus acquired through a cloth she had used during her menstruating days. The cloth was from a sari blouse, on which the hooks had not been removed.

Goonj is seeking donations of clean cotton clothing and bed sheets, which can be donated at any of Goonj's collection centres. They are also looking for funds to purchase of a sterilising machine to clean the donated cloth. If you would like more information on Goonj's activities or would like to donate, contact Anshu at 98681-46978 or anshu_goonj1@yahoo.co.in, or access www.goonj.info

Read the article: http://www.hindu.com/mag/2005/08/28/stories/2005082800100400.htm

An Indian in Shanghai

The Hindu, April 10th 2005

Hesistant metropolis or a strange land of bicycle avalanches? SMITA JAIN discovers a brand new China.

AP

For peace of mind -- legendary Chinese figures representing (from left) prosperity, happiness, and career achievement.

I NEVER expected to live in China, so when I found myself heading to Shanghai last summer to work at a procurement firm, I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd met few who'd been to the country, and from second and third-hand reports I'd heard, I imagined a strange land of bicycle-avalanches and where vegetarians ate grass. From what I'd read about China's tumultuous history, I expected Shanghai to be a hesitant metropolis inching its way toward capitalist glory, somewhere on the brink between the Past and Present, and encumbered by a rebellious populace.

My arrival at the gigantic, glass-panelled, world-class Pudong Airport and my subsequent ride to the city on the Maglev (the fastest train in the world), were enough to shatter many of my misperceptions. Gigantic billboards flashed latest London-Paris fashions, while others glorified the latest Chinese icons. As I soaked in the innumerable skyscrapers, malls and modern cityscape, I realised that this was in fact a Brand New China that was unapologetically racing forward on the global superhighway.

The confluence of concrete with the teeming populace and street-vendors gave Shanghai a decidedly NYC-meets-Mumbai feel, but with a major difference: the absence of English. I'd visited parts of the world where English is not the vernacular, but the psychological impact of walking through streets with signs, street names, and general conversation solely in Mandarin, was unparalleled.

Curiosity about India

At work, I received an excited welcome. Most of my colleagues had never met any Indians before, and they were curious to learn about Indian culture. Some had seen Bollywood films during their childhood, and were enamoured by the joyful songs and dances. During lunch break on my first day, they crowded around me as I opened up my spartan lunch, and the questions came pouring out: Why was I vegetarian? Would I be able to bear children? What are Indian languages like? Why doesn't India institute a one-child policy like China? Could India "catch up" with China?

As I waded through the questions, peering at the bright-eyed, curious faces around me, it struck me that for the first time, I was in a country nearly-untouched by Indian culture. While they were proud of China's achievements, they had positive impressions about India. India, they believed, was culturally and economically similar to China, and was thus a key partner for China in its bid to offset Western domination. They believed they had much to learn from India in terms of IT and English-skills, but when it came to food ... Indians sure were missing out on some tasty eel meat and chicken feet.

Eating out

AFP

Growing economic prosperity -- a bird's eye view of Shanghai.

The few vegetarian restaurants in the city were undoubtedly the saving grace for my vegetarian taste buds. (I soon found that to expect vegetarian food in a local eatery without a basic command of Chinese bordered on the preposterous.) Shared meals at typical family-style restaurants provided interesting cuisine etiquette lessons. Dishes are served on a revolving plate in the centre of the table, and food is deftly picked up with chopsticks as it comes by. Admittedly, chopstick-consternation led me to the ingenious idea of putting servings directly on my plate, and a gentle nudge from a colleague brought home the lesson that it is considered "barbarous" to actually place a helping on your plate. Fortunately, I didn't have to resort to a grass-diet; my Chinese friends made sure that lip-smacking tofu and vegetable dishes were aplenty.

Aware of the difficulties of getting settled in Shanghai without any knowledge of Mandarin, my colleagues often went out of their way to make sure I had no problems. This warmth and hospitality was echoed throughout my further travels in China, and was accentuated after I began speaking basic Mandarin. I remember getting into a cab one afternoon, only to find the driver turning to look at me curiously. He said excitedly in Mandarin, "Indian films! Song, dance, very good!" after which he burst into Amitabh-esque dance gyrations. On a train to Erlian in Northern China, fellow passengers crowded around me to stare and listen to my broken Mandarin. They immediately broke out into smiles, shook my hands and graciously complimented me on my command of the language! Local people whom I came in contact with were extremely pleased at even meagre attempts to speak Mandarin, and asked many questions about my heritage.

Though Shanghai provides an interesting window into modern China, my travels outside highlighted diverse facets of Chinese culture. In the beautiful water-towns of Tong-Li and Hangzhou, I gained an insight into slower, more traditional patterns of life. A climb up the jagged, perilously steep pilgrimage mountains of Huangshan and Taishan to see the awesome ancient Buddhist at their peaks, gave me a glimpse of China's deeply religious past.

With its abundant natural beauty, world-class cities and hospitable people, China undoubtedly fulfils most travellers' aspirations. Probe a little deeper, however, and you'll probably find more than you bargained for.

Vishalla: A Museum and Restaurant

(Housecalls Magazine, December 2005)

Imagine a place that combines relaxation with rural charm and home-cooked food, yet is located within the confines of a city. Sound impossible? Not so in Ahmedabad, where designer Surendra Patel has inspired a new generation of ‘feel good’ restaurants with his brainchild Vishalla Restaurant. The restaurant, located on the Ahmedabad-Baroda highway, has become a must-visit for visitors to Ahmedabad not only on account of its lip-smacking (and healthful!) rendition of traditional Gujarati food served in a village-like setting, but also for its unique Utensil Museum. The museum, which houses over 4000 pieces of traditional Indian houseware, is the only one of its kind in the world and is worth a visit. Providing something for all, Vishaala Restaurant offers an exciting experience and a sumptuous feast, not only for the stomach.

The idea for Vishalla restaurant, says Surendra, came from observing the ever-growing presence of stress and tension in urban dwellers’ lives. “Over the years, I observed that city folk always were always seeking places go to after work in the evenings – maybe to a garden, a restaurant, a temple, or a pub – anywhere, just to relax. Yet even many of these places afforded little mental peace. I thought to myself, why not create a restaurant with an ambience of relaxation and a natural setting, for a tension-free night out, away from the clamor and clang of the city?” Thus, in 1978, he began Vishalla Restaurant with the intention of creating a place of village-like serenity, openness and close connection to nature, as a kind of ‘retreat’ for urban folk. “The restaurant aims to connect urban dwellers to nature in a meaningful way,” says Surendra. “We utilize natural elements as far as possible, and minimize use of artificial material like plastic and steel. The restaurant is open air. We even use a natural air freshener,” he says with a grin, referring to the use of loban, a tree extract that is used in villages to ward off insects and purify the air.

Vishalla -- which means vast in Hindi – stands true to its name; there are no physical barriers in the form of doors or walls. This architectural peculiarity accentuates the feeling of vastness and openness, Surendra says, “and signifies the freedom of the mind”. The entire complex is situated out-of-doors, yet the artful use of bamboo, dirt lanes and the natural cover of dense foliage leaves one with the sense that is one is in a space in between the indoors and outdoors. A diya-lit entrance way beckons one to the interiors; traditionally-clad Gujarati men, replete with colorful dhotis and turbans, offer hearty greetings and provide a brief introduction on the gastronomic delights to come. The ambience created by the bamboo, low-lighting and greenery set an ambience that is at once peaceful and ethereal.

The Museum is housed in a partially-covered bamboo construction; its natural elements-inspired décor makes it seem as though it has just sprung up from the earth. A Shivaji temple surrounded by a pool of water sits majestically at its interior, heightening the aura of antiquity that envelops the place. The utensils, astonishing in their number and variety, line the four walls of the museum. The collection began as a hobby of Surendra’s; it was a striking incident that sparked off the idea for the creation of a museum. Soon after Vishalla was opened, Surendra went to a village in Rajasthan to collect a few ornamental vessels. There, he found the antique seller melting most of his collection for sale of the metal. Further travels showed the same thing happening in other parts of the country, and he was saddened that artifacts of such cultural and aesthetic value were being lost purely for monetary reasons. His designer-instincts overcame him, and he decided that he would begin a museum for traditional houseware from across the nation. In this way, he believed that he could not only showcase the fine craftsmanship of the utensils, but also lay the foundation for their preservation and appreciation for generations to come.

The collection - containing pieces as diverse as jewelry cases, dowry boxes, cauldrons, ancient idli makers, betel-nut crackers, treasures of maharajahs and camel saddles - is also diverse in terms of its geographical representation and antiquity. For one who might think that pieces from Gujarat might dominate the collection, it is not so; nearly 60% are from southern regions of India. The utensils range from 75 years to 1000 years in antiquity with the bulk being 150-200 years old. The oldest piece in the collection, a large copper pot, has been shown to be over 1000 years old. The well-informed guide, Mr. D. B. Patel, explains that Brahmi inscriptions – an Indian language that died not less than 1100 years ago – engraved in the interiors of the pot, are testament to its antiquity.

Not only are the pieces qualitatively diverse, Mr. Patel informs me, each is also exceptional in its own way. By way of explanation, he picks up what looks like an aging bell, and demonstrates that it is actually a ‘picnic-cup’ of yesteryears: a cup that contains 12 other cups of varying sizes, perfect for a family outing. Upon learning more about the pieces, one realizes that they are also unique repositories of information about lives of our ancestors. The guide points to a delicately carved brass opium-inhaler whose one end has the face of a snake, while the opposite end is engraved the head of a sheep. “The message is that the opium is equivalent to snake poison. Yet if one does not drink the opium,” he smiles, “one’s head becomes as hard as that of a sheep’s.”

After feasting on the cultural richness, it is time to experience some culinary delights. I am seated cross-legged in front of a low rising table, “which is the proper way according to Ayurveda, as this position keeps the stomach tension-free,” says Surendra. Accentuating the rustic feel, waiters in colorful garb spread leaf-plates and leaf-bowls on the table. I learn that even the food is designed to be calming for the body, being prepared with reduced ghee, oil, chili and salt. “We serve traditional Gujarati food, but as far as possible, we avoid deep-fried foods, preferring our items to be roasted or baked. We make sure to include lots of greens as well as sprouted salads. As far as possible, we also use organic ingredients,” Surendra informs me.

True to his words, a large assortment of vegetables, sprouts, condiments, achaar and chutney arrive as starters. The shaaks (vegetable dishes), made of vegetables often to be found in Gujarati homes – aaloo, channa, parval - arrive next, along with the Gujarati staple of kadhi. Those unfamiliar with Gujarati cooking might be surprised at the light sweetness of each dish; addition of gor (unrefined sugar) is typical of Gujarati cooking. Waiters quickly bring different kinds of roti - roasted thepla, rotlo and bhakra, and urge the abstemious to eat more. The snack dish of sandwich dhokro, a steamed bread-like item layered with chutney, arrives next. For the brave-hearted await the tasty Gujarati sweets of jalebi and dudhi halwa (milk halwa). And to top it all off, there remains the trademark chaas – a thin buttermilk that is lightly salted, served in a terracotta cup.

For those who enjoy a pleasant evening stroll after a satiating meal, the cultural activities spread across the ground are entertaining detours before heading home. Music performances, puppet shows and an art shop offer an interesting look at different facets of Gujarati culture. Those wary of raucous urban tunes dampening the bucolic charm need not worry; only bhajans or folk songs are used, with film songs – and speakers and microphones -- being steadfastly avoided.

While walking out and marveling at the meticulous planning and thinking involved in Vishalla’s setup, I learn that even the exit has been carefully planned. “According to Ayurveda, one should walk 100 steps after a meal. Whether you are a governor or an ordinary person, the exit is designed such that everyone has to walk at least 100 steps to reach it!” Surendra tells me with a twinkle in his eye. If you’re looking to come to Vishalla for a rejuvenating experience in food, nature and culture, it’s definitely bang for the buck. But most of all, it’s worth coming to Vishalla for food for the soul.

these girls turned up behind me with the bottles atop their heads (they usually carry multiple pots of water)  

neo-orientalism at its finest 

Of tortoises and desert rain

It struck me long ago that age, like time, is relative. Many people I have met in India do not know how old they are; many women become mothers at a time when I would perceive them to still be in their childhood. I understand that seeing ‘age’ as a milestone for life is oftentimes a very western way of viewing the world.

But seeing girls as young as 7 precariously balancing pots of water a few times their weight atop their heads, swathed under layers of ornate clothing and bedecked with heavy jewelry, all in the soaring desert heat, left me speechless. In the lines that crisscrossed their small faces, in the precocious worry that shone through their eyes, I could sense that their concerns were far graver than anything I had ever thought about as young child. Though I am aware that far too many children across the globe have to shoulder ‘adult’ responsibilities at a young age due to financial necessity, it grabbed at my throat to see these little girls looking and acting like miniature versions of themselves 20 years into the future.

I was in Kutch last weekend for an exhibition of the Rural Design School in the village of Ludiya. The region of Kutch (which comes from kachbo, which means tortoise), due to its proximity to the Indo-Pak border and its unique geographical terrain, has maintained a distinct cultural flavor. The embroidery and woodcarvings of the region have received acclaim throughout the world for their intricacy and striking designs. The embroidery of the region, in particular, is of high artistic merit; generations of girls begin to embroider from a young age in order to prepare a large dowry collection for their weddings. (clothing similar to what they are wearing in the photos)

With its customs and traditions having been largely untouched over the last hundreds of years owing to its geographical isolation, Kutch has in recent years seen a sharp inflow of tourists looking to see an idealized ‘picture of India’. The tourism industry has had a negative effect on, amongst other things, the artwork of the region. Where once women embroidered using their creativity and skill, many now have begun producing inferior quality pieces purely for commercial purposes. This had the effect not only of undermining the work of women who had the talent and inclination to create high-quality pieces, but it also began to deprive women of an important – and perhaps the only -- outlet for themselves.

The Rural Design School was started in 2002 as a joint project between Indicorps and an NGO called Manav Sadhna “with the goals of helping the women build confidence, find their voice and use their own lives as the inspiration to create their own style of embroidery.” Though the project has waged countless uphill battles over the course of its existence mainly due to resistance from village men, in recent times, many village men and women have begun defying custom to support it as they see that it is in their best interest. (A woman was slapped by her father-in-law for wanting to leave the home for the day to showcase her goods at the exhibition; after he left her house, she braved the journey and made it to the exhibition).

While walking with two young girls (in picture) to the water pump one morning, I tried to muddle my way through the thickets of GujaratiKutchi to understand what their chatter was about. It seemed centered around food, family, siblings, and water. They were probably going to go back home, help with the cooking, care for their siblings, do some embroidery, and wait for the next day to come.

These girls probably don’t go to school, and probably never will. Like many women across the world, their opinions, thoughts and ideas will probably forever stay confined within their heads, manifested only in the care with which they do the cooking, the care for their homes, extended families, and children. Embroidery, however, might give these girls a chance to explore their creativity, share their skills, and gain some financial independence.

When I think of how many women across the world are silenced either overtly or covertly by factors beyond their control, I’m grateful for initiatives like the Rural Design School. For it's initiatives such as these which remind me that even when stifled by the heaviest of hands, our voices can still shine through.

The Power of Being

One of the first things I wanted to do when I moved back was go to Mrs. Singh’s place. I remembered the peace of those very early mornings during high school, when my sister and I would dutifully make our way over to her house for yoga classes. I was awestruck my first day there: here was a woman in her late 50s, who had the body and physical power of a very fit 20 year old. She would lift men and women who were 4 times her size, fold her body in ways that didn’t seem humanly possible and had not a grey hair to her head.

Quite a few years later, I was back last week. Over the last few years, I’d been starting to feel parts of my body wearing down unaccountably, and felt that an attempt at internal rejuvenation was in order. A knee pain here, arm-pain because of computer use,etc. I asked her if I could join up again, and she told me that I would have to come at 5am; she just had no more space. Before I left, she asked, “Any problems?” I looked at her and shook my head; I was embarassed to admit that at 23, I probably had more ‘problems’ than her. In the less 10 days that I’ve been going, I’ve felt some astounding changes. My knee pain is much reduced, the severe allergies to the pollution/dust that I’ve had has decreased tremendously, and I feel a lot more flexible and energetic. Who knows, it might all be psychological, or have to do with other positive lifestyle changes, but I’m hooked.

Though in her early sixties, Mrs. Singh still has no grey hair. Her hair is lustrous, thick, and black. No dyes, no coloring, nothing. (She took one look at my hair and shook her head sadly. “Girls these days, what they do to their hair! All these pantene-vantene chemical shampoos and all.”) She’s wonderfully fit, nimble and radiates energy. She revealed yesterday morning that she actually got into a minor accident and fractured her arm last week, but she refused to treat it or stop doing/teaching yoga, and it has completely healed itself since. Wow.

The philosophy of yog (which means “to unite”, as in uniting of our mind and body) is an interesting thing. The science behind the yogasanas (different postures) involves channeling blood flow to particular areas. My mom, currently in the process of finishing a year long naturopathy/yoga course, explains it thus: “Our organs are like a sponge. When we do an asana (pose), we are ‘wringing’ it. When we release the pose, the blood pours in.” There’s breathing and stretching of various key muscles involved as well, and a host of other things that go into the the true practice of yoga. So it’s not only about the asanas; diet change is a huge part of the therepeutic process. My mom’s professors have stories that are nearly unbelievable. One cured himself, through yoga and naturopathy, of brain cancer. Another’s guru, eyes closed and in lotus-pose, was able to move himself in an arc, 10 feet ahead. The number of people who’ve come to her naturopathy center and have been cured of diseases that medical science would consider impossible to cure, are countless. Mrs. Singh herself began to seriously practice yoga after being diagnosed with an incurable blood disease 32 years ago.

I’ve always enjoyed outdoor sports, and have never really thought twice about their benefits. I’m beginning to rethink that; running, as I’d found, is great for certain parts of the body, but not so great for others. My mom’s center recommends that people combine yoga with brisk walking for exercise. When I first heard that a few months ago, I admittedly thought it was hogwash, and refused to give up running. How can yoga be better for the heart than running?

Now, having taken up yoga with a more open mind-frame, I realize that I’m an impatient person in an impatient world. Sitting in a posture that makes you twist parts of your body you didn’t know existed, for more than two seconds, is not an easy task. I find myself getting impatient after a few seconds, and have to try hard to still myself into keeping the pose for at least 2 minutes. Yoga is hard because there’s no constant stimuli, there are no distractions. It’s just you and your breath. It takes physical and mental stamina, inner strength, and the willingness to be with your body.

There’s a lot of things that science can’t explain about yoga. However, I’m beginning to believe more and more in the unseen power of the universe, and the extraordinary powers of our minds. Physical fitness aside, I think yoga has a far more powerful lesson to teach: the power of being still, the power of just being.

Vannla, the fruit-seller, and two neighboring girls who popped in

Chez Kamatchi

The fruit-seller near my house, whose picture stands above (I'd also mentioned her in the Piece of Cloth post below) invited me to her house for lunch one day last month. It was definitely a highlight of Chennai-times. Here's the scoop:

*********
At 11 sharp, Murali, her 15 year old son (and the subject of one of Rahul's posts) rang my doorbell to pick me up. We walked towards their home, and I asked about his exams. “Science only is left”, he said. What did he want to do after 12^th? “College”, he said matter-of-factly. And after that? “Computer-job” was the confident reply. Did he have a computer at school? Vigorously nodding, he said that there was in fact, a computer in his corporation (government) school.

By this point, we were nearly at the entrance of their compound, and I quickly navigated my way through the intense alley-way cricket match, watchful for any stray cricket balls whizzing past my head. People, life, dogs, vegetables, kodoms, vigorous water-pumping…it was a cacophony of strident smells, sounds and randomness, but it felt alive, and warm.

We walked upstairs and I saw the tiny, one-roomed apartment had been swept meticulously for the occasion. Kamatchi (the fruit-seller's niece), her lustrous black hair fully-oiled and in a tight bun, face covered with some kind of a mud mask, came out in the suit I had given her. She looked stunning. Another’s riches indeed…She graciously asked me to sit down, and I could see the food carefully placed in the vessels next to the seating-mat she had placed for me on the floor. Clearly, she had made preparations for my arrival. I continued standing, taking in the life exuding from the walls of the 8 by 4 foot space. One wall was covered entirely with neon-lit photos of gods, to its corner was a collection of family photos, each one precious and carefully kept. She entreated me to take a seat, and I sat down, genuinely feeling comfortable and warm in the presence of such hospitality. She brought out a set of three leaf plates, and slightly apologetically, asked if it was okay that we ate on those. I quickly assuaged her fears, and she took mine aside, gave it a quick rinse and set it on the floor in front of me. In a second, she had stepped into the kitchen and brought out a bowl and a tumbler with water. She asked if I would wash my hands, and as I stood up to go wash it, she indicated that she had brought out the bowl for that purpose. Her thoughtfulness blew me away yet again. She poured out a big helping of rice, porriyal and sambar, and brought out 2 apalams. I had to cover the plate completely with my hands, desperately trying to say “poddum!” (enough!); she just continued to give me more, saying that I needed to eat and get healthier. This hospitality, this finesse – from a girl exactly the same age as me.

We began talking, I was curious to hear about her thoughts on marriage and men. She had mentioned to me earlier that by this December, she would definitely be getting married. So why did she want to get married then? “Mother, father, brother – all will be more peaceful then.” But what did she want? She repeated a similar answer, something about how it was the right time, and I realized, that it was really just that. I don’t think she even thought about possibilities otherwise. Did she like children? Her beautiful, smile again appeared, and she said that she did. Both girls and boys? “Both.” What about love marriage, what did she think of that? With the look of distaste that only Indians can express (it’s like – the face you make when you encounter a big, white slimy slug) she said, “love marriage I don’t like. Here, many are having love marriages, but in village only few. Here the men will say they love and marry, but then they will leave the woman.” What did she want in a man? Her answer was delivered with a shy smile, with the hint of a blush, “Drinking, smoking…don’t want. Someone who is honest and good, that is all.” I knew I couldn’t evade her turning the question on to me, and soon she asked. Did I want love or arranged marriage? I was hesitant to tell her that I really didn't know if/when I would get married, so I said I wanted a love marriage, and her eyes opened wide with the flickering of mischief. “What, you want only love marriage, vaa? Now, neeng love pundreenge vaa?” (Now, are you doing love?) I tried to brush off these sorts of questions, but said that marriage would only happen later, I didn’t know right now, but probably 28 or 29. “For us, 28 and all, that is too late.” No preaching, no sermons, no ‘what-the-hell are you talking about’. She understood that we have different ways of living. This was an acceptance of humanity at its best.

But did she want to work? Did she ever go out? What kind of work, she asked quizzically? It was obvious she knew very few unmarried women who worked, and had no idea what kind of a job she could do. A little ruefully, she said that she would want to, but her younger brother and parents were dead-set against it. How did she get to be in this flat, with her aunt, brother and nephews? What did she do here? (6 of them slept in that tiny space). She recounted the story: after her aunt’s husband died, her mother asked her to come out there to help her aunt, who was having a hard time earning an income and taking care of her three sons. So she and her brother (an auto driver) came. She washes the clothes, makes the food and does all the household chores at home. They don’t let her go out too much. And her brother, what about him? “He doesn’t give any money, its chitti who gives it all -- for the food, the gas, the electricity, everything. Sometimes, he gives 10 rupees, but mostly, nothing at all. She’s a good woman, my chitthi, I really like her.”

I had finished with my food about 5 minutes before, and as I looked down at the plate, I realized that an army of ants had already arrived, ready to clear up whatever I couldn’t get at. (I thought about my own complaints about the few ants lying around in some far-flung corner of my apartment..) She again reached over to wash my hands with the tumbler-water. I thanked her profusely, and stood up to walk out. I made as many comments as I could about how wonderful her food was, what a great job she did taking care of them all, and how good she looked. I walked out and said thank you, to which she responded shyly with “thank you, thank you, please come again”, and her 1000-watt smile.

I think of all the dinner invites I’ve received and have given, and I wonder if any have touched me more than this. It’s so true that when truly giving, it doesn’t matter how much you have in your hands or pockets. True giving comes from a place where the waters run far deeper.

Back

Khatte-meethe phalse, kale-kale phalse,Thande-thande phalse, achche-achche phalse
Phalse-phalse kaleeey, kaleeeeey...

My first thought was that the rich, mahogany baritone resonating from the scorching street below my house was that of a snake-charmer or itinerant sadhu. Charlatan or not, the man’s voice was mesmerizing. I asked Mamta, our polio-afflicted maid, who the person was. After a brief moment of bewilderment, a smile spread across her face. (Only these phoren-people would wonder about something like that) In Bengalied Hindi, she told me that he was just a blackberry seller on his bicycle. With her traditional gait -- back-bent, hand upon knee -- she slowly limped out, still smiling. I looked out over the balcony and saw him, white-turbanned and tanned, slowly moving through the streets. This man, I thought, has made a rational decision about his attitude towards his chosen career. Like most other fruit sellers, he could sit quietly at a stand. Or he could cycle through the seats, shouting “Phalse!” in a shrill monotone.
Yet, he has chosen to sing.

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After my recent Western inundation, which consisted of a whirlwind of US cities combined with a taste of Oxfordian England, I debated taking up blogging again. Far-flung friendships revisited, I realized that it has been a good way to keep conversations going. So I’d like to give it a go again..

My apologies for being incommunicado for a while, have just been trying to get back into the swing of things here. A little on what I’m up to now.. For reasons involving a summer heat-induced household menagerie (I had the privilege of witnessing an epic lizard battle on my bedroom wall), general annoying apartment maintenance issues, and a growing sense of isolation in a family-oriented society, I’ve moved from Chennai to Delhi. I won’t bore you with the challenges of moving back in with the ‘rents since I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. But I’m actually looking forward to hanging out with family and getting to know this part of the world better. As for the future...plans are still brewing, but my current thinking is to quit my job at the end of June. In the months after that, I plan to apply to grad schools, learn naturopathy, and make it over to Ahemedabad and Manav Sadhna for a couple of weeks. (Rahul, who fortuitously passed through Delhi en route to Thailand yesterday, has left me convinced that it’s the place to be). And as for my next job..am still thinking about it. Recent interviewing experience at a consulting company hasn’t convinced me that it’s the thing for me right now. I’m not sure what the future might hold, so I’m not ruling anything out at the moment. With some exploration, I hope I’ll chance upon something I enjoy. But for the moment, there seem to be too many mountains to climb, books to write, and sunsets to catch before I strap myself into another 9-5.

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As to this blog, I don’t know how often I’ll write, I’m going to see how things go. I’m hoping to use it as a forum for thoughts, ideas, and for profiling people/things that inspire me, so write in if you have something to say, would love to hear your thoughts. Lastly, a shoutout to friends across the globe who -- despite oceans, time, busy work/school schedules -- took the time out to meet with me, inspire me, scold me and shelter me at some point in the last few weeks...love you all!

chitraveena extravaganza 

will miss those banana leaf meals 

From School to School

“D.A.V Girls Senior Secondary School”, the sign read. Though the street landmarks had changed over the years, I knew this was the right place. I hesitated by the entrance gate, then slowly made my way inside. A cacophony of chattering girls, with bright white-and-grey ribbons and jasmine flowers in their hair, stopped their game of hopscotch midway to take a better look at me. I took in the familiar sights, and little by little, the memories started snaking their way inside my head. The gigantic old Banyan tree, under whose protective cover we'd “hang out” before the morning prayer. The once-detested gray-and-white salwar kameez uniforms, the dupatta of which served as a fan/handkerchief in the scorching summer heat. I quickly ducked as I spotted my SUPW* teacher, from whom I’d received far too many scoldings. As I walked through the courtyard, catching a waft of the “rotten eggs” smell from the Chemistry lab, the once-detested havan** room became visible. The voices, the laughter, math consternation, Chennai slang, all came rushing back.

I didn’t think I would ever be back to my old high school, but there I was. Clutching my purse tightly for comfort, I carefully made my way through the maze of students. I was a good student, but quite a troublemaker, so I wasn’t quite sure how my principal would react to seeing me.

An email had sparked my interest in Goonj’s School-to-School program. After reading the email, it struck me that after many years, I was actually in the same city as a high-school that I had attended. It seemed almost fortuitous: why not try and get the program started here?

I walked up outside my principal’s office, and mentioned to the attendant that I wanted to meet her. A faint flicker of recognition passed across her face; I was an ‘old student’, wasn’t I? She walked inside, and after a few words with the principal, she ushered me in.

LC, we used to call her. There was a time when her booming voice, the imposing manner, the well-oiled, long braid, the characteristic big glasses framing the dark, intelligent eyes, would send shivers down our spines. Would she reject my proposal outright?

I walked in, and smiled. She was a little more wrinkled, a little more grey, but otherwise she looked exactly the same. We chatted briefly about the past, and then I discussed the project idea with her and showed her some reading material on it. Meticulously, she scanned the information on every sheet. Looked at every photo of the villager children, read every caption. With no sign of emotion on her face, she looked up, and asked some questions. “How far is the village you propose to send the items to?” “How you would ensure that the items reach the right people?”

With as much conviction and confidence as I could muster, I told her that I would ensure that the material reached the right hands. (The collected items will be going to an amazing Model Village project, which I've profiled here.) It was strange, I had just finished delivering my first company sales presentation that morning, yet the convincing, the arguments to be made “to sell” this proposal were on different level here, and meant something more to me now.

She looked up and said solemnly, “Even if we can make a 10% difference to the lives of children, it’s worth it. Kids should understand that what they don’t need, they can give away to children just as themselves. In fact, since the village is so close by, after the project is implemented, we might even be able to make a school trip down there so the kids can see for themselves.”

And after all these years, I finally realized what I was here to learn. Under the stern demeanor, the cold stares and the eyes that could bore into you..under her aura of steel lay a wellspring of compassion.

******
I don’t know how change happens, but I know it starts small. It can start anywhere -- from your backyard, from your old high school. I'm not sure how the project will turn out, but I know it’s worth a try.

(If all goes well, the collection boxes will be at the school probably on April 11th , 13th and 15th. I might need some help with the sorting and packing of the collected items. If you’re in the area and would like to help out, drop me an email!)
*SUPW: I can’t even remember what it actually stands for, but it is nationally recognized as “Some Useful Period Wasted”. It is a class to imbibe important vocational skills (i.e. sewing) to girls. We actually had to make slips, blouses and -- don’t laugh -- underwear. I mean, you never know when you’ll be forced to sew your own underwear, right?

**The school’s acronym stand for Dayanand Anglo-Vedic school. The principles of the school are drawn from the Vedas. Every alternate Saturday we had a havan session. In the presence of a central fire, where a “chosen” student would be administering holy offerings into the fire, we had to recite the entire Bhagavad Gita. For those of you who were wondering, this is where I crafted my artful ‘sleep-while-sitting’ technique.

A Shot of Spirituality

I walk into a store in the vicinity of the hotel, and the selection -- a far cry from the standard Indian fare -- astounds me: bottles upon bottles of hair dye. Stacks of toilet paper. Rows of cosmetic apparel, each with its own superlative for “natural”. Packs of chocolate chip cookies, boxes of cereal, plastic-encased museli bars, and “natural” honey, strawberries, aloevera toe-cream..you name it. Outside the shop, I see two red-robed figures standing unceremoniously close. The tatooed, pierced man is wearing more beads than my grandmother owns, the bindied and kajaled woman is covering her naked shoulders and head by an outrageously bright dupatta. In foreign tongues, they are trying to get their message across. One says, “I like, I know you, I like, I like…” while the girl, pointing her finger at his chest, says in an equally thick accent, “I like you, you I….”
I feel like I’m in Willy Wonka’s crazy neverland. Well, I almost am. I suspect that there are few places in the world that come as close as Osho-world.

*************
Purely by chance, the hotel my colleague and I were staying at in Poona ended up being right next to the Osho International Meditation Resort. I arrived late on Sunday night on the hotel premises, only to find myself enshrouded in a ring of smoke and amongst a throng of dredlocked red-robed white-folk, who were sitting and lying comfortably close on the ground. With the hint of a snicker, the driver said, “Madame, Barista is here no, so this is only the place where all Osho people are coming.” The scene bewildered me, and I was almost tempted to find out more, but it was late, and the scene too strange, so I decided to call it a night.

The next day, 4am was heralded by “Om Hari Om” devotional songs, courtesy our pious neighbors. I left the hotel early, but was back by noon. Walking to my room, the bass-beats of a trance song greeted my steps. As I drew nearer, I realized that this wasn’t an unusually loud chanting session. There was a disco party happening somewhere. A disco party, at noon?! Straining to get a better glimpse through the grills, I witnessed one of the strangest sights I have ever seen: hundreds of red-robed men and women, were gyrating wildly to the rhythm, their heads swaying as if in a drunken stupor, their arms and legs moving as if by an invisible force. What was more, Osho had apparently ‘forgotten’ to lay down rules on the design of the robes, so interpretation of the design was limited solely by one’s imagination. In fact, if there actually was a dress-code, the spaghetti-strapped, tight-fitting, slitted robes that most women wore seemed to indicate that it was probably “Leave Nothing to the Imagination”.

I needed to get to the bottom of this, and find out if there really was something profound to this popular path to spiritual solace. The skin-showing, the strange dancing..it was all a bit weird, but I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. So I decided to take a walk over to the Resort to see for myself.

In the distance, I saw a couple -- man with fountain-like ponytail on top of his head, perfectly-manicured woman wearing a 'robe' that Nicole Kidman would envy -- locked in a frozen embrace near the entrance. A spiritual game of Freeze? I walked over to the entrance desk, only to be waved off by an irate desk attendant, similarly red-robe-clad, who was rolling his eyes at someone on the phone who was enquiring about rooms at the Resort. He thrust me a brochure and waved me to the side.

Brochure in hand, I stood on the side to get a better glimpse of Osho-traffic and to read what all this was about. Pearls of Osho wisdom lay triumphantly on the cover:
“What I am doing here is very simple, very ordinary, nothing spiritual in it, nothing sacred. I am not trying to make you holy persons. I am simply trying to make you sane, intelligent, ordinary people, who can live their lives joyously, dancingly, celebratingly.”

Hmm. I looked up, and chewed on my lip for second. The last time I checked, ‘dancingly’ and ‘celebratingly’ didn’t appear in my dictionary. Well, I thought, so what if Osho wasn’t the brightest star in the sky. I then opened the brochure only to find that visitors were only allowed on a Silent Tour between 9:30 to 11:30 am, and from 2 to 3 pm, for a cost-effective Rs. 10. Bookings a few days in advance were recommended. On the next page, I glimpsed the Meditation section, and was impressed. Maybe there was something to this after all. A second later, I did a double-take as I read the registration procedure:
1. AIDS test, Welcome morning and first day entrance fee. Nationals: Rs. 460; Internationals: Rs. 1180.

An AIDS test?

Enough said.

****************
I’ve wondered about people who come to India to “find themselves” while hopping from ashram to ashram, or who attempt to ayurvedayogamassagereiki their souls to spiritual perfection. Somehow, as the popularity of Osho’s Resort indicates, many want a spirituality that is not spiritual. Something extraordinary that’s ordinary. Something to justify, even encourage, profligate habits. We want someone to tell us that what we seek lies outside, to save us from the difficult task of looking within ourselves.

Of course, I understand that each of us wants to be the best that we can be. But at the cost of leaving a mountain of waste in one’s wake? During the course of my travels, I have met many who, having taken innumerable yoga classes at a lavish Goa/Varkala beach resort, praise the beauty of “my land” and ask me wonderously to elaborate on “my culture”, all the while reaching for a plastic-encased croissant and sipping a plastic cup of Barista coffee. In situations like these, I brush over a few points about my experiences in India, but usually make it a point to hint at the plastic bottle-saving tactic of drinking fresh fruit juice, or encourage people to try local, fresh fare both to encourage local industry and to minimize waste.

This is not to say that Indians don’t waste. But on average, an Indian lifestlye is usually far more resource-efficient than a Western one, usually driven by necessity and habit. I have usually made a quick but polite getaway from conversations such as the one above. But I think I’ll be more truthful next time someone asks. Maybe I will say:

India is indeed one among the most beautiful lands.
But if you want to help preserve it,
Do away with the plastic bottles and toilet paper,
For the power is in your hands.