My summer in one word?

Dynamic. Of course, that’s a total cop out. Basically a way of saying that there is no one word to describe my experiences. However it is entirely relevant. India is a massive country, and I spent time in ten different major cities, and two smaller villages. I spent three weeks doing a whirlwind tour of Northern India with my mother, 6 weeks interning for Ubuntu at Work at their rural workspaces, and one week vacationing on the shores of Goa. Not only did I see an array of places, but I had an array of experiences. 

While traveling with my mother, I often felt overwhelmed, trying to see and do too many things in too short of a time. There was great anticipation for each new city to which we ventured. My breath was taken away by the splendor of the Taj Mahal, and my heart disillusioned by the poverty of Kolkata streets. But most of all, it was an invaluable opportunity to see, to learn, to confront my own prejudices and privileges, and to build a deeper, more mature relationship with my mother. I heard a million and one stories of her reckless days, was inspired and consoled by her, and constantly realized that I have become just like her. 

While interning for Ubuntu, my emotions ranged from bored, when production was low, to motived and driven, when initiating new projects. There were many challenging aspects of village life, yet I gained unique perspectives. Much of what I saw and learned at the workspaces was reinforcing of that which I had studied or learned about only in theory. There were times I felt my efforts were futile, there were breakthroughs, and there were many moments of enlightenment and inspiration. Fortunately, all the interns had a good sense of humor, which allowed us to adapt to a different lifestyle, and find amusement in our own personal struggles. 

And Goa. Well that was just absurdly fun. Refreshing and relaxing, but also full of adventure. 

On my final bus ride from the rural village of Kodagahalli, back to Bangalore, I made a series of lists to summarize my experiences: my #thirdworldproblems, things I used to take for granted, and things I’ll miss. 

Disclaimer: The first two lists are in no way meant to be a series of complaints. Rather, they are personal acknowledgements of my realizations of my privileges and cultural biases. In reality, they were all things to which I adapted. I was actually laughing incessantly on the bus as I made these lists, highly amused as I reflected on my own struggles. 

#Thirdworldproblems

1. No clean clothes- can’t hang them up to dry, due to monsoon rains. 
2. Bus is stalled, a cow or a herd of goats chilling on the road.
3. Falling asleep, watching the spiders above you, or lizards skittering across the wall.
4. Cashier doesn’t have change, gives you candies instead.
5. Current? No current. Current- 6 o’clock. (“Current” refers to electricity. The power was more off than on in Kodagahalli. Often it was planned power outages due to a shortage, but regardless, the kids would always just make up some designated time to tell us it would return). 
6. Couldn’t sleep in. The cows outside my window were moo-ing like my brother singing along to his screamo.
7. Pedestrians watch out, elephants have the right of way. 
8. No such thing as inconspicuous. This white face is always being examined in this much more racially homogenous society. 

Things I took for granted, prior to this experience

Toilets.

Internet.

Electricity.

Personal Space.

Privacy.

Silverware.

Crosswalks.

Protein. 

Things I’ll Miss

1. The women of the Kodagahalli workspace. Latha’s sass. Kumary laughing uproariously and applauding every time I utilized my minimal Kannada vocabulary. Nila sticking her tongue out at me. Palavi’s constant dancing and leadership. Mahadevi’s requests that I dance. 
2. The children. Rahul knocking at all hours of the day. Israr’s quiet but stoic presence, and his attempts to “manage” the other children for us. Akshita’s brilliance and speedy english. Salman Khan’s mischievous smile. Bindu and Prianca constantly climbing on me. Sagar’s mad dancing skills. 
3. The staff and other interns. Harish rubbing his temples in concern. Kusum and Vibha’s constant support and inspiration. James’s facial expressions and reactions. Neelofer’s endless sweet tooth. Lily’s constant energy. Dave’s approachability and superb listening skills. 
4. FOOD. Masala dosa. Bugies. Chicken Tikka Masala. McSpicy. Even ana samber. 
5. The spices and rich flavors. 
6. Coffee comprised of 90% milk and sugar.
7. Gobi manchuri, samosas, and baby bananas off the street
8. End of meal fennel (no more edible additions to this list, I swear) 
9. Bucket showers (I feel great about how little water I use each time) 
10. Having everything I learn in school be relevant (I was constantly rattling off stats about everything from the role of women in development, to how many times you have to fold a sari in order for it to sufficiently filter out cholera bacteria)
11. Speaking sarcastically to the women and children in English, in order to vent my frustrations without actually offending anyone.
12. The fresh air blowing through your hair on a scooter or rickshaw.
13. Infusing gender equality values in response to the children's comments, such as “that’s a man’s work” or “Indian boys are strong” 
14. Zoning out on the bus, and just listening to jams while seeing a whole new world pass by.
15. No mobile, no texting. Freedom from constant connection.
16. The kids’ constant excitement, love, and attention.

And now... off to SRI LANKA!

Where are the women?

Throughout my time in India, I have constantly found myself thinking “where are the women?” Whether out on the streets, on the bus, in a restaurant, or at a market, women are mysteriously absent. Yet men are everywhere. Where are the women? Are they in their homes? Are they allowed to leave? Are they swamped with domestic responsibilities? Is it improper for them to be out? Is it unsafe?

After two months and twelve cities, it has remained a common phenomena. Walking the streets of Kolkata, I kept a running count. The first 2 minutes, I saw 18 men and 3 women. Even in Bangalore, often considered the face of “modern India,” men are everywhere. Around the happening MG road area, or in malls, the gender ratio is more even, yet for the most part, I find myself surrounded by Indian men. 

Meanwhile, the women of Kodagahalli, live in a patrilocal society, as is common throughout most of rural India. Women marry outside their villages and move to the home of their husbands, leaving them alone and vulnerable, without relatives or any network of support when they arrive.

Kumari giggling and Neelofer hard at work

Unfortunately, this further disempowers women. In the face of child marriage and dowries, gender inequities in education and economic opportunities, and an overarching patriarchal society, a woman is further weakened, as she is brought into a new village, a new household, where her husband and his family is established and in control. 

On my last day with Ubuntu at Work, I spent a lot of time reflecting, and often found myself just watching the women interact. They were laughing, shouting at each other, giggling, sharing lunch breaks, singing to the radio, and chatting casually as they worked. And these are women from different castes and religions, women brought to Kodagahalli by marriage (which the exception of a few younger, unmarried members). They’ve learned to work as a team- they delegate to each other and support one another, they discuss challenges and brainstorm solutions as one, they develop their own systematic divisions of labor each day, and rely on each other to complete the job. 

Saying goodbye to Kodagahalli 

Even on my final day, I still found myself inspired by these strong, resilient women, and impressed by the impact of Ubuntu at Work. Empowerment doesn’t merely come from acquiring skills or earning an income, but additionally from having a community of support and solidarity. 

Goa Goan Gone.. and the women of Kodagahalli learn the meaning of "urgency"

So I took a vacation. And fell in love. I may be moving to Goa permanently. 

James, Dave, and I spent a week in the beautiful city of Goa. Located on the west coast of India, Goa was originally a Portuguese colony, and is now a lush, tropical state with beaches and tourists galore. As it’s monsoon season, Goa was much quieter, yet the sporadic rains- devastating but fleeting- in no way detracted from the experience. 

Goan Beach Temple

Basically, we spent each day as follows:

1. Wake up.

2. Beers in bed. 

3. Breakfast.

4. Scootering around, getting lost, finding a new beach.

5. Frolicking/swimming. Me never leaving the water, until one of the boys dragged me out.

6. Lunch.

7. Repeat steps 4-5 several times.

8. Dinner. 

9. Goan night life. Which is actual nightlife, unlike that of most of India. 

We made friends from Germany and Australia. It was basically me and the bros all week. And it was basically heaven. Except for one little accident.

I blame it on the McDonough in me. We have that pedal-to-the-medal attitude. While riding the scooter (which is basically a motorcycle, not like the scooters 12 year old boys ride alongside skateboards), I had a tendency to be more fond of the throttle than the breaks. I had a bit of a spill. Went flying off the front of the bike. I was a bit sore, and felt as if I had stood on the rugby pitch while the entire men’s team attacked me solely from the right side of my body. Other than that, and an egg of a bump on my head, my injuries were primarily superficial. The right side of my body is pretty scraped up, but nothing serious. The only frustrating part, has been that after a week, my shoulder is still very tender. My range of motion is about cut in half, and the first couple of days, I kept having to ask the boys to help me in order to do basic tasks like remove a backpack or change a shirt. They were super helpful though, and were always more than willing to help me apply ointment and gauze. 

My shoulder. Currently, post sunburn, the injury is about three times that size, and a mess of scabs and peeling skin. 

As we returned Monday from Goa, we had a shortened week at the workspaces. 

Ubuntu Update

This week, the women of Kodagahalli learned the meaning of “urgency,” a term almost as foreign as “privacy” in rural Karnataka. The members of the Kodagahalli workspace are efficient, hard workers. However, village life often runs at a leisurely pace. While the women have developed an orderly system to screen print the bags, they are able to work flexible hours. Many women sew bags in their own homes, and the workday starts shortly after ten, so that they can prepare for the day, and see their children off to school and husbands off to work. In a traditional, patriarchal village, Ubuntu at Work offers many women an invaluable opportunity- to work reasonable and flexible hours that don’t contradict with their household duties, to be paid fair wages, and to be given unique skills and an outlet for using them to earn an income. 

This week we received an urgent order of 100 cotton bags. The style of bag was of a more complex design, and as the order came from a new customer, the screen printed logo was also new. While the fabric arrived in Kodagahalli on Wednesday morning, we needed them to cut the fabric in a new pattern with new dimensions, sew 100 bags in a style with which they were not familiar, make new screens and mix new paint, screen print all 100 bags, and iron them by Thursday afternoon, for the interns to take back to Bangalore. Usually, the women of Kodagahalli spend several days cutting the entire supply of fabric for all the villages where stitching and sewing occur. Then, they spend several days sewing and screen printing. Such a division of labor would not be possible with this order. 

And as it was the first order of its kind, just about every complication possible occurred.  

The fabric was cut on Wednesday afternoon, and 16 women were commissioned to stitch bags in their home that evening and the following morning. Thursday morning came, and the bags came in slowly- the first batch arriving shortly after 10, the last around 4. However, about half the bags were stitched improperly. The errors were not fundamental, but each bag took about 10 minutes to adjust. Fortunately, we have some seriously determined members. With Latha in the lead, several women sewed like maniacs to correct the bags, as others began screen printing the finished bags. 

And the screens. God forbid anything go right the first time. The printer was malfunctioning, and would not properly connect to any of the four laptops we hooked it up to. Eventually field worker Harish took a bus into the town of Bannur to print out the logos, which were needed to make the screens. 

Thursday was a classic hurry-up-and-wait kind of day. The screen printing members raced to finish the screens, but then found they only had 7 bags to print upon. As each new batch of bags rolled in, the women mobilized, rushing only to find themselves waiting once again for the next batch. 

I’m sure the next order will be seamless, as we worked out just about every kink possible on Thursday. When Vibha first told us her expectations and the deadline for the new order, I thought the idea was highly preposterous. I must say, I was thoroughly impressed with the speed and tenacity with which the members worked, and their unwavering dedication to Ubuntu at Work. 

Teaching Latha Basic Computer Skills

This week, we took one of the Kodagali site managers, a sassy vibrant woman named Latha, to the neighboring city of Bannur, to teach her how to use email. To me, email is such a regular part of my life, I’m really not sure how functional I’d be without it. In teaching Latha the basics, I realized so many things I take for granted, in terms of computer skills and knowledge. Basic things- such as how to open an internet window, what a “username” or “password” is, or how to identify an email address by the “@” symbol and the .net/.com/.org. Another major thing I’ve taken for granted- having most of the internet in my own language. Plus any time I stumble upon a page that isn’t in English, google automatically translates it for me. Do you know how many webpages are in Kannada? Few and far between, relative to English.

Sanitary Health Clinic...

In our first session, we helped Latha create an email account through gmail. Another thing I take for granted- knowing my date of birth. After making her account, and adding several contacts, we had her practice writing a few emails. We taught her how to write a message by clicking “compose,” entering the recipient address, and then writing the body itself. After each of these emails, which we had Latha send to our personal accounts, we opened our own inboxes to show her that they had been electronically sent to us. Next, we sent her emails from our accounts, and had her open and reply to them.

Early on, we faced some resistance. Initially, Latha wasn’t even comfortable with the idea. She frequently became flustered and merely stared at the screen, quickly giving up. However, with our encouragement, Latha persevered. She began to enjoy herself, enthusiastically composing emails and was pleasantly surprised when we showed her that we had received her emails (and that this wasn’t just some American sorcery performed by charlatans). 

Additionally, we spent two days in Banvari. Life in Banvari moves at the speed of a turtle, but it was a refreshing calm. I realize this sounds so third-world-traveler-pretentious, but life here is extraordinarily real. I mean I can’t tell you how many times a day I have #India #notreallife moments, but at the same time, village life has a purity and a truth to it, that we have long forgotten. Banvari is quite picturesque- the fields and rocky terrain are the deep reds and faded browns of Monument Valley, and the foliage is vaguely tropical. Animals regulate- goats, cows, and roosters roam the dirt paved blocks. We ate a number of basic, but delicious meals- rice and samber, with mystery side dishes. On Friday, Dave and James (the other interns) took a long trek along the road, appreciating the scenery, although unfortunately not running into any elephants despite the warnings. 

Building Leadership Through Monitoring Quality Control

This week (July 9-13th) we worked on a range of projects. 

Our main goal was to work with the women at the Kodagali workspace to improve quality control. 

This week, we focused on quality control at the Kodagali workspace, where the women primarily screen print designs onto the cotton totes. Screen printing is not as simple as it seems. The women must make new screens everyday, concoct the paint, and print each part of the design onto the bags, one color, one side at a time. 

The women of Kodagali are prolific and have developed an efficient system in order to execute screen printing. They work fluidly as a team, and are each focused and consistent. However, we had detected some issues with “quality control.” In other words, there were often tiny mistakes, that in and of themselves would have been easy to overlook, but which were occurring semi-frequently. Things were occasionally printed crookedly, or there were slight smudges, or parts of letters were slightly deformed. First, we halted production, and with the help of Harish, we explained to the women the issue at hand. We had a range of examples to show them and explained that while we appreciated all their hard work, it was important to take the few extra seconds per bag in order to be thorough and to avoid such mistakes. We explained that while the mistakes were minor, for massive orders, there was an expectation to deliver consistent, quality, products.

The following day, we spent time analyzing each bag printed by the women. In particular, we worked in conjunction with one woman, with whom we examined each bag individually. Within an hour, she was not only noticing everything we pointed out, but was leading the bag checking process. Although she was one of the youngest women at the workspace that day, she began to talk to each woman, pointing out any errors they had made, and encouraging them to be more meticulous. By training her to detect any errors, whether it be obviously crooked prints, or slight deformity of letters in a language she wasn’t familiar with, she had the confidence to rise as a leader in the group, supervising and encouraging her coworkers.

Additionally, this week we visited another workspace, Banvari, for a day trip. Banvari is a small village of about 300 people. Despite its small size, there are 22 women in the village who work with Ubuntu. Currently, the women of Banvari sew the cotton bags that are sent to Kodagali for screen printing. Banvari is absolutely gorgeous- it is the colors of the American Southwest, the deep oranges and chalky reds of Monument Valley. The mountains and rocky ridges are surrounded by lush forests, home to wild elephants and tigers. Goal #8: Don’t get eaten alive by a tiger. Do interact with a wild elephant.  Next week, we’ll be spending more time in Banvari, as the workspace is newer than that of Kodagali’s, and the women are much less self sufficient. 

I also visited several health clinics in Kodagali and the neighboring town of Bannur. It was a mere reconassaince mission, and so I have only first impressions to share. Inshallah I’ll be able to go back with a translator at some point in the future and get a better idea of common ailments and treatments, the cliental, payment methods, etc. However, the overall initial impressions were interesting. The clinics were in some ways disorganized and unclean, with broken fans providing little relief from the heat, and people, presumably staff, in normal clothes, standing over patients who all looked zonked. In America, the fear of germs and recognition of the importance of sanitation has in many ways led to an obsessively pristine and orderly world of medical practice. Organization and cleanliness, to an often unnecessary extent, effect patient confidence in the doctor. While I’m not sure the details on how much general cleanliness of medical facilities effects the sanitation of procedures and practices, it was interesting to see how vastly different the conditions of clinics were in the region. 

Additionally, while looking for the maternal clinic in Bannur, I used simple charades to get directions from a man in the street. I indicated that I was pregnant and asked where I could find a clinic or a doctor. His first reaction was to ask if I wanted a “scan?” to see “boy or girl.” In light of the high rates of sex selective abortion and female infanticide in India, this was somewhat disturbing. 

OH! By the way! I rode an elephant last week when visiting Mysore Palace! Unfortunately they took our cameras away before entering the palace but that just means I have all the more reason to seek out wild elephants in Banvari..

Macro and Micro Perspectives of International Development Programs

As a student of International Health, I am well versed in statistics and lofty development goals. Public health campaigns are aimed at transforming health systems, educating entire populations, reaching the masses. Success is measured in achievement of quantifiable goals, improving rates. The United Nations develops the “Millennium Development Goals” and suddenly ministries of health focus on reducing the number of women dying in childbirth or increasing the amount of children enrolled in school, in a singular way. Achieving these goals becomes the sole end. Any program that will increase the stats is valued over improving the overall systems. Funding is shifted to programs that will achieve these goals, and while change is often successful, it is often inefficient or unsustainable. 

On-the-ground work is absolutely invaluable for a student or professional of international health or development. They are macro fields, yet without the micro perspectives, individuals will be sacrificed for the greater good. And the means and ends get all jumbled. 

For example, let’s take the role of women’s empowerment in two different fields- population and development. In population programs women are often reduced to wombs, while in development programs, women are often reduced to workers. Coercive population programs such as forced sterilizations under Indira Gandhi or the one-child policy in China may reduce total fertility rates, but increasing reproductive choice and rights or empowering women have been shown to be much more effective. Additionally increasing rights and empowering women are important in and of themselves. You want to stabilize population growth? Keep girls in school! Delay the age of marriage! Give them economic opportunities, thus increasing their power within the household and their say in reproductive matters, and giving them incentives to have less children so they can continue to be economically productive! You want to lift the impoverished out of poverty? Organizations like Ubuntu at Work empower these women through enhancing their skills, broadening their horizons, raising their confidence, and connecting them to markets. These are not only inherently worthy goals, but they increase the economic production of families, they capitalize on the most underutilized resource in the world (women), and they give women economic capabilities. Women consistently have been shown to spend more on their families, on their children, on health and education. Having a micro perspective allows an international health or development student or professional to keep their priorities straight, to develop sustainable programs, and to ensure efficiency by addressing individual concerns.

Without a micro perspective, without involved staff, regular check ups, and consistent evaluation and assessment, such individual concerns would not be addressed. And these situations aren’t unique to Ubuntu at Work. All kind of development studies have shown that without assessing individual concerns, programs are often largely inefficient. For example, subsidizing school uniforms or having appropriate, gender segregated bathroom facilities have been shown to keep girls in school longer. With a solely macro perspective, it would not occur to most professionals living wholly different lives that school uniforms could be a hindrance to a family’s ability to afford education, or that in a bathroom-less school, girls may stay home while menstruating. 

After just a week with Ubuntu at Work, I feel that I have learned so much. In some ways it has been very reinforcing of what I’ve studied in high-tech classrooms thousands of miles away, but it also has been an entirely unique experience. I am learning to think beyond numbers and ends, to put a face to the stats, to keep an intimate, individual, micro perspective in order to achieve macro goals. 

First Week: Ubuntu at Work

Background: I am spending 5-6 weeks interning for Ubuntu at Work this summer. Ubuntu at Work is a non-profit, that primarily works in India and South Africa. I’m sure you’ve deduced by now that I am working with the India operation. I am stationed in Bangalore, a city in southern India, and spending each week in rural villages where Ubuntu either has or is setting up work spaces. Ubuntu strives to empower women in impoverished villages and help them lift themselves out of poverty by teaching them income-generating skills and connecting them to national and global markets. However, in order to enable these women to connect to greater markets, when they are located in rural areas, the women must not only be taught skills, but must become more confident in their abilities and must broaden their horizons. These are all things Ubuntu aims to do. The women with which Ubuntu works often can’t even begin to visualize ways to increase or supplement their income, outside of the ways already practiced in their village- agriculture, maintaining snack stalls, buying a goat or cow and selling its milk, etc. Additionally, these women often have little confidence in their own skills. The executive director, Vibha, told a story about a woman in one village who sews saris, salwar kameezes, and all kinds of traditional attire for the villagers. However when she was shown a simple cotton bag (like the ones you’d use for groceries), she said there was no way she could sew it. If these women don’t believe in their own abilities, or engage in new activities, they have little chance of changing their stars.

Current Ubuntu operations in India focus on making a variety of goods, specifically bracelets and cotton bags. They currently have 10 workspaces in India and are expanding rapidly. My first week, the other interns and I, did a lot of observing, shadowing of the head field worker, Harish, and taught English classes to the women, children, and college students in the village. Additionally, we started a project to help the women get bank accounts. The village we were located in, Kodagali, is home to one of the biggest Ubuntu workspaces. Thus, we were able to get a good idea of what the other villages can aspire to, although the women of Kodagali are no where near the end stage. They are largely self sufficient, however there are certain processes that they still feel uncomfortable doing without supervision. For example, on Tuesday, the women were cutting fabric for bags, using a power tool that could cut through 200 layers of cotton at once. Harish was the only one using the power tool. For him, it was a really important job, and something that was just easier for him to do himself. However, that defeats the entire purpose of empowering these women and helping them become self-sufficient. Being the daughter of John Kelley, having cherished building book shelves and doll houses growing up, having framed the side of a house and shingled a roof at SSP, was all about the power tools. The other interns and I convinced Harish to let us use the machine, and then guided the women in using it. A young man hanging out at the work space said that it was “men’s work” and the women were hesitant to give it a try. However eventually we convinced them, and let me tell you, if I still feel like a beast every time I use a power tool, I can’t imagine how it felt for these women. 

Vibha herself was the first advocate for bank accounts. Setting up bank accounts will allow Ubuntu to pay the women via direct deposit, which is easier and safer for the company. However, helping the women open their own accounts has a number of fringe benefits. It gives the women greater power over their income, mechanisms to save, and opens the door for attaining loans in the future. The women all vehemently insisted that they use their income from Ubuntu for their children, and try to save as much as they can. However, when you are at that level of poverty, saving is far from easy. Saving is always a decision. For (most) Americans, saving money means forgoing eating out, buying a new outfit, visiting relatives, etc. For the people of Kodagali, it means forgoing basic medical attention, fertilizer for their crops, or even meals. Additionally, many of the women couldn’t previously get bank accounts because there was a 500 rupee (approximately $9) minimum to open an account, which they couldn’t afford. Thus, we spoke with a representative from the bank, and he agreed to allow the women to open zero balance accounts, and he came to the village to help the women take passport style pictures and fill out the appropriate paperwork. The bank is in the next town over, Bannur, a 15 minute bus ride away.

Kodagali fields

We of course thought this was a great idea. However, here the importance of a micro, culturally intimate, perspective comes in. The women were initially opposed to the idea of using these accounts. They just wanted to be payed in cash. If they were payed in cash, they could hide the money and use it how they chose. However, if they took a bus to Bannur, their husbands would know they had money on them, and would demand it. The husbands would then use the money to buy alcohol. If they were to lie to their husbands or refuse to tell them how much money they had made, their husbands would beat them. For them, this was just commonplace. They were laughing and joking around as we discussed the possibilities. For them, their short term goals were just surviving. Just not getting beaten that night. How can these women even begin to think about their future, when they are barely living above the subsistence level? 

In the end, we discussed the possibility of getting them checkbooks, so they could write checks to themselves, and cash them at the Kodagali bank. We will of course follow up to ensure that this system is working, but we learned a number of important lessons. We learned that lofty development goals cannot be achieved without a micro perspective. No development program can be applied to every country, every village, or even every person.

How many religions can we cover in three weeks?

Answer: 4. Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Christianity.

The River Ganges

Varanasi is one of the holiest cities is India, for Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains alike. Located on the Ganges, Hindus believe that bathing in the river washes away ones sins, and that dying in Varanasi releases one’s soul from the long series of reincarnations. The highlight of Varanasi was our 5am boat ride, on which we got to intimately view the daily activities centered around the Ganges. In addition to bathing, brushing their teeth, and doing their laundry in the beyond polluted river ,approximately 200 people are cremated on the banks every day.* It is believed that bathing in the Ganges purifies ones soul, and has been said to heal incurable diseases. Strangely enough, despite the fact that most villages downriver from Varanasi suffer from high rates of water borne illness, most of those whose bath in Varanasi, find surprisingly different results, and are living proof of the power of faith. 

While staying in Varanasi, we also visited the city of Sarnath, remembered as the place where Buddha first preached. Sarnath is also home to a beautiful Jain temple, and is a pilgrimage site for Jains. After Varanasi, we took another sleeper (at this rate, Denise barely needed her sleeping pills to doze off), to Darjeeling. 

Cremations on the Ganges

After traveling throughout a number of the Northern bustling cities of India, we spent four days in Darjeeling. Located in the Himalayas, Darjeeling is known for its previous role as a major tea supplier for the British East India Company. The culture of Darjeeling is in many ways more Tibetan than Indian. The region is in many ways geographically separated from the rest of the nation. In fact, in order to reach the city, we had to take a four hour jeep ride, reminiscent of Disney’s Indian Jones Ride. The climb, comprised of infinite S-turns, was both breathtaking and perilous. Upon arrival to our Tibetan-themed hotel, we immediately dropped our bags, desperate to explore in a city where being outside didn’t equate with being covered in sweat. We were well rewarded. The city, in addition to being much more manageable and self-navigable, offers a friendly environment, lush landscapes for hiking and exploring, and spontaneous “look out posts,” where you can get a glimpse of the tallest peaks in the world. 

While there, we spent as much time as possible outside, despite the nearly incessant rains. We spent an afternoon perusing the extensive Botanical Gardens, woke at dawn to view the sunrise over the Himalayas, familiarized ourself with the animals indigenous to the region at the zoo, and feasted on various dishes from Indian, Chinese, and Tibetan cuisines. Darjeeling, as is appropriate for a major tea supplier, is a classic coffee shop, hippy joint, kick back city. Four days wasn’t nearly enough.

Darjeeling

Arriving in Kolkata after our leisurely stay in Darjeeling only served to magnify the stark differences between the two cities. Kolkata, once the capital of British India, lived up to its shabby reputation in many ways. Among other things, Kolkata is known for its slums, beggars, and child prostitution. While some argue that Kolkata can be extraordinary, if you just know where to go, as independent travelers, even walking down the main streets was demoralizing. The destitution and filth was unforgivable, and to be perfectly honest, the government should be downright ashamed for their inability or unwillingness to make any strides. Visiting Kolkata allowed me to drop the pretense that “everything’s alright.” We have both traveled in developing countries, and both have the ability to see things in the context of their culture. We both acknowledge differences while reserving judgement, and to appreciate the distinctiveness and beauty of other lands. However, during our visit to Kolkata, we saw too much of the extreme poverty and inexcusable societal indifference to the environment and to human dignity. While we visited some of the historical sites, many of which were relics of British colonialism, our overall experience was disheartening. The redemption of our stay in Kolkata, was our visit to Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity House. A small museum has been erected on the ground floor, and additionally, visitors can see her tomb, and her personal room, still in the sparse and humbling conditions she left it. 

Mumbai, while also known for its urban slums, was nothing compared to Kolkata. The spirited port city takes much pride in its maintenance. It is much cleaner, and it’s clear that the people and government have made a concerted effort to address many of the societal and environmental woes plaguing the country as a whole. We ate our way through Mumbai, enjoying everything from fresh mango juice, to authentic Chinese food, and topping it off with imported Coronas. Additionally, we spent several hours on the sea, as we journeyed to Elephanta island. The island is home to ancient caves filled stone carvings and shrines dedicated primarily to Shiva, thought to have been created between 450 and 750 AD. As we traveled south, the weather became cooler, and while Mumbai was humid, we found the temperature, in the mid 80s, quite pleasant. 

Our final destination was Bangalore, as this is where Kat will be spending the seven weeks interning. Bangalore is known as the silicone valley of India, where all those outsourced calls are answered. Due to the rapid economic development of the city, it is representative of the modern India. The effects of globalization and the rise of industry can be seen in everything from gender roles to attire to the proliferation of American establishments. The city, despite its technological growth spurt, is much cleaner, younger, and more Western. While we saw, enjoyed, and experienced a wide range of Indian cities, Bangalore renewed our hope in the future of India. Even the beggars in Bangalore are cleaner and better dressed than any we’ve seen yet. The municipal and state governments have taken many efforts to clean up the city, and to instill greater attitudes of social responsibility. While we don’t pretend to understand the intricacies of Indian culture and the vastly diverse populations and traditions that comprise India, many of the conditions we witnessed in the various places we visited were disheartening. However, we certainly did enjoy our travels and our time together, and the experiences we shared in India, in addition to the lessons we learned, people we met, and places we saw, will stay in our hearts forever. 

Stay tuned for updates from Kat as she interns with Ubuntu at Work!

Namaste!

*Safe bathing water should have 500 faecal coliform bacteria per 100mL of water or less, while the Ganges has 1.5 million. We were told that bodies are often deposited into the Ganges instead of being cremated. Thought this was a hyperbole until we actually saw a floating, bloated body. 

The important role religion played in my life, as a vaguely Christian agnostic

Reflections on visiting Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity House, Kolkata

“Peace begins with a smile.” -Mother Teresa

This past Sunday, Denise and I visited Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity House. I’ve recently reflected quite a lot on the role of religion in my life, and the combination of the visit to Mother Teresa’s home, and the extreme, base poverty that we have glimpsed throughout the country, led to a long rumination session.

I’ve never been quite sure that Jesus was literally the son of God. I’ve never necessarily thought “well yes, God is quite the literal creature portrayed in Christian religious texts. He has emotions and very deliberative plans and intentions.” There have been times, on and off, throughout my life, where I have identified as a Christian. However, I’ve never been sure. I’ve never had unwavering faith, which pretty much disqualifies me.

However, Christianity has played an important, even transformative role in my life. This has come from my interaction with four different institutions. The first was a church in my home town, which had a number of youth outreach programs. Overall, I’d say my interactions with them were, to be blunt, counterproductive. At age six, my mom picked me up from their Kiwanis program to find them teaching me a song along the lines of “I’m no kin to the monkey, the monkey’s no kin to me.” Brainwashing kinders to not believe in evolution. Classic. I once again found myself involved with the church in middle school, when I attended their weekly youth group. It was all fun and games until the youth pastor explained that homosexuality was an abomination. Gay rights were what got me interested in politics. I was defending gay marriage before I was in the double digits. You tell me your God thinks homosexuality is an abomination and I say no thanks, I’ll take the hell hounds. Plus, even at age eleven, I could already tell you one thing with utmost confidence- there was no way any deity could sustain itself for eternity on hate, vengeance, and conceit. Even then I was not about to be sold on any God that wasn’t all about love. 

Mother Teresa's Tomb

Fortunately, this wasn’t the end of my relationship with Christianity. I began attending a local Methodist church in eighth grade. They hooked me. The central themes to every sermon were love and tolerance. And through the youth group I developed strong relationships and engaged in a variety of service projects. This included the Sierra Service Project [SSP], through which our youth group journeyed to Native American reservations each summer to build and repair homes. 

SSP was one of the highlights of my youth. It was the closest I ever felt to a literal Christian God. It was at SSP that I built a relationship of prayer and communication with God, and it was at SSP that I learned to see God in every day life. You see a group of American teens, taking a week of their summer to labor in the heat, surviving on PB&Js, sleeping on gym floors and showering in locker rooms, and you know there has got to be something greater than yourself, than your minute world. It was through SSP that I learned how to get closer to God through service. Because helping others, reaching out to those in need, and participating in rewarding community service, allows you to see a higher purpose than your own life, allows you to see that love, after all, really is all you need. An attitude of love binds us in solidarity to every one of our 7 billion fellow humans. And an attitude of love refuses to let us overlook the suffering of others. 

Third and fourth came in the form of my Catholic education, at Mission College Prep and now at Georgetown University. The Catholic nature of Georgetown has been a mixed bag, in terms of my relationship with religion. I mean, religious organizations play a huge humanitarian role internationally, however I sometimes wonder how much more could be done, if people worried less about unborn fetuses and more about the ample suffering of living humans. As an international health major, interested in reproductive health and rights, I often get frustrated when my university refuses to cover contraception in their student health insurance plan, or when they refuse to recognize H*yas for Choice. However, I have also seen the role that Jesuit values play in shaping our campus community. I have seen a huge focus on Interfaith service and religious pluralism. And I have seen our very own Jesuits stand up against politicians who call themselves “Catholic” while drafting budgets that disregard the plight of poor Americans. 

Prior to that however, I attended Catholic high school. At Mission, despite the occasional heated debates over gay marriage, the Catholic backbone of the school played a key role in my development. Between the participation in community service, the reflective and intimate retreats, the inclusion of social justice in the curriculum, and the daily prayers and intentions offered, I honestly believe that it made me much more of a “woman for others,” as the motto goes. 

While I no longer participate in service for God, Christianity was the vessel through which I developed a greater sense of obligation to humanity at large, a greater sense of solidarity with dissimilar peoples. And there were so many other crucial lessons I learned while at Mission, many of which take a lifetime to learn. For Christians, it means constantly striving to live in Christ’s image. But one can embark upon the same journey through any religion, or even without religion. One friend of mine, an unwavering atheist, claims that her atheism is just as much of a belief and value system. For her, the fact that she has just one corporeal life to live, makes her strive that much harder to live it fully, and to better this world. She has no get-out-of-jail-free card in the form of an afterlife or Kingdom of Heaven. Her atheism has given her a higher purpose in life.

Now don’t get me wrong. The ultimate credit goes to my parents. Prior to Sierra Service Project, or my first mass at Mission (when I thought I heard the priest saying “uterus,” not knowing what “eucharist” meant), my parents had served as my greatest teachers and models. However, there are a lot of influences in a child’s life, and the various Christian institutions and people in my life reinforced the values my parents had instilled in me. My parents are some of the most loving, welcoming people I’ve ever met in my life. Sure, my mother has never sugar coated a thing in her life, and my dad may be a rascally Jersey boy, but they are honest, extremely hard working, and steadfastly loyal and committed to the people in their lives. Our door is always open (figuratively and literally, thank god there is minimal crime in Cayucos). People are always stopping by, coming into our home, and while we may not be Martha-Stewart-status hosts, their love and acceptance of others is sincerity epitomized.

India is vibrant and colorful, its culture is rich and multi-faceted, yet its also a land of extreme discrepancies. India is hard. India makes you confront things about yourself and your worldview. I’ve only been here for three weeks, primarily as a tourist. I’m sure my entire view of the country and the people will continue to shift and expand throughout the duration of my internship. Yet already, I’ve learned and changed and questioned myself and the world.

You don’t have to seek it out. Opting to walk instead of hopping in a taxi, or spending any time at all at a railway station is enough. Whole city blocks smelling of urine, heaping piles of trash on the sidewalks, and wide eyed children, with dirt-matted hair and rags for clothes, are permanent urban fixtures. At its worst, I’ve found myself shying away from the outstretched arms of beggars. Avoiding even brushing against people. As though I don’t even want them to touch me. I feel so ashamed, because there have been times when, faced with extreme, degrading poverty, I felt disgusted before sympathetic. Like I said, you are forced to confront things about yourself.

To some extent I knew this going in. Already, my experience has been just as challenging as it has been exciting. But I’m up for the challenge. I’ve already found limitations to my comfort zone, and this experience will only serve to expand those boundaries. And the challenges, the awareness, the confrontation of my own limits and deficiencies, will undoubtedly be invaluable, rewarding, and transformative. They will, inshallah, help me along the long path to become the better person I strive to be. I mean- I’m twenty. I have ambitions and ideals, but I am still an egocentric young adult, more focused on her own day-to-day than the lives of those in far corners of the world. This experience, in allowing me to understand another sliver of the world, in forcing me to question and question and question, can only be for the better.

Border Patrol and Temples Galore

By Kat and Denise


Parting Delhi, we took the six hour train ride to Amritsar, on a air conditioned train with an 800 course meal, including multiple rounds of tea, and several more rounds of tea, in addition to more tea. Our first afternoon in Amritsar, after taking a tuc tuc to our hotel, hidden down a sketch alley called Hotel Lane, we were greeted by an extraordinarily shy Sikh man, who was not accustomed to interacting with the opposite gender. He was quite polite, but laughed awkwardly after everything he said to us. The room was pleasantly sufficient and the food was magnificent. 

We spent our first afternoon, venturing to the Pakistan border, which was half an hour away. In the scorching heat, we found ourselves in the daily mob of proud, enthusiastic Indians waiting to show down with Pakistan. Every single day, since the time of the Partition, the two countries have engaged in a theatrically orchestrated military show down, at the time of the border closing at sunset. The crowd surged forward as one, after being let in through the first gate, through an entrance no larger than a doorframe. After a short a walk, the foreigners were ushered through a separate gate. The arena itself was divided on the India side into Indians, and then within the foreigners VIP section, we were essentially divided by race. The guards, with their rooster caps and shrill whistles, had a hell of a time with one biracial couple, and tried several times to determine their proper placement. As we spent about an hour waiting for the official festivities to begin, and slowly becoming drenched in our own sweat, we were entertained with chanting, flag running, and a spontaneous (though probably daily) Bollywood danceathon that consisted of women, girls, and a few young boys. When the time came for the official walk off, the rooster capped guards in their high water khakis, nearly concussed themselves as they marched towards the border gate, reminiscent of Monty Python. Across the border, the Pakistani guards followed suit, with high kicks to make cheerleaders proud. The actual ceremony lasted approximately 20 minutes, after the hour plus pregame. We were in awe of the patriotism, pride, and energy demonstrated by the at-least-one-thousand attendees, most of whom return every night.  Temples, forts, and holy rivers aside, this was definitely an absolute highlight of the trip. 

The Mata Temple...

While in Amritsar, in addition to Kat’s 2pm marathon nap (coma?) from which she woke at 7am the next morning, we visited the Sikh Golden Temple, the historic Jallianwala Bagh, and the eerie Mata Temple. Amritsar, located in the Punjab, is a predominantly Sikh area. According to our shy Sikh, Sikhs pride themselves on being hard working, honest, and family oriented. Additionally, they have historically been much more tolerant of other religions and peoples. At the temple, they serve meals to over 40,000 people of all different religions, castes, and ethnicities. Daily. In order to enter, one must remove and check their shoes, wash their feet, and cover their head. Upon approaching the temple from the questionable neighborhood surroundings, we were impressed but not astounded as the white marbled building loomed before us. However, the gem is hidden just inside. Within is an enormous pool, on which the dazzling golden shrine itself is reflected. Even though we visited at dawn, the wait to enter the inner temple itself must’ve taken six hours. The view itself however was breathtaking, and the entire place had a tangibly sacred aura. 

Jallianwala Bagh, once merely a popular meeting grounds in downtown Amritsar, was made famous during the fight for independence against the British, when colonial soldiers opened fire on peaceful protesters, leaving many dead, and opening the eyes of the world, to the injustice of the British rule. The park allowed no escape, and in addition to the many killed by gunfire, a number jumped to their death in what is now known as Martyr’s Well. The crowd was civilian, and no mercy was spared even the women and children. The park now stands as a walking memorial to honor the citizens who lost their lives to free India. 

Another gem at the Mata Temple

The Mata Temple. Kat’s favorite. Pretty sure she spent the next week saying “remember the Mata Temple,” and giggling at least once a day. The Mata Temple celebrates female deities and is often visited by women hoping to become pregnant. The temple itself was advertised as a cave temple, but was comprised of a manmade labyrinth and cement tunnels. The entire maze was decorated with colorful, eerie, its-a-small-world style statues, carvings, mosaics and shrines within caged off shrines. We were encouraged to pray and give offerings to the deities, and were given sugary rice krispies and flower petals, ground into cheese-like blocks. Denise was certain her mother must’ve come here before marriage, as she clearly had deity like fertility. 

After Amritsar, we took our first sleeper train, and spent a day in Agra. Despite being over 115 degrees outside, in the unshaded heat and in the reflection of white marble, the Taj Mahal was still spectacular. There is no way one could overrate the beauty and awe-inspiring nature of the Taj Mahal. Despite the fact that we had both seen a million pictures, walking on to the grounds was still surreal. As it turns out, the mausoleum is open 3 days a year. Coincidentally, it was open during our visit, in honor of the birthday of the woman to whom it was devoted. We spent a few more hours in Agra, before boarding another sleeper, to Varanasi. 

Arriving and Surviving (The Beginning)

By Kat and Denise

We arrived at noon on Saturday, in New Delhi. Armed with nothing but a name and address, we rode the 2 hot miles to Hotel Blessings via bicycle rickshaws. After settling in our (air conditioned, thank god) room, we went for a walk to a nearby bustling bazaar loaded with daily goods for locals and souvenirs for tourists, alike. 

Jama Majid 

Initially, we explored the bazaar, fighting to suppress our culture shock. Our curiosity and excitement, hand in hand with the vibrance of Delhi, helped us overcome our surprise at our dirty and dusty surroundings, the extreme poverty evident ten times over on every city block. Yet this is what we bargained for. We knew what we were getting ourselves in to. For most Americans, India is not an “easy” vacation, but rather an enriching and challenging adventure. One has to be able to look past the apparent  injustices and inequities within and between countries, and learn to strip away ethnocentric understandings and judgements on the meaning of life, success, and happiness. Because in reality, happiness isn’t dependent on wealth, material possessions, or just one socially constructed definition of success. 

Humayun's Tomb

Our second day, we took a marathon tour of Delhi, with the help of Bhanu, our new friend and travel advisor. He arranged for an unassuming man, by the name of Anil, to drive us around to enumerable sights, including the Red Fort, Jama Masjid, Humayun’s Tomb, Qutb Minar, the Bahai Lotus Temple, and Lodhi Garden. While our ability to communicate with Anil was minimal, his deep understanding of the city, and the comfort of an air conditioned taxi, were all we needed. Each of these sights, was a popular tourist destination, not just for foreigners, but for Indians hailing from all parts of the country. Yet, at each of these sights, to many, we were a novelty. We were repeatedly approached by men, women, and children alike to pose for a photo with them. We’d often try to communicate with our new friends, but while everyone said they spoke english, hoping to practice and sincerely wanting to help, most knew only a few select words. 

Qutb Minar

We went into this trip knowing that we both have the tendency to do too much. Within 24 hours, we broke our own rule (or the one that Kirk Wilson proposed), which was to pace ourselves, in order to not overwhelm ourselves. We learned quickly that we don’t need to see every single tourist sight. With lessons learned, we ended the day with a tour of Old Delhi, and delicious North Indian cuisine with Bhanu. 

Lotus Temple

Monday, we did a handful of errands, worked with Bhanu and a number of agents at the train station, to develop our itinerary. We found ourselves much more relaxed and assimilated for our train ride to Amritsar on Tuesday. 

In India, a Smile is Always Returned

The people are all curious smiles, brilliantly clothed, and watchful following eyes. It doesn’t take much for me to fall in love with a city, a culture, a people. In India, it was the smiles that won me over. From our first rickshaw driver, with yellowing teeth separated by thick maroon gums, I learned that the beauty of a smile comes from the heart, not the color, shape, or order of the teeth. No one is ever in too much of a hurry to smile at you. I’ve felt very welcomed in India from the start.

Coming from the beautiful 60s of Cayucos, the heat of India has been the hardest adjustment. Within five minutes of being outside, you are covered in a light sheen of sweat, dust sticking to your skin, and within twenty, you can feel nike-advertisement-style-droplets of sweat sliding down your spine, and dust in every crease of your knuckles. The streets are a constant stream of honks and rapid acceleration and deceleration. One taxi driver informed us that there are three things one needs, driving in India: good brakes, a good horn, and good luck. Bull, horse, even camel carts can be seen on the roads, in addition to rickshaws, tuc tucs, motorcycles (have seen 5 person families lined up on one), and shrunken cars (I swear, all the vehicles are smaller. Vans are the size of my civic). 

We’re learning quickly. About ourselves, and about the country. Thus, I’ve developed a set of initial lessons and goals.

Lesson 1: You can’t experience the culture or understand the people if you spend all your time meandering around ancient buildings drowning in tourists. 

Lesson 2: No matter what your occupation, your socioeconomic status, no matter where you live, and on how much you live, life can always be a journey, not a destination. I’ve seen people whose lives look a lot harder, whose days look a lot longer than 95% of the people I know in America, and yet they are all smiles, life, and energy. 

Personal Goals

1. No cholera. With 9 weeks in India, spending 6 in rural, impoverished villages- there is a decent chance I’ll get sick at some point. However, my number one health aversion is against cholera. 
2. Don’t let the heat, exhaustion, cultural differences, etc. ever take away from the experience, or prevent me from getting everything out of this experience that I can. This first week has been thrilling, yet tiring. However, I’m sure there will be times that I’ll miss the fresh, sea breeze air of Cayucos, or the ability to take out my frustration on the rugby pitch. However, I will strive to not let these feelings minimize my experience. 
3. Learn an alphabet and develop a small vocab of either Hindi or Kannada
4. Get better at bargaining. I either get indignant or give in to being ripped off...
5. Learn. Always. Corollary: Learn from people. Listen and learn from people's personal stories and individual experiences. 
6. Develop a legit Indian wardrobe menagerie. Must get sari and salwar kameez. Animal prints better. I now have a zebra dress and elephant pants. FTW. 
7. Develop a stronger sense of daily gratitude.

Watch out for a joint update from Mama Denise and I later today!