As some of you know, there is an impossible, misbehaved child staying in this guest house/office (the same child as in a previous post). I don't need to get into the details about what a monster this child is, but I think you might find the following story amusing.
I came upstairs to find the communal TV turned on to Ninja Warriors, my favorite Japanese obstacle course game show. I don't know who turned it on or who was watching (there was no one there), but I was excited to find this show exists in India. I sat down to watch and then the devil himself came running up to me.
"What is this?" he pointed at the TV screen.
"Ninja Warriors. A Japanese game show. People race through a playground [I couldn't think of how else to explain 'obstacle course,' especially to a child who doesn't speak much English] to try to become ninjas."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes. It is a Japanese game show."
"No." He walked up to the screen and pointed at a contestant. "He is butterfly."
"No, he is a man trying to become a ninja."
"No. He is butterfly. All is butterflies."
"No, he is a man. Just a man. They are all people."
"People? No. No people. Different looking. Butterfly!"
"No, they are not butterflies. They are people, and they look a little different because they are from Japan. But they are people. And if you think they are flying, that is because they have to jump to race through the playground."
"NNOOO!!! BUTTERFLY!!!"
"People! People from Japan!"
"BUTTERFLY!!!"
"PEOPLE!!!"
"BUTTERFLYYYYYY!!!!" screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he burst into tears, kicked me in the shins as hard as he could, and ran downstairs shrieking and crying to his father.
I have no idea why he kicked me or started crying. ...or why he thought Japanese people were butterflies.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Mark Twain on India
Courtesy of Mark Twain's Following the Equator:
[By the way, Twain has a bunch of great quotes on India, and I might post them in a later blog entry.]
This is indeed India! the land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags, of palaces and hovels, of famine and pestilence, of genii and giants and Aladdin lamps, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of a hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of tradition, whose yesterdays bear date with the mouldering antiquities of the rest of the nations--the one sole country under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for alien prince and alien peasant, for lettered and ignorant, wise and fool, rich and poor, bond and free, the one land that all men desire to see, and having seen once, by even a glimpse, would not give that glimpse for the shows of all the rest of the globe combined.
...and what is it that cannot happen in India?
...It is a land of surprises--India!
...So far as I am able to judge, nothing has been left undone, either by man or Nature, to make India the most extraordinary country that the sun visits on his round. Nothing seems to have been forgotten, nothing over looked. Always, when you think you have come to the end of her tremendous specialties and have finished hanging tags upon her as the Land of the Thug, the Land of the Plague, the Land of Famine, the Land of Giant Illusions, the Land of Stupendous Mountains, and so forth, another specialty crops up and another tag is required. I have been overlooking the fact that India is by an unapproachable supremacy--the Land of Murderous Wild Creatures. Perhaps it will be simplest to throw away the tags and generalize her with one all-comprehensive name, as the Land of Wonders.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: I'm officially spending a second year in the Land of Wonders....and what is it that cannot happen in India?
...It is a land of surprises--India!
...So far as I am able to judge, nothing has been left undone, either by man or Nature, to make India the most extraordinary country that the sun visits on his round. Nothing seems to have been forgotten, nothing over looked. Always, when you think you have come to the end of her tremendous specialties and have finished hanging tags upon her as the Land of the Thug, the Land of the Plague, the Land of Famine, the Land of Giant Illusions, the Land of Stupendous Mountains, and so forth, another specialty crops up and another tag is required. I have been overlooking the fact that India is by an unapproachable supremacy--the Land of Murderous Wild Creatures. Perhaps it will be simplest to throw away the tags and generalize her with one all-comprehensive name, as the Land of Wonders.
[By the way, Twain has a bunch of great quotes on India, and I might post them in a later blog entry.]
Monday, April 26, 2010
Shark confusion
One of the TERI-Bangalore people working in the office/guest house in Thiruvananthapuram brought his 5-year-old son with him. They went to the Thiruvananthapuram zoo (or, as the child calls it, "joo"; he didn't understand when I said "no, it's a zzzzoo, with a z. I'm a Jew!"), and now he can't stop talking about animals (well he's been blabbering about them in Telugu, but he says the animal names in English). Interestingly, American and Indian children have different hand symbols for animals. He started going on and on about sharks, so I put my hands together above my head and starting singing the quickening Jaws music. He looked totally confused. "No, SHARK!" and put his hands together Awkward Turtle-style (one hand on top of the other with thumbs sticking out and twirling). "No, that's a turtle," I explained, and put my hands together above my head again. "This is a shark. My hands make a dorsal fin. Scary approaching shark!" Then his father cut in. "Actually, no. He doesn't get why that would be scary. He thinks you're just doing a big namaskar." Oops.
Friday, April 23, 2010
one more thing: Happy (belated) Vishu!
Oh yeah, and it was also Vishu on Thursday, April 15. Vishu is Malayali New Year. I was in a meeting that entire day, so I don't really know what people do. But on the way to my meeting, we drove past some celebrations. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of women were lining every street with makeshift stoves, made of three bricks standing on their sides at 90-degree angles from each other (with the space for the fourth brick used to insert the burning twigs for fuel; apparently pots can balance just fine on only three bricks), so that they could cook Vishu feasts. The fire for these stoves comes from a fire in the main temple of the city. The fire is passed from one woman's bunch-of-twigs to another woman's bunch-of-twigs, etc etc, so that every woman's stove fire originated in the temple. Must have taken hours for that fire to go around, because I swear every street in the city was lined with these women and their stoves; I didn't see a single free spot on any street! By the time we left the all-day meeting, the feasts were over, and all that was left were humongous piles of bricks every several meters. (Unfortunately I have no pictures of this because I did not take my camera with me to the meeting, and I didn't know I should expect anything awesome.)
emilyinthiruvananthapuram
I should probably post something about Thiruvananthapuram. Since I'm pretty busy here--and more importantly, lazy--I'll just copy and paste some paragraphs I already wrote in emails. Sorry if you were a recipient of any or all of these emails. [Editor's notes are in italics and brackets, like this sentence.]
Thiruvananthapuram is a funny place. Yesterday [Tuesday April 13] I saw 3 fake lifesize elephants, dressed Thrissur Pooram-style, complete with fake lifesize mahouts and umbrellas. Even the trunk was moving around. It was actually very realistic and a bit creepy. Why were these fake elephants in the middle of a market? To advertise a jewelry store, of course. Amazing. Also, there are advertisements for Qatar Airways, Emirates, and Kuwait Airways [Hi Nadeen!] everywhere. As should be expected. As well as red hammer-and-sickle Communist flags. As should be expected.
The city is very green, with tons of palm trees. It feels like a city growing in a forest; it seems like they didn't cut down any trees in between buildings and roads. Many buildings have red-tiled roofs, similar in style to Spanish missionary architecture in California. But in many cases, the tiles have turned brown or black with age.
Yesterday [Sunday] I went to Poovar, an island where the backwaters meet the sea. There was a big sandbar, which would've been a really nice beach, if all the trash from the villages of the backwaters didn't land there. (Well, the ocean side of the sandbar was nice, but the backwaters side was nasty.) But it was a good day because we spent most of it hanging out in the swimming pool of a resort. I haven't been in a swimming pool in over 2 years I think (I've been swimming in the sea, though, of course) so I was pretty excited. And I tried to teach Manju [coworker/roommate] how to swim, but I couldn't convince her to let go of the wall. Now I'm bright pink and sunburned from 8 hours in the sun, despite 3 applications of sunscreen, and my coworkers are calling me Gulabi Emily [gulabi = pink in Hindi]. My coworkers are talking about checking out Kovalam one evening this week (it's only 25 minutes from the guest house/office), but they don't like the "international food" there [we never ended up going].
I have never felt more American/different in my entire life--even more so than in a Bhutanese village, which is weird. Well, ok, that's an exaggeration, but somewhat near that level. It's weird that whenever I say something, everyone responds "you just think that because you're American" but then they often say things that suggest they think the ways of America are better than the ways of India (example: individualism vs. do whatever your family wants) (though I feel a lot of family pressure from my family too! Maybe because I'm Jewish and Jews and Indians are the same).
One specific example would be when we were discussing Bhutan during dinner. The PI of the project brought up Gross National Happiness (I forget the context). you know that any conversation about Bhutan gets me going. so at one point I started saying that while I support the government's efforts to preserve culture, I think that people are entitled to choice--if someone wants to wear Nepali clothes (the Nepalese minority is forced to wear Bhutanese dress at work), watch Hindi TV, or listen to Western music, let them; it doesn't necessarily dilute the culture, as cultures are inherently dynamic and it is ridiculous to think Bhutanese culture has been static for centuries (besides even young Bhutanese are very proud of their culture, and I really don't think it's in danger of dying out). This led to "you only think that because you're American, and Americans are all about individualism and their own notions of 'liberty.' Of course you think choice should prevail over government-mandated cultural preservation [not exactly what I said--I do think cultural preservation matters]." Most of the "you're so American" comments are due to my individualism, apparently.
The food here is INCREDIBLE, as I've said a million times [but not on this blog, apparently]. Nothing is better than Alleppey fish curry and appam. Yummm. [I've had an epiphany about South Indian food since this was written. I am now ridiculously sick of our daily rice-and-sambar lunch, and today I couldn't even bring myself to eat it. In reality, I like a higher number of North Indian food items than South Indian food items, but the South Indian food items I do like I like better than North Indian food items. ...if that makes any sense.]
Late last night [Tuesday night] a decorated elephant carrying a local goddess walked down my street, with blaring music that probably woke up everyone in the neighborhood. Apparently this happens once a year. Here's how this was described to me: "all year, every person goes to the temple. Today, the temple goes to every person." So basically these men with fiery torches and a giant tusked male elephant were "bringing the temple home," going around to each house collecting offerings, such as coconuts. I have to admit that the elephant scared the shit out of me because it was dark outside and at first all I saw were the men carrying torches. Then all of a sudden this humongous creature appeared out of the darkness. I was quite startled.
...and those are all the emails I sent about Thiruvananthapuram. I am going to Thrissur for Thrissur Pooram this evening, so you can look forward to pictures of heavily-decorated elephants with giant umbrellas upon my return.
Thiruvananthapuram is a funny place. Yesterday [Tuesday April 13] I saw 3 fake lifesize elephants, dressed Thrissur Pooram-style, complete with fake lifesize mahouts and umbrellas. Even the trunk was moving around. It was actually very realistic and a bit creepy. Why were these fake elephants in the middle of a market? To advertise a jewelry store, of course. Amazing. Also, there are advertisements for Qatar Airways, Emirates, and Kuwait Airways [Hi Nadeen!] everywhere. As should be expected. As well as red hammer-and-sickle Communist flags. As should be expected.
The city is very green, with tons of palm trees. It feels like a city growing in a forest; it seems like they didn't cut down any trees in between buildings and roads. Many buildings have red-tiled roofs, similar in style to Spanish missionary architecture in California. But in many cases, the tiles have turned brown or black with age.
Yesterday [Sunday] I went to Poovar, an island where the backwaters meet the sea. There was a big sandbar, which would've been a really nice beach, if all the trash from the villages of the backwaters didn't land there. (Well, the ocean side of the sandbar was nice, but the backwaters side was nasty.) But it was a good day because we spent most of it hanging out in the swimming pool of a resort. I haven't been in a swimming pool in over 2 years I think (I've been swimming in the sea, though, of course) so I was pretty excited. And I tried to teach Manju [coworker/roommate] how to swim, but I couldn't convince her to let go of the wall. Now I'm bright pink and sunburned from 8 hours in the sun, despite 3 applications of sunscreen, and my coworkers are calling me Gulabi Emily [gulabi = pink in Hindi]. My coworkers are talking about checking out Kovalam one evening this week (it's only 25 minutes from the guest house/office), but they don't like the "international food" there [we never ended up going].
I have never felt more American/different in my entire life--even more so than in a Bhutanese village, which is weird. Well, ok, that's an exaggeration, but somewhat near that level. It's weird that whenever I say something, everyone responds "you just think that because you're American" but then they often say things that suggest they think the ways of America are better than the ways of India (example: individualism vs. do whatever your family wants) (though I feel a lot of family pressure from my family too! Maybe because I'm Jewish and Jews and Indians are the same).
One specific example would be when we were discussing Bhutan during dinner. The PI of the project brought up Gross National Happiness (I forget the context). you know that any conversation about Bhutan gets me going. so at one point I started saying that while I support the government's efforts to preserve culture, I think that people are entitled to choice--if someone wants to wear Nepali clothes (the Nepalese minority is forced to wear Bhutanese dress at work), watch Hindi TV, or listen to Western music, let them; it doesn't necessarily dilute the culture, as cultures are inherently dynamic and it is ridiculous to think Bhutanese culture has been static for centuries (besides even young Bhutanese are very proud of their culture, and I really don't think it's in danger of dying out). This led to "you only think that because you're American, and Americans are all about individualism and their own notions of 'liberty.' Of course you think choice should prevail over government-mandated cultural preservation [not exactly what I said--I do think cultural preservation matters]." Most of the "you're so American" comments are due to my individualism, apparently.
The food here is INCREDIBLE, as I've said a million times [but not on this blog, apparently]. Nothing is better than Alleppey fish curry and appam. Yummm. [I've had an epiphany about South Indian food since this was written. I am now ridiculously sick of our daily rice-and-sambar lunch, and today I couldn't even bring myself to eat it. In reality, I like a higher number of North Indian food items than South Indian food items, but the South Indian food items I do like I like better than North Indian food items. ...if that makes any sense.]
Late last night [Tuesday night] a decorated elephant carrying a local goddess walked down my street, with blaring music that probably woke up everyone in the neighborhood. Apparently this happens once a year. Here's how this was described to me: "all year, every person goes to the temple. Today, the temple goes to every person." So basically these men with fiery torches and a giant tusked male elephant were "bringing the temple home," going around to each house collecting offerings, such as coconuts. I have to admit that the elephant scared the shit out of me because it was dark outside and at first all I saw were the men carrying torches. Then all of a sudden this humongous creature appeared out of the darkness. I was quite startled.
...and those are all the emails I sent about Thiruvananthapuram. I am going to Thrissur for Thrissur Pooram this evening, so you can look forward to pictures of heavily-decorated elephants with giant umbrellas upon my return.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
emilyinamerica
I just bought some plane tickets: I will be going back to The Motherland June 9-21! Stanford graduation, then a roadtrip south to LA, then Nicole's wedding. One word: epic.
SEE YOU IN AMERICA!!
SEE YOU IN AMERICA!!
Monday, April 12, 2010
A time-out from India for The Best Blog Post of All Time
I know this blog is about my life in India, but let's take a minute to reminisce about my pre-India life. The wonderful Nadeen wrote The Best Blog Post of All Time about our lives at Stanford (this is copied and pasted from her and Ellen's blog, Usefulknowledgeusefulknowledgeusefulknowledge):
Meyer gets shat on a lot by people who like "pretty" and "awe-inspiring" study spots. Sure, I like to get my literary groove on in beautiful rooms. I'll never forget my time at Hopkins Marine Station in Monterey, where I got to study in this stunning little library. Or when I had the opportunity to study abroad at Oxford and spent many hours wistfully staring at the interiors of Gothic buildings while pitting my laptop's wireless abilities against medieval rules and regulations. Meyer, too, is special, not because it is extraordinarily ugly when compared to other libraries, but because I've invested so much of my undergraduate self into it.
I've lost count of the number of times I watched the sun rise while in Meyer, or the moments of recognition I'd shared with my fellow students, whose names I never knew but whose faces were as familiar to me as the people who lived in my dorms. Last year, I spent so much time in Meyer with Emily and these two hapless grad students who we never formally met, that we constructed fantasies about them: Wolverine's Brother and Greasy-Haired Guy, the former thus called because he looked frighteningly similar to the actor who played Wolverine's brother alongside Hugh Jackman in the X-Men sequel, and the latter because he, well, didn't seem to wash his hair very often.
These guys were hilarious. They were in Meyer all the time. I'd walk in to print a paper at 4:45pm, and they'd be there. I'd come back after my 10pm nap to start another paper, and they'd still be there. I'd walk back to my dorm (after failing to finish my paper) at 4am and oh yes, they'd be there. There were fleeting moments in which I saw them outside Meyer, and usually in these rare occasions they'd be sprinting across campus with a coffee cup or pizza box in hand, daring to step outside Meyer's boundaries only to refuel themselves. The greatest moment of encounter happened after graduation, when I watched the video of our commencement ceremony some months after the fact, and managed to spot them in the Master's procession. I was so ecstatic that I sent the video and screenshots to Emily, and we proceeded to have a 10-letter e-mail exchange almost entirely in capital letters, expressing our joy and admiration for our distant study buddies.
Meyer might be a grey, mammoth, earthquake-insecure structure of hideous proportions, but I'm convinced that it is a place of fate and kismet connections.
(actually, if that were the case, i would have found my goddamn husband already and i wouldn't have to worry so much about finding a goddamn job that'll sponsor goddamn international students. fuck this kismet shit.)
...And now, back to our regular programming.
...And now, back to our regular programming. (That would be India.)
on meyer library
I've lost count of the number of times I watched the sun rise while in Meyer, or the moments of recognition I'd shared with my fellow students, whose names I never knew but whose faces were as familiar to me as the people who lived in my dorms. Last year, I spent so much time in Meyer with Emily and these two hapless grad students who we never formally met, that we constructed fantasies about them: Wolverine's Brother and Greasy-Haired Guy, the former thus called because he looked frighteningly similar to the actor who played Wolverine's brother alongside Hugh Jackman in the X-Men sequel, and the latter because he, well, didn't seem to wash his hair very often.
These guys were hilarious. They were in Meyer all the time. I'd walk in to print a paper at 4:45pm, and they'd be there. I'd come back after my 10pm nap to start another paper, and they'd still be there. I'd walk back to my dorm (after failing to finish my paper) at 4am and oh yes, they'd be there. There were fleeting moments in which I saw them outside Meyer, and usually in these rare occasions they'd be sprinting across campus with a coffee cup or pizza box in hand, daring to step outside Meyer's boundaries only to refuel themselves. The greatest moment of encounter happened after graduation, when I watched the video of our commencement ceremony some months after the fact, and managed to spot them in the Master's procession. I was so ecstatic that I sent the video and screenshots to Emily, and we proceeded to have a 10-letter e-mail exchange almost entirely in capital letters, expressing our joy and admiration for our distant study buddies.
Meyer might be a grey, mammoth, earthquake-insecure structure of hideous proportions, but I'm convinced that it is a place of fate and kismet connections.
(actually, if that were the case, i would have found my goddamn husband already and i wouldn't have to worry so much about finding a goddamn job that'll sponsor goddamn international students. fuck this kismet shit.)
...And now, back to our regular programming.
...And now, back to our regular programming. (That would be India.)
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Bhilala-land: "where no white has gone before"
This past weekend I visited my friend Prashanth, who I know from Pondicherry University. He works for Samaj Pragati Sahayog (SPS) in the Narmada Valley, a few hours south of Indore past the Vindhya Range in Madhya Pradesh. SPS carries out several types of development projects (see the link), and Prashanth works on watershed development projects.
farmland managed by SPS and Bhikupura villagers
The Narmada Valley is not as remote as it feels. It's not far from Indore--only a 2-hour bus ride to Bagli followed by a 30-minute motorcycle drive over a ghat (hill)--but it seems like the middle of nowhere. When Prashanth picked me up in Bagli, we saw a procession of uniformed policemen playing instruments followed by a group of traditionally-dressed Muslims. We still don't really know what was going on.
procession of policemen (I think?) and Muslim men through the streets of Bagli
When we reached the SPS campus in the village of भिकुपुरा (Bhikupura), Prashanth gave me a quick tour: farmland, cows, biogasifier, etc. After dinner, we went stargazing. I haven't seen so many stars since... I don't even remember when. It was amazing. I could spot the Big Dipper! (Usually I can only find Orion. Or, in Delhi, zero stars.) It was unbelievably quiet, which is a very strange feeling in India. I could even hear crickets!! Prashanth found it a bit odd when I said the sound of crickets reminded me of home, of Maryland.
The next day we explored various tribal villages via motorcycle. Don't worry, Mom, I was wearing a helmet! We drove through recently-harvested fields and dry forest. The Narmada Valley gets very little rain, so when it is not monsoon season, everything is brown. Crops that grow here include wheat, cotton, chilli, and some others. Wheat, the biggest crop, was recently harvested, only a week or so before I arrived. Therefore most of the fields I saw were devoid of crops.
The people in this area are adivasi (tribal) and belong to the Bhilala, Bhil, Korku, and Barela tribes. Traditionally these tribes were hunter-gatherers who lived in the forest, but after independence the Government of India pushed them to enter mainstream agriculture. However, they did not have any land--except the forest they lived in. So the adivasis cut down forest to make room for their crops.
Agriculture finally took off in this region only about ten years ago, in the 1990s, when a Naxalite/Maoist leader came to Narmada Valley to bring reform and, of course, recruit people to the Naxalite/Maoist cause. However, the Madhya Pradesh police killed the top 5 Maoist leaders, either in a shootout or by firing squad (sorry, I don't remember which Prashanth said! But they were definitely shot). After their executions, the Maoist movement lost its momentum, though a memorial for these men was built. Today the Narmada Valley is one of the few tribal regions not under Naxalite control.
(Note: all of this information is from Prashanth. So if anything is wrong, blame him! Haha.)
Even though there are four tribes in the area, everyone I met was a member of the Bhilala tribe. The women had several tattoos: a pyramid made of 10 dots (4-3-2-1) on the chin, 2 exaggerated crow's feet on each eye, siblings' names on the wrists, and other geometric designs on the wrists and ankles. Some women wore giant bangle-like anklets, and for special occasions they wear big necklaces made of coins. They drape their saris a little differently than I'm used to, and many women cover their hair and even faces with their saris. Many men had earrings, and male members of the Korku tribe wear turbans, similar to the dotted, twirled Rajasthani ones.
Some of these tribes speak a language called Nimadi, which Prashanth says is similar to Hindi, and everyone understands and speaks Hindi as a second language. I couldn't understand anything they were saying, even when they were speaking Hindi, because their accent is very different from Delhi Hindi. But that's ok, because they couldn't understand my accent either. They told Prashanth, "we think she's speaking Hindi, but we can't understand her!"
Most of the houses were kachcha houses, which means they are made of natural materials and not as permanent as, say, concrete or bricks. A kachcha house is held up by a bamboo frame, stuffed with straw, and covered in a plaster made of a mud-and-cow dung mix. So one could say that their houses are literally made of sh*t. Or at least partially.
Prashanth told me that I was going "where no white has gone before," that no white person had ever visited these villages. I don't know if I really believe this--what about the British?--but I could easily believe that not many white people visit the area. I found it odd that almost nobody asked me the usual "which country, madam?" (Or the Hindi or Nimadi equivalent.) Since they weren't asking questions about my being a foreigner, I asked Prashanth where they thought I was from, if perhaps they thought I was Indian but from a place where people are more fair-skinned, like from Punjab or Kashmir. Prashanth responded that anybody beyond the Narmada Valley was considered a foreigner, that a Punjabi or Kashmiri would be just as foreign to these adivasis as an American. In fact, when he first came to the villages, they asked him which country he was from! And he's from Bangalore! I thought it was pretty interesting that I wasn't necessarily thought of as more foreign than Prashanth.
I wanted to post more pictures here, but alas Blogspot's image uploader hasn't been working for me recently. To see photos of the tribal villages, click here. (Note: you do not need a Facebook account to view these pictures. This is the public link.)
farmland managed by SPS and Bhikupura villagers
procession of policemen (I think?) and Muslim men through the streets of BagliWhen we reached the SPS campus in the village of भिकुपुरा (Bhikupura), Prashanth gave me a quick tour: farmland, cows, biogasifier, etc. After dinner, we went stargazing. I haven't seen so many stars since... I don't even remember when. It was amazing. I could spot the Big Dipper! (Usually I can only find Orion. Or, in Delhi, zero stars.) It was unbelievably quiet, which is a very strange feeling in India. I could even hear crickets!! Prashanth found it a bit odd when I said the sound of crickets reminded me of home, of Maryland.
The next day we explored various tribal villages via motorcycle. Don't worry, Mom, I was wearing a helmet! We drove through recently-harvested fields and dry forest. The Narmada Valley gets very little rain, so when it is not monsoon season, everything is brown. Crops that grow here include wheat, cotton, chilli, and some others. Wheat, the biggest crop, was recently harvested, only a week or so before I arrived. Therefore most of the fields I saw were devoid of crops.
The people in this area are adivasi (tribal) and belong to the Bhilala, Bhil, Korku, and Barela tribes. Traditionally these tribes were hunter-gatherers who lived in the forest, but after independence the Government of India pushed them to enter mainstream agriculture. However, they did not have any land--except the forest they lived in. So the adivasis cut down forest to make room for their crops.
Agriculture finally took off in this region only about ten years ago, in the 1990s, when a Naxalite/Maoist leader came to Narmada Valley to bring reform and, of course, recruit people to the Naxalite/Maoist cause. However, the Madhya Pradesh police killed the top 5 Maoist leaders, either in a shootout or by firing squad (sorry, I don't remember which Prashanth said! But they were definitely shot). After their executions, the Maoist movement lost its momentum, though a memorial for these men was built. Today the Narmada Valley is one of the few tribal regions not under Naxalite control.
(Note: all of this information is from Prashanth. So if anything is wrong, blame him! Haha.)
Even though there are four tribes in the area, everyone I met was a member of the Bhilala tribe. The women had several tattoos: a pyramid made of 10 dots (4-3-2-1) on the chin, 2 exaggerated crow's feet on each eye, siblings' names on the wrists, and other geometric designs on the wrists and ankles. Some women wore giant bangle-like anklets, and for special occasions they wear big necklaces made of coins. They drape their saris a little differently than I'm used to, and many women cover their hair and even faces with their saris. Many men had earrings, and male members of the Korku tribe wear turbans, similar to the dotted, twirled Rajasthani ones.
Some of these tribes speak a language called Nimadi, which Prashanth says is similar to Hindi, and everyone understands and speaks Hindi as a second language. I couldn't understand anything they were saying, even when they were speaking Hindi, because their accent is very different from Delhi Hindi. But that's ok, because they couldn't understand my accent either. They told Prashanth, "we think she's speaking Hindi, but we can't understand her!"
Most of the houses were kachcha houses, which means they are made of natural materials and not as permanent as, say, concrete or bricks. A kachcha house is held up by a bamboo frame, stuffed with straw, and covered in a plaster made of a mud-and-cow dung mix. So one could say that their houses are literally made of sh*t. Or at least partially.
Prashanth told me that I was going "where no white has gone before," that no white person had ever visited these villages. I don't know if I really believe this--what about the British?--but I could easily believe that not many white people visit the area. I found it odd that almost nobody asked me the usual "which country, madam?" (Or the Hindi or Nimadi equivalent.) Since they weren't asking questions about my being a foreigner, I asked Prashanth where they thought I was from, if perhaps they thought I was Indian but from a place where people are more fair-skinned, like from Punjab or Kashmir. Prashanth responded that anybody beyond the Narmada Valley was considered a foreigner, that a Punjabi or Kashmiri would be just as foreign to these adivasis as an American. In fact, when he first came to the villages, they asked him which country he was from! And he's from Bangalore! I thought it was pretty interesting that I wasn't necessarily thought of as more foreign than Prashanth.
I wanted to post more pictures here, but alas Blogspot's image uploader hasn't been working for me recently. To see photos of the tribal villages, click here. (Note: you do not need a Facebook account to view these pictures. This is the public link.)
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Kerala, here I come!
I am finally going to തിരുവനന്തപുരം / Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum), the capital of Kerala. I leave Tuesday, April 13. (Yes, I was told this only 3 work days in advance. Typical.) I don't know how long I'll be there, but I've been told a minimum of 4 to 6 weeks. I'm ready for some change--and some excellent dosas--so I'm very excited!
What will I be doing in Trivandrum? Well, I have sort of been told, but things always change, so I'll post about what I'm doing later when I've actually started doing it. ...if that makes any sense.
What will I be doing in Trivandrum? Well, I have sort of been told, but things always change, so I'll post about what I'm doing later when I've actually started doing it. ...if that makes any sense.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Autowallahs on strike
As you all know, I take an autorickshaw (affectionately called "auto" by all) to work every day. The streets of Delhi are always crawling with autos, and I rarely have a problem getting one to work in the morning.
Today was different. Today, I did not see a single auto, neither in Jangpura nor on the main road, for 15 minutes. This was perhaps the strangest sight I have ever seen in Delhi. I knew something was wrong. Finally, I flagged down a regular taxi (something I have actually never done before in Delhi). After all, I had to get to work somehow.
It turns out the autowallahs are on strike today. The strike is 24 hours, and if their demands aren't met, the strike will continue for several hours each day indefinitely (I have been unable to find out which hours--hopefully not when I have to go to work!). Their demands are completely reasonable:
1. Fares should be increased. Fuel prices are increasing, but fares are not. Additionally, the meter should include waiting time, such as when they are sitting in traffic jams. (I have always found it odd that the meter does not already include this.)
2. Autorickshaw stands and shelters should be provided by the government. (I don't know if I've ever seen a marked autostand, and I've always wondered why there aren't any.)
3. Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dixit's statement that autorickshaws will be phased out in Delhi should be withdrawn. (She's an idiot. Tens of thousands of commuters depend on autos, and the autowallahs have limited means to make a living.)
Here is an excellent article about the plight of autowallahs that I highly recommend you read: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/autometersforthepeople/594330/
I really hope their demands are met, because my life cannot operate without autos. I take them everywhere. The metro will probably not be open in South Delhi until after I leave, and despite being on the BRT, no convenient buses stop by Jangpura. Taking a taxi could cost three times as much as taking an auto. Cycle-rickshaws are convenient for travel within Jangpura and Lajpat Nagar, but they aren't a realistic travel option for longer distances (I just feel bad for the guys, really). So yes, my life is entirely dependent on autos. And even though I always bitch about how they rip me off, etc, I do understand that the entire system sucks for them. I stand by you, autowallahs!
Today was different. Today, I did not see a single auto, neither in Jangpura nor on the main road, for 15 minutes. This was perhaps the strangest sight I have ever seen in Delhi. I knew something was wrong. Finally, I flagged down a regular taxi (something I have actually never done before in Delhi). After all, I had to get to work somehow.
It turns out the autowallahs are on strike today. The strike is 24 hours, and if their demands aren't met, the strike will continue for several hours each day indefinitely (I have been unable to find out which hours--hopefully not when I have to go to work!). Their demands are completely reasonable:
1. Fares should be increased. Fuel prices are increasing, but fares are not. Additionally, the meter should include waiting time, such as when they are sitting in traffic jams. (I have always found it odd that the meter does not already include this.)
2. Autorickshaw stands and shelters should be provided by the government. (I don't know if I've ever seen a marked autostand, and I've always wondered why there aren't any.)
3. Delhi Chief Minister Sheila Dixit's statement that autorickshaws will be phased out in Delhi should be withdrawn. (She's an idiot. Tens of thousands of commuters depend on autos, and the autowallahs have limited means to make a living.)
Here is an excellent article about the plight of autowallahs that I highly recommend you read: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/autometersforthepeople/594330/
I really hope their demands are met, because my life cannot operate without autos. I take them everywhere. The metro will probably not be open in South Delhi until after I leave, and despite being on the BRT, no convenient buses stop by Jangpura. Taking a taxi could cost three times as much as taking an auto. Cycle-rickshaws are convenient for travel within Jangpura and Lajpat Nagar, but they aren't a realistic travel option for longer distances (I just feel bad for the guys, really). So yes, my life is entirely dependent on autos. And even though I always bitch about how they rip me off, etc, I do understand that the entire system sucks for them. I stand by you, autowallahs!
Cricket fail for us, power trip win for policewoman.
I am very angry right now.
Alice and I tried to go to the Delhi Daredevils vs. Rajasthan Royals IPL (Indian Premier League) cricket game tonight, and I was super psyched about it. I say "tried" because they wouldn't let us in. Why? Because we had cameras.
The policemen said we could leave our cameras with them. Alice asked if they had any lockers, and they said no. Well, leaving our camera without any real security system (no lockers, no left luggage-type place with cubbies and a guy giving out numbered tags, nothing of the sort) would just have been asking for our cameras to be stolen. And it had taken an hour in an auto to get to the stadium, so it's not like we could have gone home to drop off our cameras and then come back.
What's most ridiculous is that cameras aren't actually prohibited. Both the back of the ticket and the IPL ticket website say the following:
"Fire crackers, cigarettes, helmets, alcohol, food, drinks, bottles of any kind, lighters, matchboxes, tins, cans, metal containers, mirrors and other banned substances [I assume this means drugs] are strictly prohibited inside the stadium."
There is no mention of cameras on that list.
However, a policeman insisted that the back of the ticket does say no cameras allowed. Well, I'm not convinced he's fluent in English (and the ticket is only in English), considering that he was talking to two white girls in Hindi. We turned over the ticket and saw that the writing is tiny. I have never seen such small writing--I swear we would have needed a magnifying glass to read it properly. Anyway, it had the above clause printed on it, and a separate clause that says "the use of cameras and mobile phones is prohibited." But it does not say that such items are prohibited inside the stadium! We tried to promise not to use the cameras, but the policeman didn't seem to understand the subtle differences between the two clauses.
Or at least he didn't understand the subtle difference for cameras. He understood the difference perfectly well for mobile phones--the policemen were allowing mobile phones inside, despite the fact that they were mentioned in the same clause as cameras! In fact, a policewoman told us that even a cameraphone is permissible. Um, if that's the case, then why not allow regular cameras?! They do the same damn thing! Sometimes there is just zero logic in this country.
I tried to nonchalantly sneak in when the particularly mean policewoman was occupied (it was fairly obvious that the male police officers didn't care that much and probably would have let us sneak in after all our bitching), but she must have eyes on the back of her head or something, because she ran after me, grabbed me hard by the wrist, and dragged me back to the entrance. (Apparently, policewomen in India like to do this.) At that point Alice and I gave up, walked out, and decided to go to India Gate for some ice cream.
So now I have a theory about Indian policewomen. They just want to exert power over people, because they rarely get to. In Bikaner, the policemen sat back and didn't appear to give a damn about the situation (and tonight in Delhi, they certainly cared a lot less than the policewomen)--male officers don't deal with female "criminals." But for the policewomen, this was their time to shine. They only deal with females, and there are probably fewer cases involving females than involving males; they probably rarely get to do what they joined the police force to do. Plus it's not like these women can exert power when they're at home; India is largely a male-dominated society, so they are likely subject to their husbands at home. So their hunger for power is building up with no release, except in the rare case of a female "criminal." There aren't enough real criminals to exert their power over, so they have to make up situations to bully people--and the easiest targets are unsuspecting foreigners (they probably understand that foreigners are more likely to comply and give in to their power trips than Indians are, for a variety of reasons). Well, I'm no longer unsuspecting. Now I am extremely suspecting.
(By the way, I saw an Indian woman walk into the stadium with a camera. That's why I'm saying we were targeted as foreigners tonight. And it was beyond obvious that I was targeted as a foreigner in Bikaner--no Indian would have been put under hotel arrest during Holi.)
This is just a theory, and I came up with it while pretty pissed off, so take it with a grain of salt. It might be totally wrong.
Anyway, I never got to see the cricket game I was so excited about (and spent so much money and time on--due to the stupid rule that e-tickets are not real tickets and you must pick up your tickets from the stadium box office between 10am and 5pm the day before the game, I had to skip out of work for 2 hours yesterday and then stay late in the office to make up the work).
Needless to say, though I already said it multiple times, I am angry.
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