Day 17: Kotachiwadi

The trees grow into the buildings here, and suggest the deeper roots that entwine the Kotachiwadi community. Beyond those greys and worn walls that James Ferreira, fashion designer, later explained, "could have been so beautiful" lay a community of Portuguese cultural preservation generations old.
Their twenty-seven houses reflected the eclectic set of individuals that lived within them. Pinks and yellows, a white shelter with "JESUS" written on a neon sign, hanging outside the shrine where he hung. A tiny yellow cat blends into an equally as yellow wall, the only distinction between the two a black motorbike leaning against it. A street down, a giant Ganesh memorial has been built, and is accented by many mini-shrines dotted about the village.
His comments were as brazen as the gold tops found in his closet, and his house as tasteful as the white chiffon floral print dress I fell in love with.
His short talk and just as small village opened up an entire community that most walk by and ignore, just as big business builders are doing to make way for sky scrapers. Originally 65 bungalows, that number has been reduced down to one as low as 27. Ferreira, along with some of his neighbors, are working to maintain the community through a number of cultural preservation projects. It is worrying that such rich history is so quickly disregarded, especially one with such a close connection to colonial times.
This ignorance is just one of the reasons he believes that "Bombay is becoming kitch, something that could have been so beautiful is getting uglier and uglier."
Maybe true in some circles, but he's certainly done an excellent job of only surrounding himself with its beauty. 

Dahravi becomes DahRave-y during Ganeshi Celebrations

The following is an excerpt from my Yatra, dated 10 September 2013

Just came out of Dahravi, one of Asia's biggest slums. It's raining and we occasionally catch a glimpse of lightening.
If anything, the music only gets louder with the rain. Locals threw pink dust on us as a part of their Ganesh-related celebrations. I assumed that the poverty they lived in would have prevented them from such extravagant worship, or they would have been hand made or equivalent. There were tons of Ganesh idols. Some small, some large, all surrounded with ecstatic, shining faces that waved at us when we passed and said "hi!" I guess when you live on the basics, without needing anything more, faith is your extravagance. It is refreshing. Our guide mentioned they collect money from each house, and over one million residents adds up fast.
We tripped through Dharavi. Over children, limbs, uneven pavements, and the occasional dog. Outsiders describe it as poverty, but I feel simplicity is more fitting. Everyone seems much too contented to label themselves with words that have such negative connotation. None of them struck me as self-pitying. There were no beggars here.
That being said, the corruption of those who own the recycling industries is apparent. The most shocking was hearing of those who work in the aluminium garages, who melt down the materials and reshape them into blocks. The fumes they inhale make them ill, and where the owners generate a combined $65bn in re manufactured goods a year, the workers make as low as 200-300 rupees a day.
One asked if they rebel, only to be told that when they try, they fail.
I asked if the men who ran the companies were bad people. Our guide simply said, "their motive is to make profit." And left it at that. 

Day 16: The City that Sleeps (However Briefly)

6 AM. We cycled on empty roads that were full with the promise of terrifying traffic come 8 AM. Peaceful, sweaty, even before the sun has risen.
6:20 AM. Eels were dropped at my feet, and a fish monger vaguely waved a 10 rupee note at the women dressed in pink, with a wicker basket on her head. Ahead was a dark sky whose stars were substituted for white fishing boats, waiting until open hours and a job to do. It smelled, but it was one that you could sense would remind some of home had they grown up with it, ingrained in their minds and in their clothing. All I could think was how this was a livelihood, fishing. Did these people realize how ancient and vital a role they play in this community of 22 million?
6:50 AM. People draped themselves among the fruit they were selling. Sleeping on the streets, cats curled on their backs. Tiny cats, tiny people, even the banana were small. We saw the fruit baskets people piled high for gifts, and the decrepit fountain Rudyard Kipling's father built.
7:15 AM. A traffic jam involving a couple cows, motorcycles, two cars and an astounding amount of people for this hour resulted in us dismounting our bikes and taking us through a back alley of hanging light bulbs, sweat peas, roses and stunning colors. You found your breath was lost in the crowds, mingling among the people and peonies that emanated from their sweet buds.
7:45 AM. The flies almost outnumbered the cows that devoured the grass we fed them. Twenty rupees for an entire pile. We were amused by the cows, the locals watched. Does this describe more than one scenario?

Day 15: Onwards

On the train to leave for India Part Two: Mumbai. I'm excited, but I think a little nervous as well. I've built it up in my mind quite a bit, what if I don't like it? Or it's not what I expect (to be fair though, I think that's exactly what's to be expected)? I want to love India, but it's something I don't think one can rush. Perhaps that's why all the locals are so keen on taking their time.
It is strange finally having adjusted to New Delhi, only to leave so soon. I'll miss the monkey madness, occasionally functioning electricity in the YMCA, rickshaw drivers, late night lattes in Starbucks...
The woman sat next to me is singing to herself in prayer. I find it incredible how she can be so open about singing! I'm way to shy for such things, even in church with the entire congregation.
A lot of the locals seem to be wandering out the windows, admiring the views and lose their minds in the emptiness of the valleys we are careening through. A few open up the doors at the end of the carriages to sneak a cigarette in front of the sunset, flicking the ash into the wind of the speeding train.  

Day 14: A Fresh Take on Fresher's

Today was our last day with the women of Matreyi College. We celebrated our time together with an event that almost perfectly encapsulates the world's fascination with Western culture: a beauty pageant. I was surprised, only to realize that, once again, my presumptions were incorrect.
The longer I spent with them the more evident it became that the emphasis was not on the physical beauty of the person. These women were not the "brainless beauties" that so many subjectively associate with our pageants, whose goals are world peace and ending hunger and poverty. They have experienced a culture different to the one Westerners project upon India, one that emphasizes the importance of your beautiful self in a non-judgmental environment.
They twirled on the stage, some in saris while others wore ball gowns, and their talents ranged from interpretive, religious dance, to opera-style singing. Each of their smiles were just as brilliant as the sun that unforgivably shone in the heat, maintaining composure was difficult enough for me, and I was sat in the crowd! 

Day 13: FabIndia, FabEconomy, FabEquality

Generally, poverty can be summed up into the absence of six things: adequate nutrition, clean drinking water, access to health care, good education, legal assistance, and sanitary sewage disposal.
500 million people do not have these basic commodities.
Thus began the talk from William Bissel, hugely successful Fab India CEO and political theorist, or perhaps "solutionist". He went on to share his theories of, "How to Eliminate Poverty in India in 1000 Days" leading us through a number of inspirational and thought provoking points that leave one wondering why it has yet to be implemented.
The main thesis of his presentation was his suggestion that within 5-10 years, we would be living in a cashless society, and that each citizen would instead be issued a chip card that can be used to geo-track, monitor citizen's income, and determine which of those citizens are living below the poverty line based on their Aggregate Economic Activity (AEA).
In theory, a cashless system would eliminate black market goods because there would always be a way to trace illicit materials to source on an entirely electronic system, and can also be used to implement a system of vouchers which would be used in exchange for one of the six aforementioned determinants of poverty. This series of vouchers would eliminate poor goods, as few people would choose those not worth exchanging for, and would thus heighten demand for the better goods, making them cheaper.
Sounds simple enough.
While brilliant, and hugely beneficial to society in theory, the question is this: do you trust your government enough to put your money in their hands?

Day 12: Similarities

The following is an excerpt from my journal, dated 5 September 2013

People say when two people are similar, they clash. Two personalities so similar and yet difficult to assimilate. There are so many conflicting ideas here it is hard to identify and create something whole, but India manages it. I feel I have a similar problem, but I haven't quite gotten to my end point. I am so indecisive and impulsive, and sometimes it is nearly impossible for me to make a decision. I do not know what I want, or how I could go about getting it. I don't understand so many things and it drives me insane.
I need to clear my head, I need to go back home to a place I know and understand.
The more I think on India the more I realize that three weeks here is not enough. Maybe three months, years. I tried to come here prepared; I bought bug spray and an umbrella for the monsoon rains, but there really is no preparation one can take. I should have abandoned my assumptions, come here in the mindset I am in now, and maybe I'd have begun to scratch the surface.
I'm looking forward to going to Mumbai. It'll be nice to see somewhere with reflections of Europe and see how it has been integrated into their unique culture. 

Day 11: Air Crash Investigation

Today I lived the life of my favorite barbie doll. Her name was Candy, and she dressed in a red business suit. She was a flight attendant. When I was younger, and I'd fly to and from my families, I'd revel in my seat with my honorary flier wings and Virgin Kids pack. 

After receiving our first training from the Air India flight hostesses, all of which were incredibly sweet and loyal to the airline, we watched two episodes of one of my favorite shows, Air Crash Investigation. We watched as professionals analyzed the events of Air Hawaii Flight 243, and Colgan Air Flight 3407. We learned the effects of exhaustion on pilots, and how vital air safety laws are to the passenger and crew. 

Just some of the information I picked up from my day at Air India, Indira Gandhi Airport Headquarters: each flight has five extinguishers, and each flight attendant has a refresher course in emergency evacuation training every three years, with customer service second to cabin safety. 

One of the recurring themes I'm starting to notice is that every employee of Air India, regardless of their place economically, is incredibly happy working for the airline. The newest flight attendant had been with them for nine years, and the rest over twenty. It is easy to assume this is solely because it could be considered a "cushy" government job, but their smiles implied it was more than that. 

Day 10: Workin' it Out in India

Fascinating day! We had a tour of all of Air India's engineering workshops: radar, electric, and instrumental. When we stepped into the latter, we all gathered into a tiny cubicle for an "air shower" to blow all of the dust off of us. I had no idea the instruments were so sensitive to even the tiniest particle of change.

Finally, we went to the engine room. Huge dismembered bits of machine were organized around the retired air plane hangar. As the daughter of an airplane enthusiast, it was hugely satisfying to be able to text my dad and tell him about the $40,000 air plane engine blade I held that day, and learn about the intricate honeycomb technology inside it to keep it light. It was equally as interesting seeing the black lights they use to identify even the smallest crack in the instruments. 

Today opened my eyes to an entire field that I had never considered before. Millions of people travel via flight every day, my uncle works for Boeing and my father is obsessed. They're something that I'm so familiar with and yet have no idea about. 

This program is allowing me to explore so many areas of  life that I'd never considered before, and for that I am infinitely thankful. 

Day 9: Agra-culture

It's unnervingly stunning. I only wish I felt as flawless as it did. How ironic that one can still catch a cold in so hot a country!
It is strange to think I am in Agra-- India. How did I get here? Why am I sitting by these pristine marble  walls, and why am I so fortunate to be able to experience my dream? They glare so bright against the sky it is almost as if it isn't there. This paradigm of perfection, it is unbelievable to witness.
I do not understand how people were so devoted. Twenty-two years of labor. I do not understand how a man could grieve his wife so much to build his wife's paradise, and risk sending his country into bankruptcy. I think this is my anxiety in India. The people are so passionately devoted, and I've never known a love like that. It's making me arrogant, and sad. I am realizing how naive I was to think this place was only colors and happiness. This collection of people both terrify and enlighten me. My mind is so torn between implosion and insatiable knowledge that I am unsure which will come first.
I need a breath, but it is hard to breathe in a country that never stops honking. For now, I will admire the green on the trees, and wonder if they ever feel discouraged lined against the beauty of the Taj Mahal. 

Day 8: Saree not Sari

My saree is a bright enough red to highlight my day. Stunning white embroidery lines the outside, and edges the silk as it skims the floor and leaves me feeling almost as beautiful as it.
In what I should have foreseen as a fruitless attempt, I headed to Jaang Path market with friends to search for some jewelry to match. I came away with two pillowcases. And an elephant. Close?
Bargaining was a thrill. "Okay, okay, how much you want for it?"
"I don't want it."
"How much? 700."
"Hm..."
"Okay, okay, 650. That's it!"
"600! 500! 400! Okay, okay. Ma'am, ma'am, ma'am 250!" and sold.
Didn't even have to say anything, I impress myself. 

Day 7: Family Matters

"Could we have a show of hands, maybe?" one of our colleagues tentatively asked. Of around thirty-five students, one girl reciprocated. One girl came from a family whose parents are divorced.
I remembered the same question being asked during a guidance council meeting. Fourth grade, suburban Pennsylvania. Thirty-three students, and over half raised their hands, myself included.
She shared her story. The audience applauded at her brave honesty. In that moment, I was in awe of how something so commonplace in the American culture I was raised in is considered so traumatic an event here. it is incredible to me how strong the bond between Indian married couples are. That is a strength I aspire to have in a future relationship.
It seems, however, that when things turn sour in such a situation, only the men are left unscathed -- a fact that seems true no matter your placement on this planet.
Women find it particularly difficult to get re-married, one professor at Matreyi College at University of Dehli describing it as, "a constant shadow," and "intense pressure." Men, unsurprisingly, find new wives with ease.
Most shocking? How divorce can reflect negatively on children.
How different would my life be?

Day 6: 50 Shades of Surprised

It is hard to shake that preconceived notion of conservative India, one that is confined when you hear that your Indian buddy's grandmother told her to be way of "those British students", or walking down the street less than 70% covered. This is the India the world sees. This is the India Westerners recognize, and are comfortable with.

So, naturally, I was surprised to hear my Indian friend's (I have dubbed them my "fr-Indians", friend+Indians in my head as its much easier to think) favorite book series: 50 Shades of Grey. 

Yes, 50 shades. Her favorite was "50 shades freed". The novels even I considered too risqué. The novels many book reviews described as "pop culture pornography", and were subsequently banned from nearly every library within the United States. 

When I asked her what her mother would say, her eyes widened and she laughed. 

I think that says it all. 

Day 4: BOHOT, BOHOT SHUKRIYA DOST (thank you very much my friend)

I could feel the grain residue on my hands hours after. And its ideologies I imagine will stay with me for days. What a stunning concept to watch unfold. The entire community coming together to cook a dinner available to everyone. Even more amazing? They had a specific workspace designed to do just that. 

It is incredible to me to think that a group of people can conglomerate to form a microcosm of the entire country. A selection of multiple religions, "untouchables", wealthy, and young people can enjoy a meal as one. Furthermore, to find time in their day to set aside solely for that purpose. Prior to that, to volunteer sometimes multiple times a week to make it happen. 

Trying to imagine such a thing happening in London, or even back home in my friendly Baltimore, is near impossible. Setting aside ones ego for more than two minutes in a city such as London would be tragic, unheard of! 

I am realizing it's exactly that getting in our own way. All these stories coming out of western media criticizing India are the result of a stubborn jealousy routed in years of traditional superiority. An incapability to accept India's thriving economy. Nearly half the growth in 2008? Down to 5% from a record 9%? To quote Andrew Sopal, a representative of British government in India from the foreign office, "David Cameron would cut off his right arm to have 5% growth in these times." A refusal to accept their misconstrued people. "The story you don't want to hear," is more aptly named, "The story whose point is tired and bitter." 

It is sad to watch the West as they desperately grasp at former superiority. But it is thrilling to see Indian people eat their dinner, full and aware as they claim it, ending the night on whispers of "Namaste", and "Bohot, bohot, shukriya dost." 

Day 3: MAIN England SE HOON (I am from England): inspirations from an ex-pat

"[India] is a place on which foreigners have projected their own fantasies and fears...and can't seem to make up their minds." Sam Miller, BBC corespondent, wistfully read an excerpt from his book, Delhi: Adventures in a Mega-City. I'd no idea how inspired I would be by such a reading.

He ambled on stage, and accented his awkward fumbling over the podium with a jaunty smile. Never has anyone looked more like a journalist. He kept his glasses hung around is neck, and tilted his chin upward as he thought on an answer. 

It's a shame one can't capture the swerves in his accent as he navigates the question, occasionally lifting his hand from its comfortable setting on his hip to stroke his chin for a second, or scratch inside his ear. 

What a wonderfully charming person, I thought. It didn't surprise me that he is reluctant to confine India to the word "love" and label his tender connection with such a country. If his thoughts were as open as his actions, he could be in Zimbabwe next week. 

The first question he asked himself when writing his first novel, quoted above, was "When did I first set foot in India?" My answer? Yesterday. And, embarrassingly. I was immediately hit with a slap of culture when I realized my white, "western conservative" shorts were an issue. 

Lesson learned. 

Day 2: JALDI (quickly)

Old Delhi was shocking. I am not sure how I mean that. It was so profound to see so many things just  happening. A man sat across from another on the street, frothing shaving cream on his face and preparing to claim a few rupees wage. A woman rubbed her child's back with one hand, the other outstretched for any spare rupee her partner in shaving may have failed to collect. So manic, but everyone is so calm.
The latter is another thing that struck me. The roads were terrifyingly packed, but the people ambled on anyway. Ignoring insistence from rickshaw drivers that they move out of the way, so sure of their own safety. How does such a calm people create the chaos they live in?
Every building I pass in Old Delhi seems half-built, as if they managed to construct a semi-livable condition and decided to reward themselves by settling there permanently and daring Mother Nature to blow down their house with a wild monsoon.
There is an overwhelming amount of wires, as if they represent each person packs in this crowded city, or maybe they wait for the day they will connect them to a privileged life they aspire to have. 

Day 1: CHALOC (let's go)

Today I live my cliché. I sit anxiously in the Heathrow duty free area watching passerbys; wondering if they anticipate like me, or are as excited as I am. India. The golds and green leaves of corriander I wrote about in my application are about to gain a face.
This is a reminder if my own thoughts. I do not know what I expect of India, but I guess that's exactly it. Insight? Would be nice... But I think that's more to do with life than its location. I don't aspire to change while there. I don't want to come back a different person, like those on Catholic religious retreats, who have sworn they saw God on a crucifix, even though he's hung there the entire time.
I digress. I want to be my same self, just a version that smiles more, appreciates. Is thankful, like so many of the Indian people I will be thrilled to meet. 

Monsoon Season

Today we felt the rains for the first time, I am not sure why "monsoon" is confined only to a season where it seems to apply to the entirety of Indian culture. It is a rush of everything.
I saw a small boy as I peered through the open door of the auditorium on induction day. His slender hands rested on the striped awning, just watching the rain fall. He was so peaceful. I wonder what he thought in those moments.
This blog is an exploration of my time in India, an exploration of the changes in western thinking that I expect to encounter, the people, their cities, and ridiculously uncessary honking.