Jeremy In India

4:58pm: Epilogue, Part I
10 August
Well, I sit now in my camper in the middle of Nelson county, tired after a full day of harvesting for tomorrow’s market. I never really finished this up, did I? I guess everything went pretty darn well, and this summer has been pretty incredible too. Lot’s of good food and hard work, and plenty of time to mull things over. As such, I’d like to post here some more memories and stories from India; they’re already fading fast, I must be swift in recording them. And in doing this, I’d like to being with the end—my last day in India. Here it is:
Priya and I had made it to Delhi and to the backpacker central region of the city. There we had a glorious reunion (for me) / meeting (for Priya) with Libbey and Netta. In Delhi it was about 1,000,000 degrees Celsius, so mostly we sat around on the roof-top café, surrounded by fans, eating and drinking chai. On the last day, Priya and I sat out early to get a last feast of South Indian food. We left pretty early and Libbey and Netta elected to keep sleeping. Though the restaurant we were targeting was relatively close, the disgusting heat made me think we would die, or perhaps have to resort to getting a rickshaw. But finally we found our way to the gracefully air conditioned restaurant and began what turned into quite a feast. Priya was an excellent guide, as always, and I tasted several South Indian dishes I had never been brave enough to try. Properly stuffed we walked outside (ugh) and wandered around one of the central points of Delhi, an arcaded circle of shops called Coughnaught Circle. We skirted the large, central park where we had hung out with Libbey and Netta the previous evening. The park, as all Indian parks, was a well-used shared space, families, couples discreetly holding hands, older couples out for a stroll. Just spending a couple of hours in this one park made me re-think my hate of Delhi. Until the heat of the next day.
We tried to find some shops, but were unsuccessful; most stores were closed on Sunday. While wandering, a German couple approached me, explaining that they were looking for somewhere to do some shopping. As I was explaining that there wasn’t much open on Sunday I realized I was using my Indian accent. Even when back in the U.S. I gravitate towards an Indian accent when speaking to other Indians. On-site it is a good way to help people understand you—Indians don’t understand American accents very well. As I was trying to stifle my Indian accent an Indian man came up to us, who had clearly been talking to the couple earlier, and told them that some government emporiums were open, that they should just follow him around the corner. He sounded like a tout if there ever was one, and I spoke with him in Hindi, telling him that the couple just wanted some little gifts, nothing big, and asking the couple what types of things they wanted to find. Eventually I settled on giving some directions to a couple of stores I had found open, and to the metro station where they could find a bazaar. They thanked Priya and I and we headed on our way.
Where Priya and I are concerned, our way is generally focused on food, so exhausted from our 15 minute stroll, we settled into another restaurant for some lemon soda waters and snacks. When we ventured back out again to look into movies at a nearby cinema, we ran into the German couple again, who had just gotten something to eat. They crossed the street over to us, and then the woman asked me: “Hello, sorry to bother you again, but the two of us were wondering, did you grow up here in India?” I couldn’t help but smile: “No, not exactly. Sometimes it feels like it, though.” She smiled back, and after a brief explanation on my part we were both on our way. I felt a sense of completeness, to be sure.
Priya and I, exhausted from our day of being alive in Delhi, headed back to the hotel, where I started to feel anxious about my impending departure from India. I nervously ran out of the hotel to buy one more bar of my favorite soap, before retreating to the rooftop café, and the company of my new friends once more. We shared one last cup of chai, laughing about the ridiculous day and other ridiculous tourists we had seen. And then Priya’s uncle came to pick her up. It all happened quickly, and in the presence of her Uncle, so there was no tearful goodbye. A brief hug and out the door. Sometimes it’s best that way. Sometimes not. Libbey and Netta accompanied me to the airport, as a friend of theirs was coming in just before I left. I waited with them, distractedly, calling Lauran to use up some of my remaining minutes. Their friend arrived and presented a greeting gift of Little Debbie chocolate bars. Libbey insisted I eat one and I could barely stomach it. Finally I told them I had to get going, and made my way into the first series of lines. I can’t even really remember the flight. I remember there was lots of food, and that it seemed like the same movie was on 15 times. A long layover in Chicago, during which I ate a bagel and had some coffee. Then back to Virginia, meeting my parents in Richmond, and being shown, for the first time, the location of our new house. I never knew I had to say goodbye to the old one. I have not been back since. I haven’t even been to Earlysville.
I spread out everything that I had brought back from airport, showed off my gifts, and then wondered what to do. I didn’t really want to see any of my friends yet, but that was perhaps to be expected. I didn’t even know where I was, to be honest. I kept quiet for a few weeks, headed to the farm, and have been excited and terrified by the farming life, and by the uncertainty that lies at the end of the season for me. I have no idea. It is scary and exciting to be out of the system for a bit, not to have my next step prescribed. But I am becoming progressively less worried and more excited. Perhaps that should worry me. But thus far, worrying is scarce, and as I spend the days picking tomatoes and cleaning garlic, I can’t help but like where this is going.

10:27pm: Okay, back in Jaipur, braving the old city for all that shopping I put off.
The Yatra has been largely successful, how I can even begin to cover it. We must have visited 5 NGOs by now, including lots which are involved with interesting inventions.

SNAP; THREE DAYS LATER

In Delhi, with only 24 hours to go. Hanging out in the quirky tourist area with Priya, Libbey, and Netta. All bags stuffed full I am more or less ready to go. I am actually surprised that I am not feeling weirder than I am; I guess that means it will be okay to home. It's still weird. Two days ago I was in the middle of a village at night, talking with a group of children at an NGO-run school, telling them about the ocean and that the water in it cannot be drunk. Now I am in the middle of crazy Delhi where white people are running around wearing scanty clothes and on their way to sagehood. And in two more days I will be in Richmond in a new house in a new city. What a world where movement can happen so quickly!

Some final thoughts and stories when I get back, but in case I do not get to the internet tomorrow, it has been a pleasure friends. Stay tuned for a little bit and watch out- I may soon be at your doorstep baring stories and gifts from the subcontinent.
Fhir Milenge [meet you then]
With warm wishes, as always, from the subcontinent,
Jeremy

5:27pm: It's too darn hot
Okay, with three minutes of internet time.
Lots of interesting NGO visits involving stoves, biogas, and toilets. Gujarat is full of good food, or at least the place we went to today for our lovely lunch. Lots of moving here and there, anger at train stations, pleasantly fun bus rides, and good health. Full yatra update to follow.

7:26am: Social Entrepreneurship Yatra 2007
Back in Bangalore, sitting at the computer in Priya's apartment, a place which has become a second home in India. But not for long. Later today we are headed off to Pune, just outside of Bombay, to begin the Social Entrepreneurship Yatra 2007. Priya and I will be visiting NGOs related to microfinance in Pune, Bombay, several cities in Gujarat, Udaipur, Jaipur, and finally Delhi, where in a mere two weeks I will board a plane homeward bound, wherever home is. One last chance to squeeze in a couple of new places and to revisit the old ones- back to Jaisamand briefly and visiting a few people in Jaipur. And my favorite thing to do when it's hot- shop in old cities! But now that school is totally over (yeah, that's right, totally over) I feel rather free.
I haven't slept much in the last 72 hours, the first night in question being an overnight bus ride to Bangalore, and last night being a crazy all night music festival held in the outskirts of Bangalore. Myself and about 4 friends went out around 9PM last night ans wandered in and out of this beautiful open air ampitheatre, where one can actually see stars, and was home to a wide assortment of music groups from across India and the world. It was a beautiful night, a crazy crowd, and refreshing to hear such a diversity of music. And the Bangalore jazz band was pretty cute, if not particularly jazzy. But anyway, now you suffer for it in my writing.
I spent two days in Pondy with an old friend, Nanju. It's funny how basically things don't change too quickly. I still know my way around and have an idea of what closes when, and what my favorite foods are, etc. I did got for the first time to Auroville Bakery, which I had never visited before, though I had often eaten their pastries. It was pretty creepy. Perhaps you will recall Auroville, the strange planned community near Pondicherry comprised of thousands of foreigners ad some Indians. But in another episode of "something's fishy at Auroville" we had a cup of coffee at the cafe adjacent to the bakery, and found the clientele consisted of only white people (plus Nanju, who is basically white at this point), and all of the staff were Indian. Kind of a weird way to achieve equality. More later...

11:32am: Oh Lord, Don't Let Them Develop Me
05 April 2007
Eye is better with digestive madness to compensate for that improvement in health. Sometimes I feel sickly here, but mostly I am probably too brave. But a recent culinary discovery I have made, which has not yet made me sick, is shaved ice. You know shaved ice cones at home? Well this is kind of like that, but they save the ice right there, make it into a ball on a stick, pour a syrup which is much less sweet than the U.S. varieties, and give you a cup to catch the drippins’. Nothing better when it’s 100 degrees out, which, according to my mother, is the truth. I think knowing what the temperature is makes it feel hotter.
Another footnote, you may be under the illusion that I eat fantastic Indian food everyday not unlike what people have in Indian restaurants at home. This is, in fact, in correct. While the food is often pretty good, it is not the variety that one finds in a restaurant. Mornings are roti and daal, evenings are roti and a vegetable, which is usually rather oily and uninspiring. But this is the reality- people need to each cheaply and have a high caloric intake. So that means oil and ghee (clarified butter) and cooked vegetables to kill anything. It leads me to certain phases were thinking of office daal makes me sick. And since I have to leave in less than 25 days (!) we have taken to eating out more recently, where very nice food can be obtained. Items like paneer (tofu consistency cheese) and beans are relatively expensive here, so eating them is a relatively big event. But the other great thing is street food (sorry mom)! Especially omlettes, chaat, and the assortment of other things fried in a ridiculously delicious amount of oil Yes!
Tomorrow night we leave Udaipur and head back to Jaipur for our final seminar. I have just about finished my research project, so I can do a little shopping tomorrow. Last chance if you want some cheap spices or something. The head of the NGO just got back from a trip to Finland. It’s been sort of horrifying because he keeps talking about all these things to do that are totally catering to foreign funders. I am becoming more and more convinced that foreign intervention with respect to development is Never good. I have seen many NGOs and projects and I have never encountered one that seems basically good or not patronizing/insulting. It must be ridiculous to be in a village and have all of these groups come through and introduce programs and schemes and try to empower people and then move on to the next thing. It is sad and degrading. It is a new colonialism.
Two nights ago we had dinner with a man named D.S. who works on tribal rights. His organization does not take any outside funding and he explained his basic goal is to “smash the system.” And why not? When your system only seizes your property and feeds fat politicians and has no ears or eyes to hear or see you or your problems why would you want to do anything else? He is sympathetic to foreigners’ desire to help, but realistically sees the damage it does. I asked if he thought foreign intervention could ever be positive for development. He kind of smiled awkwardly for a second before saying “No.” Not that anything is perfect; he is a Brahmin working in a tribal community; it is difficult for things to change without any outside presence of influence to learn from.
And I do wish to stress that I do not think that just because something is traditional makes it good. Lots of things are traditional and suck, like women not being able to make decisions, and corruption, and caste. And lots of things that are new are very good, like medicines, and ideas like equality and shared management of resources.
So instead of trying to feel good by sending money to Africa and India so that intermediary funders who don’t know much about other cultures can criticize them for being who they are, and who impose their own ideas of “good” let’s work on our own problems. I mean, a lot of the problems here can be traced back to the U.S.’s consumption. So let’s cut down on that, demonstrate how powerful women can be, and make an example of how free choice can be great. And let’s learn about the importance of family, and frugality, and how to do and fix things ourselves. And then the children of the world will hold hands and sing in all their different respective languages and everything will be good and happy and perfect, yes sir and ma’am.
There may be an opening at the farm where I will be working. If you don’t have anything to do this summer please email ASAP! We will work hard and cook and eat beautiful vegetables and breathe clean Nelson county air and be happy and free together. Hep beraber (all together, now).

2:35pm: You Can Sleep When You're Dead
30 March 2007
Since my eye is kind of swelling shut I think today can be reserved for low-key office work type things. Nothing serious I guess, my left eye was just like “hell no I don’t wanna work.” So, whatever. They put an ayurvedic drop in my eye, the rest is in uperwalla’s hands.
Spending what will probably be my last substantial chunk of time in Jaisamand. Got here two days back and am trying to put together this photoboard of the staff, but heat and laziness and a good book have prevented any progress thus far. But today will be productive, as soon as the electricity comes back and the fans are working. Rai Singhji, Kailsahji, and Khemraj, what I like to call the “Jaisamand All-stars” are here right now, so it is a good note to leave here on. Plus there is a new woman who works here, who is sooo bad ass she goes to events at night time. And yes, she ends up in the kitchen sometimes. Small steps. Watch out rural Rajasthan.
Last night we were brought to a cultural program at the nearby village of Tulsi ka Naamla, we being myself, Tess, Erin, Rai Singhji, Kailsahji, and the new woman, Mammta Bhenji. We arrived in late afternoon, around 5PM or so, and after stopping at a couple of houses wandered down to the irrigation canal, which is the main one in the Jaisamand lake system. People are using a lot of water right now because the wheat crop was just harvested and people are planting moong daal. It is cool to have been here for a whole season like this. When I was first in the field in November people were finishing up with the corn crops, preparing their land and seeding the winter crop of wheat and mustard. Slowly little green sprigs popped up, very bright and vibrant green. And they grew, and grew, and grew, and turned less green and more yellow and finally dried. Now the harvesting is more or less complete and the wheat is being processed so that it is ready for use by families and for sale in market.
Anyway, we walked along the irrigation canal which was quite pretty. Rai Singh went for a swim and ended up cutting his foot, after which we realized how rocky the surface under the water is—lucky Erin, who also went it, did not hit her head and die. But there is a general principle that Tess has articulated on numerous occasions: Indians do many things that, if attempted by Americans or other Westerners, would lead to serious injury or possibly death. Seriously, Indians are much better at things that require any sort of physical coordination. Not that accidents don’t happen. The other day while at the Vali office the group of 6 men trying to fix the water pump dropped it and someone’s hand was injured. But probably if Americans attempted the same thing, without machines, much more injury would have been sustained. Okay, enough huge generalizations.
We made our way to the site of the “cultural program” around 8:30PM. It was sort of an Indian version of a housewarming party. And in typical style it did not begin until close to 10:30. We all sat around outside the house for a bit, and wandered over to someone else’s house for chai, exchanging crudely translated jokes with each other and realizing most of our jokes simply do not translate well. The house was a new cement house, two rooms, each about the size of a small bedroom. Around 10:30 about 40 people crammed into one of the rooms and the music began: one stringed instrument for a drone, one loud dholak/drum, and about 15 sets of loud finger cymbals. And plenty of voices. It was a very impressive sound—the ringing of so many cymbals was incredible. There were two small lamps providing light, that combined with the light from the fire outside creeping in through the window. Everyone was very into the music, clapping and occasionally getting up and dancing in a twirling trance-like state. There was a break a bit before midnight for much needed chai; I was already feeling pretty tired at 8:30 and the young children were starting to fade.
After a few minutes outside the program began anew with even greater fervor and slamming together of finger cymbals. By around 1 AM the pooja (worship) began. Various gifts were presented in front of the picture of Lakshmi and flaming cow patties waved over the singing crowd. The pooja continued for sometime as different elements were brought in and presented before the make-shift altar: coconuts, grains, money, blankets, etc. Around 2 AM everyone stopped again and I thought perhaps the ceremony had concluded. Incorrect. We all moved on over to the other room and began anew over there, the pundit leading the house owners through the various rituals. Team America was asked to sing a couple of songs, which we did, after our usual realization that most of us don’t know the same set of songs. Our final song was an enthusiastic rendition of “I get by with a little help from my friends…” We try. The finger cymbals and other instruments were being passed around, and I have to admit, were key to helping me stay awake. By the end, however, I was beginning to fade even as I was playing and clapping along. Two more chais could not save me. And it is such a frustrating thing to be so tired in such a crazily dynamic and aesthetically beautiful situation. By around 4AM things started to wrap up, the house having been rendered sufficiently auspicious. We were given tikkas (the red vertical line on the forehead), ladoos (a sweet made of ghee, jaggery, and flour), and made our way back to our cycles. A cool 15 minute ride later we were back at the office. Poor Khemraj was awoken at 4:30 to let us in. Incidentally it is very cool to be on a motorcycle and be able to feel all of the cold and warm pockets of air; it ain’t as uniform as it looks.
I was feeling pretty awake by now so thought I would read for a bit. That lasted for about 10 minutes and we were all out. And now somehow it is the 30th of March. How did that happen? That means 7 more days at the internship, 4 days of school, 2+ weeks of travel, and America. Less than a month left. Getter better, eye, I want to see this till the end.

1:14pm: So that we are all in the loop
Hello again,
Another marathon train journey finished- don't worry, you don't get a play by play this time. Now in the Gujarati capital of Ahemdabad for the day until my next train ride back to Udaipur (oh it never ends!). Pretty cool old city here with lots of mosques.
Thought I would let you all know my summer plans: Kristin and I will be working at Appalachia Star Farm in Nelson county for the entirety of the growing season. If we don't see you there, we can be found at the Charlottesville and Lexington Farmer's markets. It is a relativley new organic vegetable farm owned by a family of four, with a 22-week CSA. So that'll be a change of pace.
Back to my main activity of the day: finding a good bathroom.
J

10:40am: I am brown
Starting to go a little stir crazy sitting around and writing all day. Not sure if I will ever be able to handle a full time office job permanently. But the evenings have been interesting. Last night I went with Priya and a couple of her co-workers to see a performance of Classical South Indian Dance. It was really pretty incredible. We were ushered in with sweets and flowers and the auditorium was rather full. The performance, all by one woman, was breath-taking. She had such precise facial expressions and was in such synch with the music... I stayed for the second half and a Rajasthani couple sat next to me, having brought their nephew and niece. During the third dance the man leaned over to me and asked me how I liked the dancing. I said I thought it was quite nice, what does he think? He said they prefer disco. Such is the fate of classical art forms everywhere, I suppose.
The two co-workers of Priya's were both white Americans with very little experience in India, they are just visitng for work. They are the first people I have interacted with in a long time that are neither Indian or accustomed to India. And while it was sort of amusing to see them in shock over things that don't phase me anymore I was also annoyed by it at times. I feel that to make fun of India you have to have invested more than two weeks here and have a more nuanced understanding of what is going on. What makes it even more nerve-wracking is that they are working on development in India! Hanging out with all these economist types I thought I was going crazy. I think they probably do some very good work, but it is just confusing to me how people in offices can fix problems in another country. I guess through multiple levels of communication and analysis and sustainable investment and other things that I don't quite know or see. The economistas accuse me of being naive in my somewhat more organic or small scale view of things. But this reckless disregard for local variation and diversity is pretty appalling to me. And while I know very little, I have been fortunate enough to live here for the last six months and seen how the NGO-corporations seem to just sort of shift around problems. I guess we should try to meet halfway. Large scale organizaiton of local-scale change or something like that. Someone figure it out and tell me. Thanks.
Anyway, sometimes I say to Priya in various contexts that I am white, and she tells me Jeremy, you're not exactly white anymore. When we had to cross a pretty busy street yesterday and take a rickshaw with four people, both of the other Americans were very hesitant, indeed horrified. I offered my hand so that I could guide one across the street and he replied: "I am NOT going to hold your hand." Then, as they planned a vacation they mocked the idea of taking an overnight train instead of an airplane. Come to India, fix development from a series of meetings, then escape to somewhere--try to avoid interacting with the natives, if possible, and try not to worry about the environment! Yes!
So now I begin to feel like perhaps I am a little less white than 6 months ago. Not that Indian-ness is defined by the ability to cross the street or use public transportation. But in some ways it is. There are a lot of people here, and being compact and sharing space and not worrying so much is a part of it.
On the other hand, it is always nice to talk with Americans or Indians who have spent time in America if for no other reason than the sense of humor or sarcasm that it equips you with. So for idle chatter and an outside perspective I am grateful.
Two more days in Bangalore then back to Rajasthan. My academic program kind of sucks for a lot of people, so I think another week at the internship should be sufficient, then a bit of wandering and research. Then home will come soon enough. 1.5 months. So long and so short.

12:22pm: The 2968: Superfast?
Back in da South. One 38 hour train ride later. It was surprising how not bothersome or tiring the train ride was. For your kind education and edification I present my elaborated field notes from this 38 hour train ride (caution: this is an extremely detailed and perhaps tedious play by play of a train ride. Use your time wisely):

TRAIN 2968: Jaipur-Madras Superfast Express
The Scene: Sleeper car number one of 02 March train 2968. The Indian train system, as I have probably mentioned, is one of the largest employers in the world. I believe that the Russian and Chinese rail systems may actually be larger, but when you are in a country where labor is so cheap, why not employ a good portion of the country to move another big portion of the country from one point to another? Anyway, most trains are a long series of blue cars, the bulk of which are sleeper class on any long-distance train. They consist of seats for about 60 odd people, arranged into smaller compartments: on one side of the train are two bench seats facing each other and an upper bearth. The back of the seat on the bottom flips up so that at night there are three people sleeping- lower, middle, upper. Across the aisle, there are two seats facing each other which turns into one bed, with another above it. In each car there are two bathrooms on each end, as well as a sink, really an impressive number of bathrooms, with your choice of Indian or Western (may I recommend the Indian toilet, which does not need to have sign reading "please do not soil the seat"). Anyway, this journey of mine takes place in S1 car, seat 14, which is an upper bearth, which gives the advantage of a bit of a retreat space, if sometimes the hottest of the seats. The windows are open but with bars, with windows and metal sheets that can be lowered.

02 March
7:50 PM: Train is leaving the station. I am in my berth and the seats below me are completely full. Across, on the neigbhoring upper bearth is a man, maybe in his mid-30s, lying on his side. He has spend the last half hour or so listening to music on his phone. Indeed, he turns out to have two phones. He was also singing for some time, and glanced at my slyly as he played with the light tube above our berth, causing it to flash on and off. Just finished some last minute phone calls before I leave Rajasthan and go on roaming.
Below and across is a couple, maybe late 30s, the man somewhat older. Madame, wearing a light blue saree, seems a bit unwell or tired, or perhaps just unexcited about the journey. Before the train left she sat next to the window while her husband stood outside on the plat form. Like so many couples.
A man in his 40s is across from them, wearing a police-man brown shirt.
Next to him is a young man, maybe 20, very cleanly dressed in all black.
A pink-shirted man is sitting across and near him an older gentleman with hennaed-hair, reading the Hindi version of India Today.
Across the aisle is a very masculine looking woman, surrounded by luggage. Possibly a hidjra (eunuch).

8:15 PM As the ticket checker came through some sort of conflict developed with the masculine woman. She seems to be inhabiting someone else's seat and refuses to leave. Everyone seems to be laughing at her though she is quite defiant that she will not go. Periodically she claps her hands and chants about how she won't be going. She mentioned that she does not have work. There was a scene for a few minutes but now everyone seems to have lost interest. She is babbling but no one is really listening.

9:45 PM: The man across from me turns out to work for a pharmaecuticals company. He goes to doctors and encourages them to sell his medicines. He asked me about how people obtain medicine in the US, and then said he wanted to change jobs and work for an NGO, which is nice, but also kind of makes me nervous. I gave him the name and number of one health NGO. He is from Kota, and previously lived in Ajmer and Udaipur. He is returning from a meeting in Jaipur. I am getting the impression that the train is already running behind.
Then I asked the couple below if they were going to Chennai, which they are not, because I don't remember when the train is supposed to arrive. They asked me to come sit with them after they discovered I knew some Hindi. The woman turned out to be a Hindi professor (yikes) and with her husband they are going from Ajmer to Bhopal for the Holi hoiday. Normal fascination with Hindi. Asked me if I understood that the person across the aisle was a hijra, that she is neither a man or a woman. A boy sitting nearby told me that the correct English word for this was "neuter" despite my objections to this term. He had read it in a dictionary.
Then a woman came over to me, speaking very full English, and sat next to the hijra. It was strange how everyone was talking about her in front of her and no one seemed bothered. Also, there had been a new scheme on the trains to upgrade people on the waiting list to AC class, where the hijra had not wanted to go, so that is what had happened. She left her family in India because "they" must be separate, or so I am told. I think they ask her to sing for me, but she said no, not on trains.
The woman from Jaipur wrote her address but said that she would give her number later because she didn't want others to see it, whatever that means. Eventually we reached Kota and put the beds up, around 11:15 PM. Went to sleep.

03 March
7:30 AM: Reached Bhopal (yes that's where that big chemical explosion was), though I did not see my companions across the compartment. The eunch/hidjra, whose name is maybe Mune bhai, is still sitting across the aisle; she woke up early. The man in brown is also still here. I came down to sit for some time, still in the station. Had one morning coffee, and two text messages on my phone waiting for me. Spirits high. Have not started reading.

8:00 AM: Habib Ganj station. Should go brush teeth. It is funny and nice to get familiar with certain train routines, for example, the horn blowing regiment when beginning to move: one long horn, a pause, then a short one. Then movement.

11:30 AM: Brief station stop where people bought bananas. It is interesting that certain stations specialize in particular foods: fruit, certain sweets, omelet, etc. Oh India and diversification. The two women who got in the train late last night in Kota just now woke up. The are smart, sleeping late on the train. One more coffee.

3:00 PM: Left the Nagpur station a bit ago. It has started to get hot--the fans were turned on while at the last station. Naptime 12:30-2, woke up all sweaty and gross. Everyone is napping. One masala chai. Too many gross Jaipur sweets. Just passed rows of tin shack homes. Everyone knew in advance that there was time to get down in Nagpur. The items for sale were meals and sopapadi, which I would have bought if I hadn't just woken up sweaty and eaten a huge, gross sweet. One new man, 20s, reading English just got on. Both women are Telegu speakers, though they probably also speak English. They went back to sleep. Now realizing that this trip, which I am planning to take again in April, will be quite hot. The two men travelling together were playing cards, but also have succumbed to naptime. Priya advises against drinking the water at the stations, which otherwise looks very refreshing. Apparently this is the orange capital of India. Feel slightly gross, but soon it will be evening. Have seen many of those trees with the bright red-orange flowers that come after the leaves fall off-- "flame of the forest" I think it is called.

5:30 PM: Have spent most of the day reading "Maximum City," a book about Bombay, and some staring out the window. One more coffee. It's funny how I really don't think about balling up the cup and throwing it on the floor, or if it is paper, sometimes out the window. It's too easy-- just hold it out the window and the breeze snaps it down under the train. I have become to careless. Lots of dry riverbeds and in some of them people have crops growing--I wonder how those land rights are determined. These people seem to set up little shelters, and perhaps they are just there for a few months. Pulling into a station you can see all of the samosa and chai and nashta wallahs getting ready, filling their bins and running to spread out over the length of the train, targeting different cabins, each one with that almost inhumanly monotone voice to pedal whatever it is they they are pedaling.
New man on the train works for a bullet company and is headed to Chennai for an interview. He is reading ridiculously complex diagrams and physics that I imagine would be challenging in any situation, let alone a hot train. But let me not project my inabilities.
p. 325: "That is the thing about secrets, and that is why we are so eager to know them. They give us, once revealed, a false impression of wider knowledge." Interesting.

6:15 PM: Just made that stop that always occurs where people run out and get food. Of course a mere 20 minutes prior I ordered a train dinner, which probably won't be as good and will certainly cost more. I look with jealousy as the people across form me eat fresh idlli, rice cakes.

6:50 PM: Finally dark outside. there is often a bit of a competition at dusk between reading and looking outside, but today the latter soundly won, lights in isolated houses, vegetables ripening, flames of the forest, and the moon. 23 hours complete.

10:00 PM: Warangal stop, AP. Finally the skinny henna-hair man spoke to me, moments before getting off the train, and just enough to tell me that I should eat meat so that I will be strong. He squeezed my arm to demonstrate to me how weak I am. Then he argued with me about my age, firmly declaring that I am 30. Then he left the train. Dinner okayish.

04 March
7:08 AM: Woke up about half an hour ago, in time for the Nellore station where I got my morning coffee from the window. From the map it looks like just a few more hours to go. Weird how the North to South transition happens. Yesterday the landscape gradually shifted, Hindi signs became fewer and Telegu started to creep in. Then Bedtime. Then BAM. South. Even the train population seems firmly Southern now. And the air is definitely more humid. Oh, waking up in humidity. The key to getting food from the stations is not thinking, only doing.
I have not seen anyone pooping this morning on the side of the railroad tracks, like one normally sees. Wait, there's one. I guess it is just wetter here along the tracks. The only guy left in my compartment is the bullet guy. Not sure why it is exciting to get to the South again, but it is. Last night I got to sit at the window across the aisle for a long time, which was very nice. Not always having the profound conclusions that I sometimes feel one is supposed to find on long train rides, but I work towards that lofty goal.

7:50 AM: In honor of my 36-hour grain anniversary I have a coffee. Stilted small talk across the carriage. Spirits high. So many incredibly tight Indian pants. I think I should find some nice hat or other fancy thing to wear on my head so that I don't get into as many arguments about my age. Standing at the door of the train as it rushes though the rural areas makes me love India too much. Must exercise caution. Also I forgot how accurate my Tamil impression is. Seriously.

9:40 AM: Slowly pulling through the outskirts of Chennai, just a few minutes now. So many people involved with getting this train from point A to B. But I feel a special camaraderie with the train for being there the whole journey. The train pulls in exactly on time, to the minute, at 9:50 AM. A quick cleaning, a staff change, and it begins again, in the other direction. But I get off, into the sticky and loud sea of people. And wait for the next journey.

3:32pm: About that one week delay
17 February 2007
A little less that 2.5 months remaining and suddenly everything is contracting and possessing an allotted number of days and is crazy. Finally things have picked up here at the office. For better or worse, people have started given us their good efforts in writing English to look at, but it’s a long way to point B. Almost overwhelming, but is something that is concretely useful for the organization. Of course you never know if something is actually useful at the ground level, but all we can do is try. Outline of next 2 months (primarily for my benefit): GO
For the next 10 days or so Tess and I (or at least I) plan to escape living in the JJVS office and find a cheap hotel in town. Despite our best efforts it is just a bit much to live and work and do everything in one building in a sort of relatively uninteresting suburb. During those 10 days I will try to make some good final progress on my research project, and spend the rest of the time in the Jaisamand field station. Somewhere in there I will meet my old roommate’s parents, hang out at another NGO, try to make some friends, see a Hindi film or two, eat some nice food, buy a few gifts, study Hindi, and complete school work.
Then on 28 Feb back to Jaipur for a couple rushed days, and on the 2nd night beginning the long train ride to Chennai (Madras). Unfortunately I will have to miss one of the North’s biggest holidays, Holi, though I will admittedly be traveling on it which could be equally interesting. Arriving in Chennai on the 4th and meeting a friend to look for hotels in Mahallapuram, this city an hour south of Chennai famous for ancient temples carved out of rock. From 6-8 March is the meeting of the Asian chapter of the Association for Tropical Biology and Conservation: Topic—Averting a Tropical Diversity Meltdown (maybe we will figure it out. I withhold judgment). Few days back in Pondy, up to Bangalore, back to Rajasthan on the 19th, back to internship for couple weeks, then another site for a week then Jaipur then South again then back then America. The end, thank you ladies and gentlemen. Somewhere in there are at least 6 days on trains which should give me time to think about it all, to make sure I haven’t left anyone out.
So up until then what has been going in da’ Rajasthan. Actually, I am tired of talking about NGOs. Let’s discuss something else… like food.
Wait, first, I got my hair cut today and a nice shave, but this time there was a new development—they applied “Fair and Lovely,” that infamous fairness cream, outlined in a journal entry back from 2005. Apparently I just am not fair enough. While we’re on the topic of my hair, I am still always amazed by people’s willingness to comment on my hair loss. I guess that’s good as it indicates it isn’t as taboo in this culture, but still. In the villages they tell me that having less hair means you will get more money. I was also advised that the NGO might be able to provide some sort of treatment for baldness, which has worked fabulously for other people. Or so they say.
Yes, food. The big “Rajasthan dish” is called Daal Bati. I guess I should note first of all, that the basic Rajasthani dish, as in what everyone eats every day, is daal and roti (chappati). For example, at the NGO in the morning we have daal and roti. Then at night it is vegetable and roti. Repeat. But in the villages and for other occasions, there is a twist: instead of rolling the dough out flat and then baking it on both sides over the fire, you roll it into a ball and let it bake in the coals. The outside becomes vaguely crisp and the middle a very bread-like consistency. Mash up in your daal and enjoy. We made bati the other night at the field office for a little change of pace, and because we were cooking with coals anyway (oh, gas shortages…) everyone was fairly amendable. There was even some daal left over from the morning. Then, during the bati making session, Khemraj, the cook, decided that there would not be enough daal, so he solved the problem by adding water and namkeen, a kind of deep fried dough (namak means salty, so namkeen is a generally term for vaguely salty fried things). I must have looked pretty horrified when I saw what he had done because he kept reassuring me over and over that the dish would be tasty. I just happened to be on a tirade recently against “namkeen vegetable” where people decide that namkeen has any resemblance to a vegetable. Funny, and yet kind of horrifyingly gross.
One of my other favorite Rajasthani treats is rabadi, or buttermilk (which is more like curd which is kind of like thin yogurt) boiled with ground up corn. It is warm and cornmeally and lovely, especially with a nice dash of salt.
Eh, enough of that for now. Return to Jaisamand was pretty nice. Rather warm reception and the good news that the road to the office is being repaired. It was almost hilariously horrible; huge potholes of water with rocks thrown in so that one could cross with minimal mess to clothing.

Note from 28 Feb: On the way to Jaipur tonight; it's been an eventful couple of days which I will write about shortly. Hold on tight.

1:03am: The NGO Tour Continues: CAUTION! Long Entry!
06 February 2007

So, about a week ago everyone in the Jagran office disappeared, leaving only word that the field office was closed as well, and that our job would be to read things. Though we enjoyed the first days in the office alone with the cook, Lakshman, and the other random people that wandered in, and trying to finish the three kgs of milk daily, and sneakily watching Hindi movies on the NGO’s computers, it soon became clear that this would not be sustainable for the next week, nor particularly productive. Thus, at the suggestion of our teacher, we decided to visit four other friends who were interning with an NGO headquartered in Chittorgarh, about 2.5 hours North of Udaipur. The NGO is called Prayas, which roughly translates to “effort.” Because of the black-hole-like nature of the Bedla office I was not sure that Tess and I would be able to pull ourselves together and escape. Fortunately we did.

We headed out Thursday morning on a long bus ride to the small village of Devgarh. There we met our friend Libbey, possibly the awesomest MSID student, who is very passionate and articulate about the difficulties faced by women in various Indian contexts. The other student at Devgarh, Paul, was called away to a conference in Jodhpur. She was our guide to the Devgarh Pryas campus. About 10 staff members live in the area, including, remarkably enough, two very strong women. The head of the office, Stephen, has that quintessentially Indian way of articulating things in English in a moderately offensive way. In particular he has a tendency to say things about Libbey’s weight, which is anything but substantial, and to refer to tribals as “those people.” He discussed how deprived and backwards they were. That’s a word I hate here: “backwards.” It is a legal term referring to those castes that are considered underdeveloped: OBC = Other Backwards Castes.

But anyway, the office is in charge of some interesting programs. They train people to use and build houses out of cement. Groups of men come for training then go back to their villages where they can pool their money and buy the necessary equipment. Then they can have “proper” houses, or at least make more money from their labor. Perhaps more interesting and useful is the Health Cluster, in which Prayas has developed a system of peer-educators who receive training and materials, and then go out into the field to help educate their communities. The materials they are given are quite impressive—pictures of what does and does not transmit HIV, and visual stories. Good thing too—though HIV/AIDS is not such a big problem in Rajasthan right now, the potential is certainly there: huge population, huge illiteracy, poor health care, one of the most “backwards” states, and a large tribal population that practices free sex. Finally an educational kit designed for the illiterate community that most needs it! Such programs are a rarity among NGOs which tend to think in decidedly literate terms.

The area around the office was pretty incredible. Beautiful fields with lakes interspersed, and all around, isolated and random ruins, from way back in Mughal times. Old wells, temples, monuments, all in beautiful states of disrepair in the midst of rich green fields of wheat and mustard. We took an afternoon to explore this “palace” which towers over the village. One of the caretakers showed us around the well maintained gardens and into the now vacant buildings, a maze of small rooms, corridors, balconies, and mosaic wall art, slowly deteriorating. We enjoyed chai and biscuits in the garden, reflecting on what is seeming more and more like a three-month vacation on the horizon.

Tess and I were beginning to feel sort of negative about our NGO as we hung out more with the staff at Devgarh—our staff are not as warm or English-speaky, the former probably the result of the latter. Everyone eats in a family style dining room with an extremely warm support staff (universally the cooks and cleaners make some of the best friends). We spent one evening making halva with the women and singing songs in their quarters, before falling asleep, exhausted in Libbey’s enormous room (complete with a Western bathroom—what kind of Indian NGO is this?). We didn’t want to leave to our next stop, which was a legend to us before we went.

Lok Shikshan Sanstha (“The People’s Education Organization” or something like that) was the site of my friend Sandy’s internship in the fall. The head of this organization is Khemraj, who was one of the co-founders of Prayas. He sort of splintered off into this his own group, which still receives funding from Prayas but is otherwise only loosely associated with it. Khemraj is an interesting character. Decidedly Marxist, the organization is very hard-core and egalitarian, at least in theory. They all share the responsibility of preparing food and everyone eats from the adjacent garden. They don’t really have much in the way of structured programs, but they find problems that have developed and then help mobilize people to fight to change the situation. The way Sandy described the organization made it sound like a circus—people from all parts of Indian running around a minimalist office, yelling “ZINDIBAAD” at each other (Hindi-Urdu for Live Long!/Freedom!), and plotting their next confrontation with the government.

So I, personally, was somewhat intimidated to be showing up there. Especially because Sandy is gone now, with two very different personalities in her place as interns. But finally we sucked it up and began one of the stranger bus rides of my India time. During the first leg of our journey, we pulled into a gas station for the second time, at which point something happened which severely upset the driver. He got into a huge argument with the conductor, and they both ended up outside the bus, with the other people from the bus holding them apart and preventing them from punching each other. Within a few minutes a seemingly random man assumed the role of bus driver. Apparently something was wrong with the bus, because it began with a crowd of men pushing it, but eventually we all got going. Then, when we got to the next town everyone got off the bus to go to different buses. The one we got on was apparently related to the first one because the other bus driver showed up and a huge argument ensued in the middle of the town square causing a half hour delay in our departure. If only I could understand the local language! But finally we were on our way.

When we got down off the bus, in what looked like the middle of nowhere, we saw three men getting onto a motorcycle, one of them holding a loudspeaker. We approached them and were greeted by a hardy “ZINDIBAAD!” from all three, with complementary hands raised into the air. I thought: “you’ve got to be kidding me.” It was like an old movie parodying the Socialists, but here it was, the real deal. They were off to the villages to spread the word about the Dharna (protest) to be held in Chittor on the following day. The dharna was to be about construction companies that had been paying laborers less than the minimum wage of 73 rupees per day (about $1.40). We walked up the street to the office where several faces popped up out of the garden. “ZINDIBAAD!” Using our bad-ass Hindi skills we had a positive introduction and went up to the office, which is actually the front half of Khemraj’s wife’s house (who is in fact the organization’s director), in order to meet our friends. We spent some time with them, and somehow everything felt different then how I had imagined. Our friends seem very poorly suited for this NGO’s environment which requires a certain assertive attitude and a desire to be around people. Being with them was incredibly isolating and led me to think that maybe this NGO was not as Sandy was described. And then the next day happened.

Despite our friends’ desire to go wandering instead of hanging in the office, I sat with some of the staff in the morning, and they started teaching some songs. Everyone got pretty into it and before I knew it myself, Tess, and about 8 staff members were in the main room, sitting in a circle, singing and dancing. Then they broke out the drum and finger cymbals. They practiced a new song they had written for the following day’s darna. Then there were some children’s call and response type activities, including a charming rendition of “teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around.” It was a pretty ridiculously awesome scene. About 2 hours later the meeting finally started. The team members, including various locals, an experienced NGO-worker from Assam, and an American-educated woman from Andhra, discussed what type of a letter to write to various officials, and how to coordinate all of the tractors that would be bringing people from the various villages to the darna. Eventually I became bored with trying to understand what was happening and went to the garden where Khemraj and the man who focuses on taking care of the building were watering some of the vegetables. There I bonded somewhat with the both of them, who I think appreciated my efforts in Hindi, as well as preventing the the water from flooding the garden. They all clearly missed Sandy quite a bit and were not quite pleased with the efforts of these new arrivals.

The office thereafter became a zoo. People were indeed running around hand-copying papers, calling tractor drivers, helping to prepare rotis, and getting cleaned up. The other MSIDers and I went to town for an hour to get some snacks (Lok Shikshan is frugal even with their food) and then prepared to head to the villages. I went with two of the field workers, Pankhaji, and Ramazanji. I rode on the back of Ramazan’s bicycle to the town where I met some of his family and then headed off to the villages on cycle with both of them. We stopped at many houses along the way, collecting the signatures (or fingerprints, in the case of the illiterate majority) of those who would be going the next day. Finally we reached the night’s village, a relatively compact cluster of houses in the midst of farmland. We weaved through the streets, continuing to work on the paper work, before I ended up in someone’s house eating my favorite roti, corn roti, with some aloo mutter. The meeting was relatively short and then I got to ask questions of the villagers and vice versa. They said their biggest problem was electricity supply, and then they asked me why the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. If only I could tell them and fix it… It is also always satisfying when people ask me what my father does and I get to tell them that in my family my mother works and my father takes care of the house. It is always a good surprise, and I think good for them to hear. Then the NGO workers told them how much a haircut costs in America. This caused further horror and shock, when compared to the $0.20 it costs here.

One cold night in the village later (and the head cold to prove it) we were all up and wandering about, my two companions out to mobilize people. It’s hilarious how the kids in the villages where they work see one of them coming and thrust their arm in the air. ZINDIBAAD! I was deposited with a young man who took me to his field to eat peas. We wandered around some of the other fields—wheat in the morning: very beautiful. Headed back to the village proper and I was lead to the local temple. The man I was with saw a tractor coming and stopped it so that he could drive it to the village and demonstrate how well he drives. Eventually we caught up with the organization’s tractor, which was already half full of assorted villagers. I was deposited in the front of the tractor, and as we went along the whole trailer behind began to fill with people. Eventually we made our way towards the office where last minute preparations were carried out. Then, the 1.5 hour tractor ride to the city, full of songs, slogans, chants, and plenty of bugs in the mouth. The group was quite energetic—and perhaps a majority were women, who were bold enough that they did not cover their faces and were fully ready to sing. The man I had been spending time with that morning proved particularly dynamic, leading the villagers in chants when the NGO people got distracted or the crowd was not being sufficiently dynamic.

Once we got to the city Khemraj had already come along and set up a tent with banners in front of the Collector’s office, which is the highest administrator in the district. After a little while there was a shouting procession to the Labor Minister’s house during which, even though we were in the middle of a protest march, a rickshaw driver singled us out and asked us if we wanted to go to the city’s fort. Good god. Once at the Labor Minister’s house, we waited maybe half an hour before someone came out to talk to us. In fact it was almost comical how after all this build up it was very easy to meet with someone. It is a little odd though how the NGO workers do almost all of the talking; the villagers seemed like they were more or less along for the ride. The challenges of “organizing” people to fight for their rights, I suppose… The government from both the labor side and the collector’s side made various promises which seemed to generally please people, though I seriously doubt that most of these promises will be followed through to their rightful conclusion.

At this point I had planned to depart for Udaipur but I realized that I couldn’t find my wallet. Assuming it was somewhere at the office (where it very well could be, buried under god knows what) I boarded a tractor and headed back to the office. Once there, a team was dispatched to look for my wallet in the village, an unsuccessful search. I stayed back and tried to help make the rotis for the rest of the staff that was staying in the office for the night. But spirits were high after the successfully attended darna, so the staff obtained one bottle of beer which was secretly consumed among five people, sitting in the kitchen, eating rotis with pickle, because this NGO is so hardcore they don’t even have to eat vegetables with their bread.

The next morning, energized by my time at Lok Shikshan, I accompanied one of the staff on a frighteningly fast motorcycle ride on the way to a village, where I was deposited at a bus stop on the road back to Udaipur. Although I am not sure about the actual efficacy of this NGO I have never encountered such a group of dedicated individuals, who work for almost nothing, including the little bit of food that they make themselves. And I certainly appreciated the egalitarianism ideal of it, even it its theory was greater than its practice. It is cool that even the person who takes care of the office is clearly invested in the mission of the organization and works in the villages, and that responsibilities are so broadly shared. I feel excited to be back in Udaipur, where although the energy is different, the opportunity to get to know people better is there. Watch out opportunity. I’m a knockin’ at your door.

12:30pm: Running a few days behind...
29 January 2007

Concerning Hindi
Here are some interesting things about the Hindi language, for you linguistically inclined people. Please note that I record these things as observation, so Wikipedia or some other information source may portray things differently. So, Hindi is historically derived from Sanskrit. I guess Romance languages are to Latin as Northern Indian languages are to Sanskrit. Actually they all have a common root, but it’s pretty far removed by now. And the Southern Indian languages are all pretty far removed from the North Indian ones, both in script and structure.
Over time the Hindi (“Hindustani”) spoken by the Muslim communities became more influenced by Persian, Arabic, and Turkish words, and also adapted an Arabic-style script. This became what is today called Urdu, the primary language of Pakistan. However, in pre-partition days Urdu and Hindi were basically the same except for the script. This common language was called Hindustani. Broadly speaking an Urdu speaker and a Hindi speaker today have almost no trouble understanding each other; only in higher forms of the language, like highly stylized literature, or in songs (even most Hindi film songs borrow heavily from Urduized words) do the differences become more pronounced. And, of course, in a political context.
There are often, however, two words in spoken Hindi which have basically the same meaning, one from Urdu, and one from a more Sanskrit root. The difference is that almost invariably the Urdu one sounds cooler, which has led to my crush on the Urdu language. Urdu has more of the borrowed “q” and “zh” sounds which make the words more poetic and intense somehow. For example, for “beautiful” the common Hindi word is “sundar” but the more flowery Urdu word “qubsurat” said with a bite on the “q.” Or some words only the Urdu word is used: “waiting” is always used as “inthezaar”—I don’t even know the pure Hindi word. Also the Urdu script is, of course, quite beautiful, so I have taken the first steps towards trying to learn it. But it’s a whole different world out there… so we’ll see how far it goes.
Hindi follows the Subject-Object-Verb structure, and this translates across into Indian English as well. If you’ve ever heard any Indian person say “Many trees are there” or “So many of things are there, isn’t it?” it is because these roughly follow the Hindi structure and are now standard in Indian English. Which is helpful when you want to make yourself understood more clearly in English.
Eh… enough grammar for now; little bites will be there, na?

Yesterday was one of those “I hate India days” that sneaks up when one is a bit homesick and more then a little bit physically sick. Tess and I spent the day at a tribal youth right’s rally an hour and a half South of Udaipur. It was a pretty impressive turn out and it became a rather energetic march. We could only follow some of the speeches, but we were delegated the task of filming the gathering anyway. Because filming people isn’t awkward to begin with, right? You may as well have the only foreigners do it… So we did that, which was actually sort of fun, trying to guess when dramatic or important things were being said and then zooming in dramatically, panning out to the cheering crowd. But it all caught up with my rather exhausted digestive system, which did not have a fun ride back to the office. During the ride back it occurred to me that the thing I most needed in the world to make me feel nice was to have cornflakes readily accessible. So we got back to the office, and not wanting to be driven around I decided I would just quickly take shared transportation up to the market where cornflakes are sold. But with so many weddings going on all of the tempos (large three-wheeled rickshaws that seat about 8 and fit in many more around the cracks) were quite full. As I squeezed in and squatted on the floor between an overly-talkative 8-year old’ boys legs and a bag of vegetables I could tell that I was not in the right frame of mind for this type of journey, which ordinarily would just be “one of those things.” Got off at the store, was overcharged one rupee for the ride there, which is somehow always much more irritating that being quoted a high price at a store (especially when you squatted on the floor for the whole trip), and then had people cutting into the queue at the store. All the tempos back were bursting at the seams, so I walked in an angry huff, coughing through the kicked up dirt and wanting to slap everyone who said hello to me. But finally I got a rickshaw driver who gave a fair price and headed back where I snuggled in my mat and blanket with my cornflakes and sparkling apple juice. And it was good. And today will be good.

Also, note to self, stop being such an ass towards all rickshaw drivers. We get hassled by rickshaw-wallas so much that I am now automatically sort of acerbic, accusing them of giving excessive prices, asking them if they have been drinking alcohol, calling them liars, etc., simply because I can now do that in Hindi. There are some nice and fair ones out there. Oh, patience, rescue me.

More to follow on these exciting last few days. And how losing your wallet sucks. And how riding between cities in a tractor full of villagers may just be worth it.

12:26pm: Lo, it is good
22 January 2007

First, thanks to all of you who intervened with the lo and behold issue, I feel quite silly. One of those things that is rather appalling in retrospect.

I’ve been here at the Jagran Jan Vikas Simiti (JJVS) office for the last four or five days. There has been a man from Scotland visiting who works with various funding agencies based in the UK. And when the man with the money comes he must be listened to! We (myself, and the other MSID student who switched to my NGO, Tess) have been tagging along the hectic ride of the last few days. I had almost forgot what life is normally like at the NGO main office… lots of sitting and awkward small talk, and about one cup of chai every 45 minutes. Nice for a little bit (little bit = 1.25 days), but it makes one a bit stir crazy. Fortunately, armed with my newly obtained bicycle, I can take Udaipur by storm.

It’s been interesting to spend a lot of time with the Scottish man, as well as with the NGO’s founder, Ganeshji Pruohit. He is from a village not too far from here (Have I talked about this before? My apologies if so). He used to work for a very large and old (relatively) NGO located here in Udaipur called Sewa Mandir. Eventually he, and the other co-founder, Bhenji, broke off to from Jagran. Anyway, Ganeshji is a pretty interesting guy, very receptive to input, feedback, and new ideas. And also very into sitting around fires, which is awesome. But, about 5 years back, in his village, the government decided to build a rather large dam in order to supply water to Udaipur city, some 30 kilometers away. A rather intense political and social battle ensued, as is often the case here, and Ganeshji was actually driven into hiding for some time. The dam was eventually built anyway, and most of his farmland was lost. The site is now quite errie—a huge metal and concrete dam, behind which a rather beautiful lake is now hidden, with the tops of trees popping up, including the tope of the local temple which was flooded. But of course under the surface of that water lies what was once some of the most fertile agricultural land in the area.

Ganeshji has since relocated to a nearby village and established a nice homestead. This was my second visit to the area, a new house surrounded by well-kept vegetable and wheat fields. At night tons of kids come over and we played games for a few hours before calling it a night, while the “grown ups” sat around the fire.

On the way to Ganeshiji’s house we came upon a brawl in the middle of a street involving about 50 upper secondary students, including many of the children of Jagran employees. After the fight broke up, Ganeshji dragged along a couple of the guys to his village house. There was a long discussion about how the violence was horrible and pathetic, followed by a conference at the school to try to prevent such chaos in the future. Apparently there was some sort of urban/rural/political divide that had manifested in such violence. Anyway, the two guys some of opened up more as the trip went on, and at night when we were getting ready to go to bed I asked them what was going to happen when they went back to school. They looked around to see if Ganesh was around, and then smiled, saying “we will really get them this time!” Boys being boys, another cross-cultural tidbit for your consumption.

So now team-Scotland is departing and Bedla life will be calming down. I hope to start more intensely on my research, but the prospects for actually doing something at JJVS seem pretty good. I may even coordinate putting in a funding application. We all know that filling out applications is pretty much my favorite thing ever. No, really, and I’m pretty good at it. Watch out UK-lottery funding.

And then getting to know Udaipur a bit, perhaps meeting some of the other people who work around here in other NGOs. As much fun as I can have with the staff here, my linguistic knowledge limits a more intellectual or free-flowing friendship. And the Indian middle class, as well as other foreign visitors are, for better or worse, sources of people that have at the very least been exposed to or have an interest in similar things to myself.

Otherwise it has been good to see those members of the staff with whom I had spent lots of time. Hindi progress will continue, especially since most people here put a lot of faith in my linguistic abilities, occasionally misplaced faith. Time to disprove that misplaced thing. Or whatever.

11:43am: Don't make me leave Jaipur. Thik hei?
14 January 2007

First of all, that precious little Neha which I mentioned in the last entry had a little surprise in store when a few of us met her for coffee yesterday. I got there first and she said she had a very special guest coming. And did she ever—her fiancé! It’s a love marriage! We had kind of suspected something was up because she talked about this guy in particularly affectionate terms. But it was still a bit of a surprise. You know you’ve been in India for a long time when a love marriage makes you a bit taken aback and surprised…

The festival today was awesome—I went up to the roof this morning to find 6 or 7 kids already going at it. They had a special glass-coated kite line which is very effective at cutting other people’s kites down. Within the first few hours the kids had gotten close to 10 kites. I was pretty horrible at it and destroyed at least two kites. But overtime I got to the point where if someone got it up in the air, I could maintain it at its height while the other person did something else. The whole sky was filled with kites, seriously hundreds, and every roof top was full of people, especially in the old city. Some of the trees in the old city were basically kite coffins, a colorful battle of torn kites and tangled strings.

Speaking of tangled strings I was sort of afraid of today a little bit. I had read about how the glass coated strings sometimes cut people as they drive by on cycles and as they walk by. And a lot of birds die every year. So there are the negative impacts of kite flying. Even just flying some kites for a bit I got marks on my hands from the kite string. When I visited a friend later in the day he showed me a roll of kite string that cost 450 rupees, which is a ridiculously huge amount (That’s about 10 dollars, but it is also more then the cost of a train ticket to Mumbai). It was supposed to be super long and super strong/sharp. And I guess they had the pile of kites to prove it.

Also a word about auspiciousness. I have come to the conclusion that I usually want a haircut on Tuesdays. Why you ask? Because across India, Tuesdays (and Thursdays) are inauspicious days to get haircuts. The consequence? Not possible. My Auntie had told me this before, so I usually never even bothered to look. But, while I was in Tamil Nadu, my friend Priya’s family’s driver asked if I needed anything, and I innocently asked for a haircut. We drove all over town trying to find a salon, but low and behold, they were all closed. [Did I say that right? What is the low part of “low and behold”?] So I returned home, slightly shaggy and eagerly awaiting an auspicious day for a shave and a haircut. Why are Tuesdays inauspicious? That’s just the way it goes, I am told.

Two days ago, my friend Libbey’s friend came to India. This friend will be participating in the MSID program next semester, but she came a little early. It is very refreshing and interesting to go around with someone who is experiencing/seeing everything for the first time. How odd to have a camel crossing the street in front of you, and instead of thinking “ohhh… a camel” to be thinking “oh, god, another camel… hope this one hurries its ass up.” Or to have someone stare back in confusion when you end every sentence with “na,” a kind of all purpose “isn’t it” that can be added to Hindi or English sentences. May we all wake up.

Tonight headed back to Udaipur. Not so digging the whole leaving-Jaipur thing, especially when there is so much going on. But this is what happens. Internships and brass bands, inspiration for life in the short term.

7:48pm: Not as exciting as my Aunt and Uncle's New TV, but getting there
07 January 2007

And…we’re back. A brief excursion later. To Bombay, Pune, Kerala, Bangalore, Tamil Nadu, and Hyderabad. Featuring the whole cast of characters from Pondicherry University, train rides in excess of 24 hours, women feeding their husbands beer in baby bottles, waterfalls (the natural kind, not the drinking kind), Telegu, Hindi, and Tamil films, the Ethiopians of Pune, the Mumbai synagogue, Punjabi soldiers, Inter-caste love weddings, and, of course, food of all varieties, home cooked and lovingly cooked (and admittedly occasionally disastrously cooked). And sometimes hard on the digestive system. These are the sacrifices one must make, I suppose. So we’ll consider that a sufficient summary of travels and move on to the more immediate events.

Now I am back in the home-base, Jaipur, for a week or so. The 14th is a special festival centered around the flying of kites. Everyone will be flying kites, as far as I can understand, competing to knock other people’s down and have the fanciest flying (and make victims out of the most kites). After this I am heading back to Udaipur and my internship, where I will also be studying the brass processional bands of Udaipur city. These are the bands that are required for almost every wedding to lead the groom from his house to the wedding site. They dress in very New Orleans style costumes and play the latest Hindi film songs and local folk songs while people dance and throw money at the musicians.

In this little interim period we are having more Hindi classes and some other meetings that are supposed to teach us to be better researchers. We (the 6 students who returned to Jaipur more or less on-time—the other four are in Pakistan still) spent all of yesterday in this place I have mentioned before called the JKK, a beautiful all purpose arts and culture complex, complete with a recreated village, exhibition halls, and a beautiful open air courtyard that is used for classical and folk music concerts.

Our very sweet intermediate Hindi teacher, Neha, is perhaps the sweetest person in the world. During the first part of the class one of us would write a basic sentence, such as “I gave her the book yesterday” after which she would stop and proclaim that it is the best sentence that she has ever heard. For our final exam we had to write stories based upon a series of pictures. The next day she came back and said they were the best and most creative stories she had ever read in her life. She liked them so much that we never got them back. One time we were having a Hindi discussion about the merits of love marriages. She commented: “If I meet someone I love, then I will marry them, and if not then I will have an arranged marriage. *pause* But, no, of course I will have an arranged marriage.” Oh, Neha (Neha means love)! I wish I could better characterize what Hindi classes are like in general, because they are definitely somewhere between language class, philosophy advice, and story time.

Anyway, sweet, innocent Neha was telling us that when she was a child she knew exactly five English words/phrases: “Hello, Thank You, Idiot, Stupid, I Love You.” So, every time she saw a foreigner she would say “Hello, thank you idiot, stupid, I love you.” This has led to some insight on the random assortment of things that people say to me on a daily basis.

Then someone from the local Hindi newspaper came to interview us. In Hindi. The questions were pretty basic, at least: Why are you here? What do you think about India? What will you tell people when go home? Unfortunately the nuance that is important to many of these questions is hardy to convey at my level of Hindi, so we escaped the camera with the help of our teachers. The newspapers here (as in many places) have a way of twisting around what is said, and the last thing any of us were interested in was having every rickshaw-wallah and store owner seeing our picture in the paper and asking us while we said this or that. Mainly we talked about the skewed idea that Indians have about Americans (and vice versa). But seriously, everyday, in almost every Hindi newspaper, there is an entire page devoted to American/Hollywood gossip, replete with pictures of scantily clad women drinking and smoking. It’s no wonder that so many men here have dangerously wrong ideas about how they can treat women.

And now it is cold. I never imagined it would be this cold here. Which is not to say that it is as cold as it is back home (though right now that may be the case), but at home people go inside heated houses and businesses. This is not possible in a country where most architecture and design is centered around keeping buildings cool for the 8 hot months of the year. As such, there is no temperature difference between inside and outside. So don your shawl and put on your cap! Suddenly the Mr. Roger’s style sweater is tucked neatly under the over-shoulder fold of every woman’s sari, and sweater vests are all the rage for men. We showed up to class the other day and almost every pulled out their bedsheet-sized shawls and cuddled on a pile of pillows on the floor. Chai has never been more welcome. Also, this concludes the bathing season for me. My apologies to my colleagues; maybe by March.

1:28pm: Concerning How I Forget That I Have A Journal
Happy New Year, Happy Hannukkah, Merry Christmas from Bangalore, India!

Happy December, friends. I've been travelling around a bit and becoming more and more removed from the internet, a frightening and liberating development. Which will also serve to explain that you may not have gotten a response to me if you sent an email.

A more substantial update will follow. Eventually.

5:52pm: OH THE THINGS ONE CAN ASSUME
01 December 2006

A couple of times recently I have noticed that I have almost internalized certain aspects of Indian hospitality, to the extent that I consider them as one of the more reliable institutions in India. A couple of weeks ago I was riding to a village meeting with Rai Singhji, one of the field workers, when we experienced flat tire number 4. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and when you get a flat back tire on a motorcycle no one can ride on the back. So I got off and looked around, trying to figure out where I would wait for the next hour or so. In the distance we both saw a house, so Rai Singh pointed to it and told me to wait there. Without even having to contemplate it for long I thought: “well, okay, I can just go to that house and stand there until someone invites me in. Then I’ll have chai and sit with them for a bit and wait there for Rai Singh.”

I walked down the road, about 10 minutes, people staring at me like I was crazy the whole time. I’m learning to really have fun walking down country roads where everyone becomes sooo confused why there is this white person walking between two rural villages. Anyway, I got to the house, sat down outside, was invited in for chai, made some stilted conversation, and waited in the entry way to the house, while the children slowly crept towards me and then ran away again. Rai Singh turned out to be very late because this time there were 8 punctures in the tire tube. People are very dedicated to their tire tubes and will fix endless numbers of punctures, a process I have now had the opportunity to observe on numerous occasions. 5 to be precise, but it always leads to interesting little side journeys. Anyway, the people at this house were completely hospitable and one man turned out to be the local primary school teacher. I ran into him the next day at a neighboring village, which is a nice feeling.

Example #2: The day before yesterday we were in Udaipur for the morning, meeting with the director of our program, Ms. Rima Hooja. She is possibly one of the most knowledgeable people I have ever met. Sometimes her lectures are a bit of a journey because her head is so full of facts and observations that much of it seeps out at only marginally logical times. Which is fine, because it makes it that much more interesting. I was floored yesterday when some tangent brought us to the topic Finland and she broke out her knowledge of Finnish linguistics. She is constantly a calming presence and it was great to meet with her yesterday. I am thinking about trying to do an ethnomusicology-related research project next semester and she was very enthusiastic. The staff sort of encourages us to lie if necessary in some circumstances because communication can be rather circuitous, so I have permission to say that I need to fulfill my ethnomusicology requirement with this research project.

Oh right, hospitality. So I was headed back from Udaipur to my field site in Jaisamand via the home of one of the staff members who works in my office. Ryne, the other American at my site, was to meet up the next morning, as part of an extremely confusing plan that we had devised. I knew that Khemraj’s house (our Jaisamand cook) was about 4 kilometers from the nearest bus stop, but I just kind of assumed that someone on a motorcycle would stop and pick me up. The whole thing turned into a confusing bus ride affair which deposited me in a city about 8 kilometers from his village, and about an hour and a half before dark. I waited at the store of a vegetable vendor I had met once before, but soon discovered the next appropriate bus would be in an hour and a half. So I got on a different bus to a village about 3 km away, telling everyone not to worry, that walking 5 kilometers would be no problem. While I was sitting on the bus I started to calculate how many miles that was and then to translate that into distances that I know, and I began to realize that if it was much more than 5 kilometers, which is certainly possibly since most people underestimate distances, my confidence began to waver a bit.

Some people on the bus helped me off at the right point. Actually everyone on the bus showed me where to get off, free of charge. Someone pointed straight and said to walk straight for one kilometer and then turn left. So off I went. Everyone time I saw someone I asked them where Koht village was. People stared in disbelief for a second before pointing and their children ran in fear from this strange foreigner. Eventually I made it to a point where I was to turn left. The road was beautiful and the sky was pink at sunset. I did, however, start to run, because I thought it was getting dark to fast. (This, incidentally, is one of those moments where one begins thinking, ‘Mom probably wouldn’t be pleased with this choice I made…’ [sorry, Mom]) But at last a motorcycle with enough space for an extra person stopped for me. Turned out that the man driving worked for a different NGO and knew all of the Jagran staff at Jaisamand. We drove all the way to the village where he helped me find the right house. Finally we made it to Khemraj’s, and what a reunion.

I’ve been visiting the worker’s families recently. So far both of the women’s families and now two of the men. It is beautiful and reassuring to see them in the contexts of their families, definitely grounds them more. Many of the employees have children. I was also impressed at both of the women’s house that the men did not try to take over; we were definitely guests of these working women. Which doesn’t mean that the normal gender roles are that different, but it is a step.

Jagran has a lot of trouble finding women to hire. They say that urban women are not interested to work in the villages, and that rural women have too many social restrictions against leaving the house to work, especially since many meetings occur at night. And in rural communities there are so many home-based “responsibilities” for women that it is difficult for them to take much time away. So many household tasks are divided by gender. Milking cows, carrying water, cooking, and walking with the animals while grazing are women’s tasks. Plowing, repair work, irrigation and men’s jobs. And really you don’t encounter much deviation from these norms.

How did we get from point A to B?

Anyway, logistically I am done with my time in the rural areas for now. I’ll be in Udaipur for a few days, then Jaipur on the 9th for school, then leaving the 14th for Mumbai!!! Oh, get ready my friends.

12:55pm: The People's Awakening
13 November 2006
Well it’s been more than awhile. And now I briefly emerge from the longest internet hiatus that I can remember. Will try to answer your emails; if not then I will be back at a computer next around 08 December, and maybe once before than.

MEANWHILE, IN INDIA
I have been staying at the Jan Jagran Vikas Simiti Office in Jaisamand, Rajasthan. The name of the organization roughly translates to “The People’s Awakening Development Committee” Jaisamand is a small town/big village which is a stopping point along a major road and entry point to the lake, the second largest manmade lake in Asia, a fact which cannot be mentioned too many times around here. The main activity of this office, a branch office of which there are three, is to oversee local Women’s Self Help Groups and promote Watershed Development through Village Development Committees. It’s a pretty nice life.

Most mornings I get up and hang around the office drinking chai and washing my clothes. Oh, and eating, lots of eating. At the office there are two meals a day, so the other American staying here and I go out in the mornings to begin our day with a nice breakfast for a whopping 7 cents. The town is small enough that there are tons of familiar faces. We have a regular store for breakfast, one for small pepsis, one for samosas, one for sweets. It’s nice to have neighbors that you see daily like this.

By mid-afternoon some of the employees start to head out to the villages. I’ve gone to maybe 5 or 6 meetings in my time here, both Self Help Groups and Development Committees. All transportation is by motorcycle but most villages are within a half hour drive. Usually when we show up at a village the first thing to do is arrive at a family’s house where someone is involved in the committee in question and sit on a frame bed in their yard. And play with their goats. Side note: this must be baby goat season because there are baby goats everywhere. People don’t have pet cats or dogs, children have pet goats and they carry them around. And keep them in upsidedown baskets at night so that they don't get cold. It is crazy how many goats there are at some houses. Just wandering around. I would like a pet goat someday.

Anyway, then word starts to spread that there will be a meeting. So we go to some other people’s houses and sit on their frame beds. Eventually, an hour after dark or so we head to the meeting site, which is usually in front of the village school. A blanket is spread, a lamp brought in, and gradually people trickle in. Below is a field note I wrote about one particular field visit to the village of Topali Mangali. Sometimes details our sketchy because, hilariously, if the other American is present I serve as translator from Hindi to English, and the JJVS employee translates from the local dialect to basic Hindi. Rest assured I am using your tax dollars well—learning how to speak and fake Hindi well!

AND THEN
Headed back to Jaipur tomorrow for about three days of class. Looking forward to seeing the host family again and hearing the mass NGO evaluations. And also cell phone service, so give a call relatives. Then back to Udaipur and back to the field in Jaisamand until early December. My parents have purchased a new house in the outskirts of Richmond. It was all kind of depressing until I found out it has a courtyard. Now all is well. Goodbye Willwood drive.

TOPALI MANGALI
The Topali Mangali SHG started in 2001 and now has between 20 and 30 members. Meetings occur monthly, with an occasional month passing without a meeting. At every meeting each member must contribute 20 rupees. If a member misses a month, then they must pay the following month. JJVS provides a special record book for SHGs. In this book all member names and basic information is recorded, along with monthly contributions. In another section of the book the information about loans is maintained. There is also a separate bank ledger. At present the SHG has about 26,000 Rupees in its bank account, and another 6-7,000 Rps in outstanding loans. Average loan amounts were around Rps 1,000 and up to several thousand. At the time of the loan a repayment schedule is determined. Penalty charges as well as interest are incurred and recorded monthly. The record books were well maintained and notated. The group seems to be accumulating quite a bit of loaning power.

Before the meeting we had dinner with Mogaramji’s family, and Kailashji continued to go through the books from the last month’s meeting. Kailashji or another representative from JJVS attends approximately 9 or 10 meetings a year for this SHG. This particular village has had the SHG for many years now, so it is not a major concern if a JJVS representative is not present. When a new group forms, however, JJVS is present at every meeting.

We went to the meeting site around 8PM, a covered platform outside of a common building, perhaps a school. People came bit by bit over the next hour or so. The meeting is always on the fifth day of the month, so that people can plan around the meeting. Yet, as with all village meetings, there was some time spent rounding people up and spreading the word. Some children brought tarps to sit on and water to drink. The Mogaramji brought a lightbulb and cable. With the help of some other men he grounded the cable and lifted one end over the electrical cables that ran overhead. By the time the meeting was getting started, there were approximately 8 men, 4 women, and 3 children. Apparently if a woman cannot come, a man can take her place for that month, submit the fees or loan payments, and contribute to the discussion. Men are not, however, allowed to be members of the SHG.

Kailashji drew up an agenda, which included nominating representatives to a higher level federation of SHG groups for training and a mela, balancing accounts, and other issues of concern. As with every JJVS meeting, it began by everyone going around the circle and saying their names and their husband/father’s name; and, as with every JJVS meeting, the women were very hesitant to say their names or introduce themselves. Most of them covered their faces during this part of the meeting. They were also all situated further away from Kailashji, who was leading the meeting. Men would end up saying the women’s names in some cases or try to encourage them to speak, at times very insistently. By the conclusion of the introductions many more women had arrived, so that the group was perhaps 10 women and 8 men, though some of the men left during the course of the meeting.

Though I cannot comment on the specific content of the meeting I did observe that the discourse of the meeting was dominated by the men. Particularly during the first part of the meeting it was astonishing to see a women’s SHG being fully led by men. The women did not speak up much, nor were they specifically asked to. As the meeting went on some of the women became more dominant until the division of discussion was somewhat more balanced. This seemed like the biggest pitfall of the SHG—that since keeping records and involving men is critical, and both men and women are accustomed to the leadership of men, the empowerment which the group seeks to achieve is somewhat undermined. Again, none of the women would be able to keep the record books, and it is unlikely that any could get the money to participate independently. Yet it was also encouraging that the men were so enthusiastically involved in an organization which was legally focused on the women. People were generally quiet when someone was talking, though there were periods of increased talkativeness or confusion. Kailashji was often talking and explaining things. He explained at one point that the SHG keeps a locked box to which people voluntarily contribute. This money is available at all times in case of an emergency. The banks are closed on nights and Sundays, but this supply of over Rps 1,000 is always present as an emergency source of money.

The meeting ended around 11:15 and after people paid their fees and signed the ledger they left. A few men and women stayed around to talk a little bit more. Some of the women asked me questions about my marital status and life in America, translated to Hindi through Kailashji. Unfortunately, since my Hindi is weak I am rarely completely certain in what I am hearing or speaking. A man asked what time it was in America and Kailashji had to explain how the earth rotates so that it can simultaneously be night and day in different parts of the world. Kailashji told me that the biggest concern in this village was not water or other resources but education. I was told that development issues such as water supply and public works are not as big a concern in Topali Mangali; education is most problematic. Everyone in the village is from the Adavassi tribal community and spoke Melwari.

After the meeting site was cleared we returned to Mogaramji’s house to finish up the main points from the meeting, which was completed by midnight. Observing this family was particularly interesting. Although the father is very supportive of the SHG he still engages in traditional practices that do not encourage women’s empowerment. For example, during dinner, everyone, himself, the two sons, and grandmother, ate before his young daughter who had prepared the food. There was very little left by the time she ate. At the meeting water was brought in a large bowl. It was first passed to Kailashji who was doing most of the talking, and then around the rest of the men. But it then stopped and was not passed onto the women. For the continued success of the SHG women must be the focus, and encouraged to be confident and engaged. It will remain a challenge to bridge the intention of the SHG with the reality. But, creating financial power attached to women and not men is certainly a starting place. I hope to return to Topali Mangali for the December meeting with better language skills so that I can make more complete observations about meeting content.

5:57pm: Oh, and on a more personal and momentous note...
Dear friends, for those who do not know my Mother has been offerred and has accepted a position at the Medical Center of Virginia in Richmond. As such the days in Charlottesville are numbered. But my family and I will be just down the road. And now there will be more opportunities to explore Richmond (and for ya'll to visit). See you there late summer 2007!

5:55pm: Village-bound
Hello again,

Yesterday I said goodbye to my host family and moved down to Udaipur, the city of lakes, where I am currently staying with three other students at the NGO office. On Monday or Tuesday I will be headed out with one other fellow to Vala, a village outside of Udaipur. I'll be there for six weeks +/- some side trips. Hopefully looking at effects of mines on village life/ecosystems.
A more thorough update to follow next time I am in Udaipur.

11:09am: Shubh Deepawali!
17/10/2006
EXISTENTIAL CRISES
Lately everyone around the MSID office has been a little stressed out. The combination of the various NGOs we have visited, articles we have read, and lectures from various experts has led to the general conclusion that mostly, NGOs seem to be not particularly effective. Indeed, often times harm is caused, particularly when those NGOs are funded or managed by outside (non-national sources). There is a general mood of pessimism coating our work now, particularly unfortunate as we are about to move into internships at NGOs. Maybe we will be proved wrong. But the way in which dependencies develop, outside ideas or practices are imposed, excessive reactionary movements to inevitable change, and reckless environmental degradation… this when everything is so confusingly intertwined to begin with. Submissions for answers to all the world’s ailments will be accepted via email by me. I will pay the winner 10 rupees, which is enough to buy two small chocolate bars.

COMING SOON
My time in Jaipur is coming to a close. But it is a spectacular close. This is the big holiday season…seriously, this is the Christmas of India. The holiday is called Deepwali, and it is called the “festival of lights.” Everyone puts of lights, both electrical and in these particular small, clay oil lamps that are made just for this time of year. Over the next few days decorations will become more and more and the shopping frenzy will culminate. This is a big sale season, and a particularly auspicious time to make large purchases. Incidentally auspicious is used as a reason for almost everything. Why do you do x? Because it is considered to be auspicious. Why is the wedding so late in the year? Because that date is auspicious. Anyway, tomorrow is the auspicious day to buy silver or gold. Most people buy a little silver or gold if they can afford it, and bless it in front of the Goddess Laxshmi, Goddess of Wealth, who will then (hopefully) bless the family with prosperity in the coming year.
This holiday comes from the Ramayana—briefly, Sita was captured. When Lord Ram got her back and they returned home the people welcomed them back from the years of sadness by putting lights in all the windows and in all the homes. So we’ll see how this whole things plays out… probably with lots of deadly fireworks.

Next Friday I will be headed to a town called Jaisamand, a lake village near the lake city of Udaipur, Southern Rajasthan. There I will begin a six week internship with an organization called Jagaran Jan Vikas Simati (www.jjvs.org). They mostly collect traditional medicinal practices and herbal remedies and catalog them. But as a substantial side project they are involved with watershed development—which is the division in which I will be working. So I’ll get to see this NGO business first hand, while learning about the village lifestyle, their particular challenges, and sharpening up my Hindi. Not sure how the computer access will work during this time, but here is my phone number for texts or anything… not sure how much that jazz costs.

HOME SWEET HOME
Just as we are about to leave Jaipur I really feel home at home… my homestay that is. Today Paul and I were helping Didi, one of the servants, make dinner. Auntie had to leave to go talk to her daughter on the phone, leaving me in charge of frying some zucchini balls and making the chappati, while Paul cut up the veggies for the salad. Didi, a feisty and funny young woman, made her normal sounds of exasperation at our inability to roll out perfect breads, and laughed as Paul almost caught a chappati on fire. We exchanged banter in Hindi, while Didi tentatively tasted some pasta we had made a couple of days ago. It was one of those moments… yup we're home. We’re making bread. And talking to Didi.

It is admittedly weird to have servants. There are two women, both from a nearby village/slum. They come in twice a day, once in the morning to clean and prepare breakfast and lunch, and again at night to prepare dinner. Only seeing them come and go from this house it is easy to dissociate them from their real lives back in the village. Both of them have children, I believe three each. The older Didi, barda Didi [big Didi] (didi means older sister, and is how we address both of them) has three children and her husband has left her. Now, as is the case with many women in India, she must work herself, supporting young children with basic jobs like house cleaning. It is a common story. The pressure of family honor is placed upon the women, and now even though it is not her fault that she was left, Didi has to suffer the social and economic consequences of being once again alone. Once, when I was writing something about how I felt akward about the servant-master relationship, it was pointed out to me that it was more complex than I was making it. These servants are given a salary, but they are also under the protection of the family in some ways, for emergencies, health issues, etc., the family will often step in to offer assistance. This, and the fact that hierarchical relationships in India are common and not particularly awkward.

Bus [= “enough”]

7:52pm: Heat has its consolations
02 October 2006
This one’s long; skim at will.
Okay, friends! Here we are zipped into October and for some, a new year (L’shena Tova; a gut yontif to my friends and family! I was thinking of you and shared some apples and honey with friends here). I just got back from a weekend in Eastern Rajasthan/Western Uttar Pradesh. And what a weekend…

A group of six of us departed last Friday night for Agra (which is where the Taj Mahal is located). We were duped early on when someone got on the by then mostly empty bus and said that everyone should get off. Everyone around us on the bus knew we were trying to get to a hotel near the Taj Mahal. Paul and I had spent at least a good hour slowly and loudly talking with a guy on the bus in our broken Hindi. And no one seemed to object when we were being hearded off to what we assumed was the bus stand. It was not a bus stand. In fact, I’m still not sure where we were exactly, but somewhere on the outskirts of Agra. We realized what had happened when we saw the man who had told us to get off the bus—he was a rickshaw driver, eager for us to solicit his aid in getting somewhere. We walked for a good 10 minutes with him and his buddies puttering along in their rickshaws, even after I told him in Hindi that he was bad man and we will never go anywhere with him. Finally we found a young guy who let all of us pile into his rickshaw and head off to a guest house literally minutes walk from the Taj Mahal. Some nice policeman at the entrance to the Taj Ganj area showed us their ridiculously large guns to assure us that we were, indeed, safe.

The hotel was lovely and we sat for hours enjoying the quiet and good food. It was incredible to think that we were minutes away from the largest tourist attraction in the country. Off to bed and early to rise, I felt pretty crappy. So while the other five trucked off to an early Taj experience I held things down at the hotel. It felt a little weird to be so close to the Taj Mahal and not go, but I have very vivid and positive memories from last time, so for now that will suffice. And if anyone ever visits (underscore) a trek to the Taj will probably be in order.

Now for the more interesting things! We headed off to a bird sanctuary outside of a small city (small meaning 500,000) called Bharatpur. Incidentally Bharat is the Hindi name for India; that is to say what Indians call India, or what is stamped on their coins in Hindi. But anyway, we made our way onto the right bus and were on our way. We were dropped in front of a chai stall on the outskirts of Bharatpur where we found a good guest house in the guidebook and called up. We were moved into the small guesthouse within the hour and on our way to explore Bharatpur.

A few minutes walk outside of the guest house we found ourselves in a cricket field, with at least five games going on, plus some soccer. Of course our plans to “just watch for a bit” soon turned into “trying to communicate with 40 boys and college student guys. Explaining that there is no caste system in America is a challenge when it is so fixed in your own culture.

We made our way into town and were amazed at how friendly everyone was. In Jaipur if we are being followed by a rickshaw driver eager for our business, sometimes I try saying in Hindi that we are just walking. This generally seems to have no effect on the driver’s eagerness. Yet in Bharatpur all I had to say is “we are walking” and the driver would say “oh,” half out of surprise at hearing Hindi from a white person, and leave us on our own. The bazaar was a little calmer than in Jaipur or Delhi. Still full of screaming motorcycles, near collisions, and a constant chorus of “hello,” but also full of colorful fabric stores, blasting CD/MP3 stalls, and tons of Indian snacks boiling away in vats of oil. We made our way through the walls of the old city and found ourselves at the foot of a temple. It was already dark and I was reluctant to enter the temple, unsure of how far non-Hindus could enter. But, since I was on a role with Hindi, I asked if we could go in. We were told to please enter, so we walked up to the stairs. We sort of hemmed and hawed for a bit until an old woman came up and took us under her wing, ushering us into the temple. It was much more intense than most temples I have visited. As we walked in a woman with her hands spread up to the ceiling was spinning in the circle. A rough chorus of loud chants were directed at the inner sanctum and main idol, with a background of clanging bells. We walked around the sanctum and took a peak in. It is always a surprise to see what is inside- in this case a small idol with huge painted eyes, elaborately robed. On our way out we were given Prasad, a sweet which you are given after visiting a temple. The woman wasn’t done with us yet, though! She proudly ushered us to another temple down the street. My limited Hindi meant I couldn’t quite pick out what she was saying much of the time, so I couldn’t figure out if she wanted something in particular or was simply being hospitable. But we were well received at the next, small shrine. I asked a husband and wife on the way out if we could go in and she poetically replied “yaha sab key leya tik hei” = “Here, it is okay for everyone.” The old woman wanted to take us to more and more temples, but eventually we broke away and headed home for dinner.

Now, since my Hindi is still only functional, it is sort of draining to try to speak as much as I had been doing that day. As such, on the walk back home I started ignoring people saying hello. I know it sounds kind of jerkish, but sometimes it’s just more “hello” than one can take. Patience is a work in progress. A young guy, maybe 17, biking in the other direction saw us, pulled over, and starting walking next to me. I ignored him at first, but finally started talking a bit. Turned out to be a nice guy and as we were passing by his house he rather insisted that we come for chai and meet his parents. Everything felt non-sketchy so we took him up on the offer. We headed into the police barracks, as his father was a police officer. We walked in through one of a series of doors, framed by a small mattress bed and a huge water buffalo. Inside, as soon as foreigners were seen approaching everyone got quite excited, and huddled into the small room. The father came in and proudly attempted to speak to us in English, though his excellent pronounciation was matched by a lack of vocabulary. Through a mish-mosh of Hindi and English introductions were made and the best, spicy chai I have ever had, made with the milk of the buffalo outside, was served to us. The whole family was charming and quite delighted. Everyone was laughing constantly at our various linguistic mishaps, as the men gathered around and the wife and daughters of the family hung back in the corner, detachedly observing. Next thing we knew we were invited for lunch the next day, and our new friend wanted to come with us to the bird sanctuary.

We spent the next morning with him at the national park, biking down lanes of various quality, spotting a few cool birds, a turtle, and a large mammal we dubbed the “horse deer.” It was so refreshing to be biking around, despite the excessive heat. Afterwards we headed back to our friend’s house and presented his family with a huge box of sweets and our best Hindi greetings. Everyone was quite excited and we were rewarded with more chai. An incredible meal was served to us- spicy poori, stuffed potato bread, vegetable curry, and sweet rice pudding. It was a linguistically draining, but rewarding afternoon. Highlights included when our friend’s younger sister proudly displayed some of her artwork which she pursues on the side, and we purused the study materials that they use to learn English-hard stuff, let me tell you!

The rest of the trip was relaxing, and I may well be in love with Bharatpur. Hopefully we will make it back there and be able to show off our newly enhanced Hindi skills a couple months down the road. What incredible hospitality, eh? When I got my haircut yesterday I was bumped to the front of the line through a typically confusing series of events, and my hair dresser proudly explained to everyone else that I was a “guest of Hindustan” and shouldn’t wait for my haircut.

MEANWHILE… EXPLODING EFFIGIES
Tonight was the last night of a 10 day festival of Navaratri, ending in a night called Dusshera. There are many elaborate religious rituals associated with this time of year, but it is also time for festive fairs and celebrations. Last week a few of us went to this huge dance called Dundi. It began with an elaborate dance of probably 50 people carrying huge candelabras of burning incense. Later on we were all able to join in with the Dundi, a Gujarati form of dance using two sticks per person that are hit in various sequences.

Tonight may have been the most shocking- a ten headed diety is constructed during the festival- big, maybe 5 stories tall. And then it is burned! Paul and I braved the crowd out here in Malviya Industrial Area, pushing through and trying to be inconspicuous (ha!) and when we saw how haphazardly the fireworks were being launched, moved about midway in the crowd. They were seriously launched 10 feet from the audience, sometimes from someone’s hand, and then rained down over the eager crowd. The climax was particularly exciting. After some fancy razzle and dazzle the paper idol literally exploded. Everyone went crazy, cheering this symbolic victory over evil. Until they realized that there were burning pieces of paper flying all over the place and people started running away from the former idol. I don’t think anyone was hurt, but it was still a crazy scene. And I haven’t experienced as intense a crowd as the one trying to get out of that place; I was pretty sure I was going to fall and be trampled. But alas, I am home now, busily writing reports due tomorrow, and hopefully getting to sleep. Enjoy the start of autumn. -J

6:06pm: Jodhpur (does not equal Jaipur)
The Train Ride
On Friday afternoon, after our cooking class (did anyone else not know that gulab jamun is actually deep fried panner?), a few of us had determined that we would be going to Udaipur, the city of lakes. After it was suggested to us to hold off for a bit on Udaipur, we settled on Jodhpur (not to be confused with Jaipur), also known as the blue city, after the bright color of many of its buildings. So having heard that there was a late afternoon train, a few of us headed off to the train station.

First of all, I believe that I read somewhere that the Indian Raliways is one of the world’s, if not the world’s largest employers (something like 1.6 million people). The stations are busy, colorful places, with people and families sprawled out all over the place.

First we got a nice taste of the Indian bureaucracy: The five of us traveling went to the reservation office, directly to the special line for “foreign tourists, freedom fighters, politicians, and the physically handicapped” and waited for our turn. When we got there we were told that since were traveling the same day we would have to go to a certain line in the booking office. So we located the booking office and headed to our designated line which said something about same-day travel. We made it to the front of that line after quite a wait (I use “line” very loosely; it is more like “crowd”) where we were told that unless we wanted upper class seats we would have to go into the general lines. So we shifted over to the long general lines. Fortunately we had three girls in our group of five, and sexism in India permits women to hop to the front of lines, so that we were able to buy the tickets relatively quickly.

Turns out we had purchased unreserved class tickets (hey, what do you want for $2?). You know those pictures of packed train cars, people hanging out the doors? Yup. So we waited for the train to come, which it did much closer to on time than Amtrak would have, only to witness the horror of boarding the train in unreserved class. Before anyone on the train already could got off, a mob of people formed at every door, people shoving to get on and grab seats, bearing their best battle faces. Some of the girls got on first and were able to snag two window seats. Paul and I managed to climb onto an upper bearth, sitting with one other guy.

At first the trip was stressful because there were all these young men standing around/talking about the girls. So I made some of them switch with me to stay on the top berth. But eventually things cleared out and the fun really started. The family below the birth took the girls under their wings and made room for some of us. Using our varied levels of Hindi skills we were able strike up some conversations and within the hour we had become the super stars of the General Seating car to Jodhpur. So many people came over and tried to speak in Hindi, sometimes to practice their English or help us with our Hindi vocabulary. An older woman seemed to be trying to find out more about Erin with the intention of investigating the possibility of marriage to her son. A strange woman came over and kept asking us to sing. Finally, a little bit before the train arrived things quieted down (which was good ‘cause I couldn’t learn anymore Hindi).

JODHPUR
Jodhpur was a lovely little side trip, our first independent excursion. We packed a lot into one day. The palace of the last powerful Maharaja of Rajasthan and its crazy art deco/50s decorative scheme, one of the major forts, a park full of decidedly tame monkeys, and the old bazaar (my feet have never been so dirty). Though today I am paying for it with my fever, which fortunately seems to have abated for a bit. The city really is blue, which reflects the heat of the desert sun.

IN HINDU NEWS
This morning I went into the kitchen to get a spoon to fish the dead ants out of my cup of water, when I saw my host parents burning something on the stove. Turns out that this is a time of special poojas (worship), and today it was for my host father’s uncle. It involves burning cow dung with food on top in the kitchen, putting out food for birds, giving 16 pieces of fried bread to a cow, and eating foods that the uncle had liked. Apparently there were be one other such day coming up soon, and then my host mom will cook food for some local poor children. Oh that these fragments will one day form a picture!
-J

7:24pm: Second entry in one hour
Hello again,

Okay, figured out that whole file transfer thing. Here we go with the other entry (this one should go before the next one anyway). So now there are TWO NEW ENTRIES HERE. Huzzah, etc.

Also, I had forgotten to mention that my real host family threw me my third birthday party of the day. So much of cake...

Journal Entry: 08/09/2006

Friday was our first excursion from the palacial hotel/resort where we have been staying over orientation. We headed out to a village midway between Delhi and Jaipur, where a local NGO called SVS is headquartered. From there we headed to one of their model sites, a village (population ~ 1000) where a Women’s Self Help Group had coordinated the construction of several large break dams to slow the flow of the monsoon waters.

Apparently, for many years, the men of the town had discussed taking some action to remedy the destruction caused by the large monsoon runoffs, which caused massive erosion and were gone before they had time to infiltrate the groundwater. Meanwhile there had been many years of drought meaning low crop yields and little time or money to contribute to such endeavours. Most of the village wells were dry or on their way out. So some of the women decided to take action and began meeting together periodically, pooling together small amounts of money. Eventually, with the help of the NGO they worked out an agreement where each side would supply a portion of the necessary funds. The villagers, however, lacked the enormous money required. As such, it was determined that their portion could be paid through labor hours. But the men were less than enthusiastic for this plan, so it looked as though it would not work out. Then the women came forward and said that they would do the men’s hours as well.

The women were rewarded for their great efforts on many levels. First, they gained much self-confidence. Prior to the new power of the Women’s Self Help Groups (there are now 4 in the village) women always covered their faces with shawls and were very timid about organized meetings and bureaucracy, a combination of tradition and illiteracy sapping their confidence. Case in point: a few years ago a man from out of town set up a liquor shack near the village. Suddenly strangers were found loitering in the area and many men developed poor drinking habits. The women, frustrated, shoved the shack and its contents, bottles and all, over the side of an embankment. Apparently that ended all hopes for success for a liquor establishment in the village and men are still timid about drinking. They were also rewarded for their work with a five day tour outside of the village to various other villages with similar projects and other important religious sites. Despite the objections of some of the men they made the trip happen and even squeezed in an extra day somehow.

And now the whole village has a much better situation with the water. During the monsoon the waters are slowed and held for a period of weeks, enough time to recharge the groundwater. The forestry department then took notice and donated trees and other shrubberies, creating what is now a very lush, green area. Erosion was diminished and the water supply secured, no small thing in a very arid climate like much of Rajasthan.

The women now also have substantial financial power. By pooling their money they are able to make loans to each other without the prohibitively massive interest rates charged by village money lenders. They also help out other families in the village in case of illness or other emergency.

All of this was explained by their “leader,” who proudly showed off the elaborate ledgers that they now use to keep track of their financial records, our professor translating her clearly articulated Hindi. This from an illiterate village woman, who a little while back had no idea about how to manage any government or organizational structure. She sat under a tent on the edge of the dam, seated with about 20 of the other village women, facing us 20 students. She asked us how many of us had farmed, what kind of things we grew, and what advice we had for them (!). Then, finally, she requested that we sing some songs. After some awkward glancing at each other we settled on “You Are My Sunshine” which at least sounds happy even if it’s rather depressing. We followed up with a not half bad version of “Amazing Grace,” which we realized part way through does indeed require vocal ability to perform well. We were rewarded with a couple of songs in return and a very impassioned dance by one of the older women. Seriously, this woman was out of control. Towards the end it seemed as if the other women were trying to reel her in.

Cool to see the work that such NGOs can do. This construction project seems to have impacted life in the village in positive but not destructively revolutionary ways. Hopefully we will see more like it. It was also interesting how agriculture and song were used as the two common points between our two cultures. They were surprised to see both how many of us own/operate cars (most) and how many have jobs (again, most). It was hard to get a feeling of how the men felt about all this, but I suppose that will come with time. Very exciting.

The rest of the day was spent in Jaipur, at a lecture and our school building which is nicer than I had imagined. I had forgotten about the hilarity of formatily at Indian lectures/seminars. Seriously, so much time is spent thanking the speaker and thaking the person who came to thank the speaker, and congratulating the person who thought to invite the person to thank the person who thanked the speaker, the speech itself is almost an after thought. Something about globalization…I’ll sort it out tomorrow…Tomorrow we move in with our families. It will be interesting and without offence, Inshallah.

6:17pm: Mei Jaipur Hu
Hello Friends,

Well, I wrote a nice long entry on my laptop, but since I haven't figured out how to get it to you, my exceptionally eloquent and edited entry about my first village experience will wait. So...

MY BIRTHDAY (OH... you forgot?)
So last Saturday was my birthday, a fact I forgot until the program administrator, Ritu, asked me if this was true. Upon discovering that Saturday was the 9th I admitted that it would be my birthday. End of discussion. Until Saturday morning when we departed the palatial resort in which we had orientation, myself and the other September birthdays were presented with a hastily made but charming birthday cake, very sweet a la Indian style, with pineapple in the middle. We then headed off into a caravan of 5 or 6 jeeps, into Jaipur to drop people off at their host families one by one. Of course my roommate Paul and I were among the very last people remaining the caravan, which was eventually down to only 2 cars.

As we approached the second to last house we became lost and apparently our family wasn't answering the phone. So we got dropped off at the second to last family's house, the mother of that house being sister to our father (got that? test tomorrow). So we hung out there for the afternoon in their large, lovely house. The mother, Neelima, is high energy with a equally high voice. She ushered us around her well cared for house, and served us water in her living room, with its bowls of flowers picked that morning. We had a fantastic lunch and then took a nap before the four or us braved a walk. After all that I was surprised with a little birthday party. A cake (happy birthday jermey) with coke and samosas. In Indian tradition, after the singing, the first piece of cake was fed to me by Neelima and icing smeared on my face. Good times. I think both mother and father were a bit lonely, both of their children being fully grown. As such they relished the opportunity to talk.

Eventually contact was made with Paul and my family, so we headed into the car and down the street. We pulled up at a small one story house with piles of dirt and bricks in front of it. Our Auntie, Neema-ji, came to the door and let us in. Admittedly it was disappoitning at first. From the glamour of the first house, to this house, which is indeed dirtier, more haphazard, and less set up for guests. The first little while was akward. Going through the meeting Indian host parents for the second time was a bit much. But by now, I am quite pleased with this situation, excpet for our distance from town centre (maybe 20 minutes but by rickshaw):

MY HOST FAMILY, THE SHARMAS

Mother and Father are Neema and Arun, respectively. They have two children, fully grown, one in Pune, India and one in Australia, so they are pleased to have children around. There are a couple of part time servants, but Neema does most of the cooking herself, which is generally quite good. She makes her own yogurt, pickles (bitter lime, etc.), roti (bread) and main dishes. Every morning she packs us a little lunch and makes sure that we are ready. It's very cute. She sits on the front porch and yells: 'Jeremmyyy, Paaulll- Rickshaw will be here soon. Don't forget your lunch.' We're quite a scene at the Minnesota office, 20+ students on the floor with our tiffin carriers and tupperware, comparing what "mom" packed for lunch...

Paul and I both keep our stuff in the same room and I sleep in the living room (on a bed) which at first seemed kind of dreadful, but is working out okay on account of a magical device which is like an air conditioner and makes it possible to sleep, in conjunction with a ceiling fan, bug spray, and the mice in the kitchen keeping quiet. My host parents have become very attached to their "children" in the past so I think we wil have a good time.

It is a Hindu household, complete with a small shrine which is used daily. They are building a "shed" in the back yard so there are upwards of 10 workers around everyday, and they have friends that seem to drop by periodically. Also, they only speak English when directing something at one of us, so we get to hear lots of Hindi, which incidentally is improving (how could it get worse, afterall?)

Almost out of time, so I may leave it there for now. More about Jaipur and the mountain/hill thing near our house. And, of course, development (bum, bum, bum).

Jeremy