India can be a funny place.
I went out to buy a greeting card the other day, which is something of an amusing activity here; cards are generally large, heavily decorated, and adorned with English sentiments that are really close to making sense. I has a lovely time finding one with just the right mix of silliness, kitch and emotion, and went to purchase.
On the back, in small, stark letters, it read, "Greeting cards are more thoughtful than most other communication options."
You can't pay for that kind of endorsement.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Koppal Flooding
The following is a copy of a letter I wrote a few weeks ago to send out, regarding Visthar's response to a series of particularly nasty floods in Northern Karnataka. At this point, the immediate relief is underway - slower than ideal, but happening. As a result, there are fewer people living under trees. I have pasted this here as a by-the-by, regarding the situation and some of the work being undertaken at Visthar:
October 12, 2009: Namaskara, Salaam, Namaste! I am writing from Visthar, a civil society organization located just outside the south Indian city of Bangalore (Visthar.org).
I recently visited Visthar’s satellite location in Koppal District, in northern Karnataka (the state where Bangalore is located) – one of the poorest districts (like American counties) in India. I saw an area plagued by poverty, and discrimination based on gender and caste. I met bonded laborers (modern slaves); a chief of district police; sharecroppers; a concierge who knew Bismarck, ND; and religious prostitutes (called “Devadasis”) and their children. Visthar works specifically with these children of Devadasis. Everyone I met was extremely hospitable – letting us visit their homes, singing at village gatherings, meeting with us, feeding us. It is this hospitality that I have in mind as I write.
Since my visit, Koppal and the surrounding areas have been receiving record rains, resulting in the worst flooding in memory. The national government in Delhi has named the entire area, covering two states, a national disaster. Flooding is bad enough, but when houses are built from packed mud, and an entire year’s supply of food grain is stored in a clay pot, flash floods or a burst dam are an immediate crisis—people going from “little” to “nothing.” The entire region has been affected, but here are some numbers from Koppal District flooding alone:
•22 people killed,
•22566 houses collapsed,
•14 bridges collapsed,
•134 km of roads swept away,
•Limited clean water access,
•~ 23,000 people in relief camps.
•Currently no count for animals or crops lost, but agricultural damage will be heavy
While in India, I have been asked by many how to help people here. Having been to Koppal, I know that supporting Visthar’s relief efforts there is an immediate way to help people who are truly in need. There is some government support for people in the district, but there is a gap between what the government is able to provide and what the people need. Even the US Embassy has pledged $100,000 to support relief, but that money is “government to government,” whereas Visthar is an established organization with experience helping the poorest community members in Koppal – the kinds of people that are often left behind by government support. Visthar has three primary goals:
1) To provide basic food rations, clothing, medicine, footwear, and cooking utensils to affected people in 20 villages in the Koppal area,
2) To supplement the government money allocated to families for home reconstruction.
3) To asses the long-term needs for rehabilitation, and connect those most in need (particularly women and low castes) with the resources and outlets to procure the necessary tools to rebuild their lives.
Several people in the US have expressed interest in helping the relief efforts in Koppal. Wakonda Christian Church has agreed to be a central gathering point for all relief donations. Through Wakonda, Visthar will track all donations to send receipts and updates (please include email or address where you would like to receive updates). **At this time, these donations will not be tax deductible, and Wakonda will not issue a receipt. If you are interested in supporting the relief efforts in Koppal, make your check out to Wakonda Christian Church, clearly marked, “India- Koppal flood relief.” Send checks to: Wakonda Christian Church, 3938 Fleur Drive, Des Moines, IA 50321. This is the home church of Lindsay Fox, a Visthar employee who will be returning to the US in November to finalize all relief transactions.
Thanks for reading, and considering Visthar’s Koppal effort. This is a case where your efforts really make a difference.
Times of India: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/specialcoverage/5093607.cms
US Embassy: http://chennai.usconsulate.gov/indpr091008.html
New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/06/world/asia/06india.html?scp=8&sq=&st=nyt
October 12, 2009: Namaskara, Salaam, Namaste! I am writing from Visthar, a civil society organization located just outside the south Indian city of Bangalore (Visthar.org).
I recently visited Visthar’s satellite location in Koppal District, in northern Karnataka (the state where Bangalore is located) – one of the poorest districts (like American counties) in India. I saw an area plagued by poverty, and discrimination based on gender and caste. I met bonded laborers (modern slaves); a chief of district police; sharecroppers; a concierge who knew Bismarck, ND; and religious prostitutes (called “Devadasis”) and their children. Visthar works specifically with these children of Devadasis. Everyone I met was extremely hospitable – letting us visit their homes, singing at village gatherings, meeting with us, feeding us. It is this hospitality that I have in mind as I write.
Since my visit, Koppal and the surrounding areas have been receiving record rains, resulting in the worst flooding in memory. The national government in Delhi has named the entire area, covering two states, a national disaster. Flooding is bad enough, but when houses are built from packed mud, and an entire year’s supply of food grain is stored in a clay pot, flash floods or a burst dam are an immediate crisis—people going from “little” to “nothing.” The entire region has been affected, but here are some numbers from Koppal District flooding alone:
•22 people killed,
•22566 houses collapsed,
•14 bridges collapsed,
•134 km of roads swept away,
•Limited clean water access,
•~ 23,000 people in relief camps.
•Currently no count for animals or crops lost, but agricultural damage will be heavy
While in India, I have been asked by many how to help people here. Having been to Koppal, I know that supporting Visthar’s relief efforts there is an immediate way to help people who are truly in need. There is some government support for people in the district, but there is a gap between what the government is able to provide and what the people need. Even the US Embassy has pledged $100,000 to support relief, but that money is “government to government,” whereas Visthar is an established organization with experience helping the poorest community members in Koppal – the kinds of people that are often left behind by government support. Visthar has three primary goals:
1) To provide basic food rations, clothing, medicine, footwear, and cooking utensils to affected people in 20 villages in the Koppal area,
2) To supplement the government money allocated to families for home reconstruction.
3) To asses the long-term needs for rehabilitation, and connect those most in need (particularly women and low castes) with the resources and outlets to procure the necessary tools to rebuild their lives.
Several people in the US have expressed interest in helping the relief efforts in Koppal. Wakonda Christian Church has agreed to be a central gathering point for all relief donations. Through Wakonda, Visthar will track all donations to send receipts and updates (please include email or address where you would like to receive updates). **At this time, these donations will not be tax deductible, and Wakonda will not issue a receipt. If you are interested in supporting the relief efforts in Koppal, make your check out to Wakonda Christian Church, clearly marked, “India- Koppal flood relief.” Send checks to: Wakonda Christian Church, 3938 Fleur Drive, Des Moines, IA 50321. This is the home church of Lindsay Fox, a Visthar employee who will be returning to the US in November to finalize all relief transactions.
Thanks for reading, and considering Visthar’s Koppal effort. This is a case where your efforts really make a difference.
Times of India: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/specialcoverage/5093607.cms
US Embassy: http://chennai.usconsulate.gov/indpr091008.html
New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/06/world/asia/06india.html?scp=8&sq=&st=nyt
Monday, October 19, 2009
Individualism and Fear
Greetings from Visthar!!! After too long, it's time for an update. The American students have arrived, and my time has been greatly absorbed into the programming for that program, including some excellent time spent in the Yeligiri Hills in Tamil Nadu and Koppal in northern Karanataka.
In other news, my summer compatriot-in-justice, Amy, left Visthar at the end of August, leaving me a room too large and short a dear friend.
While I have been reasonably bummed about this, a lot of other people are, too. A few of the Bandhavi girls were asking about her the other day, and I expected that they would talk about loneliness for a bit – as girls away from their village in a culture that centers on “home place,” they know a bit about loneliness. However, the first and only thing they commented on when I said that I was now staying alone was a look of shock on Sunita’s face – “Aunty – you – no, bayaa?” I was confused – bayaa is the Kannada word for fear. I asked her if she would feel bayaa, and she strongly agreed – “only one Aunty, not good.”
I thought about this interaction for a while, and came to the conclusion that it has to do with space, or the lack thereof. There’s very little personal space here in general, which leads to a lot of togetherness, even when it isn’t entirely warranted or necessary. People are constantly in contact (on the bus, on the land, in the house), so it would make sense for a girl who lives with her entire family in one room, a group of 70 girls split between four rooms, to associate fear with loneliness. There are aching stories told by immigrants from this kind of community culture moving to the US, and not being able to sleep because they could not hear anyone else breathing in their sleep.
This all got me feeling very smug about my cultural intuition, which is usually a good indicator that I have missed something important.
A week later, I was sitting in the office after everyone else had begun to leave, when Roja, Renuka and Devi came by to pick up some old newspaper to cover their schoolbooks. It wasn’t late, but nor was it early, probably 6:45pm, and certainly well into dusk. They sat and chatted for a bit about school, and I downloaded a Telelgu love song on Youtube for the enjoyment of all (if you ever want to see a mustache, you should check out Telegu love songs), and then they had to head back to Bandhavi. They wanted me to come with them, but I wasn’t wrapped up quite yet. I told them I would be a few minutes, and told them to go ahead, but paused with the subsequent question- “Go alone? But… aunty… aren’t you… bayaa?”
That bayaa again, and in a very different context. What fear, what loneliness is there in walking across less than an acre, on a lit path, on a campus with over a hundred people?
Then I realized that this fear is about being alone, yes, but it is rooted in insecurity; and this insecurity is rooted in poverty. I can feel safe, generally, because I know that I have a mobile phone if things get hairy, I have money to get myself out of a bad situation, and I have socio-cultural power that comes from being a wealthy American. I can replace a pair of pants that get ripped when I trip in a dark hole, and even if it gets really ugly, I can afford to buy antidote to save my life if bitten by a snake.
But imagine if you didn’t. Wouldn’t fear become an important emotion for you, too? I would want the protection and reassurance of others close by, if I didn’t have other safety nets, too.
So, this thought brought me to a question – is individualism, the need for space both physically and metaphorically, enabled by wealth?
In other news, my summer compatriot-in-justice, Amy, left Visthar at the end of August, leaving me a room too large and short a dear friend.
While I have been reasonably bummed about this, a lot of other people are, too. A few of the Bandhavi girls were asking about her the other day, and I expected that they would talk about loneliness for a bit – as girls away from their village in a culture that centers on “home place,” they know a bit about loneliness. However, the first and only thing they commented on when I said that I was now staying alone was a look of shock on Sunita’s face – “Aunty – you – no, bayaa?” I was confused – bayaa is the Kannada word for fear. I asked her if she would feel bayaa, and she strongly agreed – “only one Aunty, not good.”
I thought about this interaction for a while, and came to the conclusion that it has to do with space, or the lack thereof. There’s very little personal space here in general, which leads to a lot of togetherness, even when it isn’t entirely warranted or necessary. People are constantly in contact (on the bus, on the land, in the house), so it would make sense for a girl who lives with her entire family in one room, a group of 70 girls split between four rooms, to associate fear with loneliness. There are aching stories told by immigrants from this kind of community culture moving to the US, and not being able to sleep because they could not hear anyone else breathing in their sleep.
This all got me feeling very smug about my cultural intuition, which is usually a good indicator that I have missed something important.
A week later, I was sitting in the office after everyone else had begun to leave, when Roja, Renuka and Devi came by to pick up some old newspaper to cover their schoolbooks. It wasn’t late, but nor was it early, probably 6:45pm, and certainly well into dusk. They sat and chatted for a bit about school, and I downloaded a Telelgu love song on Youtube for the enjoyment of all (if you ever want to see a mustache, you should check out Telegu love songs), and then they had to head back to Bandhavi. They wanted me to come with them, but I wasn’t wrapped up quite yet. I told them I would be a few minutes, and told them to go ahead, but paused with the subsequent question- “Go alone? But… aunty… aren’t you… bayaa?”
That bayaa again, and in a very different context. What fear, what loneliness is there in walking across less than an acre, on a lit path, on a campus with over a hundred people?
Then I realized that this fear is about being alone, yes, but it is rooted in insecurity; and this insecurity is rooted in poverty. I can feel safe, generally, because I know that I have a mobile phone if things get hairy, I have money to get myself out of a bad situation, and I have socio-cultural power that comes from being a wealthy American. I can replace a pair of pants that get ripped when I trip in a dark hole, and even if it gets really ugly, I can afford to buy antidote to save my life if bitten by a snake.
But imagine if you didn’t. Wouldn’t fear become an important emotion for you, too? I would want the protection and reassurance of others close by, if I didn’t have other safety nets, too.
So, this thought brought me to a question – is individualism, the need for space both physically and metaphorically, enabled by wealth?
Sunday, August 9, 2009
The Patriots
August 15th is India's Independence Day, and the preparations are already beginning at Visthar for quite the fest. The girls at Bandhavi, in their usual expressions of adorableness, are planning a play to perform. From my spot in the window seat in the library (with the windows open, I can just hear the cows bawling in the distant pasture), I have the perfect vantage to spy on them as they practice. From the polish to their performance, they seem to have already talked through what they wanted to perform -- mostly vignettes, with lots of saluting and "Vande Mataram"-ing (Vande mataram is "hail to the motherland").
I looked out of my idyllic window just in time to see sweet Sunita (Sunita of the chubby cheeks, versus Sunita of the high voice) picking up an air machine gun, taking a stance and sounding out her actions as she "gunned down" Akshaya, Nagaratna, Shruthi, Deepa, Ganga, Sheshikila and others. (ironically, they are practicing in a structure called, "Priety Mane" - house of love) They hopped up a moment later, moving into the next statement of nationality.
It would be impossible to talk about India as a nation without talking about violence. This Independence Day will be only their 62nd; a young nation of an ancient culture. Though borne out of a nonviolence movement against the Raj, India's national history has thus far been punctuated by violence. There is the incalculable violence of the Partition as India and Pakistan West and East were split. Several wars have been fought with Pakistan over land and primacy, and India's border areas remain ragged with hostilities. Then, there are the daily violences brought on by crushing poverty, caste, gender... the list goes on.
By the way, I am not picking on India here; violence seems imbued in the identity of a new state. Look at US history as comparison - in our first 62 years, we tried the Articles of Confederation and had to scratch them because of insurrections (one of the more successful over the taxation of whiskey), fought a rather nasty war with the British, and seriously thought about trying it with the French, too. In the mean time, we quite nearly annihilated an entire indigenous population, enslaved a decent proportion of another, and laid the seeds for civil war.
So, in celebrating our respective Independence(s), how do we celebrate a nation without celebrating violence? How to we honor sacrifice without creating a culture of war? In the US, we are as likely to have a barbecue on the 4th as we are to have a program -- perhaps we are further removed from the realities of our independence-- but still we talk about war.
At my own personal stance, I think we have to realize that being a citizen of a nation is negotiating the border between just national pride and the insidious influence of violent nationalism. How do you celebrate independence justly without turning into a, "'Merica for 'mericans." How do children talk about India's history without machine gunning each other in a field? Does the celebration of institutionalized violence lead to those same trends and themes in political and social thought?
I looked out of my idyllic window just in time to see sweet Sunita (Sunita of the chubby cheeks, versus Sunita of the high voice) picking up an air machine gun, taking a stance and sounding out her actions as she "gunned down" Akshaya, Nagaratna, Shruthi, Deepa, Ganga, Sheshikila and others. (ironically, they are practicing in a structure called, "Priety Mane" - house of love) They hopped up a moment later, moving into the next statement of nationality.
It would be impossible to talk about India as a nation without talking about violence. This Independence Day will be only their 62nd; a young nation of an ancient culture. Though borne out of a nonviolence movement against the Raj, India's national history has thus far been punctuated by violence. There is the incalculable violence of the Partition as India and Pakistan West and East were split. Several wars have been fought with Pakistan over land and primacy, and India's border areas remain ragged with hostilities. Then, there are the daily violences brought on by crushing poverty, caste, gender... the list goes on.
By the way, I am not picking on India here; violence seems imbued in the identity of a new state. Look at US history as comparison - in our first 62 years, we tried the Articles of Confederation and had to scratch them because of insurrections (one of the more successful over the taxation of whiskey), fought a rather nasty war with the British, and seriously thought about trying it with the French, too. In the mean time, we quite nearly annihilated an entire indigenous population, enslaved a decent proportion of another, and laid the seeds for civil war.
So, in celebrating our respective Independence(s), how do we celebrate a nation without celebrating violence? How to we honor sacrifice without creating a culture of war? In the US, we are as likely to have a barbecue on the 4th as we are to have a program -- perhaps we are further removed from the realities of our independence-- but still we talk about war.
At my own personal stance, I think we have to realize that being a citizen of a nation is negotiating the border between just national pride and the insidious influence of violent nationalism. How do you celebrate independence justly without turning into a, "'Merica for 'mericans." How do children talk about India's history without machine gunning each other in a field? Does the celebration of institutionalized violence lead to those same trends and themes in political and social thought?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Eclipse
The longest solar eclipse of the century tracked over India late last week; it was heralded by astronomical nerds for weeks prior, and even the average global citizen found cause for excitement as the time for the eclipse approached. There’s a lot to be learned about the sun during an eclipse, about the outer layers of the corona, and solar flares; more interesting to me is what was to be learned about those watching.
The path of the eclipse was predicted to cut across northern India, then on to China and terminating in the Pacific. When the news began to spread that there would be an eclipse, interesting things began happening… an eclipse has certain superstitious portents, and preparations cannot be thrown together lightly to make full use of the power and avoid the threat of eclipse.
In Northern Karnataka (the state where Bangalore is located), many families brought disabled children to a common place in the village and buried them in mud up to their necks. It was believed that performing this act during the eclipse would help to heal these children. The children were reported as rather uncomfortable with the process, but most were hopeful for progress. This strikes some of us as superstition at best – how can people in the modern age believe these things? But for rural people who crave for competent medical care even at basic levels, how different is this mud treatment from sticking your child in a machine that pops out pictures of their bones?
In certain areas, an eclipse requires certain ablutions at temples, and it was possible prior to the eclipse to purchase eclipse insurance related to journeys to these temples. Has there been such a pleasant meeting of modern and ancient?
As for myself, the celestial proved rather banal. I set my alarm for 6am (for those of you aware of my sleeping preferences understand what commitment this indicates to see the celestial event) and headed outside with my camera, journal, and two sheets of paper to create a “pinhole” effect; at some point, I remember Mr. Murphy, my slightly terrifying elementary art teacher, explaining that looking directly at an eclipse would scald your corneas. I walked out to the mango grove near my little home, hoping for the best sightlines to the east. There, I ran into Aishwarya and Barathi, two of my favorite girls from Bandhavi, loitering after yoga. They looked surprised to see their rather oddly attired aunty tromping around in the bushes with my expedition gear. I explained as best I could the impending event – “camera is Suriya (sun) and journal is Chandra (moon)… suriya no see…” Barathi has a sharp little laugh, and has no hesitation to cry out, “Auuuuntieeee” when I am being particularly ridiculous. Aishwarya grabbed my hand, and pulled me towards Bandhavi – “TV, Aunty,” and sure enough, it seemed that Bangalore was sadly refusing my excitement—monsoon clouds hung low and heavy. Why not watch a little TV?
But when I arrived, the whole of the group were watching the eclipse on their little television in the dining hall, 70 girls in various states of wakefulness (Small Shruti didn’t even pretend, wrapping her head in a blanket and falling asleep on the floor) settled in to watch the sun disappear, with the sound of Star Trek: Voyager playing in the background.
And so, I watched the eclipse on television, like so many other of millions around the world, but in a way that left me more pleased by the experience than any old mango grove could provide.
The path of the eclipse was predicted to cut across northern India, then on to China and terminating in the Pacific. When the news began to spread that there would be an eclipse, interesting things began happening… an eclipse has certain superstitious portents, and preparations cannot be thrown together lightly to make full use of the power and avoid the threat of eclipse.
In Northern Karnataka (the state where Bangalore is located), many families brought disabled children to a common place in the village and buried them in mud up to their necks. It was believed that performing this act during the eclipse would help to heal these children. The children were reported as rather uncomfortable with the process, but most were hopeful for progress. This strikes some of us as superstition at best – how can people in the modern age believe these things? But for rural people who crave for competent medical care even at basic levels, how different is this mud treatment from sticking your child in a machine that pops out pictures of their bones?
In certain areas, an eclipse requires certain ablutions at temples, and it was possible prior to the eclipse to purchase eclipse insurance related to journeys to these temples. Has there been such a pleasant meeting of modern and ancient?
As for myself, the celestial proved rather banal. I set my alarm for 6am (for those of you aware of my sleeping preferences understand what commitment this indicates to see the celestial event) and headed outside with my camera, journal, and two sheets of paper to create a “pinhole” effect; at some point, I remember Mr. Murphy, my slightly terrifying elementary art teacher, explaining that looking directly at an eclipse would scald your corneas. I walked out to the mango grove near my little home, hoping for the best sightlines to the east. There, I ran into Aishwarya and Barathi, two of my favorite girls from Bandhavi, loitering after yoga. They looked surprised to see their rather oddly attired aunty tromping around in the bushes with my expedition gear. I explained as best I could the impending event – “camera is Suriya (sun) and journal is Chandra (moon)… suriya no see…” Barathi has a sharp little laugh, and has no hesitation to cry out, “Auuuuntieeee” when I am being particularly ridiculous. Aishwarya grabbed my hand, and pulled me towards Bandhavi – “TV, Aunty,” and sure enough, it seemed that Bangalore was sadly refusing my excitement—monsoon clouds hung low and heavy. Why not watch a little TV?
But when I arrived, the whole of the group were watching the eclipse on their little television in the dining hall, 70 girls in various states of wakefulness (Small Shruti didn’t even pretend, wrapping her head in a blanket and falling asleep on the floor) settled in to watch the sun disappear, with the sound of Star Trek: Voyager playing in the background.
And so, I watched the eclipse on television, like so many other of millions around the world, but in a way that left me more pleased by the experience than any old mango grove could provide.
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