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?

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.

Eve Teasing

I am angry.

I had an awesome day, and it got all messed up by a stupid 15 year old boy. There is a social happening in India that is euphemistically known as, "Eve teasing", in which men touch women and get away with it. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eve_teasing. In my estimation, eve teasing is the product of a sexually repressed culture, compounded by a culture in which women are often object, maneuvered by and subject to men. India, for all it's beauty... this too is India.

So: I was walking along with Amy tonight after being out to the store, and it was just starting to get dusky. This boy pulled up, and asked us the way to Dodda Gubbi, the nearby village, and we started giving him the rather simple directions. He stopped us, indicating that he only knew Kannada, and so we pointed the way. He looked a bit confused, but started pulling away on his bike... until about 5 meters away, when he stopped. We kept walking -- it's always best in these situations to keep walking, walk purposefully, and not mention where exactly you're walking to. He kept this up, asking if he can take us part of the way, asking where Dodda Gubbi is, pulling up, and asking all over again. Then, when it was getting dark and the road opened up to show that no one but Amy and I were around, and he raised his hand to point down the road towards Dodda Gubbi, and instead moved his palm against my breast.

Well.

I threw his hand away, and said, rather stupidly, "Dodda Gubbi is that way, and do not touch me again," jabbing my finger in the air in his direction. I think he started to appreciate that I had him by 10 years, 5 inches and 50 pounds, and that the game was very, very much up. He turned and drove off, and I stupidly (again) didn't get his vehicle registration.

The whole thing was passing, and it was stupid, and it was inconsequential, but it was also deeply upsetting. How is it that such an incredible country has such... issues? Not that this is entirely India's fault -- the way that Americans behave in media -- and really, the way Americans behave in person -- can lead one to believe a lot of things about the way that American girls would act in such a situation. What does Kate Winslet do in Titanic? And don't even get me going on whatever nutwit thought it was a culturally good idea to export Baywatch. But still, I am careful to wear clothing that is conservative (I do in the US as well, for that matter) and I am careful not to hold eye contact for too long, careful not to touch men, careful careful careful. And I hate it that some ridiculously inept, horny 15 year old can impede on that, violate that, especially by taking advantage of someone's willingness to try and help. I had half a mind to run after him and give him a thrashing with Amy's umbrella.

What's perhaps worst is that when we got back, all the women were very concerned, clucked about his brazenness, and nodded with understanding. They have all been there, and probably more constantly, and probably to much greater degrees.

I don't tell this story as more or less than an anecdote. I was so shaken by the encounter simply because it was so unexpected, so uncommon in my experience. India is not full of sex crazed scary men intent on fondling women on dark roads, but nor is it wise to ignore the significant hurdles that many women face here to enjoy rather mundane standards of dignity and respect.

And so, I close with an Americanism -- boo on crappy people, wherever they may be.

Bangalorean Day

I am currently sitting at the lovely "Cafe Coffee Day" to write-- it's one of the more Western places in Bangalore, and has computers for use for 60rupees per half hour. I don't like it, particularly, but the monsoon has brought irregularity to Visthar's connection, so I'll take what I can get! However, if my spelling and punctuation are erratic, be aware that I am working on a keyboard that is perhaps slightly past its prime. And then, I just received a complimentary cappuccino and airline-style packet of cookies, so perhaps not all is lost :) There is some sort of techno Europop restyle of 7 Nation Army on the loudspeakers, a bit too loud for 2 in the afternoon. It's an interesting mix of east and west, to say the least.

Cafe Coffe Day stands in a nice counterpoint to the rest of the day, which up until this point has been a lovely day of wandering the city and tagging along as Barbara, the Swiss girl teaching English at Visthar, shops for small things to take home with her when she leaves at the end of the month. It reminds me of how hard it was for me to leave Bangalore two years ago, and I feel for her, and I understand the love in her eyes as we ride around in a rickshaw through the heart of the city. We went to City Market for spices: saffron, turmeric, garam masala and chilie. City Market is easily one of the busiest, dirtiest places in Bangalore, the meeting place where everyone gathers to exchange in day to day commerce -- fruits and vegetables and flowers strung in chains and cooking vessels and simple clothes and spices. It is dizzying, with people shoulder to shoulder, and the merchants shouting over each other their products and prices, and bullocks blocking the way, insence burning too thickly to cover the smell of rotting produce. On the ground, fruit peels mix with straw, making it slippery in the monsoon drizzle, which seems not to stymie the men carrying huge baskets of pomegranites on their heads but only me. Barbara bought a cooking vessel for making idli, and as we sat, we had a long conversation with a Muslim steel merchant about President Obama, who he is in favor of (though, had to clarify that Obama is not actually Musilm-- a worldwide misconception?), the excitement of travelling in Rajasthan, and marriage. Thankfully, he was 26, two years our senior, and not married, so he gave Barbara and I a pass for being too old to be unmarried. We are usually not so lucky :) He was a little surprised that we had no arranged marriage in the US/Switzerland, and recommended that we look into it - much better success rates than love marriage. These are conversations I relish, these moments of meeting across the divides of culture and class and gender and religion to have a small cup of chai and a discussion about the things we love.

Bangalore is a place in constant transition -- transition that moves much faster, in my estimation, than most places. There is a constant requirement of focus, and consideration (cross the street now? No, huge truck coming... now? No, no! Now? Run! The rickshaw will stop!) It makes the city exciting and exhausting, all at once -- and it makes returning to the gentle peace of Visthar so wonderful at the end of the day. The pollution of the traffic and the city lingers in your hair, and on your clothes, but also some of the beauty. It is that beauty that brings me back, over and over and over again.

India is Growing and Shrinking

So many people have asked my why I come to India, what is it that draws me here. I usually give a pat answer. But really, I believe that India will be at the forefront of the minds of the world’s citizens as this century progresses; there is change afoot here, there is motion. But I think it at least partially the job of the world not only to bear witness, but also to play a role in what will happen here. India is where poverty, real poverty, is smashing into great wealth and new wealth. I don’t anticipate some sort of massive class uprising, but I do anticipate the way that India develops itself in the next decade will tell us all a great deal about the ways that the 21st century will look.

This poverty is important to remember in the face of the flurry of media coverage on India's growth. Western companies are looking to outsource as much as possible in deference to the bottom line, to the point that Obama people have started the chant of "Buffalo not Bangalore." India's own government has begun to promise its citizens growth in the next year.

But this growth is critical. Unicef just issued a new report that South Asia (India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bangladesh, Afghanistan) has 100 million new cases of chronic hunger in the past year. This is what recession looks like in a global world. That brings the total of chronically hungry people in South Asia to around 400million. For context -- the population of the United States, the 3rd most populous nation in the world, is just over 300 million. There are more people in South Asia that regularly do not have enough to eat than there are people in the United States.

Of course, it is difficult to keep this in mind, when I am surrounded by daily beauty. Visthar is an oasis, where we work on positive change and empowerment in an environment that could not be more bucolic if we tried. Think of it – Visthar is six acres, where the buildings are built to match the land, where fruit trees are various and heavy with produce, the offices are open air with a lotus pool at the center, where flowers sprout from every available nook and women are as well employed as men and adorable girls run around shouting, “Hi Aunty!” and singing. How do you think of food security in all of this? But it is lurking at the gate. And really, in a "flat" world, it is lurking at every gate.

http://www.unicef.org/photoessays/49854.html

Book to Read: White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. Winner of the 2008 Booker Prize - discusses both the desperation of poverty, as well as the opportunity for advancement.