Hydraulic Forces

22:23

30 July 2010

It poured three solid days, and when there were no more cats and dogs to rain, elephants and rhinoceroses fell. I have seldom witnessed anything like it. The rain was as if a bottom less bucket was being evenly dumped and the streams of water met the rooftops and streets at perfect ninety degree angles. Due to poor drainage throughout the city, within the first hour of the storm, the streets became sloughs, the side walks vanished, and shops closed due to flooding.

Each morning, everyone helps lug all of the booklets, tables, rugs and other junk out of the office space to the sidewalk so that construction can resume. During one storm, all of these items were left out unsheltered and are now moldy and nearly destroyed. Back and forth. Back and forth, we transport our little office.

Yesterday, I was sent out with Thomas and Purushothaman to a slum over an hour and one half by auto away from the office to complete a biometric survey. The ride resulted in all three of us becoming thoroughly soaked. By the time we reached the colony, our clothes were soppy, our hair drenched, and water trickled from the tips of our noses. It took all of our greatest efforts to protect the laptop and other electronic equipment from harm.

Arriving back at the office in the late afternoon brought no relief. Due to the never ending construction, we found all of the ladies huddled under a tarp that clearly wasn’t offering much protection. We sat in the rain for hours; there was nothing to do but wait to go home.

I think I made some social progress. With nothing to do but sit in the rain and wait, the Ladies and I took photos of each other. They all requested prints. It was great fun. We were also able to exchange questions about various lifestyles and customs in America versus India. With limited vocabulary it was difficult to explain anything in too great of detail, but both parties learned a great deal.

One of the most prominent aspects of Indian adulthood is marriage, pre-arranged marriage. The common theme of “marrying for love” that in the United States is ludicrous and irrational to them. In India, marriage is primarily a duty to bring honor to the family rather than to fulfill one’s selfish fulfillment (First cousin marriages are also widely accepted). Once married, children are immediately expected. Even the upper class strictly believes in prearranged marriages and has no consideration for women who would prefer to be working professionals than mothers.

At my current elderly age of 21 years, many of the ladies were disgusted that my parents weren’t searching for a husband; however, they were equally pleased to learn that I didn’t have a ‘boy friend’, which would suggest loose character. Most have some insight gained from American films that our social expectations and practices are dissimilar, and they all truly believe that India’s marriage custom is the only proper way. After seeing that the Indian system works (and it seems to work well), I can’t argue too much. It definitely takes the stress and expectation out of finding “Prince/Princess Charming”.

I’ve mentioned that most of the employees in my office are slum dwellers. Today, John sent me to a slum called Flower Garden with one of the Federation members, Subramani, who was also a resident of the colony. This was the first time that I was taken to one of my co-workers homes, and it proved to be a special experience.

First thing upon arriving, Subramani proudly ushered me into his beautiful two-room home and introduced me to his wife and beautiful two year old girl, Punitta. Subramani will always have a place in my heart. He is a short, pot-belly man with little English skills but grand communication skills. Most people point sheepishly and utter words in their native tongue. Pointing is as obvious as “I spy with my little eye”. Instead, when he wanted to reference the railway station down the road, he moved his arms and hands in the unbalanced circular motion characteristic of the wheel braces on a locomotive train, sung “Choo Choo”, and even delivered and impressive tweet of the steam whistle. The performance was splendid. Besides understanding exactly to what he was referring, it was hilarious and fun for me and him. The rest of my tour continued in such a fashion, and we had a continuous dynamic dialogue full of clear kinesthetic questions and answers. I’ve said it before but laughter and humor are the supreme bonding agents.

When Subramani and I returned from our visit to Flower Garden Slum, lunch was being served. As I approached the dinning circle, John immediately pulled me aside and suggested that perhaps I should go out to eat instead. He quickly explained that the meal was very spicy today (he was concerned for my frail American tongue). I shrugged my shoulders and politely assured him that spicy was nice.

I was crest-fallen to see that all of the girls had pushed away their plates of food without having taken more than a few bites. The men were huffing and puffing and trying to conceal their watering eyes while gulping down liters of water. Someone was fetching milk.

I was handed a plate, and all 30+ people present stared while I ate. Yes, it was spicy, but there are different types of heat. I despise when the capsaicin of a pepper lodges itself into the lips and tongue like microscopic razor blades that puncture the nerves and weaken the tear ducts; however, this burn was of a different sort. It licked the throat and lungs with delicate blue flames and warmed the body’s core. I felt like a healthy dragon ready to whistle fire. It was great, and probably one of my favorite meals since arriving in India. I’ll admit that it had a little ‘bite’, but nothing that would cause any discomfort.

After I finished, without watery eyes, a runny nose, or a sip of water, John laughed and sent me to go fetch chocolate bars to ease everyone else’s suffering. He had been worried about my contact with Indian spicy food since I’d arrived, but it proved to be an unnecessary precaution.

Variations on a Theme

26 July 2010

23:22

For most of my stay in India, my mood and attitude has been steady accompanied by reasonable optimism; however, my mental roller coaster took a bit of a negative dive last week. I wasn’t sleeping well. I wasn’t eating well. I wasn’t feeling well. In combination with construction disturbances and lack of productivity in the office, I felt rundown and uninspired.

The atmospheres in which I spend my waking hours toggle between polar ends of a social status scale. In the office, the women of Mahila Milan and the men of the Federation are primarily slum dwellers. Their daily customs and mannerisms are as traditional and authentic as can be found in existence in Bangalore, India. They wear saris with golden bangles around their wrists and ankles accompanied by colorful markings on their foreheads. They are uneducated and poor. At the Convent/Hostel, the ladies are either currently earning their university degrees or are already working professionally. They go to the office via luxurious auto rickshaws. Their attire includes expensive designer brands such as Nike, Addidas, Levis, Pumas, etc. and is strictly western/non-traditional. They come from elite families full of doctors and lawyers. I do my best to walk the middle road between these two extremes, but experiencing culture shock at least twice a day can be exhausting.

Even the variation between the Mumbai SPARC office and the Bangalore Field office is astounding. Mumbai operates very explicitly and orderly. Questions are asked. Answers are given. Information is gathered and documented with precision and ease. Bangalore’s vibe is much more oblique and disorganized. If by chance there is one person in the office that knows which projects have been completed in a particular area, extracting the information is comparable to the intricate removal of compounded wisdom teeth. The response to a direct question will be delivered in a contextual story with little reference to specific detail or timeline.

This very difference in communication style caused quite a dilemma for me last week. A girl in the Mumbai office wanted a report from our about a project taking place in a particular area in the state of Karnataka. Only one man knew of the happenings there, but he refused to tell me about it unless I visited. The colony is 150 kilometers from Bangalore and not a reasonable journey unless planned in advance. Personally, I have great respect for the man stressing that I couldn’t truly learn about the place unless I experienced it for myself, but the Mumbai office requested prompt information and became increasingly impatient. They could not identify with the notion that in this office answers are not provided on a linear scale or in a timely fashion but rather must be individually learned and then shared.

Our office continues to be a zealous construction site: Ceilings collapsing. Bricks plummeting. Shelves detaching. Fans dropping. Everyone has been relocated to outside, but little business is being completed due to sporadic rain showers and unreachable document books. My laptop is without battery, so I too am nearly useless.

The construction taking place is without proper building permits/permission and is illegal. It must be revealed that John refuses to ask permission. He believes that acting first, asking second is the sure way to get things done. On Saturday, the office received an anonymous objection to the construction and has had to put a pause on the project. In private, John revealed to me that he was deeply apprehensive about how to resolve the issue without serious consequence. After making a few phone calls, he made contact with a friend of his who may be able to smooth things over. . . but he is still “praying to God” for a miracle.

I have made countless contacts in Bangalore. I have many friends in the office at the convent/hostel, and random acquaintances that I see daily all over the city including on buses and in market stalls. With these individuals, I talk about people, places, events and activities.

A few days ago in my personal journal I mentioned that I was ‘intellectually lonely’. I have been deprived of the discussion of ideas and beliefs, but I have purposefully avoided these topics to evade possible offense or disagreements in a society where I am already an outcast. By chance this afternoon, John shattered my isolation.

The ladies left early due to rain and lack of shelter. The Federation Men and I were still working. John Sir had time, so I began to ask some of my burning questions about various happenings in our office and his role/history with SPARC. His accounts were open and littered with strong opinion. As our conversation progressed, he invited me offer my perspectives as well, and I was surprised to discover his intense curiosity about American beliefs and reactions to Indian culture. Our ramblings touched on everything from the doings of the Mumbai office to Bangalore office operations to my life at the Convent to family to religion to American politics to food to educational background, etc. As demanding as John can be, he has a just heart and is an invaluable asset to the success of the Bangalore office and is making an immeasurable impact on infinite lives.

Before I left for the day, I reminded John that I would be flying back to the US in mid August. His disappointment and irritation was genuine, and he asked if my stay could be extended. I was forced refuse due to classes beginning. In no way will 3 more weeks in India be enough time for my experience to be complete.

"I'm a Roman Catholic, but I try not to trouble God." - John Samuel

Under Construction

23 July 2010

15:19

I invite all of those who are suffering through a sizzling hot summer in the northern California valleys to visit Bangalore. . . The weather has been nothing but cool with low humidity and scattered showers. It is a blessing to spend a summer out of that heat.

One of the biggest happenings this week is that our office building is undergoing construction. We showed up Monday morning to find a truck with a bed full of sand and a dozen or so young men mixing piles of cement in the space traditionally used for meetings, meals and other gatherings.

Initially, I was told that the kitchen walls were simply going to be extended to encompass a pre-existing foundation protruding from front of the building. As construction progressed, it became evident that a second story was going to be built onto our little shack. When I asked John about it, he just looked at me and offered a smirk characteristic of a spirited child that was caught doing something that he wasn’t supposed to do but was still overwhelmingly proud. He went on to claim that he was in fact encroaching on the surrounding land and also wanted additional office space. I shook my head and chuckled in amusement.

On rickety wooden ladders, with low-grade cement-sand slurry, and without footwear, the men have been hard at work all week. I recognize some of them from slums that we have visited. Work in the office continues despite the showers of crumbing debris and clambering of tools. No complaints are voiced.

The roof on the office buildingis thin tin sheeting. Wednesday, a hole was punched through it by accident. It was during one of the typical monsoon storms and countless pans of water had to be collected. No problem. Yesterday, gritty rubble continued to fall through this hole onto the desks andrugs. No problem. Today, a 4’x3’ slab of roofing material unintentionally broke loose and fell into the main space of the office. No one was hurt, but shelves and bulletin boards were damaged. With a gaping hole in the roof, large fragments of brick and cinder blocks continued to tumble down for an hour or two. I moved my work outside for fear of physical injury and laptop harm, but no one else seemed concerned. So it goes.

It has been a rather slow week. A cold has been cycling the office, and everyone seems to be working at a lower energy level than usual. I have been out mapping with a fancy GPS device, am learning the ins and outs of ArcGIS, have been exposed to the biometric database collection process, have attended a loan-giving ceremony on the outskirts of Bangalore, have aided in Settlement Survey data collection, and have had a few meetings with Sir John and Sir Thomas.

Having one day a week to pose as a weekend is a difficult adjustment. On Sundays, the entirety of Bangalore

goes to church (if necessary) and then stays home. They believe in reserving the day off strictly for resting welland eating well. Contrastingly, Sundays are my day to see the city and to exercise. At this point, I feel completely confident that I can travel anywhere within the city limits of Bangalore alone by

bus without too much effort. I’ve attended a performance of Gabriel Faure’s Requiem by the Cecilian Choir. I’ve see the play Robinson and Crusoe at the Ranga Shankara playhouse. I’ve spent a full day wandering around the infamous Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. I’ve mastered the layout of my neighborhood within a one and one half mile radius. Add eating, sleeping, laundry by hand, running several miles, reading, socializing, and other various chores . . . time seems to be scarce.

Over and out.

A Farewell. A Loss. A Change.

13 July 2010

16:47

After a several hour flight delay, I arrived back at the Convent at 2:00 A.M. I had called Sister Florin while still at the Mumbai Airport to notify her of the approximate late hour that I would be reaching Bangalore, and she agreed to open the gate for me. I was much obliged.

The meeting in Mumbai was a flop. I was looking forward to meeting with Sheela, the Director of SPARC, but she did not show up to the office. Spencer flew back to the U.S. on a red-eye flight before the meeting took place to partake in family-related affairs. . . So it goes.

I did meet again with Avery, and we had a long discussion about all of the ins and outs of SPARC, Mahila Millan and the Federation. Being able to speak freely in English was a treat! I now have an infinitely better grasp of how SPARC and the field offices function,. If an alliance can be formed with University of the Pacific, SPARC is an organization that can expose and educate beyond any verbose description.

Being back in Bangalore is a relief. After a few days of trying to explore Mumbai in the heat and rain, I was completely fatigued, emotionally and physically. I’ve become so accustomed to Bangalore that traveling, eating, to work, shopping, etc is easy and effortless. I am gaining a firm grasp on how to function and live in this city and can predict the scope of events that may or may not occur throughout my day. I do not possess this ease in Mumbai, and perhaps because I had already been there once, I was a little over confident and less mentally prepared than I could have been for the struggles I faced.

**Note: The train station during rush hour at Dadar Station is always that crazy, and I was officially warned to never try to catch that particular train again, even if it means waiting an hour or two. The advice is well taken. **

I came back to the Bangalore Office on Prageeja’s last day. I’m just realizing that I haven’t written much about her, but she was the other intern that was working in this office. She is doing her masters in Planning at the Center for Environmental Planning and Technology in Ahmeeabad, India. Being educated, her spoken English is great. She is the one with whom I ate meals and conversed regularly. In exchange for my editing her final report and other various compositions, she translated all the chit-chat and discussions in the office for me. On Saturday, she completed her training with SPARC and will be returning to classes next week. We held a nice farewell party for her, which included taking photos, wishing her all the best and presenting small gifts. A lot of nice words and feelings were expressed. I miss her company and friendship.

On Saturday, I also learned of a misfortunate occurrence. Rajeshwari’s (another girl whose companionship I began to thoroughly enjoy) father passed away on Monday, July 5^th, 2010. I was told that it was due to alcohol. It was heartbreaking news. In India, it is custom that the relatives of the deceased stay in the house and grieve for 41 days. There are no words to describe such a sad occasion. The loss of a friendship and the loss of a life cut deeper than I’ll express.

Until today, John had been absent since I returned. During this time (without Prageeja), my ability to communicate was limited to gestures, broken English and Tamil, and routine. It takes risk combined with trial and error to create and maintain a connection with everyone in the office, but we are all making an effort. The girls and I are learning how to converse through photos, laughter and speech. The men know a little more English, but they are reserved to only say key words when necessary.

When John came today, we had a meeting about future business and how some of our projects had progressed while I was away in Mumbai. As I was getting up to leave, he hesitated and mechanically gave me a thumbs-up as reassurance and encouragement. It was strange to see such a confident and assured man show uncertainty in a signal so ordinary in America, but it was not a gesture common to him. I was touched by his thoughtfulness. He knows as well as I do that the second half of my stay in India and my interaction with SPARC is going to be drastically different than my first several weeks. Oral language is a powerful tool to have in common. Without it, there are unforeseen obstacles looming, but I am not worried. The ladies and men here are unfathomably accepting and open to adjustment and collaboration.