Lowlights, Highlights

20:58

07 August 2010

Last Sunday was Friendship Day, and the ladies at the Hostel and I celebrated with post-supper sweets and a few laughs. After shopping for some fabric, we also all went to the tailors where we requested various traditional garments to fabricated (it was my very first time, but it was fa rare occurrence for them also because of their preference for western styles). This is how traditional clothing is handled in India: one buys the desired fabric, a tailor takes measurements of the intended wearer, and a seamstress (usually male) produces the garments in less than one week for a nominal fee of 130-180 Rupees (approx $3 USD).

For most of last week, the Office was still uninhabitable due to construction, and work seemed to be halted in a purgatory state of sitting and waiting. Finally on Friday, we lugged all of the notebooks, computer equipment and other sundry records up to the second floor. We still have zero power, but the ladies have been diligently sifting through and organizing all of the piles of paperwork.

The mapping project that I was working on for John, which entailed smoothing out operations and responsibilities between three various organizations, is more or less complete. As an alternative, I have been going out and being apart of the biometric data collection team, which visits various slums and sets up a temporary office with a laptop computer, webcam and fingerprint scanner. Here members of the colony gather with their spouses and children to be added to our database which is also linked to the state and national information centers for urban poor development. Within weeks after we document the necessary information and register them, each household is issued nationally accepted identification cards. This process and proof of identification is mandatory for households being sanctioned new housing.

This week, we were sent to Rajendra Nagar, a large slum of 500+ households. It took three full days to enter all of the residents. On the first day, mistakenly nearly 4000 persons from the colony congregated at our station situated in a small elementary school. It was a madhouse. There was shouting, shoving, and unruly impatience.

The first step in the indexing procedure entails each household submitting their previously issued demand drafts (proof of housing) and some form of formal identification. Usually, these names are already entered into our database by records supplied by the Karnataka Slum Clearance Board, but nearly half of those dwelling in the Rajendra Nagar area are considered ‘new residents’ and are electronically non-existent.

For these particular days, my jobs were to collect the papers from these individuals, verify their authenticity, and then manually write the names of both wife and husband in a notebook in which they then signed as proof of their presence and participation at our station, implying that we had taken their photos and fingerprints.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been able to easily peer over the computer screen and copy the names down with ease; however, because most were not accounted for, my task became infinitely more difficult. To American/English ears, Indian names are an obscure conjuncture of miscellaneous noises entwined around impressively numerous, compounded syllables. Try as I might I could not audibly decipher or effectively translate these peculiar names into English lettering. My incompetence in this assignment infuriated the slum leaders. There was yelling, a distribution of accusations, and general frustration. I don’t speak a word of Hindi or Tamil, and not a soul within several kilometers could communicate in English.

With the hollering of coarse men crushing my ears, the aggravated crowding of infinite bodies bearing insistently at my side, and the pointing of frustrated fingers thrusting between my notebook and blurred silhouettes of those whose names I could not spell correctly, I quickly became anxious. Gowri, who was carrying out the laptop duties, knows English letters and possessed the ability to provide some guidance but didn’t. Instead she exhibited equal contempt, which was disheartening to me

.

Eventually, Krisnappa, one of our office leaders, returned from his smoke-break and noticed immediately the level of my discomfort and that the energy from the crowd was not hospitable. He positioned himself between my chair and the crowd and consoled the slum leaders and to the best of his ability. Although he does not speak English and is not literate, Krisnappa kindly proceeded to clearly and slowly repeat the foreign names to me. I was much obliged.

It was a belittling experience to be reprimanded by a whole colony for not being able to simply write letters into a book. I was certain that after causing such a hindrance in the data collection process, such a task would not be granted to me again; however, the very next day, we returned to the same Rajendra Nagar slum to collect additional names. I tried to politely refuse the task, but Krisnappa insisted that there was “no problem”. In the end, after trying in vain to explain my discomfort to uncomprehending ears, I surrendered and prepared myself for a second day of scornful gestures and remarks. The proceedings began in a similar manner as they had the day before. I knew that I couldn’t endure another seven hours of such bewilderment, so I found a solution.

The key lay within the context of their current forms of identification. Often, their names were printed in English letters somewhere on the copies. When I began requesting to see these papers, the colony leaders were disgruntled and assumed that I was confused and couldn’t decipher the difference between these documents and the demand drafts. After a brief battle of head shaking and head nodding and finger pointing and finger waggling and vocal barking of “yes” and “no”, Gowri, bless her heart, curtly explained to them that all I needed was a glimpse of their identification sheets to accurately spell their names. Once I was granted access to these papers, the dilemma associated to semantic unfamiliarity and language differences was eliminated. The remainder of day two and the whole of day three were without hitches, but I must admit that this was the most challenging experience that I have had since being in India. Trying to function and produce in a business/professional situation, where common language and communication mannerisms are sparse, tests one’s seemingly most ingrained abilities.

Today proved to be another highlight in my brief participation in the movement to provide suitable living conditions for the urban poor in India. The morning consisted of John conducting various meetings in Tamil and Hindi. I knew not of their nature, but multiple groups of people came and went from our office. Around noon, all of the men and several of the ladies loaded up into our auto rickshaw and the Scorpio vehicle. They were in a rush, but no one cared to inform me the reason for their hustle or their destination. Assuming that I had already been enough of a burden for the week, I remained a quiet spectator. --That is until John snapped from the passenger seat, “What are you doing?”--My puzzlement and surprise was genuine and obvious, and he signaled for me to come along. Once I was tucked into the congested backseat of his vehicle and we were diving into traffic, John first apologized for forgetting that I only understood English and therefore had no notion on which to base my required attendance for this outing. Next he tersely told me that we were going to the inauguration of a new housing complex for the Laggere Colony where the Minster of Housing, Minister Kumari Selja, would be presenting 65 residential quarters (the first of 2000 houses).

When we arrived I was awed by the spectacle: There were orange, green and white streamers dangling from posts, massive billboards with stately-block lettering and portraits of politicians, broad isles constructed from wooden sheets and draped with colorful silks, colossal golden arches with Tamil and Hindi letters, innumerable police officers, men dressed in their finest tailored white tops and crisped trousers, slum dwellers of all ages and genders, blue and red carpet that served as a walkway all around the area, an expansive canopy capable of seating 1000+ persons, booming speakers mounted on every corner, and an army of photographers and media personnel.

Under the canopy, there was a stage that featured several of the driving members of the Karnataka Slum Clearance Board, the State Government, and Central Government. We were ushered to seats in the audience where we listened to various speeches being given in English about goals for a slum-free India, rights to proper infrastructure and health care for the urban poor, women empowerment, and the projects that have already been sanctioned by the government to alleviate poverty in India. This event was primarily for publicity, but the ambitions of the individuals presenting were something to be admired and congratulated.

One of the instances that struck me most powerful is that it these newly constructed houses are in the names of

the women of the household rather then their husbands. This shift of power and control will drastically change thedynamic of gender roles within the whole of Indian society. After we returned to the office, I jumped into questioning John about what impact this female-empowerment will have. Instantly, his eyes illuminated with child-like gaiety, but before a proper answer could be delivered, our conversation was disrupted by the arrival of 20 slum leaders from the Austin Town colony. Regrettably, our discussion must wait

until Monday, humbug. . .