Part Two of Super-Lengthy & Overdueness

The following week, I made it to Snehalaya with the daughter of my host (the lovely Manju) as companion and translator on my day-long tour of their programming.  Bharat took us to see and learn about so many of the programs, yet we didn’t fit them all in in a day.  I was able to reunite with Girish in his office for a bit and he was so warm and welcoming.  

Manju, me & Girish Sir

It was so touching how well they treated me and made me feel welcomed.  I even gave a radio and television interview regarding my impressions of Snehalaya, NGOs in the US compared to India, and women’s safety in society (newsrooms in India were busting at the seams with stories of women’s issues as it was the initial aftermath of the Delhi rape case at the time...also fodder for my mounting disgust every time a man eyed me up around that time).  

Children's dormitory, caretaker

We visited Snehalaya’s residential rehabilitation center where over 350 children and women live (mostly children).  The children are primarily children of prostitutes who have given them up to Snehalaya’s care and legal guardianship.  A small number of prostitute mothers come to visit regularly and yet another small number of mothers are ex-prostitutes who now also live there.  A good percentage of the children are HIV positive, some from prostitute mothers who do not want their clients to know they, too, are HIV+ so they disassociate from their children for that reason, and some from parents (not associated with the sex trade) who also are disassociating because of the stigma the disease carries (even if they gave their child the disease themselves which is most often the case).  The women who live there are ex-prostitutes coming to Snehalaya for a transitional place to stay while obtaining an education or trade experience so they can support themselves.  Others are women who have been rejected by their families and/or husbands for whatever reason and have no means to survive on their own.  Some of the women have become employed by Snehalaya as caretakers of the children, office staff and kitchen staff. 

Near the rehab center there was a school for the resident children of Snehalaya as well as children bussed in from the slums and nearby villages where they weren’t receiving education for various reasons.  In India, the law states that children must be in school but the law doesn’t necessarily ensure the means for children to make it to school (transportation, costs for supplies & uniforms, etc.) therefore, still so many children are slipping through the cracks with no education.  Snehalaya bridges this gap.  

We then toured an on-site HIV hospital (30 bed) and outreach center.  Girish started the HIV clinic in 1989 when local doctors and hospitals routinely rejected HIV positive patients.  Today, private hospitals continue to be too costly to most who need treatment, and government hospitals lack sufficient services.  Snehalaya provides free hospital stay and treatment, ambulance, outpatient consultation, lab, pharmacy and counseling.  They also have a government contract as a CCC (Community Care Center) to provide treatment and psychosocial support to individuals with minor opportunistic infections under the National AIDS Control Programme.  

Let’s see.  What else did we do?  I got to see some of the dormitories of the children and say hi to them.  Sweet faces everywhere.  Children of all ages...4-18.  The small children attend the grade school at the rehab center while those in grade 5 and up attend local government schools.  A building was being constructed at the time to serve as a secondary school by the end of the year.  

 We also got to see a new office building which would also house a dining hall, which was also under construction.  Recently, Snehalaya was chosen by a sort-of reality show, hosted by one of India’s top actors, Aamir Khan, as a beneficiary of a matching donation.  Satyamev Jayate (the show; Saytamev Jayate translating to something like Truth Prevails) toured the country and producers selected worthy groups who they thought represented the issues faced by the common man (or woman, or child) of India.  Throughout their episodes, they highlighted issues such as female foeticide, child sexual abuse, dowry, insensitivity toward the physically disabled, domestic violence, untouchability and more.  After each episode, they appealed to the public for donations to a chosen NGO related to the theme.  In the first episode, Snehalaya was highlighted.  Through a matching grant of public donation (via mobile phones during the airing of the show) and the Reliance Foundation, Snehalaya received 3.26 crore rupees (almost $600,000 US, if I’m converting correctly).  This donation was funding the construction of the office/dining building.  

Old dining hall

I was shown the previous dining hall and kitchen area which was quite small.  I was told that most of the residents do not eat here because of lack of space, but that food is prepared there and delivered to dormitories for the children and women to eat in their rooms - basically at their beds, on the floor.  All were looking forward to an efficient and communal space to dine.  

New dining hall, inside

We moved out to another area of the city to visit Snehalaya’s radio station (where I gave an on-air interview).  They use the airwaves to promote social awareness and change, and offer a platform for others to spread information.  

Next to the radio station was the adoption center.  Offices were downstairs while infants and toddlers lived upstairs in 3 rooms.  One room was cordoned off and had ICU type equipment for the smallest residents.  The other rooms had double-bunk-like cradles lining the walls.  

Oh man.  Babies.  Such beautiful babies.  Nothing pierces the heart quite like eye contact shared with an adorable, dependent, yet rejected baby.  It’s difficult to wrap my mind around in the moment, but I also know and understand that women all over the world (and my guess is that in India even more so with particularly unique social pressures) are in extremely difficult circumstances and have to make brave and frightening decisions, sometimes to survive, or to ensure survival of the child.  Bharat informed me that babies have been found at train stations, abandoned.  Some have been found lying naked only on a piece of newspaper.  Some have been left in a cradle on the street outside of the adoption center.  

Some have been dropped off at temples.  Some are HIV+.  Some have not made it to the adoption center because animals have found them before people intervened.  On a more positive note, there are 2000 couples waiting to adopt so each of these children will be part of a home and family.  When I visited, about 25-30 little ones were there.  

Bharat & me enjoying some quality time

Finally, we went to a building that houses the Child Rescue Line.  Snehalaya started the telephone hotline and rescue response team in 1996.  In 2003, national legislation passed requiring child lines all over the country so Snehalaya took on that contract.  An average of 250 calls come in per day to this particular Child Line (one of 85 in all of India).  This is already a long blog post so I won’t recount stories I heard, but you can read real and current (and incredibly horrifying) stories from the Child Line here: http://rescue.snehalaya.org

Also in this building operates an outreach team for the GLBT community.  They provide education, counseling, community events and more.  This is quite progressive for India, where homosexuality is utterly shunned, and especially for an area like Ahmednagar which is not a metro.  

As we were leaving, we met up with a group of women having a meeting in a side room.  I was asked to sit for a photo and they were very welcoming.  With the limited English that was being spoken, I didn’t really know what was happening  (that’s a daily occurrence so I tend to just roll with it).  After I left, I was told that it was a group of prostitute women having their monthly meeting.  Each red light area has primary contacts (prostitutes) appointed who facilitate communication and efforts between the prostitutes in their area and Snehalaya.  Through them, Snehalaya provides education, alternative employment opportunities and a sense of community so that the women can create and experience empowerment.  At the time, the women were discussing problems they have had with the police (sometimes the police are their clients, sometimes the police work in collaborative ways with brothel owners to exploit the women, etc.).  The women also do work with Snehalaya, toward Snehalaya’s mission.  They ensure from the inside that no prostitutes are under age 18.  They also are stationed at bus stations and train stations to watch for women and children who seem vulnerable.  They then can report suspicious activity or act as witnesses if something later arises.  

And lastly, we visited Anamprem, a home and vocational facility for developmentally and physically challenged residents.  They ensure that the children are mainstreamed into quality education.  They also offer a Braille library and organize an orchestra of individuals with disabilities.  

There is so much that I didn’t see or haven’t mentioned yet - A new project village starting up for societally rejected HIV+ adults, a tech center for vocational training, community centers set up in slums, youth camps, and more.  But for now, here’s your intro to Snehalaya.  

So, to continue with my story... I visited Snehalaya that day and it was an incredible experience.  This was the type of social work I had wanted to be involved in.  I was invited to volunteer for a few months and live at the guesthouse on the residential campus.  I was ready to get involved in any way I could, and ready to get back to Kerala to make arrangements to move. 

The month of February was a little bleak.  I was figuring out how to make this happen and that took some time.  I spent a lot of time going crazy, pent up in the house (the tropical dream-house, mind you, so I can’t complain about that).  It was depressing, actually.  I let it get the better of me for awhile, but after some coordination, I finally just ripped the bandage off and stuffed everything into my suitcases and said goodbye to Kottayam and my friends and roommates there.  I traded limply-trudging through 95 degree, bright-green mugginess and banana trees for dry-as-a-bone, cloudless, 100 degree zombie days.  

It amazes me how states of India differ so dramatically.  The people, the sights, the infrastructure, the ecology, the foods, the ways.  The WAYS.  And I have a soft spot for the ways of Maharashtra.  Eating meals on the floor, humbly offering fresh vegetables to gorgeous cows on the street, the enthusiasm for foreigners, the contrast of old ways and new ways.  So many vibrant things.  Sigh.  I’m going to leave it at that for now.  

Part One of Super-Lengthy & Overdueness

Reflecting back, I see that I blogged a lot about various experiences in January.  It was a hell of a month.  A lot of frustrations mounted and some ugly things happened and wore me out.  Then they collided head-on in a confusing twister of incredible highs, just to keep me in a half-blind state, feeling my way around and merely getting through each day.  

But when I finally made sense of it (and much of that is thanks to hindsight - fortunately I am blessed with the ability to feel my way into better circumstances even if I have no idea why I’m doing so) I realized that I just wasn’t in the right place or doing the right things.  The mission for this experience that I had dreamed of for so long wasn’t being fulfilled.  It wasn’t the “social worker’s dream come true” that I had ramped myself up for.  I had no structure, only one professor who cared to teach, was minimally involved (despite my best efforts) in Rotary activity & service work, and felt a lack of meaningful activity. 

Conversely, many would look at my situation and find it to be their dream come true.  I could have blown off school (rather, it was blowing me off), spent as much time at the beach as I wanted to, and lazed around in a tropical paradise.  I could have given up, thrown in the towel and justified the luxury.  I did “deserve” it after the zillion flaming hoops I’ve jumped through.  But the idea of deserving it doesn’t quite settle my stomach at the end of the day.

For awhile I doubted myself.  I wondered why, once again in life, I wasn’t happy with a perfectly fine (luxurious, even) set-up.  Poor me - my scholarship, beautiful tropical residence, incredible roommates, cultural immersion, and whatnot, aren’t enough.  I wondered if nothing could make me happy, if restlessness was just my nature.  Self-doubt does nasty things when it rears its ugly head.  And this pattern of thought has haunted me before in life and I’m a bit disappointed that I don’t know better by now.  But what yet another round of this has reminded me is that I need to listen to my gut.  I need to trust myself and my 31 years of experience of being me.  I can logically justify how something, someone, or possessions should make me feel happy but that doesn’t mean that I can convince myself that they do if I’m not feeling it within.  It’s difficult for me because I’m a little...different, maybe?  I forget that my goals and ways of attaining them aren’t all that mainstream.  So I can’t expect myself to be fulfilled in the ways most people are or the television tells us we want to be.  So I obtain that nice thing that seemingly everyone would want, and I’m unhappy.  And then I’m ashamed that I’m unhappy.  It’s a vicious cycle for awhile.  But eventually some speck of wisdom pipes up and smacks me in the face and I realize that I can mope or I can do something about it.  Moping was getting old.  So I accepted that luxury wasn’t enough for me.  I wanted so much that wasn’t that.  I wanted anti-luxury (silly girl).  I wanted exposure to social problems in ways I could learn, connect with those being exploited, and potentially contribute toward positive change.  I wanted to leave this place a teeny bit nicer than I found it.  I wanted to get under India’s skin in a way that tourists can’t.  I was going to be damned before I would allow this experience to slip through my fingers without a sense of purpose.

Back when I was in Maharashtra in January, Girish, the director of an NGO (non-goverment organization) called Snehalaya, spoke to our group at the Gandhian Studies Camp.  I found him to be such a humble man who had done incredible work over the past 25 years, against huge societal odds of all kinds, to provide a secure foundation for exploited women and children of the red light areas and slums of Ahmednagar, a district (like a county) of 4.5 million.  My heart swelled as he shared the story of what inspired him to advocate for prostitutes and their children (a population shunned by their families and society) and many stories of the women and children themselves.  Stories of banishment, desperation, unimaginable abuse, disease, abandonment, hope, empowerment, success and generosity.  

My gut perked up. This was resonating.  I felt stirred and renewed with hope.  As Girish translated his words from English to Hindi (for the mixed crowd), my gears began grinding.  It all came together as if it was meant to be.  In 2011 when I was a GSE team member, I stayed with a host family in Ahmednagar.  I had plans the following week to reunite with them after leaving the Gandhian Studies Camp.  Girish had invited all of us to visit and/or volunteer at Snehalaya at any time and assured us that there is something each of us could contribute in some way.  After he finished and the room began to clear out for a chai break, I spoke with him.  I asked if he thought I could volunteer at Snehalaya for a couple of months.  I’m pretty sure I gave all kinds of unnecessary information about my scholarship and poor experience at MG University and whatnot first, but eventually and awkwardly I managed to get my request out to him.  It turned out that he knew my Rotary host in Ahmednagar and we confirmed this by matching the phone number we each had in our mobile phones for him.  Before Girish left, he gave me his card and I spoke a bit more with a volunteer named Bharat who had accompanied him and we agreed to be in contact the following week for my tour of their programs.  Seriously?  There was a fire lit in me that day.  Not only did I need purposeful activity and this was an opportunity to get involved in some real and gritty social work, but I was also heavily feeling the burden of being a woman in a country where it’s not so nice to be a woman.  I was bitter.  I was afraid of men.  Distrustful.  Disgusted.  This was an opportunity to be on the right side of the situation.  To be in a place where Indians (men and women) were acknowledging the oppressive and horrifying reality of women in their society and standing up to it, rather than turning a blind eye or being stuck in a trance of socialized oblivion to it. 

TBC...  

Some Rotary Happenings

When I returned from Maharashtra/Gujarat, I found out that a GSE team from Texas was in town and I was invited to a Rotary meeting where they would be giving a presentation.  That was a welcome change of pace.  I was ready to have some American company.  I ended up being invited to stay with one of them at their host’s home in Kottayam (actually a fancy guest home they operate, with air conditioning, a jet tub and a monsoon shower!) and for a few days I joined them on their vocational/cultural visits and at Rotary meetings.  It was a lot of Rotary exposure in just a few days after very little over the course of five months for me.  The team was composed of five women and Rtn. Jim (team leader) from south Texas.  I felt like I was participating in GSE all over again.  It was the same overwhelming routine of incredible experiences, confusion, exhaustion, excitement, hilarity, bonding with families and each other, etc.  

Touring Rotary Blood Bank

And of course there were some butt grabs, inappropriate commentary and sleazy eyeballing to boot.  I have many Indian friends who are appalled to hear about the behavior we have been subjected to as (western?) women here, and they feel ashamed and apologetic and don’t want me to take such stories back home with me.  They are proud of their country and want us to leave with only good experiences and are angry at the men who tarnish the reputation of their culture.  But I don’t want to pretend that this very big issue doesn’t exist.  If an American woman plans to travel to India, I would absolutely want her to be aware of what to expect in the way she will be treated.  The likelihood of a negative experience such as a grab is so great that travelers should definitely be warned (female travelers who do not have male company, though not always does the presence of a man prevent atrocities from happening to women as we have recently heard in the case of some Swiss tourists in India).  But it is also my duty (and pleasure) to share the intensely incredible experiences which pull me back to this place despite the lows I’ve been through.  While some men are offensive, others are intensely protective, caring, and accommodating.  It’s yet another way that India presents polar extremes.  After my last blog post I continued to ponder why this kind of behavior has seemed to affect me more greatly than it has affected my female foreign roommates and another thought that came to mind is that in many cases I have experienced the behavior perpetrated by males whom I was supposed to trust and began to trust in some cases, only to be severely disappointed later, left feeling stupid that I trusted someone who I shouldn’t have.  In the cases of the other girls, they have mostly experienced this behavior by men who were strangers to them.  

So along with the GSE team, I toured churches & seminaries, enjoyed many feasts, spoke to school children at an assembly, went on a houseboat, visited a temple, went to a festival, and much more.  And we enjoyed many laughs together.  I’m very thankful to all of them for adopting me as their 7th GSE team member.  

View from the houseboat

Cultural program

A week or so later, the Rotary Club of Kottayam East (my host club) invited me and my roommates to a family meeting where they welcomed and honored District Governor Muraleedharan.  At that meeting, the club donated a machine that makes paper gift bags to a man who lost his livelihood due to kidney problems and dialysis.  

I was also invited to speak to the Rotaract Club of a local engineering and business college.  When I mentioned my age, a student asked his teacher if I said I was thir-ty or thir-teen.  Aw, shucks.  :)

Then I was invited to District 3211’s District Conference where I got to meet up with the Texas GSE team yet again.  It was quite a spectacular event hosted at Kovalam Beach - one of Kerala’s most famous tourist destinations.  

District Conference opening procession

Kovalam Beach

A fisherman gathering nets at Kovalam Beach

The speakers were impressive and the evening entertainment was lavish and racy.  Scantily-clad Russian dancers and Mumbai supermodels entertained the crowd.  

Mostly we American women huddled together out of view once the sun went down and the alcohol began pouring.  Being a woman is not enjoyable when you have to be so guarded, opting out of the fun that everyone else seems to be having, knowing the likely consequence of being grabbed.  But again, I will say that there are also plenty of decent men who look after us and would never treat us in such a way.  It’s tricky to present my experiences without giving the impression that all men are creeps here.  There are just a lot of them who are creeps (seemingly proportionally more than in the US) and there’s still a lot of tolerance for backward thinking toward women so it’s more prevalent, I think.  It’s like my grandparents generation and racism.  It’s appalling and difficult to understand such a way of thinking but it was also tolerated as “normal” for most of their lives so somehow it’s possible to be shamelessly racist yet a respected individual simultaneously. 

Anyway, back to the speakers.  One man was chosen for a CNN Hero award last year.  He gave up his lucrative career as a chef in Europe after visiting home in Madurai and witnessing a destitute man in the streets starving so severely that he was eating his own feces.  He decided to dedicate his life to feeding the poor and now with a group of volunteers he provides thousands of meals each day.  Initially, his parents thought he was literally insane when he made this big shift in his life but after taking his mother out to see the good work that was being done and to meet the beneficiaries of his service work, she was touched and realized the bold mission her son was undertaking.  

There was also a Malayali film actor (Kerala film) who spoke in Malayalam so I don’t know what he was talking about.  

There was also a former UN ambassador and parliament member, Dr. Shashi Tharoor,  who spoke about his work toward anti-corruption in the government and addressing basic needs of the society with a focus on educating girls.  

It was here that I said farewell to the Texans as their journey was wrapping up.  I was quite jealous that they would soon be enjoying Mexican food while I held out for a few more months.  

On the way back to Kottayam, a four-hour drive, Anil (my Rotary host counselor) took me to his wife’s ancestral home in a small village.  The mission of the visit was to get me a jackfruit.  I had never had jackfruit before but wanted to be sure I tried it before leaving India and the season was just about to begin.  They cut down a huuuuuge fruit (“Look out below!” - seriously, if I see a jackfruit above me, I will sidestep to avoid being in its gravitational path, just in case) and gave me half of it wrapped up in a box to ripen for a few days before I could dig into it and try it out.  I also got to try jackfruit halwa made by his sister-in-law and it was the best halwa I’ve ever had.  Sooo delicious.  I guess you can’t often purchase it in the market because it’s so labor intensive.  Oh, it was so good.  Here are some photos of my jackfruit adventure:

Anil with some family antiques

A long, sticky, messy process

Ta-daaaa!  Jackfruit (tastes like Juicyfruit gum) and seeds (also edible)

The Highs, The Lows -- That Ever-Present Contrast

After camp at the Institute for Gandhian Studies, I spent most of the month of January visiting the homes of my previous Rotary GSE hosts from 2011 since I was conveniently in Maharashtra for the camp.  No doubt that one of the more exciting opportunities my scholarship presents is to be able to reunite with such incredible people who became instant family to me in the midst of a pretty life-changing experience.  I spent time with Ishwar and his family in Beed, the Sheths in Latur, Dr. Pankaj and his family in Latur, Fahim, Anand and their families in Solapur, Pankaj & Vibha in Solapur and the Gopalkrishnan’s in Ahmednagar.  

Rotarians in WI may remember these funny faces :)  It was so incredible getting to meet their families back in India.

It feels like a dream to be in the presence of all of these lovely people again.  I’m constantly thinking, “Wow, how did I get here?” - reflecting on how fortunate I am to not only once get to visit India and enjoy incredible experiences and create deeply caring relationships, but to return and reconnect, hoping that all of these wonderful people can sense how much they mean to me, more deeply than my words communicate.  They certainly do a good job conveying how much they love me - I can only hope they realize the depth of my love and gratitude for them, as well.  

Reuniting with Rotarians of Beed

Rotary Club of Kaij

I visited schools, historical sites, Rotary clubs, met more family members, played with all the adorable kiddos, observed the makings of delicious Maharashtrian, Malayali and Rajasthani & Gujarati Jain foods, and got fat.  Yes, I gained some kilos in a few weeks.  Jeans became uncomfortably tight.  But damn.  There is so much incredible food and it is offered every five minutes of the day and there’s absolutely no exercise.  And if you say that you remember eating such-and-such delicious food from the last trip or you ask what a particular food is that you have never had before, moments later it will appear before you.  

Delicious Maharashtrian breakfast

A cow enjoying her offering

A couple of experiences I particularly want to share - -  (Sorry, Mom.  You won’t like hearing about these things.)

There is a family that I visited that I did not list above.  It was a husband and wife who I stayed with in 2011.  It was a fine visit in 2011.  The husband treated me in a fatherly manner.  He enjoyed talking at the end of each day and imparting career-type advice to me.  They were a nice couple and we stayed in touch from afar via facebook.  The day I returned for a visit in January, we were invited to dinner at their friends’ home.  The friends wished to say farewell to the man and his wife as they would be moving to Mumbai.  After dinner, I offered to take some photos since I had my camera with me.  During one photo that the wife took, the husband’s arm came around me and his hand landed on my left cheek (not my face cheek).  I have never seen myself looking more awkward in a photo than in that one.  What a disturbing memento.  And in such moments, I have a tendency to do whatever I need to do to get the moment over with without issue rather than responding confrontationally, but often later regretting my subdued response.  <<Oh no, this is not the first time that someone has played the old hand-on-the-ass-photo-opp-trick on me here in India.  I’ve also heard other foreign women share this experience.  I wonder if fathers hand it down to sons.>>  But, what does one do when having to stay at this person’s home for the next two nights?  I have other friends in that city so I should have slapped him and made arrangements to stay with someone else but, I did not.  I let it go, hoping it would be the only incident of such a nature, and I made sure that the bedroom door locked from the inside before I went to sleep that night.  I found myself feeling tense and afraid in his company during the remaining two days of my visit, particularly when we were alone.  On the last day, he took me to his factory.  He picked up another man on the way and I really didn’t know where we were going.  My mind raced with paranoid possibilities and mental preparation of how I would defend myself if needed.  Luckily we made it to the factory.  After the factory tour we went to lunch together.  Another moment alone in the car, mind racing again.  After lunch, he was to drop me off at my next host’s home, but the next host had not yet returned from an out-of-town engagement.  We had arranged that I would be dropped off and have the next host’s home to myself so I could rest after so much traveling.  I was looking forward to that as well as to be out of creepy host’s company.  A caretaker let us in the home.  My previous host (Rtn. Ass-Grabber) had spoken to the caretaker in Marathi and then in English said something about staying for tea.  I presumed that the caretaker offered, but then the caretaker left without giving us tea so I confusedly made the tea in an unfamiliar kitchen where I found some green tea bags, a lemon, some honey and a microwave.  When I handed the cup of tea to Rtn. Ass-Grabber, he walked away with it to the bedroom which was equidistant from the kitchen as the living room was (where platonic male/female friends would normally sit to have tea in cultures spanning the globe). Once again, fear arose as I realized that we were alone and he was behaving inappropriately.  I stood in the hallway, “admiring family photos” with my tea to avoid entering the bedroom.  He called me in at some point I guess because I finally went in.  He was sitting on the end of the bed and patted the spot next to him and suggesting that I sit.  Instead, unsuccessfully attempting to hide my panic, I walked across the room and started switching the dials of the air conditioner, complaining of how it was too cold in the room.  Eventually I “gave up” and suggested that we sit in the living room where the windows were open, offering a more comfortable temperature.  I darted out and he followed me.  We had our tea in the living room and talked about I-don’t-know-what because I was preoccupied with trying to hide my tension behind a poker face.  Finally he left, and I was exhausted.  I took a nap.  When I awoke, I saw a text message from him saying he was coming back at 8pm with another man I had met before who wanted to visit me while I was in town.  Panic once again.  My new hosts were not returning until 10pm which he knew.  I didn’t trust that he would really be coming with this other man so I called for back-up.  I explained to my other friends what had happened.  They were disgusted, confirming that I had not misread the situation, and ensured me that they would keep me safe.  One of them came over with his wife and child to be present during the time that these men were planning to visit, feigning a reunion between them, as well.  Eventually everyone left and my new host came home with his wife, unaware of what went down during the day.  I wasn’t sure if I should tell them what had happened and I guess I just wanted relief from it all and since I was safe in their care, I just let it go at the time.  So that’s that.  I’m thankful for the love and support of other Rotarian friends here who are encouraging and assisting me in reporting this behavior to the district so that it doesn’t happen to anyone else in the future. In the end, I doesn’t seem that this guy was intending to force anything on me, though I couldn’t have known that at the time, but he was just testing the waters and being hopeful.  Disgusting regardless.

So why stop there?  Why not get all of the inappropriate male behavior I’ve been subjected to here all out in the open in one ugly blog post?  I’ve debated telling these stories because they’re so negative, and I haven’t trusted myself to not just spew rage onto the paper as I convey them.  But at this point, I’m not feeling the rage I once (or many times) did.  I’ve had many moments where all I could do was generalize about men of this country but I’m moving past that (not to say that there isn’t indeed a problem in this vein, but it doesn’t help to man-hate all day everyday).  I will just share my experiences and try not to draw conclusions or comparisons between countries/cultures.  The reader can take the information, my perceptions, and put them in whatever compartment they fit into in your mind.  

So next up is my trip to Ahmedabad.  After Gandhi camp and touring Maharashtra I decided to embark on my first ever solo travel in India and explore Gujarat.  I’ve traveled alone, bussing a couple of hours away in Kerala, taking a 5-hour train in Maharashtra, but I always had someone to receive me on the other end or some non-tourist destination to get to.  But traveling alone as a tourist in India is a very different thing, especially for a woman.  I was inspired to check out Gujarat for a number of reasons.  I could visit Gandhi’s birthplace in Porbander, his ashram and the annual kite festival in Ahmedabad, an incredible Jain temple, the beautiful desert of Kutch, and enjoy the unique textiles and scrumptious foods known to the state.  I heard so much about how developed and safe Gujarat is, but was certainly warned of traveling alone.  But, you know.  I was being stubborn.  I’m an American woman.  I can go anywhere and do anything.  One friend, in all seriousness, suggested that I wear a burka to conceal that I’m a foreigner so that I wouldn’t be hassled.  

So I embarked.  And perhaps I should remind you that I was already exhausted by so much travel and a traumatic experience with that one host by this time (and that one time a few weeks earlier that I had to ditch a creepy guy from a cab who was “helping” me when I got bumped off the train, and a time that a drunk man was following me home on the bus, and that time a kid grabbed my ass in the crowd of boys on the beach, and all the times I had heard of my friends being grabbed, and the time a guy grabbed my butt during a photo opp in 2011, and the blog post my friend back home wrote about a man’s aroused body pressing into hers on a bus in India, and the time I befriended a neighbor who turned out to be completely misogynistic and self-righteous, and the time a guy cornered my friend and asked for a kiss, and, and, and...).  First, I was seated by some overly-friendly men on the plane who wanted to give me a ride to my hotel.  I lied and said that a friend was picking me up at the airport and after we landed, I hid out in the bathroom and called a cab while they collected their baggage.  It’s such a seemingly un-problem but after awhile it feels like you’re always being pursued as you run and hide and think up lies and escapes.  You just want to not talk to any men ever, avoiding all eye contact to assure that you don’t have to later deal with the hassles of getting them off your back.  And the nice ones get little opportunity to even BE nice because it’s not worth finding out who is nice when you have to deal with so many of the not-nice ones in the process.  So I eventually got to my hotel in Ahmedabad and locked myself in for awhile.  For many hours, in fact, despite the noxious fumes of 15 moth balls found in the closet giving me a terrible headache.  Finally, guilt motivated me to get out and see what the kite festival had on offer.  I walked there and endured some cat-calling from passing cars as I crossed the bridge.  Some sweet teenage girls who spoke about 5 words of English guided me to the festival and then sweetly escorted me through it and bought me a pakora before they had to catch their train back to their village.  Within ten minutes I was molested.  The crowd was not so dense that bodies had to squeeze past each other but a man walked by me and extended his arm out a couple feet from his side so that his hand could graze a part of my body that he certainly should not have been touching as he passed by.  I was shocked.  All I could think was, “Really???  That’s exciting for this guy???  Wow.”  I’ve replayed that scene so many times in my mind since then, imagining me clenching his wrist and shouting at him, creating a scene, and throwing down some martial arts moves I do not actually know.  But instead, I kept walking, and so did he.  I was in no mood to be polite any longer so when a couple of teenage boys asked for my photo I shot them down and decided to always shoot unknown males of any age down when they ask for my photo in the future (it’s a common occurrence for children, and sometimes adults, to request photos of foreigners).  I took an auto to a temple which was uneventful in the way of harassment but not very enjoyable in the mood I was in.  Then to the hotel for the night, skipping dinner, avoiding.  The next day I again stayed in the hotel much too long but eventually ventured out to visit Gandhi’s ashram on the river.  I had read online that it’s such a peaceful place where the presence of Gandhiji can be felt.  Ahhhhhh.  “Won’t that be nice,” I thought.  I got there an hour before it was closing so when a man approached me and told me he worked there and began rushedly guiding me through the museum and grounds, I thought he just wanted me to see all there was to see before it closed.  Of course it occurred to me that he did not work there really, but I thought that perhaps he just was trying to get a tip out of me, which I didn’t mind at the time (or have the energy to mind at the time).  He took me into Gandhi’s temple which is the size of a kid’s play house.  We had to crouch down to crawl inside.  He prayed, gave me a marigold to place as an offering, blessed me, called me his sister and wrapped his arms around me for a hug.  Oh, religion - How many times have you been abused by creeps wanting to cop a feel, or worse?  Countless.  We exited the temple and I was heading for the exit of the ashram when he told me that there was a garden next door that he wanted me to see.  It was nearing the end of daylight so I said I had to go to my hotel.  He offered me a ride on his scooter which I declined.  He offered to get me an auto-rickshaw which he did by hailing someone from across the street.  As I got in he leaned in for another hug and said the word “kiss” to which I shoved his face away.  As we drove away, the auto driver informed me that he was a “bad man.”  For some reason, I wasn’t ready to believe that the auto driver had any right calling the kettle black and I was proven correct moments later when he tried pulling back deep into the dark alley behind my hotel in order to intimidate me as he ripped me off with the pay-what-you-want-to-pay-game which ended with, “no, no, that’s not enough” after I gave him certainly more than enough, buying into his psychological scam.  Again, too exhausted to fight.  Back in my hotel room, I worried that Creepy Auto Driver might tell Creepy Not-Gandhi-Ashram-Employee which hotel I was staying in so I pushed my coffee table and chair up against the door after locking it for the night, and slept with my eyebrow trimming scissors under my pillow.  I mournfully decided I would not go to the beautiful desert and instead booked a flight to Mumbai for the following morning.  I thought I could spend a couple of days there with two girls I had met at the Gandhian camp to ease me back into a state of psychological normalcy before returning to Kerala.  It was a good idea because I got to get their take on my experiences and also spend time with their families and get a new boost of Indian family love which fuels me through all of this.  Yet I still came back to Kerala a twitching, gnarly mess after so many run-ins with unsavory characters.  

But to be honest, I have had a really hard time with all of this since I came here.  It seems to affect me more negatively than my other female foreign friends.  Perhaps it relates to the particular time in my life (I’m in a less energetic, outgoing phase these days).  Maybe it’s difficult for me because I’m always criticizing the way I respond to such situations.  I don’t react impulsively as I’m busy pondering the other person’s intentions, often giving them the benefit of the doubt, at least for awhile.  I am a flighter, not fighter and sometimes I feel disappointingly cowardly about myself.  But whatever the reason, these experiences have (or I have allowed these experiences to have) caused me a great deal of avoidance and shut-in-ness.  Instead of interacting with the curious world around me, I spent more time than I’d like to admit just feeling safe and calm at my home.  But I also tend to be a bit hard on myself, feeling guilty that I didn’t take full advantage of things and forcing myself to do things for reasons that I “should” do them, ignoring my true feelings and instincts.  So perhaps I can instead applaud myself for actually heeding the voice telling me to just stay in and rest and not have to take on whatever onslaught lay ahead.  But whatever the analysis, these are the things I have experienced.  

Oh yeah.  Here's the damn kite festival.  ;)

Gandhian Studies Camp - Wardha

Way back yonder in December 2012, I attended a 1-week Gandhian Studies camp in Wardha, Maharashtra.  Wardha neighbors Sevagram, a small village where Gandhi lived from 1936 until 1948 and set up an ashram.  I wasn't sure exactly what to expect at the camp, but the website of the Institute of Gandhian Studies refers to residents and guests of their programs as "inmates" and boasts their commitment to ashram life - waking up at 4am for prayer/meditation, early morning yoga, community work, more prayer, etc.

It was a rough start, before I even got there.  I was a confused foreigner who got on a train and was told that my ticket was not valid (still on waiting list) so just 40 minutes into my journey, I had to de-train and come up with plan B.  I then trusted the wrong person for information and ended up having to stealthily ditch a creepy guy who wanted to party all night and share a hotel room with me, which was rather frightening.  But I ended up in the airport guest house for the night, all by myself, in a giant, air-conditioned room, awaiting my flight ("plan B," devised on my iPhone, which I was so grateful to have) in the morning.  For as much as I like to "rough it" or live like the locals (or so I thought before this trip), I was certainly happy to enjoy some western comforts.  Hot water shower, cool A/C, a full-length mirror to dance in front of, a whole entire hotel room to myself, nearby fast food (Chinese and French fries) and easily navigable air transportation in the morning.  Okay, back up.  Should I explain the dancing-in-front-of-the-mirror thing?  Maybe it's not normal, so okay.  As I analyze it now, I realize that there are probably a couple of reasons for that.  First, after an exhausting day, I really needed to celebrate my comfort, safety and solitude.  And secondly, I think I just needed to move and it's really impossible when there is no A/C.  I've been a complete slug since I got to this country.  You know how Mexicans take siesta?  And we say other cultures embody a slower pace than us Americans?  I really think it's largely due to the climate.  It's really difficult to move and be productive in the sweltering heat.  The most activity you can eek out of me is in the early morning, and just some gentle yoga at that.  I can't imagine doing any cardio work.  Oh god, that sounds like hell.

So I eventually made it to the Institute and a young woman showed me to my room.  I was sharing with three other girls who were out yet at the evening's cultural program.  It was a simple room with four beds draped with mosquito netting.  I settled in and eventually met the young women I would be bunking with.  They were all from Kerala (the state where I stay), so we were collectively "the Kerala girls."  But I was still a goose among ducks.

The rest of the week was filled with lectures and seminars by professors, a doctor (Gandhiji's nephew) and the director of an NGO named Snehalaya (more to come in other posts about Snehalaya).  In addition to daytime lectures, we watched documentary films, had group discussions, enjoyed cultural programs and took a few field trips - one, of course, to Sevagram ashram to experience Gandhi's dwelling.






We didn't quite observe the 4am prayer routine, but the mornings were a bit rough, nonetheless.  Wake-up time was 5:30 with prayer at 6 and tea at 6:20.  Mornings and evenings were freezing cold all week which made it extra difficult to rise.  After tea, we broke into small groups to tackle the community work. I eventually got into the routine of volunteering for the kitchen, chopping onions and choking back tears and sniffles, and avoided having to clean the hostel toilets.





After community work, we headed back to the hostels to prepare for our baths.  The industrious young women I had the pleasure of staying with built up a small fire pit and boiled a large pot of water over it each morning.  We took turns filling it up and taking some for our bucket-baths.  I didn't realize this the first day (the availability of hot water, nor the ability to bathe after community work) so I took a frigid shower at 5am the first day.  I was prepared to not bathe the rest of the week after that, but thankfully the girls came up with an alternative system.  After bathing we had breakfast.  We got into the meal routine of setting up the plates, serving one another, and washing our own dishes each time afterward.  The rest of the day was lectures, cultural programs, field trips, documentary films, meals and tea with a 2-hour rest period in the afternoon (to nap or wash clothes, etc.).

About 60 kids from all over India attended the camp.  I'd say I learned the most through my interactions with the other students.  I had never seen Indians from different states interacting before and it really opened up my eyes to how very different the culture is from state to state here.  So many different languages, different ways of dressing, very different ways of eating and food preferences, etc.  But such a strong, passionate sense of unity.



The Institute runs an 8-month diploma program in Gandhian & Peace Studies, as well.  About 6 students from that program joined us in all activities for the week.  Two of those students were foreigners - Kerry and Modi - from South Sudan.  It was incredible learning from them about their lives back home, the recent history of their country's independence from Sudan, and the conflict that existed and continues to exist.  They both came to the Institute seeking knowledge to implement peacemaking strategies back home.  It was incredibly admirable.

Like any camp experience, we campers made great friendships with one another and many tears were shed on the day of departure.  My next stop was to visit families around the state who I stayed with in 2011, since I was back in Maharashtra again.  More blogs to follow on that.

Oh yeah - It was Christmas!  Students decorating.  Below: The finished product at night.

Meal time

Where we washed our dishes after each meal

Gandhi's residence at the ashram

Where Gandhi slept

Gandhi's, um...

I learned to hand-wash my clothes the proper Indian way.

The peaceful art of spinning (after the frustrating learning process)

New friends saying farewell on the final afternoon