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...