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...