the cuteness of this girl can not be described.
Reality in India
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Before coming here, my wandering adventurous mind failed to consider some major factors of the internship and culture I was about to submerge myself into. This oblivion has lead me to experience probably my lowest point since being here. These major factors are:
MCCSS is a non-profit social work agency that happens to have a program in human trafficking. But at the root of it, they are a social work agency. Having no experience with social work and its day-to-day functions, I did not consider the amount of office work that goes on behind the scenes to make all of their programs possible. The other interns who are here are mostly social work students who are here for their practicum and are much more adjusted for the work spent in front of computer, flipping through files, and studying cases. Not all that surprising, MCCSS has never had a Technical Photography major working for them and assumed that I was also studying social work. When they realized that was not the case, they were so ecstatic that they finally had someone who could work Photoshop (their most updated version being CS2), archive and organize photos, help edit videos for presentations, and redesign their entire website. A website that hasn't been updated in five years and a collection of photos on five different computers from the past six years. This is no easy task.
I would be lying if I said that I accepted this task with an open and willing heart. At the moment in my education, I have come to realize that although I'm getting a degree in photography, I don't necessarily want to do photography for the rest of my life. A big reason for doing an internship in Non-Profit Management and Global Studies was to gain insight into a career that I'm feeling more drawn to, and to take a break from the photo department for a semester. With that said, this task pretty much negated every reason for me wanting to be here. At times I'd be sitting in front of the computer for hours on end while listening to the other interns being orientated on the human trafficking program and working on updating case reports. So at nights when I would talk to my mother and she would tell me that everyone was waiting for an update on what I was doing, I always replied in annoyance, "I'm finding it difficult to write some creative insight to my daily activities spent in front of a computer." Where was all the action I had anticipated? From what I remember, I didn't sign up for a technical internship. Wasn't I supposed to be helping and serving these people and leaving them in a better state than before I came?
Don't worry, I finally came to realize my own hypocrisy. Before I came I even said I didn't know what kind of work I'd be doing. For all I knew I could be stapling papers the entire time, but it didn't matter. As long as I could be used in whatever way they needed. So while I said that, I realized that I meant whatever way I wanted them to use me. That's not serving and that's not social work. I have come to learn the true backbone to every agency. It is day after day organizing, filing, writing, and any other work that can be done at a desk, all the while still working towards a bigger goal. While I may not be the best at writing reports or case studies, I've realized that my unique skills with my technology degree have been a huge blessing to this agency. Technology majors don't intern here, and many social workers don't know even where to begin when redesigning a website. Because I can do these things, I will hopefully be able to offer them a more effective website that will continue to help them long after I leave. The goal that I originally came here to accomplish.
One of the things that I have learned while working for the agency and just by living in India for nearly two months, is that women have almost zero rights compared to the freedom that western women take for granted everyday. It has proved to be one of the most difficult challenges since being here. I have to be careful when critiquing a different culture because I view it through western eyes and can not properly understand. But this challenge alone, trying to remind myself of this cultural difference, has at times just aided my frustration. Countless events have occurred in the past few weeks that have been outright displays of women's inferiority to men, and the false sense of superiority that men gain from them.
Because I am an American woman, not only do I view the culture differently, but I am viewed differently. So the frustration I express is not the same that would be felt by an Indian woman. We are gawked at, followed, harassed, and on guard a majority of our time in public. There a generally too extremes with the treatment we receive. Either men are purely disgusted by the sight of us and have spat at our feet and snarled as the walked by, or they gain insurmountable pleasure by our presence and feel that they have every right to stand just a foot away and stare at us, take our picture, or follow us home. This kind of behavior in the States, or in most places, would be alarming and cause the need for worry, but for the most part they are harmless and we are doing everything to maintain our safety. However, the principle behind it is what is most frustrating for me. I miss the freedoms I enjoyed on a daily basis back home. The freedoms that I took for granted. Just being able to walk to the grocery story alone, or wear a tank top when it's nearing 100 degrees outside, or just being invisible, going unnoticed. I was warned, but no amount of talking can prepare you for the actual experience. Although rough, its something I've adjusted to as much as possible, and it has allowed me to gain a different perspective of the life of women here in general. Many of the actions we have witnessed have just proven how patriarchal this society is and how women are property and at times commodities that can be used and discarded at any man's discretion. This mindset is what has made it incredibly difficult to feel as though I am making any change within this program. My ambition has never been so dampened by something outside my control and I will never again take for granted the power I possess as a woman in the States.
I am officially coming home the 16th of May. 80 days. While I'm excited about how much time I have here and all the adventures I have planned for the next few months, the time and distance can be daunting. I've decided that I hate planes. That is planes taking off. Living so close to the airport, it is inevitable that we will see at least one plane rising through the sunset sky as we enjoy the cooling air on our rooftop terrace. Each and everytime I can't help but wonder where that one is heading. There's always a chance that I could've been on one of those planes. Sailing with the sunset, back to the States where I know my friends and family would be waiting.
These moments of sadness are fortunately fleeting, for I have luckily found a home here. Not just with the kids I work with, but with the other interns. My time here would not have been the same without them. My akka's. Four girls, four different countries, countless memories. So as much as I miss Boone and my life there, I know that my place is here for now.
1) Social work is comprised of field work and office work. I forgot the latter.
2) I am a woman. An american woman who is now in India.
3) India is half a world away
Yes, I do realize that these are fairly obvious aspects of my current situation, however the dreams of constant adventure, meeting new and beautiful people, finding my purpose in life, and ultimately ending human trafficking single-handedly kept me from actually thinking rationally about this trip. I'm a dreamer. And although the harsh reality of life is often at times a horrible wake-up call, I continually find myself drifting off into another vision of a perfected reality. I understand the risks involved of the lifestyle of a dreamer, and while I may rant about things that are completely rooted in my own naivety, I'm still a firm believer that one day, one might come true.
MCCSS is a non-profit social work agency that happens to have a program in human trafficking. But at the root of it, they are a social work agency. Having no experience with social work and its day-to-day functions, I did not consider the amount of office work that goes on behind the scenes to make all of their programs possible. The other interns who are here are mostly social work students who are here for their practicum and are much more adjusted for the work spent in front of computer, flipping through files, and studying cases. Not all that surprising, MCCSS has never had a Technical Photography major working for them and assumed that I was also studying social work. When they realized that was not the case, they were so ecstatic that they finally had someone who could work Photoshop (their most updated version being CS2), archive and organize photos, help edit videos for presentations, and redesign their entire website. A website that hasn't been updated in five years and a collection of photos on five different computers from the past six years. This is no easy task.
I would be lying if I said that I accepted this task with an open and willing heart. At the moment in my education, I have come to realize that although I'm getting a degree in photography, I don't necessarily want to do photography for the rest of my life. A big reason for doing an internship in Non-Profit Management and Global Studies was to gain insight into a career that I'm feeling more drawn to, and to take a break from the photo department for a semester. With that said, this task pretty much negated every reason for me wanting to be here. At times I'd be sitting in front of the computer for hours on end while listening to the other interns being orientated on the human trafficking program and working on updating case reports. So at nights when I would talk to my mother and she would tell me that everyone was waiting for an update on what I was doing, I always replied in annoyance, "I'm finding it difficult to write some creative insight to my daily activities spent in front of a computer." Where was all the action I had anticipated? From what I remember, I didn't sign up for a technical internship. Wasn't I supposed to be helping and serving these people and leaving them in a better state than before I came?
Don't worry, I finally came to realize my own hypocrisy. Before I came I even said I didn't know what kind of work I'd be doing. For all I knew I could be stapling papers the entire time, but it didn't matter. As long as I could be used in whatever way they needed. So while I said that, I realized that I meant whatever way I wanted them to use me. That's not serving and that's not social work. I have come to learn the true backbone to every agency. It is day after day organizing, filing, writing, and any other work that can be done at a desk, all the while still working towards a bigger goal. While I may not be the best at writing reports or case studies, I've realized that my unique skills with my technology degree have been a huge blessing to this agency. Technology majors don't intern here, and many social workers don't know even where to begin when redesigning a website. Because I can do these things, I will hopefully be able to offer them a more effective website that will continue to help them long after I leave. The goal that I originally came here to accomplish.
One of the things that I have learned while working for the agency and just by living in India for nearly two months, is that women have almost zero rights compared to the freedom that western women take for granted everyday. It has proved to be one of the most difficult challenges since being here. I have to be careful when critiquing a different culture because I view it through western eyes and can not properly understand. But this challenge alone, trying to remind myself of this cultural difference, has at times just aided my frustration. Countless events have occurred in the past few weeks that have been outright displays of women's inferiority to men, and the false sense of superiority that men gain from them.
Because I am an American woman, not only do I view the culture differently, but I am viewed differently. So the frustration I express is not the same that would be felt by an Indian woman. We are gawked at, followed, harassed, and on guard a majority of our time in public. There a generally too extremes with the treatment we receive. Either men are purely disgusted by the sight of us and have spat at our feet and snarled as the walked by, or they gain insurmountable pleasure by our presence and feel that they have every right to stand just a foot away and stare at us, take our picture, or follow us home. This kind of behavior in the States, or in most places, would be alarming and cause the need for worry, but for the most part they are harmless and we are doing everything to maintain our safety. However, the principle behind it is what is most frustrating for me. I miss the freedoms I enjoyed on a daily basis back home. The freedoms that I took for granted. Just being able to walk to the grocery story alone, or wear a tank top when it's nearing 100 degrees outside, or just being invisible, going unnoticed. I was warned, but no amount of talking can prepare you for the actual experience. Although rough, its something I've adjusted to as much as possible, and it has allowed me to gain a different perspective of the life of women here in general. Many of the actions we have witnessed have just proven how patriarchal this society is and how women are property and at times commodities that can be used and discarded at any man's discretion. This mindset is what has made it incredibly difficult to feel as though I am making any change within this program. My ambition has never been so dampened by something outside my control and I will never again take for granted the power I possess as a woman in the States.
I am officially coming home the 16th of May. 80 days. While I'm excited about how much time I have here and all the adventures I have planned for the next few months, the time and distance can be daunting. I've decided that I hate planes. That is planes taking off. Living so close to the airport, it is inevitable that we will see at least one plane rising through the sunset sky as we enjoy the cooling air on our rooftop terrace. Each and everytime I can't help but wonder where that one is heading. There's always a chance that I could've been on one of those planes. Sailing with the sunset, back to the States where I know my friends and family would be waiting.
These moments of sadness are fortunately fleeting, for I have luckily found a home here. Not just with the kids I work with, but with the other interns. My time here would not have been the same without them. My akka's. Four girls, four different countries, countless memories. So as much as I miss Boone and my life there, I know that my place is here for now.
Love Affairs, Matters of Love, Love Matters
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Over the past few weeks, we have had stories shared with us about many of the girls in both the protection and short stay homes as to why they were in need of MCCSS's services. Undoubtedly, the most common trend among all the cases besides poverty, and in a way this very well might have to do with poverty, is love affairs. Time and time again I have heard of girls who run away from home for a man they were in love with and were then either sold into trafficking, beaten, or abandoned. There are even some who are sneaking around trying to maintain these "relationships" with men who they believe love them. A lot of the time it it is with older men who might even be married with families of their own, and these girls are not even 16.
In some of the cases, the child was sent away from the family by their request or a court order to keep these love affairs from continuing. Still they happen, the men find them, but no legal action can be taken against the men. Isabel shared with us her frustration on the matter where she wants to provide these girls with the opportunity to work and care for themselves, but these men come into their stores and convince to do things without the knowledge of MCCSS (providing them with cell phones, meeting them at other times, running away, etc.). She genuinely wants to trust these girls but how can she when they are in constant danger of manipulation the moment they leave the home.
For me I'm angered at the slanted justice. Why is it that the girls are being punished, forced to leave their homes and families, stripped of opportunities to work where thy don't have to worry about be harassed? Why not target the men who are actually perpetuating this activity by preying on these innocent girls who are 20 years younger?
I become infuriated by the lack of justice, but remember what Isabel shared with us interns. "You can not come into an Indian organization to judge and evaluate with Western eyes." It's a completely different world over here with different standards and customs to work with and against. Where I might feel that instead of just dealing with the status quo of the legal system, MCCSS should be doing more to change it, which would in return benefit the girls even more. But it's not just a legal system their up against, its an entire country and social structure's view on women.
When standing in line just the other day at a store, another intern and I were confronted with this drastic contrast of views on women. I was waiting for a women and her kids to finish paying so I could then have my turn at the checkout counter when a man blew past me and Debbie, stopping beside me, and behind this woman. The moment she gathered her last item from the counter, he reached over and laid down his purchases. I looked back at Debbie, her face just as astonished. Boiling. In America, I wouldn't have thought twice about letting this man know exactly how I felt. I looked at the other lines of which he could've jumped in, all of them were shorter, one maybe two people. However, there were only men in these lines.
Women are second class citizens here. Double standards exist everywhere to match this mindset. These girls have committed no crime at all except for the desire to be with someone who tells them they're loved and beautiful. These men tell them how much they love them, how they are much better and prettier than their wives, how their family and friends disapprove only because they're jealous. It's sick. These girls are so full of love and ready to give it away although a lot of them have spent a majority of their lives in complete neglect and absence of love.
I find it ironic how the ones who appear to have the most overflowing heart, ready to share their love and every bit of it with the first one who comes along, are the ones who seem to have received it the least. And despite how often they are hurt and betrayed, they are so resilient and quick to trust another.
I grew up everyday of my life being told I was beautiful, loved, a princess, and yet one minor betrayal is enough to prevent me from loving another again, despite the over abundance of pure genuine love I have received. I in way envy their strong resilient hearts, able to endure the harshest blows and still believe in beauty. But here I realize I envy through Western eyes. Strength and weakness are blurred with different vantage points. At times I believe my heart is wounded and weak, but I look and see that my heart and love for people is why I'm here. The overabundance that I received my entire life is finally able to overflow into the hearts of these girls who have lacked this amazing genuine love. They might be toughened from hardship, and I might be softened from spoiling. But though whatever lens you chose to view it, it is undeniable the love that is being shared through all of us.
In a way, our pasts and scarred hearts are teaching the others how to love in a new way, not to make the same mistakes, but also how to recognize purely reciprocated love. It's not just me giving them something. Without their knowledge they are in return giving me a lesson on love. So despite governments, cultures and the past, love remains the same across all barriers and becomes what truly matters.
In some of the cases, the child was sent away from the family by their request or a court order to keep these love affairs from continuing. Still they happen, the men find them, but no legal action can be taken against the men. Isabel shared with us her frustration on the matter where she wants to provide these girls with the opportunity to work and care for themselves, but these men come into their stores and convince to do things without the knowledge of MCCSS (providing them with cell phones, meeting them at other times, running away, etc.). She genuinely wants to trust these girls but how can she when they are in constant danger of manipulation the moment they leave the home.
For me I'm angered at the slanted justice. Why is it that the girls are being punished, forced to leave their homes and families, stripped of opportunities to work where thy don't have to worry about be harassed? Why not target the men who are actually perpetuating this activity by preying on these innocent girls who are 20 years younger?
I become infuriated by the lack of justice, but remember what Isabel shared with us interns. "You can not come into an Indian organization to judge and evaluate with Western eyes." It's a completely different world over here with different standards and customs to work with and against. Where I might feel that instead of just dealing with the status quo of the legal system, MCCSS should be doing more to change it, which would in return benefit the girls even more. But it's not just a legal system their up against, its an entire country and social structure's view on women.
When standing in line just the other day at a store, another intern and I were confronted with this drastic contrast of views on women. I was waiting for a women and her kids to finish paying so I could then have my turn at the checkout counter when a man blew past me and Debbie, stopping beside me, and behind this woman. The moment she gathered her last item from the counter, he reached over and laid down his purchases. I looked back at Debbie, her face just as astonished. Boiling. In America, I wouldn't have thought twice about letting this man know exactly how I felt. I looked at the other lines of which he could've jumped in, all of them were shorter, one maybe two people. However, there were only men in these lines.
Women are second class citizens here. Double standards exist everywhere to match this mindset. These girls have committed no crime at all except for the desire to be with someone who tells them they're loved and beautiful. These men tell them how much they love them, how they are much better and prettier than their wives, how their family and friends disapprove only because they're jealous. It's sick. These girls are so full of love and ready to give it away although a lot of them have spent a majority of their lives in complete neglect and absence of love.
I find it ironic how the ones who appear to have the most overflowing heart, ready to share their love and every bit of it with the first one who comes along, are the ones who seem to have received it the least. And despite how often they are hurt and betrayed, they are so resilient and quick to trust another.
I grew up everyday of my life being told I was beautiful, loved, a princess, and yet one minor betrayal is enough to prevent me from loving another again, despite the over abundance of pure genuine love I have received. I in way envy their strong resilient hearts, able to endure the harshest blows and still believe in beauty. But here I realize I envy through Western eyes. Strength and weakness are blurred with different vantage points. At times I believe my heart is wounded and weak, but I look and see that my heart and love for people is why I'm here. The overabundance that I received my entire life is finally able to overflow into the hearts of these girls who have lacked this amazing genuine love. They might be toughened from hardship, and I might be softened from spoiling. But though whatever lens you chose to view it, it is undeniable the love that is being shared through all of us.
In a way, our pasts and scarred hearts are teaching the others how to love in a new way, not to make the same mistakes, but also how to recognize purely reciprocated love. It's not just me giving them something. Without their knowledge they are in return giving me a lesson on love. So despite governments, cultures and the past, love remains the same across all barriers and becomes what truly matters.
Little Lambs
- started by Maria Gislen and her husband, a Swedish couple who moved to India about 16 years ago
- Maria still leads the children in song and prayer everyday in the courtyard with her long gray ponytail and guitar
- Peter, their social worker, goes out in the community to find kids who are working on the streets and offers them a chance to go to school
- Funded entirely by donations and sponsors, it costs about Rs. 600/mo ($12) to send a child to school
- For children who can not afford school or would normally not have gone
- Preschool-5th standard (or grade) when completed are sent to secondary school (high school)
- Special classes offered to students who did not start school on time or who need extra assistance. Once they have reached 5th standard of reading, writing, and mathematics (at their own pace and time) they continue on to secondary school
- NO standardized placement testing. All assessment is done by the teachers and staff after spending individual time with the children and assessing their knowledge based on their own way of learning
- Individual attention given to children to help them learn in their own way
- Laid back, not strict. Children who have lived their entire lives on the streets can not sit in a classroom for hours on end. They have the choice to sit there or can just as easily go outside to play, returning when they are ready to learn. Short class times with frequent breaks for tea and recess help maintain attention.
I enjoyed returning the classroom, sitting in the little plastic chairs or on the floor of the library for reading. I helped them with drawing and spelling, and had the pleasure of reading with them one on one. The faculty were so ready to speak with us and loved that we were there to help.
In partnership with their school, Little Lambs also has a home for children. Not a short stay home that provides temporary housing, but an actual home where they will live until they graduate or get married. However, they receive no funding from the state and are completely dependent of sponsors and volunteers. In order to provide the individual attention for the children, they are always accepting visitors who will sit and listen to them read or help with their mathematics.
If you want more information on this amazing project, you can visit them at www.littlelambsschool.org
Kites on Roofs
Friday, January 20, 2012
No words this time, just photos. Meet My Boys.
Note: Due to lack of Photoshop, these photos represent the original beauty.
George decided to be a photographer. I think he did quite well.
Note: Due to lack of Photoshop, these photos represent the original beauty.
View From the Top
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Today we had the pleasure of meeting Isabel's younger brother Bennett. She forwarded us the address to his apartment and after a fairly stressful auto ride, arrived at his flat. Chennai is a very large sprawling city, and just when you feel as though you've ventured to every corner you discover that you are very very wrong.
We pull up to the building, situated among other flats built in close proximity on this narrow street. Gates and compounds divide the lots from the streets and lead into subfloor parking garages. A quick elevator ride up and we step out in a foyer that signals, We're clearly in a different neighborhood now. Shining reflective tiled floors leading to the front doors surrounding the open breeze way. Plants and ironwork trim the perimeter.
Her brother greets us with big smiles and handshakes, welcoming us with mango juice, Indian snacks, and our first taste of a cool refreshing beer. We sit for a couple hours as we entertain each other with stories of Indian culture versus American and adjusting. He is so youthful, still full of life, that it feels as though we are chatting with one of our peers. Until he asks about Carmen's tattoo. A quote from a poem that to her reminds her to live life and each day to the fullest. We knew hew as Isabel's younger brother, and from the looks and actions we assumed mid to upper 20's. But the moment this man speaks his 41 years of wisdom is evident.
This was the first of many tidbits of wisdom he would drop on our young ears during the course of the evening. Still maintaining a light air to the atmosphere, he shared with us lessons on prayer, religion, society, growing up, working, and finding meaning in it all.
Soon we gathered up and headed out for dinner. As the dean of a school for hospitality and cuisine, he knows of all the finest dining and eating establishments in the city. We piled into his Ford Fiesta and he put on some of his favorite Indian music. The youth came out again as he cranked his custom sound system, allowing the bass to flow, massaging our backs and legs. The flutes, drums, an vocals flooded our ears and bodies with beauty. JB asked if she was singing in Tamil. No, Hindi. Does Bennett understand Hindi? No.
"But when an artist is passionate about the music they are creating, understanding the language is unnecessary. The passion speaks for itself."
Driving to dinner we got a view of a part of Chennai that we had not yet seen. I had wondered where Westerners stayed who vacationed here, because I knew that they would not find my modest neighborhood worth their $2,000 plane ticket. I found it.
This area reminded me of what a LA or Las Vegas strip might look like. Skyscraper hotels, lighting up the night sky, each with its own unique architecture, fountains, door hop, and valet parking. The car's music as a backdrop, I stared in amazement to the stark contrast between this and the Chennai I had come to know. My eyes scanning from one hotel to the next, reading the names of these fancy get-ups on their flashy signs. Sitting just above the window walls of the penthouse suites, fringing the top.
I was just imagining how spectacular the view must be from up there when my gaze dropped. Down at the bottom of these high rises, sitting along the curb just outside the grand entrances was a man, tattered clothes, gathering littered paper that he would be using for a bed that night. A young boy, walking up to those exiting their resorts to chauffeured cars, bringing his pinched fingers to and from his mouth in a motion of "feed me."
And as I looked around at the bottoms of these buildings, I noticed the same poverty, hunger and despair that I have seen all over the city.
Why do they build buildings so high? Why all these bright flashing colored lights only at the top to identify all the "Palaces," "Hiltons," and "Hyatt's"? Why is it the higher you go, the rooms get more and more expensive?
Maybe its because when we pay more and more money, we want a view that only shows the beauty and grandeur, shielding the "filth" below. I bet its pretty hard to see beggars on the street from that penthouse suite. That is, if you even took a moment to look down.
Our whole lives we are taught to work our way up to the top. Success is measured on ranks of a ladder. But I'm judging that it gets pretty lonely up there. Everything points our eyes up, makes us long and wonder at being up there that we completely forget our roots. The people at the bottom, that appear merely as ants, are our roots. They are those that keep our everyday comforts going without the slightest thanks or appreciation in the world. They represent where we came from, free of all materialism and consumerism weight we have accumulated on our climb. For in the beginning we all started just the same, and in the end we'll leave just as we came. Without our body, only our spirit.
Living life to the fullest. Full of what? Full of things of only material and monetary value that will inevitably wreck our body and soul? Or full of passion and meaning that will feed the body and enrich the soul?
Before dinner, Bennett took us up to the roof of his flat. The breeze was cool and refreshing as the sun's heat faded while it set. Turning the sky a gradient from blues to yellows and oranges. The city around me as far as I could see reflected the sky's palette, illuminating pink. I felt like a queen up there, thinking that this is a view I could get used to.
That's probably the same feeling you get viewing a sunset from a penthouse, and at that moment I understood the addicting ecstasy of it all.
I'm not saying its terrible to work and be successful in life. In all honesty, the work I'm doing at MCCSS would not be possible if it wasn't for those financially well off to the point they could be donors and sponsors for all the programs. I am young, and all I can give is my time and heart. But in a capital world, the gracious monetary donations are in the end what keep programs running.
So I leave you with this, if you got the chance to travel to India or any other developing nation, where would you stay? Would you retreat away to the tourist capital and look out your window, through the Western veil your money has paid for? Or would you indulge in the true life of the culture? If you do choose the former because at heart you're a sucker for the comfort of hot water, AC, and panoramic sunsets, I say that's fine. Just don't forget to look down.
We pull up to the building, situated among other flats built in close proximity on this narrow street. Gates and compounds divide the lots from the streets and lead into subfloor parking garages. A quick elevator ride up and we step out in a foyer that signals, We're clearly in a different neighborhood now. Shining reflective tiled floors leading to the front doors surrounding the open breeze way. Plants and ironwork trim the perimeter.
Her brother greets us with big smiles and handshakes, welcoming us with mango juice, Indian snacks, and our first taste of a cool refreshing beer. We sit for a couple hours as we entertain each other with stories of Indian culture versus American and adjusting. He is so youthful, still full of life, that it feels as though we are chatting with one of our peers. Until he asks about Carmen's tattoo. A quote from a poem that to her reminds her to live life and each day to the fullest. We knew hew as Isabel's younger brother, and from the looks and actions we assumed mid to upper 20's. But the moment this man speaks his 41 years of wisdom is evident.
"How can you live life to the fullest? Your soul is boundless, but your body is bound. If you try to live it to the extent of your soul, you'll wreck."
This was the first of many tidbits of wisdom he would drop on our young ears during the course of the evening. Still maintaining a light air to the atmosphere, he shared with us lessons on prayer, religion, society, growing up, working, and finding meaning in it all.
Soon we gathered up and headed out for dinner. As the dean of a school for hospitality and cuisine, he knows of all the finest dining and eating establishments in the city. We piled into his Ford Fiesta and he put on some of his favorite Indian music. The youth came out again as he cranked his custom sound system, allowing the bass to flow, massaging our backs and legs. The flutes, drums, an vocals flooded our ears and bodies with beauty. JB asked if she was singing in Tamil. No, Hindi. Does Bennett understand Hindi? No.
"But when an artist is passionate about the music they are creating, understanding the language is unnecessary. The passion speaks for itself."
Driving to dinner we got a view of a part of Chennai that we had not yet seen. I had wondered where Westerners stayed who vacationed here, because I knew that they would not find my modest neighborhood worth their $2,000 plane ticket. I found it.
This area reminded me of what a LA or Las Vegas strip might look like. Skyscraper hotels, lighting up the night sky, each with its own unique architecture, fountains, door hop, and valet parking. The car's music as a backdrop, I stared in amazement to the stark contrast between this and the Chennai I had come to know. My eyes scanning from one hotel to the next, reading the names of these fancy get-ups on their flashy signs. Sitting just above the window walls of the penthouse suites, fringing the top.
I was just imagining how spectacular the view must be from up there when my gaze dropped. Down at the bottom of these high rises, sitting along the curb just outside the grand entrances was a man, tattered clothes, gathering littered paper that he would be using for a bed that night. A young boy, walking up to those exiting their resorts to chauffeured cars, bringing his pinched fingers to and from his mouth in a motion of "feed me."
And as I looked around at the bottoms of these buildings, I noticed the same poverty, hunger and despair that I have seen all over the city.
Why do they build buildings so high? Why all these bright flashing colored lights only at the top to identify all the "Palaces," "Hiltons," and "Hyatt's"? Why is it the higher you go, the rooms get more and more expensive?
Maybe its because when we pay more and more money, we want a view that only shows the beauty and grandeur, shielding the "filth" below. I bet its pretty hard to see beggars on the street from that penthouse suite. That is, if you even took a moment to look down.
Our whole lives we are taught to work our way up to the top. Success is measured on ranks of a ladder. But I'm judging that it gets pretty lonely up there. Everything points our eyes up, makes us long and wonder at being up there that we completely forget our roots. The people at the bottom, that appear merely as ants, are our roots. They are those that keep our everyday comforts going without the slightest thanks or appreciation in the world. They represent where we came from, free of all materialism and consumerism weight we have accumulated on our climb. For in the beginning we all started just the same, and in the end we'll leave just as we came. Without our body, only our spirit.
Living life to the fullest. Full of what? Full of things of only material and monetary value that will inevitably wreck our body and soul? Or full of passion and meaning that will feed the body and enrich the soul?
Before dinner, Bennett took us up to the roof of his flat. The breeze was cool and refreshing as the sun's heat faded while it set. Turning the sky a gradient from blues to yellows and oranges. The city around me as far as I could see reflected the sky's palette, illuminating pink. I felt like a queen up there, thinking that this is a view I could get used to.
That's probably the same feeling you get viewing a sunset from a penthouse, and at that moment I understood the addicting ecstasy of it all.
I'm not saying its terrible to work and be successful in life. In all honesty, the work I'm doing at MCCSS would not be possible if it wasn't for those financially well off to the point they could be donors and sponsors for all the programs. I am young, and all I can give is my time and heart. But in a capital world, the gracious monetary donations are in the end what keep programs running.
So I leave you with this, if you got the chance to travel to India or any other developing nation, where would you stay? Would you retreat away to the tourist capital and look out your window, through the Western veil your money has paid for? Or would you indulge in the true life of the culture? If you do choose the former because at heart you're a sucker for the comfort of hot water, AC, and panoramic sunsets, I say that's fine. Just don't forget to look down.
Pongal-ed Out
Pongal is their Harvest Festival, similar to our Thanksgiving. On Friday, we were invited to attend our first celebration at one of the self-help group meetings. We were treated almost as royalty, and I felt a little uncomfortable about it. I suppose in American families we go out of our way to make sure our guests are doted upon, but I feel as if they went above and beyond.
We were among the few special guests to receive chairs while everyone sat on the concrete rooftop where the celebration was held. We received flowered necklaces of wild jasmine and were anointed with sandalwood water. There was a special introduction and thanks given for our presence, and Carmen (our new Canadian intern) and I were given the honor of lighting the oil lamps surrounding the Pongal centerpiece. Or at least trying to and failing due to the fierce winds we were experiencing on the roof.The celebration itself was beautiful. First, three or so women worked together to pain a design, colum, on the rooftop with colored chalked powder made from rice. Although they were working separately on different parts of the design, it was amazing to see how they were all in someway synced, even without looking at a patter or a picture, to create a unified piece of art. No communication, just individually working. Traditionally the Pongal feast is cooked in a big pot in the center of the colum. But because we were on top of a roof, a few women prepared it inside then brought it out. Once placed in the center, oil lamps, flowers, and four stalks of sugar cane were placed around it.
As guests we were some of the first to be served. Pongal is made up of rice, lentil, ghee, and a brown sugary mix called jaggeri. The jaggeri made it almost too sweet for me to handle. After the meal, the only three men present at the celebration who had been seated at the other end of chairs, approached JB and asked if we would stay a bit longer for some pictures.
Tuesday night we went along with the girls from the protection home and a few of the boys to a festival they were performing at. We weren't told where it was, what it was, or how long we would be there. Just piled in and went. (Piled in meaning 25 people crammed into a 16 passenger van...) On the way, the girls readied themselves in their matching sarees putting on makeup and jewels. They looked absolutely beautiful. The van took a turn off the main road and we started bouncing along a dirt road, swerving off the side to avoid oncoming trucks and buses, as we headed into the heart of a small village. Intercoms were placed all along the main road, blasting to songs and music from the celebration from within. We were bombarded by women the moment we stepped off the bus and quickly escorted to a small house, the staging ground.
We were then escorted out by a police officer, a little unnecessary probably, but also thankful to prevent another round of picture taking. The whole event lasted well over five hours. We were exhausted to say the least, and after a gracious meal provided by a family that Isabel didn't even know, we piled back in the van. This time with an extra passenger and more drums.
As much as would have loved to sleep on the drive back home, it was impossible. Despite being well overcapacity, somehow a dancing party and dance off broke out. Only in India.
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