Do you remember those little UNICEF boxes they made us kids tote around on Halloween? They were little donation boxes that we carried about asking for donations along with our candy. Well I was fortunate enough to see the fruit of such labours. Nicole was asked to look at the scripts for the UNICEF funded soap opera. Yes, you paid for a soap opera. Of course there is a aim to the show, to teach the viewers about health issues. However Nicole - who is a doctor - says the show is blantantly inaccurate. For example, in one of the episode this city-girl who has become a mid-wife wanted to take a pregnant woman to the hospital to give birth. For various cultural reasons she won't go. So the mid-wife goes to the old run down health clinic, cleans it up a bit and finally convinces the pregnant woman to go there. Successful delivery, the midwife carries the baby out to the awaiting villagers and they applaud. Rafiki holds Simba aloft. In what world does cleaning a dibilitated building devoid of equipment ensure the succesful birth of a baby? Besides that the first season of the show has absolutely no medical information and is just there to hook the viewer. My toonie probably went to one of those episodes. Another blantant inaccuracy is that the people in the village seem to have jewels and live in mansions. In the real villages people live in huts of brick and straw. And of course all the villains in the show are ugly and all the good guys are beautiful and handsome. The show which is supposed to teach health issues won't even go to the people who need it most - the villagers - because many of them don't have televisions.
Indian soap operas are even more ridiculous then American ones. They have a lot of special effects, but there's only one kind. The camera zooms in on a characters face, the screen flashes black and white and you hear a kind of ominous rushing noise. This is to show shock and dismay. If it was used once in a while it would simply be weird, but its used constantly. And not just one person gets this gesture, everyone in the room does. Sometimes you'll get five or six of these rushing-zooms in a row. It's hilarious.
India really doesn't need more money. The government is so corrupt, the aid organizations so clueless that money really can't help.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Woman's Room
Well life has generally settled down here. I've now beaten my record for the longest time spent away from parents - previously three weeks.
Last night I went to an engagement party out in a village. They had hung up Christmas lights and some tinsle. After a moment of standing about the women of our group were ushered into the Women's Room. It was the interior of one of the houses, made of brick with a packed earth floor and a straw roof - standard village house, in fact a rather nice one. The small space was absolutely packed with women. Packed much like you would pack your suitcase if you were living out of it for a year. And what did we do on this festive occasion? We sat. After maybe forty-five minutes some of the women sang a bit, and some men came through to take pictures. But mostly we sat. For over an hour. Maybe two.
The little kids of the village were looking at me in fascination. One girl stood right beside where I was sitting and stared at me for ages. At times she would stroke my bare arm, feeling the white skin. Kids really do live in a world of their own, one in which they can point at me and think I don't notice. I pulled out my camera at one time and the little girl watched the view screen in fascination.
The men on the otherhand, sat outside, all of them on chairs (in the women's room there were only four chairs and over thirty women). Apparently some women came and danced for them, and some guy shot a gun off as part of the celebrations. We left rather early before the actual ceremony got started. Apparently the bride-to-be's family gives the groom-to-be gifts like eletric scooters, fridges and money and then everyone eats. But it was already late and the next day was a work day so we all shuffled off early.
Last night I went to an engagement party out in a village. They had hung up Christmas lights and some tinsle. After a moment of standing about the women of our group were ushered into the Women's Room. It was the interior of one of the houses, made of brick with a packed earth floor and a straw roof - standard village house, in fact a rather nice one. The small space was absolutely packed with women. Packed much like you would pack your suitcase if you were living out of it for a year. And what did we do on this festive occasion? We sat. After maybe forty-five minutes some of the women sang a bit, and some men came through to take pictures. But mostly we sat. For over an hour. Maybe two.
The little kids of the village were looking at me in fascination. One girl stood right beside where I was sitting and stared at me for ages. At times she would stroke my bare arm, feeling the white skin. Kids really do live in a world of their own, one in which they can point at me and think I don't notice. I pulled out my camera at one time and the little girl watched the view screen in fascination.
The men on the otherhand, sat outside, all of them on chairs (in the women's room there were only four chairs and over thirty women). Apparently some women came and danced for them, and some guy shot a gun off as part of the celebrations. We left rather early before the actual ceremony got started. Apparently the bride-to-be's family gives the groom-to-be gifts like eletric scooters, fridges and money and then everyone eats. But it was already late and the next day was a work day so we all shuffled off early.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Barabunki
Last Sunday, Nicole, the kids and I went out to the countryside to visit the village of Barabunki. It was nice to get out of the city and see a bit of the countryside. We took an auto-rickshaw, which really only has enough room for three people, but we all crammed in. There are no doors on auto-rickshaws so the entire time the wind was wacking us. It took us a while to get out into the real country, as the city slowly faded out.
It was about an hour and a half drive to the village. There were beautiful mustard fields all around, the sky was blue and cloudless. The village houses were made of straw, sticks and a few bricks. Everything had that old worn look that covers India like a smog. The village had about nineteen families. The women in this village are not allowed to leave their houses after they get married ever. For the rest of their lives. There were also a lot of cows.
Nicole was doing a study circle with some of the men, so Arastu, Armon, Rachelle and I played some games with the kids. When it was done we went into one of the courtyards and they gave us sugar canes as a gift. I was holding mine like a walking cane and one of the Indian men said I looked like Gandhi. We all had a laugh at that. After a little while we left to another village.
This village was dirtier, but the women here could leave their houses. We repeated the routine, playing games with the kids, while Nicole did a study circle with the women. The rickshaw driver, who was waiting around for us to go, began playing with the kids too, coming up with great games and having a good time. Finally we left to go home.
What can be said of villages in India? The ideal of simple 'village life' is a sham of course. I never understood people who think "ah, to be in a little village, in a close knit community, without all the distraction of modern life". The price for simplicity is extreme poverty. It means living in a straw hut. It's dogma, women stuck in their tiny houses for untold years. They gather cow dung with their bare hands to make fuel. Yet there is a very deceptive beauty to it. The sun is shining, the fields are verdant, the kids are laughing in Barabunki.
It was about an hour and a half drive to the village. There were beautiful mustard fields all around, the sky was blue and cloudless. The village houses were made of straw, sticks and a few bricks. Everything had that old worn look that covers India like a smog. The village had about nineteen families. The women in this village are not allowed to leave their houses after they get married ever. For the rest of their lives. There were also a lot of cows.
Nicole was doing a study circle with some of the men, so Arastu, Armon, Rachelle and I played some games with the kids. When it was done we went into one of the courtyards and they gave us sugar canes as a gift. I was holding mine like a walking cane and one of the Indian men said I looked like Gandhi. We all had a laugh at that. After a little while we left to another village.
This village was dirtier, but the women here could leave their houses. We repeated the routine, playing games with the kids, while Nicole did a study circle with the women. The rickshaw driver, who was waiting around for us to go, began playing with the kids too, coming up with great games and having a good time. Finally we left to go home.
What can be said of villages in India? The ideal of simple 'village life' is a sham of course. I never understood people who think "ah, to be in a little village, in a close knit community, without all the distraction of modern life". The price for simplicity is extreme poverty. It means living in a straw hut. It's dogma, women stuck in their tiny houses for untold years. They gather cow dung with their bare hands to make fuel. Yet there is a very deceptive beauty to it. The sun is shining, the fields are verdant, the kids are laughing in Barabunki.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
A Day in the Life
I awaken at 5:08 AM to "Armon, Rachelle, Arastu, time for prayers!"
Groggily I pull my ear plugs out, fish around for my glasses and grab my prayer book. The family gathers around on low cushions and mumbles out prayers, or sings them in cracked morning voices. The kids and Sohayl leave to go on their jog. Usually I don't go so that I can use the bathroom at my leisure. But its not an unpleasant jog, though the streets smell of feces at that hour. Its cool and quiet and there is that sense of serene loneliness that only comes from wandering streets at early hours.
After the walk, or while they're out I get ready and sit down in a comfortable arm chair to read my book. At the moment I'm reading Les Miserables. At some point after 6:00 either Sohayl or Nicole brings me a glass of warm banana-milk and shortly after we're called to breakfast. Breakfast consists of a fruit salad and then a bowl of Indian corn flakes. Sometimes we sit around the table, talking and laughing or I return to my reading while the kids get ready. At about eight its time to go.
We usually walk to work, a short trip through the streets of our little suburb. There are cows and dogs along the road and people going about their business. There are no laws about keeping your dogs, or your cows from doing their 'business' in the streets, so they are covered with a dry patchwork of feces. The government recently decided to expand the roads in the area, so anyone with a garden outside their house will be fined if they don't tear it down soon. People are taking their brick fronts down manually with chisels and hammers.
At work I set up my laptop, and check the Internet. Then I begin working on whatever assignment I have at the moment.
Most of the time, at about ten we go for tea. We take a short walk out of the suburb to a little roadside store that sells tea and some food. Usually I have samosas.
Then we return and work until sometime between one and three, at which time I return to the house and read or visit with Nicole until the kids come home for lunch. After lunch I return to the office for another hour or so of work, and at 5 we return home.
The kids usually study at this time, so I read or write. A little later we visit together, or play games. At about seven we have dinner, the conversation is always full of laughter. We usually end up finishing at about eight, then the kids do dishes except on Sundays, which is my day. Another hour of reading, studying, talking and then we have evening prayers and at 9 we're off to bed.
Of course that's a day without Children's Classes, Feasts, or other Bahai gatherings. Sometimes Nicole and I go out to fetch something from the market. Sometimes Rohit, a co-worker stays for lunch. Sometime in March I'll probably move into the office when one of the other volunteers arrives, then I'll have more time on the Internet, more privacy for watching movies and playing video games. But its not unpleasant, just reading and visiting.
Groggily I pull my ear plugs out, fish around for my glasses and grab my prayer book. The family gathers around on low cushions and mumbles out prayers, or sings them in cracked morning voices. The kids and Sohayl leave to go on their jog. Usually I don't go so that I can use the bathroom at my leisure. But its not an unpleasant jog, though the streets smell of feces at that hour. Its cool and quiet and there is that sense of serene loneliness that only comes from wandering streets at early hours.
After the walk, or while they're out I get ready and sit down in a comfortable arm chair to read my book. At the moment I'm reading Les Miserables. At some point after 6:00 either Sohayl or Nicole brings me a glass of warm banana-milk and shortly after we're called to breakfast. Breakfast consists of a fruit salad and then a bowl of Indian corn flakes. Sometimes we sit around the table, talking and laughing or I return to my reading while the kids get ready. At about eight its time to go.
We usually walk to work, a short trip through the streets of our little suburb. There are cows and dogs along the road and people going about their business. There are no laws about keeping your dogs, or your cows from doing their 'business' in the streets, so they are covered with a dry patchwork of feces. The government recently decided to expand the roads in the area, so anyone with a garden outside their house will be fined if they don't tear it down soon. People are taking their brick fronts down manually with chisels and hammers.
At work I set up my laptop, and check the Internet. Then I begin working on whatever assignment I have at the moment.
Most of the time, at about ten we go for tea. We take a short walk out of the suburb to a little roadside store that sells tea and some food. Usually I have samosas.
Then we return and work until sometime between one and three, at which time I return to the house and read or visit with Nicole until the kids come home for lunch. After lunch I return to the office for another hour or so of work, and at 5 we return home.
The kids usually study at this time, so I read or write. A little later we visit together, or play games. At about seven we have dinner, the conversation is always full of laughter. We usually end up finishing at about eight, then the kids do dishes except on Sundays, which is my day. Another hour of reading, studying, talking and then we have evening prayers and at 9 we're off to bed.
Of course that's a day without Children's Classes, Feasts, or other Bahai gatherings. Sometimes Nicole and I go out to fetch something from the market. Sometimes Rohit, a co-worker stays for lunch. Sometime in March I'll probably move into the office when one of the other volunteers arrives, then I'll have more time on the Internet, more privacy for watching movies and playing video games. But its not unpleasant, just reading and visiting.
Family Review
I've been here in Lucknow for about a week. There are so many little things to say. I'll talk a bit about my host family first, but for privacy reasons I won't say very much.
The mother of the family is Nicole, an Australian whose been living in India for over fifteen years now. She has a medical degree and is working on her PhD. The father is Sohayl (my boss at work), who is an educationist. The three kids are Arastu, Rachelle and Armon.
All-in-all a great family that's been extremely accomadating and generous to me. I'm very grateful to them.
The mother of the family is Nicole, an Australian whose been living in India for over fifteen years now. She has a medical degree and is working on her PhD. The father is Sohayl (my boss at work), who is an educationist. The three kids are Arastu, Rachelle and Armon.
All-in-all a great family that's been extremely accomadating and generous to me. I'm very grateful to them.
The Trip to Lucknow
Heya! Sorry its been a while, the Internet isn't fast here. Here's an e-mail I wrote about the first few days.
I've arrived safely in Lucknow and I'm now in the office I'll be working in. In the past two days I've seen more things of interest then in several years in Canada. It's the little things that grab you and fascinate you. Cows eating garbage. Men getting shaved on the street. People with massive airconditioners strapped to bikes peddling down the highway.
I arrived in Delhi at three in the morning. Vahid, a friend of ours from Canada, met me at the Delhi airport and we grabbed a taxi. It was surprisingly cold. Delhi at night is completely orange. The light from the street lamps seems to stick in the thick smoggy air. It's dusty and smells of exhaust, faintly of burnt rubber, and something else. I actually like the smell. Our taxi smacked lightly against a truck and we pulled over. Vahid took command of the situation. The police arrived and a small crowd gathered. They all shouted at each other for a long time. Under a nearby overpass I saw three people crowded around a fire. In India people wrap themselves in blankets and head kercheifs at night, rather than big coats. Eventually a new taxi arrived and took us to the Bahai House - Delhi's Bahai centre and lodging for visiting Bahai's. I had a shower and an hour and a half's sleep. I went to bed at about six, and we were gone by nine.
That night, the cold and the sleep deprevation had left me feeling a little miserable, but the next morning I saw a tree. A tree that wasn't a pine tree! There are no pines here, and the trees are beautiful and exotic. My spirit rose instantly. We took a rickshaw to the train station. There are two kinds of rickshaws, bikes, and a kind of motorized three wheeler, we took the latter. In India there are really only two laws of the road. Stop at red lights, try and keep to the left. There are no lanes, no order. I could reach out and touch any of the surrounding vehicles. Small cars, rickshaws, bikes and motorbikes all weave between eachother trying to find openings. I love it.
We stopped at the train station to buy my tickets for the next day. Then we grabbed lunch at a McDonalds. They had McCurry, but I stuck with the McChicken.
We reached the Bahai Lotus Temple. It's hard to explain, but the temple has a presence to it beyond what you see in the pictures. Whenever you turn around and see it again it punches you afresh. I prayed in the cool marble hall and then went to see my friend Katie. Vahid left and I hung out with her for the rest of the day while she served, working at various information stations. At one point we were standing outside the exit of the temple, where Katie and some other Bahai's would hand out pamphlets about the faith, and direct people to the information centre, when an Indian woman with a camera says "take picture." I reach for her camera and she shakes her head. "You in picture." They wanted to take pictures with the white girl. I took about three pictures with them. A few minutes later a man had me hold his baby for another shot. Katie and I were laughing our heads off. I've noticed sometimes the men here stare at me. In Canada if you stare at someone and they notice, you look away. In India they just stare.
Vahid arranged for a rickshaw driver that he knew to pick Katie and I up once she was done for the day. At one stop light we saw people moving between the cars trying to peddle trinkets, so we hastily engaged in an apparently engrossing conversation about the nature of the universe. The woman peddling little lights came up and started talking in Hindi. We ignored her, and continued talking. She tapped my cheek with one of the lights. What amazing audacity! Can you imagine walking into a store like Bootlegger and have a worker tap a shirt into your face? We also saw several monkeys on a bridge railing.
We ate at a nice Indian restaurant and then I went back to the Bahai house. The next day, Vahid took me to the train station. This was at about five o'clock in the morning. I got on the train at about six fifteen. It was supringly nice though I didn't eat much of the food because it looked unsavory and had eggs in it. I read my book and stared at the countryside from time to time. It was all argricultual squares and rectangles, dotted with trees. Little huts and a few villages dotted the green fields. Now and then we'd pass through a city and I would think "Thank God I wasn't born into such a life." India is poor, and dirty. It is old brick buildings that are crumbling and piles of dust. I'd say seventy percent of the buildings I've seen here wouldn't even be slums in our country. They would be the slums of slums.
After the six hour train ride I reached Lucknow and stood at the station waiting. The train stations here are the stinkiest places. They smell like feces and urine. Sohayl picked me up in his car, the first I had seen that had seatbelts in the back. We drove through Lucknow and I realized that this, not Qualicum, is now my home. Lucknow is poor like every place here, but for some reason I like it.
We reached Sohayl's house which is in a district of houses much nicer than many. It's a white house with high ceilings and marble floors, sparsly but nicely furnished. Nicole, Sohayl and I chatted over some white tea, which was very nice. Sohayl then left for the office and I read for a while and chatted with Nicole. After a little while we went to the market taking a bicycle-rickshaw. We went to get some material for my outfits. When getting punjab suits (which is what most women wear here) you first pick the material, which usually comes in two sets of patterns, one for the top and one for the bottom and scarf. Then they size you up, and fashion the fabric. Today we only bought the fabric. I picked my patterns fairly quickly and Nicole was delighted that I'm a quick shopper. I got a Pepsi (the cans are taller and skinnier here) and we went back to the house. I read for a bit longer and then the kids came home from school. There are three of them, two boys and a girl. Arastu, Rachelle and Armon. They said hi but were kind of shy. Then Sohayl took me on his motorcycle to the office where he talked to me about the office and the work they do here. And then I began to compose this e-mail. Tommorrow I get to work!
I've arrived safely in Lucknow and I'm now in the office I'll be working in. In the past two days I've seen more things of interest then in several years in Canada. It's the little things that grab you and fascinate you. Cows eating garbage. Men getting shaved on the street. People with massive airconditioners strapped to bikes peddling down the highway.
I arrived in Delhi at three in the morning. Vahid, a friend of ours from Canada, met me at the Delhi airport and we grabbed a taxi. It was surprisingly cold. Delhi at night is completely orange. The light from the street lamps seems to stick in the thick smoggy air. It's dusty and smells of exhaust, faintly of burnt rubber, and something else. I actually like the smell. Our taxi smacked lightly against a truck and we pulled over. Vahid took command of the situation. The police arrived and a small crowd gathered. They all shouted at each other for a long time. Under a nearby overpass I saw three people crowded around a fire. In India people wrap themselves in blankets and head kercheifs at night, rather than big coats. Eventually a new taxi arrived and took us to the Bahai House - Delhi's Bahai centre and lodging for visiting Bahai's. I had a shower and an hour and a half's sleep. I went to bed at about six, and we were gone by nine.
That night, the cold and the sleep deprevation had left me feeling a little miserable, but the next morning I saw a tree. A tree that wasn't a pine tree! There are no pines here, and the trees are beautiful and exotic. My spirit rose instantly. We took a rickshaw to the train station. There are two kinds of rickshaws, bikes, and a kind of motorized three wheeler, we took the latter. In India there are really only two laws of the road. Stop at red lights, try and keep to the left. There are no lanes, no order. I could reach out and touch any of the surrounding vehicles. Small cars, rickshaws, bikes and motorbikes all weave between eachother trying to find openings. I love it.
We stopped at the train station to buy my tickets for the next day. Then we grabbed lunch at a McDonalds. They had McCurry, but I stuck with the McChicken.
We reached the Bahai Lotus Temple. It's hard to explain, but the temple has a presence to it beyond what you see in the pictures. Whenever you turn around and see it again it punches you afresh. I prayed in the cool marble hall and then went to see my friend Katie. Vahid left and I hung out with her for the rest of the day while she served, working at various information stations. At one point we were standing outside the exit of the temple, where Katie and some other Bahai's would hand out pamphlets about the faith, and direct people to the information centre, when an Indian woman with a camera says "take picture." I reach for her camera and she shakes her head. "You in picture." They wanted to take pictures with the white girl. I took about three pictures with them. A few minutes later a man had me hold his baby for another shot. Katie and I were laughing our heads off. I've noticed sometimes the men here stare at me. In Canada if you stare at someone and they notice, you look away. In India they just stare.
Vahid arranged for a rickshaw driver that he knew to pick Katie and I up once she was done for the day. At one stop light we saw people moving between the cars trying to peddle trinkets, so we hastily engaged in an apparently engrossing conversation about the nature of the universe. The woman peddling little lights came up and started talking in Hindi. We ignored her, and continued talking. She tapped my cheek with one of the lights. What amazing audacity! Can you imagine walking into a store like Bootlegger and have a worker tap a shirt into your face? We also saw several monkeys on a bridge railing.
We ate at a nice Indian restaurant and then I went back to the Bahai house. The next day, Vahid took me to the train station. This was at about five o'clock in the morning. I got on the train at about six fifteen. It was supringly nice though I didn't eat much of the food because it looked unsavory and had eggs in it. I read my book and stared at the countryside from time to time. It was all argricultual squares and rectangles, dotted with trees. Little huts and a few villages dotted the green fields. Now and then we'd pass through a city and I would think "Thank God I wasn't born into such a life." India is poor, and dirty. It is old brick buildings that are crumbling and piles of dust. I'd say seventy percent of the buildings I've seen here wouldn't even be slums in our country. They would be the slums of slums.
After the six hour train ride I reached Lucknow and stood at the station waiting. The train stations here are the stinkiest places. They smell like feces and urine. Sohayl picked me up in his car, the first I had seen that had seatbelts in the back. We drove through Lucknow and I realized that this, not Qualicum, is now my home. Lucknow is poor like every place here, but for some reason I like it.
We reached Sohayl's house which is in a district of houses much nicer than many. It's a white house with high ceilings and marble floors, sparsly but nicely furnished. Nicole, Sohayl and I chatted over some white tea, which was very nice. Sohayl then left for the office and I read for a while and chatted with Nicole. After a little while we went to the market taking a bicycle-rickshaw. We went to get some material for my outfits. When getting punjab suits (which is what most women wear here) you first pick the material, which usually comes in two sets of patterns, one for the top and one for the bottom and scarf. Then they size you up, and fashion the fabric. Today we only bought the fabric. I picked my patterns fairly quickly and Nicole was delighted that I'm a quick shopper. I got a Pepsi (the cans are taller and skinnier here) and we went back to the house. I read for a bit longer and then the kids came home from school. There are three of them, two boys and a girl. Arastu, Rachelle and Armon. They said hi but were kind of shy. Then Sohayl took me on his motorcycle to the office where he talked to me about the office and the work they do here. And then I began to compose this e-mail. Tommorrow I get to work!
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