Jazz-e

Yesterday was a day for the books! Marni, a world partners fellow working in Baroda, came for a visit. Baroda is a minature A'bad about 2.5 hours away by bus. First things first, we went on a hunt for a bottle of wine or a can of beer. In a dry state like Gujarat i am told foreigners can obtain a permit which will instantly open a rusty vault filled with booze. However, on sunday, this proofed to be a lie. we strolled into the poshest hotel situated on the river bank of the Old City to be greeted by HIGH ceilings and soothing indoor waterfalls, but no liquor store. I learned that there is one hotel that has one liquor store that is not open on Sundays (my only day off) and hardly open during the week. My hunt for booze in A'bad is over, so I hope my thirst for a glass of wine is quenched. I think fresh lime sodas might do the trick- fresh lime pulp/juice, sugar, and club soda that fizzes with delight!
Defeated and thirsty we had a nice meal of parathas - thick pancakes stuffed with p'tots and onions.

After rummaging through the sunday market, we ventured off for a jazz concert on the campus of an arts university! The show was less than spectacular, but it was the first live concert I have attended in far over a month so I am thankful. Saskia Laroo came from the Netherlands to introduce India to jazz and hip hop. A bunch of my coworkers came out and we danced to "route 66" and "georgia"- It has been so long since I have danced (in public) that I almost forget how to shake my hips.


I am happy to report that after a few songs I got my groove back!

India Untouched

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This is a video created by the organization I am working with, Drishti. Something for you to think about this weekend...

Have you been introduced to custard apples yet?

Many of us here have formed a passionate love affair with this exotic fruits. At first I was put off by the roughness of the skin and the harshness of the curves. I didn’t know how to crack the dense skin- do I bite, peel, rip, or cut? Yet everywhere I went I encountered stacks and mounds of these delicate little fruits. One wonderful day, a shop keeper popped a sitafal (if you thought, “that must mean custard apple” you were correct!) open and handed me a half. As soon as the hard, unappetizing outer layer was penetrated I had a whole new mystery to tackle. Inside I found many many little white pods clustered together in a form that reminded me of a pomegranate. I attempted to peel each pod and pop it into my mouth, but soon enough found it was much easier to grab a mouthful and to chuck the seeds as if you were downing a watermelon. As you can tell my years of eating fruits has greatly paid off, for had I never eaten a pomegranate nor a watermelon my ability to eat a custard apple with grace and style would be greatly lacking. And just as you would scrap every little bit of pulp off the wedge of melon, you do the same with these wonderfully delicate delights.

Now I must come clean. I am leading you to belief that my life is healthy by diving into fruit with such detail, but truth be told I dined at McD’s today. I didn’t want to, I protested slightly, but my coworkers wanted to go out for a bite to eat after work and I was by no means going to pass up on the opportunity to stay out past 7 pm. There are three or four McDonald’s in the city, but the one we went to is situated in the “times square” of A’bad. I use “times square” very very loosly- there was lots of traffic, lots of commotion, big buildings, fancy shops (ex: Big Bazaar which reminds me of a Big Lots but much BIGGER), and flashy lights. We ordered a round of veggie burgers (deep fried patties of mush), a fry, and some good ol coca colas. Crispy lettuce, blobs of mayo, and seaseme buns reminded me of the restaurant I dodge in the States; while the “shake your fries with a packet of masala” bags, runny ketchup, and potato-pea patties confirmed that I was far from home.

I bought a few custard apples before going home.

i have an uncle and auntie!

So many wonderful things to note from the past few days. First things first- I have official joined a society. Apartment complexes here are referred to as societies and come with a gate, security guard, and community chalk board. every time I pass the colorfully scribbled notes I am reminded that I need to run upstairs and study more hindi…or gujarati…I am just not sure anymore! Some people know hindi, others only know gujarati, the local tongue of Gujarat, others use a mix of both with the occaisional English word thrown in for good measure. So not only do I have to learn the hindi word for cucumber but I should also know it in gujarati to ensure that my thirst for a fresh, lightly salted snack is quenched.
Now I have forgotten what I was going to say in the first place…
Oh yes! I moved! I am out of the ashram, see ya Gandhi-ji (the ending is a sign of respect) and in my very own flat (a term that lingers thanks to the brits). Its on the 6th floor of a very bright pink building which towers over the other homes in the area and is located near a lovely man made lake/park/walking track (the gate into the l/p/wt is marked by the following graffitie: “Maintain Decency, No Romance”). There is a lift (again, the brits) but I prefer trekking up and down the stairs as that allows me a few quick glances into other apartments. Most people leave their front door either wide open or slightly cracked so you can sneak a peek as you turn the corner. Gujarat is known for its intricately decorated furniture so the apartments showcase some fine pieces. The wood is dark and the drawings are hand drawn using earthy, metallic paints. The best piece that most people own, and I hope to acquire, is the swinging sofa (think hammock but with cushions and comfortable!). My neighbor has one and I was delighted when she invited me to plop down next to her- its really as great as you imagine it to be. Ohh my neighbors! I am so excited to tell you about them. They are retired for nearly 20 years and split their time between Ahmedabad and New Jersey where their kids have been living for some time. Since they understand American culture well enough, they forgive my faux paus and are able to understand some of my stories from the wild wild west. Yesterday, I came home from work and was greeted with some snacks before I could even figure out how to unlock the giant padlock hanging on my front door. I had a chapatti (flat pita-esq bread) with some delicious chutney composed of fresh coriander leaves, garlic, chillies, and a dash of oil. Then a neighbor from below came by and brought some south Indian treats freshly deep-fried by his wife- pakoras. Light fluffy balls of dough that leave your hands greased for days. I am pretty certain, had I been in any other house I would have been forced to eat all of the balls, but luckily my neighbors let me get away with only eating two. My neighbors introduced themselves to me as Auntie and Uncle. This is how you address elders that are close to you and it relays great respect. Since I am having a hard time keeping everyone’s names in line (not that I know many people), having 2 names that I will never slip on is a cause for celebration!

the news made me

village visit

I have been writing many blog posts in my mind but with such limited access to the computer they rarely make it here. Yesterday was an incredible day that took me from a samosa brunch at my Hindi teacher's home to a south indian feast of idli and coconut curry at the home of the director of Hindi studies at the local university founded by Gandhi in 1922. today i went on a field visit with an organization that works for Dalit rights. I have a posting coming up to discuss my understanding of the caste system and the status of the "untouchable" community, but in the mean time- the dalits are a marginalized group that is struggeling for equality. our first stop was to a dalit boarding school that is found amidst the cotton fields of Gujarat. we were greated by 154 shimmering smiles, 3 songs, and many eager questions. the first question posed to us by an 11 or 12 year old boy was: What discrimination is found in the US?

The dalit children are shunned in their villages: told they will amount to nothing, forced to sit on the floor in the back of the classroom, expected to clear the streets of animal and human waste, and given names that translate to things such as dirt. their peers fear them and belief they will be tainted if touch or are touched by a dalit. they come to this boarding school for 3 years and are transformed into inspired youth with the belief that they can amount to anything, but with a clear understanding that they must engage in a fight against discrimination. they set out to transform the definition of dalit- to them it means one who believes in equality for all.

i wish i could write more now, but the clock is against me. i hope the message these children illuminate is heard by someone reading this. i am carrying it with me and will continue to explore it in future posts-as soon as the clock slows down a bit.

all the best from ahmedabad!

modern

after a week of cultural dos and donts (dont touch paper with your feet, wipe with your left, eat with your right) and many sessions looking at the ethics of international service, i finally got the opportunity to meet two of my coworkers. In anticipation I put on my new threads purchased at Fab India. If it sounds like the GAP of india to you, you are on target. It is an air conditioned, organized, and bright shop that does its best to reign in the chaos of the marketplace. there are 2 or three attendants helping you at all times- handing you stacks of kurtas with long sleeves, short sleeves, no sleeves, and in many colors and patterns. Kurtas: long (longer than most dresses in the states) flowing shirts that have slits down the sides, worn with pants (think MC Hammer). I had a very traditional outfit on featuring bright colors, baggy fabrics, and a scarf draped around my shoulders shielding my female attributes. As soon as Lunch arrived so did my coworkers- young, hip, and modern. They wore jeans, sunglasses, and strolled in with a lot of confidence. As we sat down, cross legged on the grass, for lunch with the other fellows they were the only two to use spoons. I have been using a spoon occasionally and constantly apologizing for my hesitancy to dig in with my fingers, yet here are two modern indians that didnt even think about it. I have gone through orientation being prepared to live in a rural village, like many of the fellows will be doing, but the visit from my future friends reminded me that my upcoming life will be much more modern and western than others. I was reminded that in 2 weeks I leave the walls of the ashram and will be thrown into the up and coming metropolis that is Ahmedabad.

I am looking forward to settling in and being able to devote more time to thinking about the big picture of what I am doing. I am struggling with why I choose to volunteer abroad when there is so much work to be done in my own neighborhood. Why do I choose to leave when I can have an impact, maybe even a greater impact, locally? How do I relate to the poverty of this country and how do I make myself a good agent for change? Is there hope for change or do we just tell ourselves there is?