Me as a Marwari

While visiting Chenna, one of the women who attended MSS and now works as a sewing teacher in a village, I tried on the traditional Marwar costume.

More temples

Visited Osian, this little town outside of Jodhpur. Didn't take any photos; wasn't too interested in looking at more temples. It was too hot and there were too few people for me to be interested anyway.

The only photo I took was with these two children, who asked me if I would take a photo with them.

We rode on the bus back to Jodhpur. It took us 1 1/2 hours. But I had a good time speaking with my fellow intern Suzanne and staring back at the baby boy that was staring at me across the aisle. Once back in Jodhpur, we changed quickly and plunged into the cool waters of the Ajit Bhawan swimming pool.

Ask no questions.

Like a piece of laundry
washed, wrung, and hung up to dry.

Strategising to tackle poverty

Had a very gruelling yet fruitful day today. I compiled my week and a half’s worth of observations of MSS’ operations into a 4-page Discussion Paper and presented it to Vijay, along with briefing on Strategic Plans and a selection of articles on women’s empowerment. I pushed through my fear, uncertainty and cynicism and in return had a very productive discussion with him about women’s empowerment and non-profit work.


Surprisingly, Vijay was very open to my suggestions; he said a lot of them made sense to him. I was worried that my criticisms would depress him but when I asked if he was depressed he said, “No. We’ll find a solution. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s there.” I was so relieved! I felt it was necessary to play the devil’s advocate for the girls we are working for; there is no point planning a programme that will not ultimately benefit its participants and the society in large.


In my Discussion Paper, I urged Vijay to think about the consequences of his plans on this wider economy. The fact is that there are so many women’s empowerment groups teaching women how to made handicrafts that there is an excess of handicraft-skilled labour, and this drives down the prices of labour and the handicrafts. The big problem with this type of trainings is the dearth of a market. Our programme must find a market and, when it does, cannot simply be replacing workers who are in similar poor circumstances.


It was very scary to lay this out before him; I felt like we were tottering over a very high cliff, staring into the abyss, unsure how far it went and whether we would be able to get back if we fell. To Vijay’s credit, he remained very optimistic, and when I had run out of ideas, he used his businessman acumen and sketched out a rough plan—one of the plans I think he’s had at the back of his mind. It made sense to me but I was hesitant to agree. At the same time, I don’t know Indian society and the Indian market as well as he does, so I have to trust him, and maybe conduct some field research.


When we were done talking about MSS, I asked Vijay about his construction business. What exactly did he do? He told me the story of his business and I was amazed at his creativity and opportunism. If he can build a self-sustaining company like that, he can do good things with this non-profit. I left him with some homework: a long document on poverty and women empowerment written for the International Labor Organization and a couple of articles on women’s empowerment from the New York Times. I wanted him to get a sense of what others were saying about women’s empowerment, to force him to look at the issue on the macro level instead of on the micro level. Hopefully with this information in mind his plans for MSS will truly be sustainable for individuals, the organisation, and the economy.


As Vijay’s intern, part of my job scope involves acting as a consultant. That’s always scary because I’m not sure if Vijay will really take my advice. And yet as an intern, subordinate to him, I will have to listen to him and eventually do what he says. I hope he comes to understand that education seems to be the only sustainable way to lift families out of poverty, and that he should place an emphasis on getting children to school, regardless of what his final strategic plan is about. I hope we will be able to work together towards this goal.

Dispatch

The first version of this article first appeared on the Emory Wheel website here.

I chewed slowly on the very spicy ramen noodles that Chandrakanta’s eldest brother’s wife cooked for me, listening attentively to the flurry of Hindi coming from my hosts’ mouths, even though I didn’t understand any of it. Chandrakanta’s brother is my age, twenty-two. The siblings live together with their parents, four other siblings, and spouses—the two eldest brothers are married—in a small stone house with a portable electric stove and a squatting toilet. That’s considered well off in the community they live in, but it’s still below the poverty line in India. When my boss Vijay and I arrived at their house, the women chased Chandrakanta’s father off his bed and offered it to us to sit on shyly. I sensed from their admiring glances that we were more than just guests in their eyes; they looked up to us, the “haves” who were helping them.

Vijay, my boss, translated the Hindi for me during a lull in conversation. “The brothers own a photography studio. The mother takes people on religious tours once a year.” Chandrakanta doesn’t attend school because she has to take care of her siblings. She does attend Marwar Seva Sanstha (MSS), the women’s empowerment organisation that Vijay founded three years ago and that I will be working in for the next seven weeks. It is my second week in Jodhpur, a city in the state of Rajasthan, and I am already learning much about India and ground-level development.

There are many small non-profits like MSS that teach young women trade skills like bag making and henna decoration. Many organisations also sell the products made by women, a program MSS is slowly developing as well. Each non-profit usually targets a particular colony [neighbourhood]. Most of these women who attend MSS are part of the Megwal tribe, which migrated from the rural areas to the city. As a result, they typically have little education and are low-skilled workers: drivers, construction workers, packers. Due to their poverty and the extreme gender discrimination present in their culture, a Megwal family’s resources are usually diverted away from the women and to the men. Megwal women are thus uneducated and unskilled.

This situation is slowly changing as men begin to see that investing in their female kin can relieve their own financial burden. Of the six families we visited, many men, struggling to make ends meet as the sole breadwinner of a large family, supported their wives’ and daughters’ participation in MSS’s programs. I wonder, though, about the other men we will visit in two days. Some may view these newly skilled women as a threat to their dominant position in the household, especially if the women have on their side rich do-gooders. Women’s empowerment organisations are definitely changing the male-female dynamic in developing countries, but whether it is for better or for worse will probably depend on how each individual organisation tackles the dynamics both between men and women, and volunteers, teachers and participants.

Development is a complicated mess, but that is what I’m here for. Each day I unravel the different strands of the system, slowly working at the knots and loose ends. I don’t expect to find an answer soon, but I think by the end of the summer I’ll get a better idea of how the strands of thread connect to each other.

"Food is a touchy subject for us."

That quote was from Ariel, fellow FSD intern, regarding her host family. I’m glad I’m not alone. Things are getting better food-wise though!

My host family monitors my eating behaviours. It’s funny for me because I recall a similar situation occurring to me (or someone close to me) in my past. Although they speak about me in Hindi, I can sort of tell what they’re saying. I imagine they discuss my eating habits when I’m not home so they can anticipate what I like or dislike. It’s nice that they care about me, and something similar probably took place when I was a baby back in Singapore.

Aunt [my maid] (reporting back to Mum after a meal): She ate a lot of rice today! And she doesn’t like egg plant. She spit it out and I had to trick her into eating it.

Mum: Ok, good. Next time don’t make egg plant. Make her ladies’ fingers instead, ‘cos she liked those last night.

I took for granted my maid’s intricate knowledge of my tastes. After 22 years of living with me, she knows I hate mushrooms except in mushroom soup, that the only type of egg dish I like is an omelette with stuff inside, that I will not eat capsicums if I have a choice, and that I absolutely will not touch egg plants.

Except that my tastes are changing, because I had egg plant for dinner today and I might have to touch it again for the sake of my host family.

Me (to Auntie Williams after egg plant dinner today): the egg plant dish was okay. I’ll eat it if I have to. Sometimes. But not every day.

I like to think I am very amusing to Auntie Williams.

Mr Smith and Mr Ricardo

Today Marcus, Ariel, Mary and I wanted to get from Jaljog to the FSD office and our homes—three separate places. Although we have a sense of how much to bargain for individually, we weren’t sure what price to aim for since the rickshaw driver had to drop us off at multiple places. I drove a hard bargain. I guess that’s because I’m penny pinching; I want to make sure I get my money’s worth.

The first two taxi drivers—they’re actually rickshaws but I found out today that they’re called taxis in Jodhpur—that passed us charged us a starting price of around Rs 100, so we let them go. Marcus argued that since he paid Rs 60 to get from the FSD office to Jaljog, Rs 100 was reasonable, but Mary and I thought it was too expensive. The third taxi drivers’ starting price was Rs 60, and I was going to bargain it down to Rs 50 when Marcus stopped me. “C’mon, Rs 60’s a good price for three places.” So we boarded the taxi.

We stopped first at my neighbourhood, and after I got off I remembered seeing a taxi leaning against one of the houses in the MSS girls’ colony [neighbourhood] when we visited them yesterday. Little kids tumbled out of the taxi, playing with the horn, squealing in delight. “Probably one of the fathers’ taxis,” Vijay commented as we walked to his car.

Did I have to drive such a hard bargain? The argument is that a taxi driver wouldn’t agree to that price if he didn’t benefit from it, and the market works efficiently when the marginal benefit (the additional Rs 60 earned) equals the marginal cost (the cost of driving the taxi from Jaljog to our homes and the FSD site). Profit is squeezed out and the consumer is not exploited.

But this theory doesn’t take into account producers being exploited. Also, markets don’t work efficiently already, and efficiency is not the same as equity.

I think there is room for some extra taxi fare.

My work

I work at a non-profit organisation called Marwar Seva Sanstha (MSS) under my boss, Vijay. Right now, MSS provides women and girls with basic vocational skills such as henna painting and bag making, but Vijay and MSS board member Mr Diwendi have plans to expand MSS’s activities.

According to Smita, I was placed in that organisation to act as a sort of business development consultant. I don’t presume to know much about development and non-profits, but I have worked with many different non-profits, including my parents’. Things are still fluid; I’m still finding my place within the dynamics of the organisation, still figuring out what exactly I can do to help out.

Over the past week and a half, I’ve seen a lot of what MSS does, tapped into Vijay’s and MSS board member Mr Diwendi’s heads, and visited the families of the girls who attend MSS. The reason I haven’t posted about MSS yet is because I’m still processing a lot of things.

I’ve gained a good sense of the steps they should take to move forward, though, and what I can do to help them out. And I’ll slowly start posting once I’ve figured out what exactly I can do.

It's a team effort

Yesterday morning I was slightly disappointed to only see two slices of toast on my plate for breakfast. I guess I had gotten used to the variety of foods that was constantly being laid out in front of me. After some quick reflection I decided to declare my small breakfast a success. In total, I had two cups of chai, two slices of buttered toast, some biscuits and some fruit. I think my host family has finally realised that I really don’t eat as much as they expected I would. They’ve started serving me less for breakfast and offering me less food for dinner. At dinner today my host mother, Auntie Williams, placed the rice on a separate plate so I could serve myself. Initially I worried that my host mother was upset I wasn’t eating her food, but I think I was overreacting. She has been very nice about it and is always smiling at me, especially when we don’t have anything to say to each other, so I’m going to assume the best.

I also found out that, apart from the fact that this family has two sons and that their past two interns have been guys, their previous intern once ate 12 rotis in one sitting! What was he doing while he was here? Did he give his lunch to the street people or something? “So we decided to place you with them as a form of compensation,” Smita told me. I laughed with amusement for the thousandth time; these small pieces of information are so random, yet they explain so much of what goes on here. I relayed the message to Auntie Williams, adding, “I’m cheap because I don’t eat as much food!”

Today after throwing out the special trash, Auntie Williams and I walked around the neighbourhood and I realised that the stars were bright in the sky. I stayed outside for a while, craning my neck to look up at the sky in hope that I could locate some familiar constellations and prove to myself that my gruelling astronomy class last semester had indeed taught me something valuable.

I suddenly realised that the stars in front of me formed the Big Dipper, and from that I found Polaris.

Happy is the country...

It surprised me that most of the visitors to the Mehrangarh Fort, which is also a museum, were Jodhpuris. Arun, my host father’s brother, told me that he’s visited the Fort numerous times, and the atmosphere there reminded me of a weekend outing at a park. I wonder what makes Jodhpuris return to the Fort again and again.

True, the Jodhpuris get a special local price (I can’t remember what it was but it’s definitely less than the US$6 we paid), and the cool fort is a welcome respite from the heat of the day, but I doubt those are the sole reasons that they keep coming.

Does the beauty of the Fort and its museum instill in the Jodhpuris a sense of their history and culture, or is it the strong sense of tradition in Jodhpur that draws its people to the fort?

Btw

I started work about a week ago and have much to tell but am waiting and thinking about what I want to share before I actually do.

So yes, it's not actually all just fun and games here; I'm also getting a look at the harsh realities of life here in India.

Short cuts

The American sense of cleanliness does not exist here. I understand that’s a generalisation, because Americans wear their shoes in the house and walk around the same areas barefoot, and so do the members of my host family.

The after-rain breeze that brushes my cheek. The calls of birds before and after the day. The incessant monsoon rain. The prickly green pine-like woody plants. The Colgate ads featuring bespectacled men in white lab coats.
Much is familiar here.

I finally said no to my host mother and I hope she’s not angry with me. I’m putting her curt sentences down to the language barrier.

Arun and I discovered Star Movies in English. He reads out stars’ names as they appear on the screen.

Every day I cross the road to my office and put my life in peril. Pedestrians, rickshaws, cars and bicycles fight for the road, doing anything that serves their purpose. Today a car swerved past me and onto the pavement (which was the same level as the road, only demarcated by an abundance of rubbish) to make a U-turn and exit into an alleyway. Two cyclists pedalled alongside each other, touching hands and slowing down the car behind it. Despite this, drivers are very good at avoiding pedestrians, and there is some sort of system. Cars honk whenever they reach an intersection, as if they were saying “hello” to anyone who might be there. When travellers reach a roundabout; they navigate it clockwise.
The semblance of chaos, however, is refreshing to me.

Criteria to be a Bollywood/Indian TV star:
- Must be able cry on demand.
- Must look good drenched in rain.
- Must be able to look very stressed for long periods of time.

Frick!

Just found out that a British tourist and a Swiss consultant, Mr Oliver Fricker, did this to an MRT train on May 17.

Of course the authorities flipped and charged him for trespassing and vandalism. But I'm amazed that he would put so much effort into creating something like this for his fellow train passengers!

Oh, and he's also pretty cute.

Thanks Mr Fricker :)

Touristing

Visited the Meherangh Fort over the weekend. This was the residence of Jodhpur’s royal family up till the 20th century.

All photographs of people were taken because they asked me to take a photograph with/of them. I was surprised that so many Jodhpuris visited the Fort, and that they all wanted to take a picture with me. I guess it’s unusual to encounter someone who looks different in Jodhpur, and a photograph of this foreigner is worth more than a photograph of the Fort, which they can see every day.

 So I was happily minding my own business, looking out at Old City, when this man asked me to take a picture of him and his son. Mind you, I didn’t even have my camera out; he just assumed I had it on me because I looked foreign. I did have it on me, and took a picture for them. They were very pleased with the result.

After seeing me take a picture with the man and his son, this group of friends then approached me to take their picture. I agreed, and so began a slew of pictures involving us and my exotic-looking white friend, Ariel.

One of the guards at the Fort wanted a picture with me! Isn’t it usually the other way around? What a topsy-turvy world. I’m the tourist, and every day I’m learning something new about this culture, this people, this place. At the same time, the people are observing me just as intently, and from me they glean information about where I come from (or where they presume I come from). They view me with the same sort of fascination that I view them. At least there’s a mutual exchange!

Anyways, the guards all agreed that I looked like someone from Manipuri, in Northeast India. I get that a lot; Manipuri is near Nepal (or China, or Tibet) so you get people with Chinese features there.

It got rather annoying and creepy to be asked, “Photo? Photo?” by numerous people at a time, most of whom were young men. I practised my Hindi: “Nehi chaiye [I don’t want]” and made it a rule to only take photos with women, children, and families. I just didn’t feel comfortable taking photos with strange guys my age, especially since most of them had camera phones and would be able to take the picture with the phones. Also, if I’d agreed to all the photo requests, I’d probably have spent another hour at the Fort.

Yeah, I don’t get it either, but those sort of things make me smile. And mangled English is not the sole purview of developing countries; it’s everywhere!

The Fort’s windows and entrances are carved out elaborately, and I played around with ways they framed my shots.

My next project is to figure out how to keep the subject of the photo in focus and blur the surroundings. I think that will make my pictures more interesting. Luckily there are a number of photographers in our group so I can ask them for tips!

Bas!

My host family seems nice, albeit a bit shy. Their house reminds me of mine at home: old, with a jumble of Eastern and Western possessions from a different era. I love this mixture of old and new, modern and traditional. A dusty soft toy tiger smiles at me from underneath the TV; a small collection of blonde plastic dolls gaze out from a cabinet. A picture of The Last Supper hangs below a poster with the Hindi word for "home", both visible from my seat at the dining table. Two rattan chairs lean against the wall and I curl myself into one when I watch TV after dinner. Dried chillies and peppers hang above the front door to chase away evil.

Today I woke up and had chai and watermelon for breakfast, then proceeded to sort out my things. An hour later, Nena the nineteen year old maid came in: "breakfast," she said. But I'd already had breakfast! I followed her out to the dining table to see my host father and his brother sitting at the dining table waiting for me. Another cup of chai, a potato curry puff, and a slice of French toast was dutifully consumed. They tried to offer me another slice of toast and I balked. "Bas! Bhet bhaghaya!" (Enough! Stomach full!) My host father and his brother laughed approvingly, amusedly at my mangled Hindi.

I am a product of globalisation.

A Chinese Singaporean
Working and living in India
Studying in the United States
Wearing a kurta that sticks to my sweaty skin.

I think in English
Spell like the British
Speak like an American, a Singaporean, and (right now) an Indian.

I stare at my olive skin, my jet-black hair, my small almond eyes,
Think of the people I left, will return to, and will leave again.
Wonder what I will do when I "grow up", wonder what that means;
Wonder when growing up ends.

Homing, homlitude, homeliness

I’m sitting in front of an A/C (air conditioning) unit—they call it an air cooler here. Unlike the A/C units in Singapore and the US, this unit is not fitted into the wall; it looks like a portable sound system, a rectangular box on wheels made of steel. There are slits on one side of it to let the cool air out. A fan inside the box blows out air that is cooled by water that sits inside the box. A very interesting contraption.

I am sitting in front of the air cooler because I need to cool down quickly after my shower; I am wearing a t-shirt and some three-quarter pants but I’d like to put on a kupta as soon as possible because I look more presentable that way. I thought I’d be able to put on the kupta right after my shower but the humidity pwned me and I took out my trusty white cotton MGS PE t-shirt.

My introduction to my host family was rather anticlimactic. Ten of us interns met our host families today and the emotions ran heavy and long. For a while, it seemed like each of us would leave one by one, and as we watched each host family walk up to the hotel lobby, we would wonder whose it was. Smita ended up driving me and Mary Pat to our respective host families; my host father was at work and couldn’t pick me up. I didn’t know that, though, and as I entered the house I pictured both host parents sitting on a sofa waiting for me to touch their feet and greet them. We would then sit down to eat the snacks I’d brought and chat about what I was doing in Jodhpur.

What ended up happening was quite different. My host mother greeted me while I was frantically trying to figure out if I should leave my shoes outside the door or inside the house. I ended up moving them outside while Smita introduced me to her. I handed her my box of sweets and she thanked me and put it aside. She then began to show me my room and the rest of the house. I channelled my best demure Asian persona, nodding and smiling politely, asking few questions. She didn’t attempt to make much conversation and seemed rather shy. My feet were hurting from the long day and I wanted to rest. So after the mini-tour of her home, she left me in my room and I began to make it my new home.

(3 June, 8pm)

Raju

Raju is the little beggar who begs on the street near the FSD office. His skin is chocolate brown, the palms of his hands and soles of his feet dusty white. He has a squinty eye and a mischievous grin that makes me want to pick him up and hug him. His favourite gesture seems to be putting his hand behind his head and stretching his back. He does this while grinning sheepishly at us.


Raju wears pink plastic slippers with plastic jewels on them and they slap against the road when he runs after us—“Hallo, hallo!”—stretching out his tiny hand for money.

“Nehi, nehi,” we reply, and walk on. “Jowl,” some of the boys say to him, and try to chase him away, but I let him run between us even as I ignore him.

Today I asked him what his name was. “Apka naam kia hai?”

“Raju!” he replied, and repeated it when I bent down to hear it better.

And then, as we turned to walk into the shopping centre, he smiled and scampered off. I wonder what he thinks about.

Eyes Open

I wish I could take better photos! Anyways, this is what I see in Jodhpur.

People.

 Food.

 Colours.

Trash.

 Many different modes of transportation.

Shadow Culture

I enjoy my exchanges with other interns. Two nights ago my roommates and I had a discussion about our respective countries, colonialism, and globalisation. I explained Singapore’s history to them and pointed out that we reaped benefits from the British colonisation—many of which were unintended consequences of British actions. This was a very different perspective for Audrey Ann, the Canadian, who had learned that colonisation was mostly bad for the colonies. We also touched upon the white superiority myth that the colonial powers left behind in the colonies and talked about the spread of American culture around the globe.

Sarah, the American from Atlanta, had a bone to pick about the term “American culture”. In her eyes, the current culture that is spreading from the developed to the developing countries is like a shadow of American culture: a hazy form of the US that is somewhat but not completely representative of the US. In her mind, she does not identify with burgers, freedom and the American flag, the three items Audrey Ann and I used as symbols for American culture. She doesn’t like burgers, as a Southerner she feels that much of her family history determines her life (though probably not to the degree that caste determines one’s life in India, and as a liberal she feels that the American flag symbolises many ideals she disagrees with.

Audrey Ann and I accepted that. As outsiders, it’s easier for us to generalise about the US. Sarah, on the other hand, sees the intricacies of her culture. I’d probably be in the same position if asked about Singaporean culture.

Dancing in India

Madhu-ji is the local program coordinator at the FSD-Jodhpur site office. Her brother got married yesterday. We were invited to the ceremony, and arrived decked out in our shabby finest, most of us having purchased only a couple of cheap traditional Indian clothes a few days ago or borrowed clothes from the FSD office.
Despite being annoyed at the assertiveness and rambunctiousness of people here, I find myself also charmed by the wide-eyed stares of practically everyone I meet. I love their authenticity; they are not afraid to show their curiosity and don't hide behind a façade of indifference. Little children on the bus fix their eyes on me; some older children smile shyly and wave as we pass them. A little beggar boy grins and runs up to us every day on the street below the FSD office and tries to get us to hand over some money (we never do). A lady I sat next to on the bus, upon noticing my silver hooped earrings, fingered my ears and commented that I should get more piercings and wear more earrings.

We were greeted with the same sort of curiosity we’d been experiencing upon entering the reception area. A pair of old Indian men took some bright orange scarves and wrapped them around the male interns’ heads to make turbans as a form of respect. A young girl shyly asked me and my friend if she could take a photograph of us with her camera phone [yes; they may not have clean water or soap everywhere but they do have many high-tech phones]. I consented but made her take the picture with me. A little boy, encouraged by his older sister, walked up to me, hand outstretched. Not knowing what he really wanted, I took his hand and shook it.
As mentioned in my previous post, many Jodhpuris spend most of their lives in Jodhpur and have little contact with foreigners. They do learn things about foreigners—particularly Westerners—but most things are stereotypes, and they judge us according to their cultural standards. We [the interns and the FSD staff] spoke about being conscious of our actions so that we project a good image to the community; many Jodhpuris seem to assume that foreigners are sexually “loose”, drink too much and wear revealing clothing. The challenge for us is to show them that despite our different cultures, we can still contribute to and be part of their community.

Apart from that preconception, foreigners attract attention in Jodhpur because there are so few of us around. We’re “the freakshow”, as my friend put it. The Jodhpuris want to know what we do, how we’re different or similar from them, and why we do what we do. I don’t mind being stared at because I stare at people too (in Singapore, in India, in the US; it’s a bad habit of mine), especially babies. It does feel like we’re these film stars, always under scrutiny [Jodhpur has a very active gossip culture], and yeah, there is probably that whole white superiority thing going on (or, developed country superiority thing, since I’m not white), but at some level I stopped analysing things and just accepted it.

Madhu-ji asked us to dance, and of course I couldn’t resist. The group of male instrumentalists were playing Indian-style music, though, I didn’t know how to dance to that. So we copied Madhu-ji and the little boy dancers who joined in our circle. The moment we began dancing, people began to crowd around us to watch. Another lady joined in, swaying her hips side to side, and after a bit of watching I found the rhythmic pattern and began to improvise within those parameters. My fellow FSD interns joined in as well, and we danced for the length of a song. The song stopped and people began to disperse until the “DJ” put on a hip-hop-type Indian song. Marcus, a senior from Butler University, and I knew how to dance to that, so we started dancing, and all these little Indian kids came and joined us! Hips gyrating, arms circling in the air, they danced with abandon and delight. Most of them were little boys, and while I tried to dance with them, they seemed more interested in dancing with the male interns.

Adults joined in with the dancing as well; young men were pulling each other up, forming dancing circles, yelling, dancing in pairs. Their movements were big and energetic, which contrasted with the women’s dainty, sharp hand movements. Fewer women danced. Both sexes danced separately from each other. In fact, I soon became struck by the men’s dominance. The men were clearly the centre of attention, taking up most of the dance floor; the women formed a much smaller circle in a corner. While many boys and young men danced, the women’s circle consisted of Madhu-ji, another lady, a young girl, and some female FSD interns. The men also pulled the groom onto the dance floor, leaving his bride to sit by the sidelines watching. The women did not pull each other onto the dance floor; most of them sat and watched instead.

The young girl’s desire to dance was palpable. The minute she saw us girls dancing, she leapt in to join us, and I mimicked her movements—all moves you would see at a Western party. While some of us took a break from dancing, she repeatedly tugged Madhu-ji’s arm and motioned towards the dance floor. I could empathise; I love to dance with music and it broke my heart to see her denied of something she wanted so badly. So after catching my breath I took her to the dance floor and we danced until I had to leave.

I learned later that women do not usually dance in the presence of men, and Madhu-ji and the other women who were dancing were allowed to because they were the groom’s relatives. I was angry inside: why do the men get all the attention? Why do women have to live by all these rules?

How much dancing does the girl who wants to dance do with her girlfriends? Or is everything in her life geared towards what the men in her life want of her?

Jodhpur

A typical scene during orientation, taken from the back seat of the tuk tuk. Marcus and I (reflections in the tuk tuk's mirror) are sitting in the tuk tuk waiting for Smita to give directions to the tuk tuk drivers, and Madhu-ji walks to her car.
 
I arrived in Jodhpur last Saturday, the 29th. Jodhpur's time is GMT +5:30; 12 and a half hours ahead of Seattle (GMT -5:00), 9 and a half hours ahead of Atlanta (GMT -8:00), and 2 and a half hours behind Singapore (GMT +8:00).

It's really hot here. I always thought Singapore weather was hottest one could get but according to A, since Singapore's a coastal city, the water cools the city down. Jodhpur is landlocked and in a desert, and the state it's in, Rajasthan, has had the hottest weather in India this summer.

I'm staying at a hotel with the 10 or so other FSD interns for the past couple of days. We're moving out tomorrow to our respective host families. Over the past three and a half days, we've gotten to know each other, the FSD staff, and the culture of Jodhpur. It feels like we've been here forever, and we interns have become rather comfortable with each other and with this town. There is more, of course, that we need to discover and adapt to, but my initial unfamiliarity and discomfort has begun to give way to a weird feeling of normalcy.

I know some basic Hindi now and try to practice with people I meet along the street: "Jowl [Go away]!" to the cute little beggar, "Shukriya [Thank you]" to the rickshaw pullers, "Challoh [Let's go]" when I want to leave. People here are very assertive; this is not the place for passive aggression. If you want something done, you say so, loudly, and in no uncertain terms. Hints and polite statements aren't the best way to show displeasure; you have to fight for your place. Along the same vein, people try to take advantage of you, especially if you're a foreigner. In the Delhi airport, a woman stepped up in front of me while I was waiting in the security line. If I weren't jetlagged, hungry and grumpy I probably would have let her go, but since I was, I tapped her on the shoulder, gave her a dirty look and told her I was next. She backed off and I walked through.


Initially I didn't feel comfortable wearing the traditional dress since I was a foreigner. It struck me as pretentious and I was sure I would look even more out of place in the kurta (long shirts worn over pants) or salwar kameez (a type of shirt and pants outfit). However, it become evident that modesty is prized here, and although the locals give some foreigners leeway with regards to their dress, if we want to gain their respect and approval, it would be best to respect their custom and dress according to their standards. The first day we went out to a club and since I was rushing out of the hotel (having taken a longer than anticipated nap), I wore shorts. I could feel the heat of people's stares along the street judging me silently. I resented that, and initially was upset at their conservatism, but eventually realised that I need to look at the situation from their perspective. Many Jodhpuris have never encountered any community besides their own, and their culture is all they know. If they've been brought up to think that women who don't cover their arms and legs are immodest, should I fault them for that?

On the practical side of things, traditional Indian dress helps people cope with the heat much better. The more covered your body is from the sun, the cooler it is. Also, billowy pants and delicate scarves trap the wind and cool the body down. My friend commented that Indian people dress in colours, not tones. While in the US, people try to match their clothes taking into consideration different shades (pastel, bright, or rich tones), Indian people always dress in bright colours and it seems like that more colours they are wearing, the better. I like seeing women on the street in their multicoloured saris and gold jewellery. Few women actually go out in the day, though; this traditional society still prefers women who stay at home, away from the public eye.

Time slows and stretches in India. There are a rough schedule but it usually changes as new things pop up, events run over, and the FSD staff have to attend to other businesses. A shopping session outside takes longer than expected, and everyone is too tired to walk around and visit the phone shop aferwards. No problem; we return to the FSD office to drink chai (sweetened milk tea, like teh tarik) and have a Hindi lesson. When unexpected events occur, people take it in their stride and make do with it. This change in pace is a relief to many of us from the Western world, who live on packed schedules.

Indian meals are eaten much later in the day. We start with breakfast whenever we wake up. Lunch is eaten at 3pm, much later than what I am used to, and dinner at 8 or 9. We usually have a big lunch so it's not a problem eating dinner later, but the period between breakfast and lunch is long and I get grumpy and sleepy without food. Today at the restaurant my dhal [lentil stew] took forever to come and if I knew enough Hindi I would have nagged and scolded the waiter just like Smita, my programme director, did.

Most Rajasthani food, if I'm not wrong, consists of mushy curries and roti, panfried dough, or naan, flat bread. Rice is usually the staple of South Indians, and I've been craving it a lot! (As an aside, it turns out that around the world, northerners eat bread and noodles while those near the equator eat rice because the rains are more abundant in tropical areas near the equator.) Luckily, there are many restaurants that sell food from other parts of India as well, so I've been able to satisfy my rice craving. Food comes coated in oil or ghee [butter], and is very heavy--another characteristic I need to get used to. I'm looking forward to seeing what my host family cooks because so far we've been eating at restaurants. I hope they don't try to feed me too much food!

There is more to say, but I'll leave it for another time. These first impressions, I think, will change over time as I collect more information about this country. There is much learning to be done.