Rajputs

The Rajputs are the warrior caste, and Rajput men are stereotyped as hot-headed and confrontational. Rajput women, on the other hand, are very meek. I think my programme director, Smita, a Rajput woman, is actually a Rajput man. She is very direct, very blunt, and very capable.

I had a meeting with her to get her opinion about how I should proceed with my work. I am two sentences into telling her my story about yesterday, trying to process everything I’ve learned about S, when she cuts me off and starts yelling at me. “Don’t say those sort of things; you cannot compare S with MSS! S is older than MSS; it’s had many volunteers and many funders. You cannot expect the same results.”

She’s misunderstood me and jumped to conclusions, and I get irritated. So I raise my voice to match hers. “Of course I’m not expecting the same results, but I did go in there to research best practices, so I have to compare them!”

Smita is still indignant about something, and continues speaking at the same tone. I counter, my eyes narrowing and temper flaring. Somehow we both reach some sort of consensus; she gets my point—that I’m not asking for the moon—and I get hers—that I shouldn’t assume S is perfect just because it seems to be after a day visit, and that I should not say it is better than MSS when I speak to Vijay about it because that will just engender unwanted competition between the two NGOs.

When that happens, the conversation suddenly settles. “Zjack”—she tries her hardest to pronounce my name but never succeeds—“you know, you can’t take things so seriously in this business. Sometimes you have to let go, chill, and go dance at On The Rocks.” Smita and I both love dancing at the local club. “If Madhu-ji and I started taking things so seriously we would both go mad!”

“I know, I know,” I replied, “it’s not just work though; it’s been a tough couple of weeks personally.”

Like a tiger, she pounces on my hint, and soon enough I’m spilling my story of the past three weeks out to her and Madhu-ji. It’s a story of love, betrayal and bad choices, and not something I will repeat here. “Like a Hindi drama!” I say, half-jokingly. She laughs. “In India, nothing is ever boring.” She and Madhu-ji give me some good advice that makes me ponder, and I walk out of the office amazed that I’ve only known her and this group of interns for four weeks—it seems like a lifetime.