some magic inside

In Between

2010-10-28T22:18:00.001-04:00

Every so often I come to an awareness that I am a straddler. An in-between. I straddle different cultures, social groups, disciplines, religions. It is an advantage, being able to relate to a variety of people. It's also very lonely because there are so few of us who can relate to each other.

This week I found myself without an interview appointment, and peeled off my corporate job-seeking skin. I stepped out and began thirsting for meaningful conversation, something that would nourish the soul. I have had some good conversations, swam in poetry, prose and music. But my soul still feels very dry and shriveled, and I'm hoping, trusting that it will be full again soon.

On Beauty

2010-10-28T22:15:00.000-04:00

It was in the air, or so it seemed to Kiki, this hatred of women and their bodies--it seeped in with every draught in the house; people brought it home on their shoes, they breathed it in off their newspapers. There was no way to control it.
--Zadie Smith, On Beauty

Where does it come from, this endless criticism we have of ourselves? Who told us to make it a habit of scrutinising our contours, checking it off against an imaginary ideal and tallying the scores to determine if we "passed"? Pass what?

I like the way my body is, I've never been ashamed of it, and I don't want to start now.

Blind

2010-09-03T23:36:00.000-04:00

It's like how I grew up with this curved spine and my slightly bowed knees. I'm learning to sit up tall and align my knees well. It's hard and it takes conscious effort but that's what's necessary for good posture.

So it is with my tendency to worry--it's what I lapse into, especially when life gets stressful and uncertain. But I need to recognise that the thought that God will let my life fall to pieces is a lie. This promise that God is faithful is exactly that--He is faithful, faithful beyond my imagination.

Today my friend Mo and I partnered up during dance class. He was supposed to guide me across the dance floor, left hand around my waist, right hand holding my right hand, with my eyes closed. I didn't expect him to go quickly, but eventually we were practically running across the floor. I loved the exhilaration of following him and sensing his direction. I didn't need to know where I was going; it was enough to know that he was with me.

I want to translate that experience to a spiritual, daily connection with God.

Acumen Fund

2010-09-03T23:25:00.000-04:00

4:58 “When you’ve lived on charity and dependent your whole life, it’s hard to say what you mean. Mostly because people never really ask you, and when they do you never really think they want to know the truth.”

The coolest researcher I have ever "met"

2010-08-23T04:41:00.000-04:00

Notes:

Singapore

has the world’s lowest mortality rate!

Many of the MSS girls sleep on a rug on the floor and sit on the floor in their home. And yes, you can tell the increments in income from their toilets, houses and beds.

Economic growth, education and good governance are the best means of achieving development, but the goal of development is human rights and culture.

An aside:

There's a Singlish word to describe this man:

COCK (Contributed by MC)
Despite seemingly obscene connotations, the use of "cock is actually fairly benign. It has become the de facto Singlish way to describe something as being nonsensical or sub-standard; the local equivalent of "rubbish" or "junk". Sometimes used as the short form of "cockanaden".
1. "Don't listen to him, he's only talking cock."
2. "Wah lau, you go and buy this cock thing for what?"
3. "Why you so cock, go and invest in that dot-com?"
See also: Cockanaden Kotek

Source: http://www.talkingcock.com/html/lexec.php?op=LexView&lexicon=lexicon&alpha=C&page=1

Soooo cock!

Worlds Apart

2010-08-23T03:05:00.001-04:00

What is it about Old City that I enjoyed? It was a world away from the world I was familiar with, and I miss it.

Old City is the area that Marwar, the original city of Jodhpur, originally occupied before the population grew and the city expanded outward. Five gates guard the city: Jalori, Sojati, Nagori, Sivanchi, and Mertia. My mission for the summer was to enter the city from all five gates. I only got to enter it through Jalori and Sojati gate, but I became very familiar with that area.

Ghantaghar, near Sojati gate.

The outer parts of Old City bustle with activity; street food vendors, handicraft sellers, and market stalls owners all vie for one’s attention. I love looking at markets, particularly when there is food involved. I would speak with the shopkeepers about the food they laid out, find out what the different spices, rice and beans were for, and occasionally try a piece of whatever they offered me.

Selling different types of rice.

Inside, away from the busy market, the streets narrow. Cows amble along the alleys, pooping wherever they please, stopping whenever they want. Ancient designs adorn windows and doors, and inhabitants of these houses peep out from windows carved out of stone. Early in the morning, rickshaws full of tiny schoolchildren hurtle past hole-in-the-wall shops selling kacchoris, chai and milk, their horns blaring.

STD is an acronym that has something to do with a telephone, not the disease!

The streets were dirty, the architecture old, the people different. And this starkly different culture absorbed me. In this world, so different and yet familiar, I found myself re-examining beliefs and behaviour. I felt myself wandering and lost, yet enjoying myself. Maybe eventually I would have found a place in this world, a point midway between my heritage and my immediate surroundings. But when the nine weeks were up, I felt like I had plucked myself out of this place and flung myself back into a world of clean lines, efficiency and convenience.

I was glad I did that; it was a relief at that time to be back in the US, to gain some perspective and stability. Yet now my mind keeps wandering back to India and filling itself with nostalgia. As much as I’m thankful for the stability I feel here, there are many things about the US that I feel uncomfortable about because I think they can be reduced and simplified. Right now, given what I’m feeling, if I were given a choice I would consider living in a simpler place. Yet I know living in a less wealthy country would be much harder than my nostalgic mind currently paints it to be.

China is a tantalising prospect, but not in the near future. Back in the US, responsibilities reassert themselves and I can’t just live in the present as I did in India. Still, this idea that I could do anything and go anywhere in the future is liberating and exciting to me.

Eyes open, hands tied

2010-08-18T17:17:00.003-04:00

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing much good at all here. There are many of us Westerners who want to help Afghan women, but our efforts don’t always help them in the ways that we hope they will. There are so many ties that bind these women and hold them back, and many of these ties aren’t even visible to the Western eye. It takes a long time to understand how the complexities of these women’s lives differ from the complexities of ours. Sometimes we can’t help, even when we understand these complexities. The culture is changing so much more slowly than their dreams are.”

- Debbie Rodriguez, Kabul Beauty School

We never know for certain whether we do any good in development. Yet we have to believe some of it is making a difference, because that’s how we go on. We have to hope that our altruistic motives count for something. This is when I have to believe in God’s grace.

Balancing different pieces of me, and vanity

2010-08-18T17:16:00.003-04:00

The modest kurta (long shirt) and salwars (trousers) that Indian girls wear in Jodhpur are meant to keep men’s prying eyes away from their figures. I don’t know if that actually works, because men definitely stared and called out to me when I was walking down the street. The fact that I looked foreign definitely contributed to this sort of behaviour, so I don’t know if local girls encountered similar situations (since there were so few of them around). In any case, even if that baggy and billowy attire didn’t make men pay less attention to me, it definitely made me less conscious of my figure.

Still, I knew I had to return to the US, and so I was constantly balancing the demands of two cultures in India. As a Westernised Singaporean, I was concerned about the amount of oil and food I ate because I didn’t like feeling unfit. I don’t like feeling “creaky” when my muscles haven’t been used in a long time; I hated the oppressive heat that left me dripping in sweat and panting after a simple barre workout. I also feared that people back in the US would notice I had gained weight once I returned. That was the first thing my grandmother in Singapore noticed when I returned home after freshman year, though Americans are usually more tactful about things like that.

At the same time, I had to conform to the implicit and explicit Indian societal demands. Since Indian women do not wear revealing clothes, they pay great attention instead to the colour and style of their clothes and jewellery. It is important to be suitably “bling’d-out” for an occasion, something I did not learn until my host mother told me I was “not looking good” before we went to a party. No one had ever told me that to my face before, and that traumatised me enough to make me pay more attention to my clothes. From then on, each morning I checked whether the colours of my kurta and pants matched my dupatta (scarf), and when special occasions arose, I borrowed a sari. Although I hate calling attention to myself by wearing something as elaborate as a special-occasion sari, I learned that it was better to be overdressed in India than underdressed.

Back in the US, there is a tiny piece of India that remains with me, but most of it is subsumed by the “original” internalised Western standards I carry with me. It was strange to wear short shorts again, not be stared at (overtly) by men, and not have to wear a scarf all the time (although sometimes I still do). Ironically, while this half of the world is less concerned with my gender and body, I have become more conscious of it. I am painfully aware of whether my figure is proportionate, of the fact that my bottom half is a different dress size from my top half. Part of the reason is because the clothes we wear in the US are more revealing. Also, as I identify more with this culture, I feel greater pressure to conform to societal standards.

I catch myself looking at my reflection in the mirror, trying to determine if my body meets a standard (mine? Society’s?). And I remind myself that I don’t have to base my worth in these things. It’s so easy to find pride in these superficial things and let that distract me from what is really necessary (ie loving others). Also, I remember that these things didn’t matter so much to me a month ago, and two continents away no one cares.

Giving and receiving

2010-08-18T17:14:00.000-04:00

As part of my best practices research, I visited Audrey Ann and Christian’s host organisation, Sambal Sansthan, one afternoon. That afternoon, the students decided to hold a party that Friday and all three of us agreed to come. As I had been identified as "the dance teacher", I was asked to teach a dance class. I felt obligated to contribute in some way to this party, so I agreed.

First off, I don’t actually teach dance. As explained previously, I provide the music, try to create a comfortable atmosphere, and encourage the students to enjoy themselves improvising. So I was hesitant to be labelled as the dance teacher. Audrey Ann encouraged me, however, saying that the students would appreciate anything I did. The MSS students seemed to enjoy my “dance classes”, so I agreed to “teach” a “dance class” on at Sambal Sansthan on Friday.

That Friday, I lugged my laptop to the centre and, after a very filling lunch, hooked it up to speakers (on loan from MSS). The women and girls had arranged all the chairs so that there was a dance floor in the middle of the room. They were all sitting in the chairs. Two students (who were also my translators and soon became my friends), Aimand and Khadijah, selected a song.

It was fairly evident that they expected a demonstration from me. I had mixed feelings about this. I’m not a classically or traditionally trained Indian dancer, and I am assuming that is the only type of dance they were exposed to and were thus expecting. There was no option of me dancing in another style; that seemed completely inappropriate in this context. I did not feel adequate in this situation at all, and I hate disappointing people with substandard work.

I didn’t have much of a choice; I pretended I was at MSS and began fooling around to the music. I used some of the movements I picked up from the MSS girls, but these movements obviously looked different on me. Audrey Ann joined me—she has no qualms about making a fool of herself—and together we danced in our pseudo-Indian way to Hindi lyrics that we did not understand. Only a few girls joined in; most of the participants were content watching and laughing on the sidelines. We kept going for an hour, people moving on and off the dance floor, Aimand and Khadijah refusing to stop the music.

I would have definitely been more comfortable if everyone were dancing. Although I love dancing, for the longest time I was painfully self-conscious when I danced, and I only began shedding my self-consciousness last year when I began improvising in a non-judgemental environment at Emory. The girls and women seemed to be laughing and having fun; were they laughing at me? Did they think my actions were weird because they were different? I had to pause and step off the dance floor a couple of times to clear my head. But the music and the movement always drew me back in.

Who knows what these women and girls thought after that party? Did they think I was crazy? Did they appreciate my efforts? Did they scoff at my “unsuccessful” attempts to dance? Throughout my time in India, I wanted to know if people appreciated what I did for them, if I was as valuable to them as they were to me. I was never able to find out because of all the barriers that prevented me from “reading” them accurately—language, culture, shyness, suspicion. I kept on giving, hoping that somehow I would earn their love. Yet I will still never fully know what they think.

But love that is not reciprocated is still love.

Assimilation

2010-08-15T23:05:00.000-04:00

I've been back in Atlanta for nearly two weeks and I still think about India a lot. Nine weeks still seems like an incredibly short time for me, but I need to acknowledge that it was a long enough period for me to get a relatively good sense of how people in Jodhpur live.

Little ways in which my life was changed from this trip:

--

When I moved into Clairmont, I turned off the A/C and opened the windows in my living room and bedroom. I didn't want to be so separate from the outside. In Singapore and in Jodhpur the houses I live in are built with large windows so air can flow in. I like knowing what the weather is like outside, hearing the faint sounds of nature, even dealing with the heat and humidity.

And then my Area Director told us we had to make sure all the thermostats were on and set to 72F to prevent "moisture issues". So after a week's delay I turned on the A/C but kept it at 78F.

--

Whenever I get the chance, I eat with my right hand only. But I apologise to the people around me in case it bothers them.

--

I feel compelled to say "thiiiik hai" instead of "okaaaay" but I can't since no one will understand me.

--

I don't feel comfortable wearing short shorts around (this will probably change). It also amazes me to see girls in two-piece bathing suits (even though I wear one as well).

--

I'd like to take a road trip to explore different parts of the US, or at least the South, or at least Georgia. I wish I could walk and walk for hours along the Atlanta streets but I don't think that would be as interesting or as colourful as it is in Jodhpur because Atlanta is more spread out than Jodhpur. I know that Atlanta has a lot of interesting events and I'd like to continue to discover them. Maybe that could be my fall break activity...

Dance class

2010-08-15T22:24:00.001-04:00

Nithu seems happy to smile for the camera while the rest of the girls are choosing a song.

Dance class usually works this way: I lug my laptop to the centre (because I still don't have an iPod :P), turn it on, and start dancing with the girls.

The girls sometimes have song requests, so I let them look through my list of traditional Rajasthani songs (all copied from Vijay's computer).

There's always a bunch of girls who are ready to go, namely Chandrakanta (in greenish yellow) and Santosh (right at the back in the colourful traditional Marwari dress). But some of the others take a while to warm up.

Rajini (in pink and blue) is always really shy and here I'm coaxing her to dance with me. Sometimes she does, other times she doesn't. By the way, usually I wear more culturally appropriate attire, such as the salwar kameezes the girls are wearing. I think my kurtas (long shirts) were being pressed that day, so I had to wear a Western t-shirt.

Another volunteer, Sarah, dancing with the girls.

Santosh

I really love it when people enjoy themselves dancing!

Filtering ideas from a foreign culture

2010-08-08T22:12:00.000-04:00

The idea of coming in as an outsider and changing local people's perspectives never sat easily with me. The legacy of colonialism always haunts me and I am fully aware that development is often tagged as neocolonialism. However, I'm also careful not to be completely culturally relativistic; all aspects of a local culture are not always good for the people, especially in modern, globalised times. Culture changes as one's environment changes, and even in conservative Jodhpur, things are changing.

When "outsiders" attempt to change local people's belief systems, the ideas they introduce are not indigenous to the target culture, and so a process of assimilation needs to occur in order for the new concept to be beneficial to society. This process of assimilation needs to be driven by the local peoples themselves, but I believe it is filtered through different sections of society until they finally reach the "local" people.

In the case of women's empowerment:

"Local" people are usually poorer Indians who either reside in villages or have recently migrated from the rural areas into the city. Their beliefs are that sons are more valuable than women; women will eventually be given away to another household (their husband's). Thus all resources should be diverted away from the women and to the son, who will produce a greater return on investment. Women are just trained to be good wives; the man is responsible for providing for the household.

Others--Westerners, people from a higher caste or different part of the city--see that women are more than that.

Indians from a higher caste say that they believe women and men should be treated equally. However, women from a higher caste still adhere to traditional women's roles: they stay in the house, take care of the children, busy themselves with household chores and with their job, if they have one. My host mother cooks all the food from scratch every day when she gets home from work; she leaves the house at 6:30am and returns at 4pm.

Westerners see that women and men are just as valuable. Women should be given the same opportunities--which includes freedoms--as men. However, if this were suddenly the case--if the dowry system, which I think is the root cause of son preference, were abolished--and all women really insisted they studied and not cook, marry later, and choose their husbands, I think Indian society would be dismantled very quickly. Such quick disintegration is usually destructive.

The middle class Indians, I think, will get it eventually. Since they come into close contact with the lower class Indians and are more similar to them culturally than Westerners, it will be their influence that ultimately catalyses change in the lower, more conservative sectors of society. I think I initially viewed the middle class's actions with impatience; women say they are empowered but they still voluntarily submit to the prevailing culture. Now I'm beginning to see that this is necessary for the society to evolve and progress.

"No mind"

2010-08-08T21:30:00.002-04:00

Usha during English class.

Field notes; Wednesday 21 July.

(Disclaimer: since I know very little Hindi, I cannot vouch for the accuracy of many of my statements. I was mostly reading body language and asking the women and girls to explain things to me whenever possible. In addition, I was viewing these situations through very Western eyes. Shama, the sewing teacher, is a traditional Indian teacher: strict when necessary but also generous towards diligent students. I don't agree with her teaching methods but I recognise that this is how most of India operates.)

Shama arrived at 3:35pm; the students were already waiting for her. Chandrakanta was happy today; she wrote on the board that she likes Anju-didi. “She’s the best!” Shama translated for me.

Usha was working on her kurta at the sewing machine while Chenna (a former student who now teaches at a nearby village and visits the centre occasionally) was teaching some women and girls to sew a kurta outside. Two girls, Nithu and Rajini, had been consistently idle for the past few days and I wanted to find out why.

I took Anju-ji aside and asked her why Nithu and Rajini were not doing anything. She made to announce this question to someone but I stopped her and made her ask Santosh instead. They both responded, “because they have no mind.”

What? I asked them to clarify just to make sure. “No interest? Scared of teacher?” I asked.

“No, no mind,” they replied. It seemed that they were saying that the girls had no capacity to learn.

I told them that’s not possible; everyone has a mind that they can use. It seems, however, that these women and girls believe that some people are born with intelligence at certain things while others are not, and those who are not skilled at something are quickly discouraged from pursuing that skill.

For example, when I asked another girl, Usha, why she wasn’t repeating 8th standard since she failed it. She responded that she had no mind. I wasn’t sure what she said initially and asked Anju-ji and Shama to translate. "She says she has no mind," they told me.

I was shocked to hear that Usha would say that about herself. How can you believe that you have no capacity to do something? Usha in particular is an incredibly dedicated student who I believe will do well in school; Shama had singled her out as the most diligent student in class.

“Do you want to go to school?” I asked Usha.

“Yes,” she replied.

That willingness to learn, in my opinion, should be the only prerequisite for attending school. It is true that some people have more natural ability for a particular task than others, but that doesn't mean one should give up trying. What's even more discouraging is that these women don’t seem believe that each one of them has the capacity to do something they put their mind to. How can they encourage and support each other in that case then?

A friend pointed out that the women's liberation movement in the West began because women themselves began realising that they were just as capable as men. It's going to take a while before that happens here in Jodhpur. People still accept the prevailing belief that women are bound traditionally to the household. While many middle-class girls are well-educated, lower caste/class girls are treated as temporary members of the household, trained to be wives in their husband's households.

MSS focuses on empowering women and girls economically, but I'm pushing for Vijay to adopt more encouraging, empowering teaching methods so that this belief of having "no mind" can be dismantled.

Cast of characters

2010-08-08T20:49:00.000-04:00

These are some of the women and girls I got to know at the centre. Anju-ji, Bhagwati, Santosh Mundela, Santosh Baroti and Leela-ji are women (ie they are married); Nithu, Rajini, Ravina, Kiran, Chandrakanta, Nisha and Usha are girls. I'm sure I spelled some of their names incorrectly but that's how they're spelled in my head.

"Ji" is respectful term that is used at the end of one's name. I initially tried to use "ji" when addressing every woman, but for some reason that didn't work out. Bhagwati, for example, I can't bring myself to call "ji" because she's the same age as me. Santosh Baroti I don't call "ji" because she's so headstrong and modern that using such a traditional term doesn't befit her. The girls don't call all the women "ji" either; sometimes they use the more informal term "didi", which means sister.

Celebrating stitching teacher Shama's birthday at the centre. Shama is in pink on the extreme right.

Women (married) students from right: Santosh Mundela, Bhagwati, Anju-ji

Santosh Baroti with her daughter. Santosh is the unofficial spokesperson of the women and girls from the Meghwal Basti community.

Leela-ji and me at her home. Leela-ji is Santosh's husband's brother's wife.

Nithu

Rajini

Left: Ravinia; right: Kiran

Left: Chandrakanta; right: Nisha.

Usha

Waking up

2010-08-08T15:23:00.003-04:00

I'm back in Atlanta...

It's strange to be back, strange that I'll be starting a new year soon and my thoughts will be diverted from India, from the girls and women I gave so much to and received so much from for the past two months. I'll be posting a few more entries to wrap up this adventure and give it a sense of closure.

"In India, we do like this."

2010-07-20T08:32:00.000-04:00

It’s stressful to watch the girls fill up my survey. They don’t understand my questions and I can’t explain it to them in Hindi. The women are usually busy gossiping or sewing so they ignore the girls until it’s convenient for them or until I ask them firmly to help. I feel like I’m missing out so much valuable information because I cannot understand what they say when they’re gossiping. But then again, maybe they wouldn’t say these things if I didn’t understand what was going on.

I feel Chandrakanta's pain as she reads my questions and writes out her answer. She doesn’t understand most of the questions and has to ask Santosh to explain them to her. She takes about five minutes to write out her answer. I’m afraid that she will give up halfway but she thankfully keeps going.

Chandrakanta filled some questions up yesterday and I got my boss to translate her answers. One of my questions asked her if she went to school and if not, why. She replied that she does not because she failed 8th standard. Today I asked her why she didn’t just repeat 8th standard. After a lot of discussion with all five women in the room, Lakshmi, the woman with the best English, explained that she didn’t want to study; she wanted to go to a private school, not a government school. After some more discussion, Lakshmi spouted a flurry of words at Chandrakanta, and Chandrakanta fell silent and serious; her beautiful eyes were focused softly on the ground, her fingers lightly gripping the pen poised on the sheet of paper.

“What did you tell her?” I asked Lakshmi. Chandrakanta is never that pensive; she’s usually very cheerful and boisterous.

“I told her,” Lakshmi replied, “now she study and learn stitching because later she get married, her husband, her father-in-law no allow her to study. Then what she do? At least now if she learn, later she can sew, can make money, help family.”

“Does she have to get married?” I asked, even though I knew it was rhetorical. In my world I can choose if I want to get married, who I should get married to, when I want to get married. In her world, she doesn’t have any say in this matter. If she did, she might be ostracised by her family, which is everything to her.

Lakshmi responded as I expected her to. “You are from Singapore. She is from India. In India, we do like this.”

Old City

2010-07-19T05:36:00.000-04:00

My friends Audrey Ann, Christian and I have been wandering through Old City. On our first wander, we discovered the Old City market! I love walking around, talking to the vendors about their wares, looking at food before it's cooked. The man posing in front of the omelette shop makes one of the best omelettes in Jodhpur for 15 rupees!

Spotted some old men playing chess while wandering through the streets and took a photograph with a girl who was walking back home.

No photo montage of Jodhpur is incomplete without cows!

We wandered through the winding streets and soon arrived on top of a small hill, where we took a rest and gazed out at Old City. When we were ready to move on, we took a right through an ornate archway and found this lake! Don't be deceived by this romantic picture; the lake water was murky and, according to Christian who dived into it, "slimy". We met some Indian men there who asked us about our countries and showed us their rain shrine to Shiva, and a newspaper photographer took pictures of Christian participating in their rain ritual.

I sat on the steps and contemplated life in front of the peaceful smelly lake.

Outsiders

2010-07-19T05:10:00.004-04:00

I give the bus conductor 10 rupees, expecting 5 back. I take this bus to work every day and the fee is usually 5. Today the bus conductor gives me 3 rupees back. 2 rupees is worth 5 cents in the US but I know he’s doing this because I’m a foreigner; he’s trying to see how much he can get away with. I berate him about my fee until he finally smiles and gives me the correct change. When I get off the bus, he smiles again. “Seven rupees,” he insists. “Five,” I reply, annoyed, and walk off.

Call me nitpicky, but it’s the principle that I don’t agree with. There is a foreigner price and a local price here, and after a while that wears down on me. I’m tired of being treated differently as a foreigner: either I’m a celebrity and people are fawning over me or I’m a gullible stranger who doesn’t speak Hindi whom people can take advantage of and laugh at. When people laugh at me, are they laughing spitefully or amusedly? I can’t tell; that bothers me.

I understand that I can’t change the fact that I look and act differently here. I also understand that it’s human nature to exert power over the more vulnerable. That still doesn’t mean I should be satisfied with the way I am being treated. I’m glad I’m learning to assert myself more but I want to do this in a way that still loves the people I meet. I feel that coming to India has made me less touchy-feely, more in tune with the harsh realities of human relationships. If someone is trying to cut in front of me I don’t have any qualms blocking his way, but I know I can get frustrated and push him away as well. That’s not loving at all.

As for people laughing at me, I also laugh at crazy things Indians do as well. There is no malice involved in that; I just find things amusing here. Maybe that’s the same case for Indians who observe me. It’s just so hard to interpret a different culture without knowing the language.

Didi

2010-07-19T05:10:00.001-04:00

My suspicion is that the girls are not motivated by the prospect of making money or being the best at anything. I think the girls seek the approval of those they look up to, and as an older girl, I am in a good position to give them this approval and use this to steer them in the right direction.

Ethnography

2010-07-19T05:09:00.002-04:00

I’m finally getting into the meat of my work here, and I’m sad that my internship will end so soon. The past few days I’ve been observing classes both at MSS and at my friends’ NGO, Sambal Sansthan, as part of research for my best practices report. The days have yielded very interesting observations and I’m kicking myself for not doing this earlier.

Despite my cognitive knowledge of the importance of finding out what locals think and going “to the ground”, I never thought to do this earlier. I never thought it would be necessary for my project, which I felt initially focused on the NGO’s operations. I’m used to looking at an organisation from an administrative, managerial point of view and forgot that a comprehensive evaluation of a non-profit must also take into account the beneficiaries’ experiences and well-being. That involves observing MSS classes and the dynamics between students and teacher.

Although I’m kicking myself about not doing this earlier, I also realise that I’ve only just begun to feel like I have a proper understanding of how things work here, and so the frame through which I view interactions is only now closer to the truth, less coloured by my foreign perspective. I’ve also only just begun understanding how disparate pieces of the women’s empowerment puzzle fit in together and so can now ask relevant questions. I still have 2 weeks left here; I need to make the most of it and leave behind a trail for those who come afterwards.

Udaipur

2010-07-19T05:09:00.000-04:00

Udaipur was wet and cool; we ran out in the rain, water up to our ankles, droplets dribbling down our backs. I bought two new dresses, pored over beautiful paintings, held my breath as the dancer stamped in time to the music with three water pots on her head.

Udaipur is famed for its minature paintings. An elephant symbolises good luck.

Visiting the Kumbhalgarh Fort in Udaipur. It's the longest fort in India. There were a lot of cool hiding places and monuments to explore.

Rain!

2010-07-06T01:52:00.001-04:00

It rained yesterday evening! I was watching the Aviator on TV when things started happening. Leonardo DiCaprio had just pulled himself out of his depressed, paranoid funk and turned the tables on Senator Brewster when the lights fizzled and the TV went out.

Outside, a strong wind was blowing dust everywhere. It didn't smell like rain. I went back inside, determined not to get my hopes up. The wind flirts with me often and I've been tricked by it before.

This time, though, the wind was serious and it delivered. Rain came half an hour later, splattering on the streets angrily. But no one else was angry; we were busy indulging ourselves in the cool, wet breeze, drenching our bodies in the rain.

It rained till evening, and the electricity was intermittent: Auntie had to cook by candlelight. But all that didn't matter--the monsoon has finally, finally arrived in Jodhpur and I'm looking forward to cooler days for the rest of my stay.

This morning, I woke up sweatless. It was glorious!

Cooking

2010-07-06T01:28:00.002-04:00

Nena is teaching me how to roll out rotis despite our not sharing a common language. First you mix the flour with a bit of salt and water until the dough is sticky and stretchy. Then you take a bit of the dough, slap it against your palms, roll it into a ball, and press it between your hands to flatten it. Then you dip the dough into the shallow bowl of flour so it doesn’t stick to the rolling pin.

It is very hard to roll the dough into a perfect circle, especially when your teacher does not speak English and can only demonstrate it to you. I’m slowly, very slowly getting the hang of it, but it will take a couple more lessons before I can actually claim to make good rotis. The first day I tried I made a heart-shaped roti; today I made a rectangular roti. Nena hooted in laughter, and soon the entire household knew of my latest adventure. Nena pressed my rectangular roti together into a ball of dough and rolled it out perfectly to Auntie Williams’ liking.

If the dough is not rolled out properly, the roti doesn’t puff up well when it is heated over the fire. I don’t know if that affects the texture of the roti much; I ate my slightly deformed rotis today and they were fine, but the Indians might be more critical about it, the same way I’m critical about Maggie Mee. I’ll keep working at perfecting my rotis, and by the end of this trip I’ll get it right!

Dance therapy

2010-07-06T01:27:00.006-04:00

The MSS women and girls are happy to see me, as usual. They are not afraid of me any more and greet me with their sweet smiles and waves. “Namaste!”

I am afraid; I am petrified. Teaching scares me: I hate presenting in front of groups of people, I never feel my knowledge about the subject is adequate, and I am afraid that my bad teaching will turn the girls off the subject forever. Despite this, I am here because this is what I can offer, because Vijay wants me to teach, because the girls like to dance, and because I know it’s important to face my fears.

My plan was to teach the participants how to move to the beat as I noticed during the last class that some of the women and girls were too preoccupied with copying me and thus tended to fall behind the beat. I wanted to help them to establish a relationship with the music, and had armed myself with a couple of exercises that I thought would realise this. Vijay, the sewing teacher Shama, and Madhu-ji were in the classroom watching, helping and interpreting.

My attempts to communicate what exactly a beat is fail. I don’t even remember who taught me how to move to the beat, and I am at a loss to teach the women and girls how to do so. I try to get them to clap to the beat of a song, to varying degrees of success. Some of them are on time—this is easy to them. Others are following my hands instead; they are always a beat late.

Then I get them to stand up and move different body parts to a beat—shoulders, arms, feet. They take to it almost immediately; this seems more like dancing to them. Dancing to music is familiar to them; breaking down the dance into something abstract that I can’t even define properly for them is not. Perhaps sensing a beat is innate and to an extent unteachable. In that case, why do some of them still not seem to move with it?

I recall the times when I am behind the beat when I dance, and I suspect the issue is not that the girls cannot sense the beat; it’s their inhibition that keeps from being fully immersed in the music and in their movement. If I can’t teach the girls to dance to a beat, I need to show them that they can dance to a beat. I need to create an environment where the girls feel comfortable to try and fail and try again.

The most successful activity I had so far involved turning on music and getting the girls to dance however they wanted. So I build on that. I keep the music on and tell the girls to pair up and dance with their partners. They dutifully do so and most have fun mimicking each other. The lesson continues with variations on this game: dance with another partner, let the women dance first, mimic someone else, try to travel when you dance (they automatically form a circle). Some variations are more successful than others and although it’s important to teach them new things, I also recognise the importance of giving them something familiar and comfortable to coax the more reserved ones out of their shell.

The most precious moments are those that involve girls or women who were previously hesitant about dancing. While most of the girls are dancing, I seek out those who are hiding. One woman who I noticed tends to hunch is standing in a corner. She seems to shrink into her scarf and the folds of her stiff skirt. I make my way towards her and take both of her hands; her arms are limp but I keep my hands in hers and we sway from side to side. She is out of time but I don’t care; it’s more important for her to enjoy herself first, and soon I see the inklings of a smile. When I finally leave her to interact with other girls, I see her dancing with her friends happily.

Each girl or woman reveals something about herself to me when she dances. Santos dances with abandonment and a wicked sense of humour. Chandrakanta dances with confidence—sometimes too much confidence—because she knows she’s good and better than the rest. Pushpar dances creatively to catch my attention and to seek my approval. I want to see how the rest of the girls’ personalities express themselves as I dance more with them. Although I will probably teach the girls a real dance, I also want to keep building on this improvisational structure as I feel it encourages creativity and confidence, two forms of empowerment.

After class, Pushpar tells me she will not be returning; school begins tomorrow and she thinks it’s more important to study. I tell her she’s right, and she should focus on her studies. “I will remember you,” she replies, and I am surprised that someone so imperfect like myself can still do some good for someone else. Despite what I tell myself many times, strength, intelligence and power are not always necessary for success.

30 rupees

2010-07-06T01:27:00.004-04:00

It’s rare to have to actively seek out a rickshaw; most of the time the drivers recognise foreigners and quickly drive alongside them, honking tdulu duludu!. No drivers are chasing me now; they are busy fanning themselves and hiding from the heat in their rickshaws outside National Handloom a couple of steps away.

The first rickshaw driver I meet is cleaning his rickshaw, but when he sees me he acts like he’s ready to go. I’ve learned to find out the exact price before bargaining, and today Smita told me it’s Rs 30 from the FSD office to the MSS centre at Paota circle. I deliver this piece of information to the rickshaw driver in Hindi. “Meere Jain Mandir ja rehi hai.”

He doesn’t get it—darn it, I thought my Hindi accent was decent enough!—so I have to give him the slip of paper with the address written on it in Hindi. After some heated discussion with another rickshaw driver that involves a lot of gesticulating, he nods. He knows where it is now.

“Kittene ka hai?” I ask.

I don’t know if they actually understood that, but because it was obvious I was asking how much the ride would cost, the man replies, “Fifty.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Thirty,” I counter.

“Thirty? Noooo. Forty. Indian price, Madam!”

They always use that line, and I’m always sceptical. “C’mon, I know it’s supposed to be thirty. I’m not paying forty.”

Even if the driver didn’t understand all I was saying, he got the gist of it. The man makes a weak, last ditch effort. “Thirty-five?”

“Nehi,” I reply, and am about to walk off to the next rickshaw in line when the first driver goes, “Okay, okay. Come!” So I follow him to his rickshaw and he drives me to Paota circle.

When I pay him and get off, the rickshaw driver smiles nicely at me and gives me my rs 20 change. I can see the hint of a smile when I thank him.

I can never get over the fact that despite how heatedly I bargain with them, the rickshaw drivers are always friendly once the ride is over. Maybe it’s because I’m giving the money; maybe it’s still more than what the locals pay. I’d like to think, though, that rickshaw drivers are genuinely good natured people despite the harsh reality of their lives.

Paperwork

2010-07-06T01:27:00.002-04:00

Staring at the computer screen this afternoon, I try to write out my observations from yesterday’s site visit to S. As usual, thoughts are running through my head again. They are knotted; they are tangled. I am afraid that my work will not help anything; I am cognizant that I will have to wait a long time to see the fruit of my labour. I don’t know if I should do more best practices research, I don’t know which organisations to look for, I am afraid that I am wasting time.

I press on and write out my notes; when it’s 2:30 I pack up. I have to go teach the girls at the centre to dance.

Maybe tomorrow

2010-07-06T01:26:00.001-04:00

“The newspaper says rain will come tomorrow, but then tomorrow it will say the next day. Always tomorrow, tomorrow; never today.” Auntie Williams is lying on her bed and we are chatting idly.

The creases in my body are coated with a thin film of perspiration; my cheeks are rosy from the day’s activity. My underwear feels like it has been soaked in water when I take it off, and I drink so much water it sloshes around in my stomach when I walk.

I lived more or less like this for 17 years in Singapore, didn’t I?

Rajputs

2010-07-06T01:24:00.002-04:00

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.

"Why don't you ask?"

2010-07-06T01:22:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I visited another women’s empowerment organisation, S, as part of my best practices research. The visit had been very informative and I came back with many ideas for MSS. The problem: which ones are the most urgent? Right now Vijay and I are the only full-time staff running the organisation. Vijay is a businessman; I am a student. We have some experience with NGOs but both of us definitely feel very lost at times.

I had a number of projects whirling in my head, with pros and cons all thought out. However, I couldn’t make a decision regarding which ones to pursue for the remainder of my internship. I talked it out with Smita and another intern. “Why don’t you ask Vijay?” both of they suggested.

Why? Because I was afraid he would give me an answer I wouldn’t agree with, despite the fact that I didn’t know which project would be the best to pursue. I think I’ve gotten so invested in this organisation, in my work, that I believe I know what’s best for it. I’ve worked for NGOs before; I know what the West wants. I know how to write grants, write content for a website, publicise the organisation, conduct best practices research. I can organise, schedule, administrate.

I’m forgetting, though, that Vijay has been living in Jodhpur for the past 30 years; that he knows how Indians think and how the Indian government works. He knows the education system and government schemes far better than I do. He also runs a successful business that he does barely any work for and still earns a steady income from it.

Vijay is my boss and after I leave, he will remain. I have to do work that he thinks will be useful for the organisation. I can advise him on what I think would be best, but ultimately he must make the decisions. Essentially, that’s what empowerment is.

I am picky.

2010-07-06T01:21:00.002-04:00

I. There’s only so much I can take without speaking up.

I look forward to meals; I like being pleasantly surprised by food, which I generally enjoy eating. Unfortunately, breakfast has been rather disappointing lately. Yesterday was roti with something involving curd. The curd was sour and I discovered that I really dislike sour food.

Today Arun handed me a plate of Maggie Mee for breakfast, all twisted and gooey. It’s understandable that people would assume I like Maggie Mee; in a place where noodles are not part of the traditional diet, one would assume that if someone said she liked noodles, she would like any sort of noodles. Last week we had noodles from Uncle’s restaurant for dinner and I loved it. I don’t like Maggie noodles, though. They are on the lowest rung of the noodle ladder, in my opinion, and just like sushi, if the noodles don’t meet my standards, I don’t bother eating them.

Of course, I was being picky and spoilt. My host parents were being nice about considering my tastes, and I think I’ve been giving them a hard time. I haven’t been communicating my food preferences to them very well because it’s painful and awkward to have to explain myself to them. I also dislike having to criticise someone often, which unfortunately does not work will given that I am so fussy. As a result, I’ve grown rather resentful about having to eat things I don’t exactly like and pretend I do.

I ate the noodles reluctantly, but mentioned to my host father that I liked the yellow rice flakes that had been cooked for me a while back.

“We’re trying out new things because Auntie doesn’t like giving you toast every morning and you seem to eat a small variety of things,” my host father replied.

My first reaction was relief, because I was sick of toast as well. My second was, “No, I like most things that Auntie cooks!” And then it occurred to me that what she cooks is probably only a small selection of her real repertoire because I’ve been so picky. I added, “I just don’t like eating too much oil…”

“And you don’t like hard-boiled eggs, or paneer, or parantha, or spicy food, or cream…”

The conversation stopped there because too many thoughts were swimming in my head (“Am I really too picky? Dan has told me that before. But I’ve been trying to be accommodating!”) and Uncle left to play solitaire on his computer.

II. Not everyone is as fussy as me and some people are willing to accommodate.

I couldn’t go another day with a disappointing breakfast, though. And the Maggie Mee was the last straw. So I mustered up my courage and went into Uncle’s room for a heart-to-heart about food.

“I’m sorry I’m so picky about food,” I told him.

“That’s okay; we just want to make sure you feel comfortable here. So if you like something you should just let us know. If you want something you really like you should just tell us.”

This idea was rather foreign to me. As a guest in my host family’s house, I didn’t feel that it was my place to ask for a particular type of food. My host parents are also usually busy resting from the hard day [my host father works two jobs and my host mother goes to work early in the morning] so I don’t want to bother them with my preferences. Despite this, it was clear that I had been communicating nonverbally about my preferences, and this type of communication risked misunderstanding.

Uncle carried on, “It’s rather different for us because Cody and Jack [their previous two interns, both boys] both loved paranthas and would ask us to make them for us all the time. And we like eating paranthas once or twice a week. But you don’t seem to like it very much.”

I then clarified that I actually like paranthas; it’s really the oil that scares me. The first time I was served a parantha I assumed it was made like roti pratas back in Singapore, glistening in ghee. Paranthas are probably made from the same flour as pratas but I think they are made with less oil. My host mother has also taken pains to make it with less oil for me. I decided that it was okay to eat once in a while, and told my host father so. I also made a mental note to expressly ask for it so my host parents would know I want to eat it occasionally.

“So I can speak with Auntie about what she’s making for breakfast?”

“Yes,” Uncle replied. “You could try shopping with Auntie on Sundays, too, so you can pick out foods you want. We’ll try to make you the foods you like for the remaining one month you’re here with us.”

I was interested in shopping in Auntie because that’s another way I can spend time with her and get a sense of what her life is like. I should have probably verbalised that earlier.

The conversation then wandered towards other things, and shortly after was terminated when we ran out of conversation. I walked out of my host parents’ room thankful that I spoke with Uncle about this and also realising that although I was brought up to be polite and accommodating, I don’t have to be that way all the time, especially when it makes me resentful. Maybe accommodating me isn’t as big a challenge for some people as I assume it will be.

Collage

2010-07-06T01:19:00.003-04:00

Today wasn’t exactly representative of my days here. Most days my emotions aren’t as sharply juxtaposed against each other; they usually involve only one dominant emotion, such as frustration, boredom, or delight.

Today might, however, be a collage of emotions and activities depicting my entire summer experience in India. That’s why I want to recount it over the next couple of posts.

Me as a Marwari

2010-06-26T02:47:00.000-04:00

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

2010-06-26T02:40:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-06-19T01:29:00.002-04:00

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

Strategising to tackle poverty

2010-06-15T00:48:00.001-04:00

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

2010-06-12T01:40:00.000-04:00

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."

2010-06-11T04:05:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-11T04:05:00.001-04:00

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

2010-06-11T04:04:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-11T04:04:00.001-04:00

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...

2010-06-11T04:03:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-10T02:24:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-10T02:21:00.000-04:00

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!

2010-06-10T02:00:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-09T05:46:00.001-04:00

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!

2010-06-04T06:43:00.002-04:00

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.

2010-06-04T06:31:00.000-04:00

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

2010-06-04T06:25:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-04T06:23:00.000-04:00

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

2010-06-03T05:01:00.000-04:00

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

2010-06-02T15:36:00.001-04:00

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

2010-06-02T15:24:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-01T09:34:00.002-04:00

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.

Delhi

2010-05-28T09:28:00.000-04:00

Today I met A, V's business partner. She is a historian and together V and A run a non-profit through which they curate a library and organise conferences on women's affairs. She gave me some interesting information about Rajasthan, the state I'll be working in. Rajasthan means "land of the kings (raja)" and they have a very interesting warrior-culture past that left a legacy of female disempowerment. I didn't quite understand the motivation behind this culture. A told me there is a story of a king who hesitated to go to war because he didn't want to leave his lovely wife behind, so the queen presented him when her head on a silver platter. The point was she was more than willing to sacrifice herself so that he could fulfill his duty, a notion that flies in the face of most Western ideals. That definitely piqued my interest in my host organisation, MSS, which is a women's empowerment organisation.

We also spoke about liberal arts colleges in India, politics and history, comparing India with Singapore and the US. Whenever we speak about social phenomena, my thoughts always turn back to Singapore. When (if?) I return, will there be space for me?

I also met V's driver, Sunil, and the cook, Sri, and his wife. They are very friendly but we cannot communicate! I thought Sri's wife was pregnant when it was just a big belly and she laughed amusedly. It took me a while to accept that their jobs are to serve me, just as a waiter does in a restaurant. Even though I've grown up with a maid my entire life in Singapore, this concept has never been one I was comfortable with. This is a cultural way of providing a safety net and social network. House helps spend most of their time with the well-off family, and the well-off family can provide the house helps with financial assistance if there's an emergency. Of course this differs over households and cultures and there are ways people abuse this situation (at least in Singapore; I don't know about India), but in the absence of other alternatives, to give a man or woman some money for driving you around or cooking and cleaning your house can be empowering. At least they're earning a decent living.

I read the newspapers today. Many aspects of India are familiar to me because they relate to either the US or Singapore: the parliamentary system, the current debate on including caste in the census, the competitive school system (today marked the beginning of applications to university), certain acronyms (DUI: Driving Under the Influence and GST:Goods and Services Tax). There was an article on the upcoming climate change talks in Bonn next week. As I read it in the shade on the balcony, struggling to breathe in the hot dusty air, I was reminded of Esther Wong's blog entry on environmental justice: the poor are often the ones who suffer from the rich world's inconsiderate use of resources. Today's haze and the dust storm is atypical but I know the pollution is not, and many decisions--by India, by foreign companies, by foreign countries--probably contributed to the unclean air.

I fly off to Jodhpur tomorrow afternoon. This week there was an Air India strike and normal operations resumed today--whew! I'm thankful I'm here, safe, and everything has gone smoothly so far. I hope to return to Delhi after my internship with Jodhpur ends, meet V, and see more of the city.

Safe...for the moment

2010-05-27T16:10:00.002-04:00

Finally made it to my mum's friend V's house in Delhi! I actually feared for my life on the way there because although the driver had a sign with my name on it and was driving a Honda Accord, just like V said he would be, the sign wasn't the one I'd made for him and he was with another guy. I asked him where he was taking me and gave me the correct address but I didn't relax until we actually entered the house, they showed me around and left. Somehow, between their broken English and my vigorous nods and smiles, we managed to communicate. Before they left, though, I practiced the only Hindi phrase I know: "Apka naam kia he?" What is your name? Hopefully that made me marginally more legit in their eyes.

I'm now sitting in the bedroom of V's place. I'll be in Delhi for two nights and then fly to Jodhpur, where I'll begin orientation with the Foundation for Sustainable Development (FSD), the "middleman" organisation that links volunteers to local nonprofits. There is AC in this house, a huge relief, because without it I feel like a giant hair dryer is blowing straight at me everywhere I walk. V's friend is coming over tomorrow, and she can speak English. I realised I have to print out my ticket for my flight to Jodhpur and I hope she can help me with that. There are other things I need to take care of--my bottle of lotion leaked in my suitcase and I need to clean it up; I'd like to repack my bookbag so it isn't so darned heavy (being the bookworm I am, I packed 5 books into my carry-on)--but I'm too tired to move and want to fall into bed as soon as my hair dries.

I wish I could speak or understand Hindi. I feel very vulnerable in this place, where I look different and speak a different language. Apart from this trip, the only other time I can remember being in a country where I was not able to understand or speak the language was when my family and I went to Thailand. In all the other places, English or Chinese was enough to get by. I've never had to find my way around like this on my own before, and luckily I won't be doing this on my own for much longer. I don't think I have enough street smarts to do it!

I can also see how my unfamiliarity with the language can inconvenience me and others, especially when I begin working at my organisation, MSS. MSS proposed that, amongst other things, I either teach English, conduct a programme evaluation, or conduct a survey in slums. I can forsee myself dragging another MSS colleague along to translate, and in my mind that might be an inefficient distribution of resources. I don't know how this is all going to work out but I know that while FSD requires people who intern in South America to know Spanish, there are no language requirements for African countries or India. Also, countless other volunteers/interns encounter this problem, so I'm sure both FSD and my host organisation have ways of circumventing the language issue. I'm I'm not wrong, we'll also be given a crash course on Hindi next week. So I'm going to assume that it'll all be ok.

Good night, y'all.

(Btw, I figured out the timestamp on this blog so from now on it'll accurately reflect the time of this post at the location I'm in.)

Promise.

2010-05-25T22:35:00.001-04:00

By Discoodoni; flickr.com

My promise to you
is that I will update this blog while I'm in India
regardless of how busy I get.

What college is for

2010-05-24T22:01:00.000-04:00

Read a couple of articles about an elite education from The American Scholar: Solitude and Leadership, and The Disadvantages of an Elite Education.

Some takeaway points about learning that I got from the articles:
1. I've definitely realised how multitasking inhibits my effectiveness and have been making it a point to focus on completing one task at a time. I never knew how pervasive multitasking was in my life until I tried completing only one task without being distracted by other things!
2. Deresiewicz's point about reading classic books is something I've never thought about before. I always liked reading books from recent times because I understand them better; I tend to shy away from books that were written before the 1990s. But now he's set me a challenge, and maybe I will pick up James Joyce or Joseph Conrad now.

Now, regarding education.

My choice to remain as a student of the Liberal Arts College, career path undefined, and not enroll in the business school, nursing school, or embark on the pre-professional track was because something in me urges me to keep exploring the world and the boundaries of my mind. Many times it feels like I can't control this urge to find out more. This desire often seems to be the antithesis of a pre-professional path.

When I was a sophomore, I was faced with the decision to apply to the business school. I eventually decided not to because every time I thought about the business school, I felt an intense revulsion towards it. Although being in the business school teaches one very useful skills, to me, that path seemed stifling. All those class requirements, tedious group work assignments, and excel spreadsheets seemed boring compared to the prospect of being able to read, write papers, and attend discussions on issues such as globalisation, development, and urban revitalisation.

Many college students would argue that previous paragraph's articulated notions of a liberal arts education and a business school education are somewhat idealistic, and I agree. When I take College classes, I find myself frequently disappointed because I don't have the in-depth, thought-provoking discussions as often as I'd like to. Despite this, College classes still give me the opportunity to reflect on these "big" questions. These reflections have given me a solid framework for viewing the world critically, achieving the aim of a liberal arts education articulated by Deresiewicz in "The Disadvantages of an Elite Education".

Deresiewicz argues that the liberal arts education was founded on the premise that a broad, socially conscious education is the best means of fostering intellectual development, which people viewed was important for social change to occur. However, elite universities now pay lip service to that notion and are instead more concerned with creating excellent technicians ("hoop-jumpers" is his term): people with good engineering, business, medical skills who don't always look beyond their immediate course of study to evaluate how they can use these skills for the betterment of society. The elite universities of the US thus fall short of their original mission to educate the youth.

Deresiewicz also argues that that an elite education is "anti-intellectual" as it nurtures a false desire for financial security and discourages risk-taking. According to him, different universities attract students of a certain social echelon and train them for the social position they will occupy when they graduate. At Yale, they are trained to be professionals, graduating with a grade-inflated GPA and multiple extracurriculars; at a lesser college they are trained "for positions somewhere in the middle of the class system". This emphasis on material well-being discourages risk-taking and intellectual courage. Students reason to themselves that since their families spent so much on their education, they shouldn't waste it by becoming a low income-earner--which they might become if they follow their passions.

Deresiewicz then goes on to link this aversion to risk-taking with anti-intellectualism. "The system forgot to teach them, along the way to the prestige admissions and the lucrative jobs, that the most important achievements can’t be measured by a letter or a number or a name. It forgot that the true purpose of education is to make minds, not careers."

He then links intellectualism with social change:

Since the idea of the intellectual emerged in the 18th century, it has had, at its core, a commitment to social transformation. Being an intellectual means thinking your way toward a vision of the good society and then trying to realize that vision by speaking truth to power. It means going into spiritual exile. It means foreswearing your allegiance, in lonely freedom, to God, to country, and to Yale. It takes more than just intellect; it takes imagination and courage. “I am not afraid to make a mistake,” Stephen Dedalus says, “even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity, too.”

I agree with this because I have a natural inclination towards learning. I love ideas; in fact, I often get very distracted by them. They seem like little fireflies that flit to and fro in front of me, and I keep swiping at them, trying to possess them, but they are never in my hand for long. Initially I thought that was a disadvantage when everyone around me seems to be so focused, but now I'm beginning to realise that my need for a broad perspective is an immutable part of me that must be honed and used for the greater good.

So although as an individual I agree with Deresiewicz's argument for a greater emphasis on learning, I think he's coming to the table with some assumptions that aren't true for everyone. He's assuming that intellectualism and individualism are ideals that everyone should and does strive for. I believe that people hold different values in this world, and the university system, like much of America, tries to accommodate all types of students: the ones who would like to change the world on a macro level, and the ones who would rather focus on individual issues, perhaps involving their family and loved ones, first. Because of this aim to meet a broad section of society's needs, the university system will inevitably disappoint some people. But in general, it will be sufficient for these different types of students.

I've encountered many different types of students on Emory's campus, and many care about intellectual inquiry, but to different extents. Many appreciate that a greater awareness of the world can help an individual be a more sensitive, precise problem-solver, but this extra bit of education does not always make them inclined to change the world with big plans and big ideas. There are many students who would like to change the world, but there are others who are perfectly happy and preoccupied with their families, relationships, and future career. I don't sense that they feel a certain urge to be "leaders" and change the world on a large scale. They may very well, through their commitment to specific communities, change their communities, and this contribution is just as important to society than change on a large scale.

Although it is important to think critically about issues in order to tackle them thoughtfully, there must come a point when enough information has been gathered and action must be taken. We will never know if our well-crafted plans are successful unless they are put in action, and for different issues, the level of thoughtfulness and preparation required before action is different. There is great value in learning while doing as well, and for some people this may be a very effective means of problem-solving.

Secondly, Deresiewicz acknowledges that the consequences to taking risks are less severe in the US compared to the rest of the world, and thus encourages students of elite universities to take these risks to discover themselves:

You can live comfortably in the United States as a schoolteacher, or a community organizer, or a civil rights lawyer, or an artist—that is, by any reasonable definition of comfort. You have to live in an ordinary house instead of an apartment in Manhattan or a mansion in L.A.; you have to drive a Honda instead of a BMW or a Hummer; you have to vacation in Florida instead of Barbados or Paris, but what are such losses when set against the opportunity to do work you believe in, work you’re suited for, work you love, every day of your life?

This doesn't sit well with me. Deresiewicz seems to be operating under the assumption that self-actualisation, doing what one loves and is most passionate about, is what all college students should strive for. In reality, college students are driven to fulfill different needs. Assuming Maslow's theory of the hierarchy of needs holds, each student can be motivated by their need for safety, love, or self-esteem, needs that fall below the pinnacle of the pyramid, self-actualisation. Some students may legitimately feel that they cannot afford to take risks as they have to return to parents who are struggling to make ends meet, who sent their children to college in hope that they will return to alleviate their burdens. Students of elite universities who have these types of family circumstances are few and far between, but they are present. Should they just run off to become artists or farmers? That seems to be a pretty individualistic, selfish choice.

I struggle with this decision. I always feel the need to provide for my parents in the future, yet my interests pull me away from the conventional, money-making path. Because despite my criticisms of Deresiewicz's article, I believe that there is great value in intellectual inquiry, in asking both "big questions" and preparing to tackle small, bite-sized tasks. Often, though, asking big questions doesn't necessarily pay. Yet if I feel this is something I am called to do, what can I do but trust and follow?

Faith and the city

2010-05-24T00:02:00.007-04:00

From zastavki.com

More from Tim Keller: a talk about Christianity and Creativity.

"Be reticent about talking directly about your faith...if people respect your art, they'll put up with your faith."

I think the phrase "your art" can be replaced with "you". It is not easy to be both respected in the world's eyes and a God-chaser; wanting to be respected often bleeds into wanting others' adoration and approval, and for me that is a very dangerous road to traverse. Yet only when I chase God can I truly be respect-able, not a hypocrite.

Dr Keller's talks have resonated with me recently. As the pastor for one of the biggest churches in New York City, he is very in tune with the views of young adults in big cities. He understands this pervasive tune of postmodernism and sympathises with the confusion it creates about how to be tolerant and accepting of diversity while maintaining faith in a holy God. He recognises the transience of relationships and vocations in a city and accepts that this state of affairs is not necessarily wrong.

Most importantly, he emphasises the need to hold values and traditions dear but not idolise them. Because when a value becomes an idol, to be followed unthinkingly at all cost, we begin to look away from God and focus instead on the things we have created.

Culture, here, inside me, and over there.

2010-05-23T01:06:00.004-04:00

Just listened to a sermon on culture by Tim Keller.

Cultural activity glorifies God because it involves taking raw material, drawing its potentiality out and arranging it for the flourishing of people. But when that becomes our identity, it doesn't glorify God.

Lately I've come to realise how important it is for me to be good at things. There's nothing wrong with that, but when this desire overtakes my life and controls my actions, I become self-centred and lose sight of what God wants me to do. So it was good to be reminded of that again by the sermon.

Another thought regarding it was how culture plays out in other societies, particularly less materially wealthy ones. I'm glad I'm going to India soon because I think I'm ready to find that out for myself.

Rethinking Research

2010-05-22T15:43:00.004-04:00

If you're in Singapore this coming week:

A close friend of mine, Professor Andrew Francis, is giving a seminar at the SMU School of Economics. He'll be speaking about how the Affirmative Action Policy in the University of Brasilia, Brazil, has affected the racial identity of students there.

Andy is a assistant professor of economics at Emory and I worked as his research assistant last year on this project. His interests are closely related to mine; both of us seek to use empirical economic methodology to examine social issues such as discrimination, homelessness and income inequality. In a sense, his research uses econometrics to analyse traditional sociological issues. It comes close to being a form of community research since it looks at the effects of a policy on the people.

This seminar could help broaden students', academics' and non-profits' perspective on how research can be used to advocate and catalyse change.

Details:
Topic: Education policy and racial identity in Brazil
Location: SMU School of Economics, SOE/SESS Seminar Room 5.1
Date: Monday, 24 May 2010
Time: 3:30pm

Do spread the word around to anyone who might be interested!

My life in some pictures

2010-05-15T19:07:00.014-04:00

An Extra Fancy Washington Apple from Safeway. One of the best apples I've ever tasted!

After finals, I spent about a week tying up my year as an RA. This involved checking residents' rooms to record any damages or cleanliness issues, filling up a lot of paperwork, and taking pictures of the damages. Some examples:

On the upside, at least I don't have to clean these rooms!

Flew to Seattle to hang out with Dan on Tuesday. Dan lives in a house with 12 other people. This is what Dan's house looks like from the back, which is the entrance that I use most of the time:I've been staying in the girls' side of the house with the 7 other girls who stay here, three of which are Suzy, Kaitlyn and Marah. Today is Saturday, and they've spent the day chilling out in the house:

Above: Suzy in her bedroom showing off what she was doing before I interrupted her: fiddling with her Blackberry. Below: Kaitlyn and Marah in the kitchen. They're looking for apartments.
Before last night, I slept on a couch in the living room, but last night I got a bed because one of the girls, Kathleen, went to California for the weekend! It was a good sleep.

This trip to Seattle is very different from my previous visits because I get to be around Dan's friends more often than usual. The community that Dan lives with is very friendly and I'm glad that he gets to hang out with more people now that he's living with them. Most of his housemates go to his church, and most are part of the same small group (which is held in the house). It's a nice support network.

I haven't been resting as much as I wanted to because every day there's something to do. I've also been getting pretty irregular sleeps and meals since finals ended, which has been rather bad for my mood. Those closing duties for my RA job can be a drag, and I felt lonely because I was stuck working instead of enjoying the sun and playing with friends after finals. This carried over into Seattle as I had to get used to the 3-hour time difference and live in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. Today, after a 9-hour night's rest, I finally feel awake and alive and happy.

Things I have been doing in Seattle:
1. Went to Vancouver and Richmond, a suburb of Vancouver, yesterday with Dan and his two friends, Philip and Shawn. We ate our way through the city--dim sum, Greek food, Transylvanian desserts, Asian pastries. Too much food in too little time but thankful for the opportunity to get to know Philip and Shawn better. And see the beautiful snow-capped mountains loom over concrete cities under the vast blue sky.

2. Somehow managed to wrangle a visit to an intermediate ballet and advanced modern dance class at the University of Washington, where Dan studies. I emailed the undergraduate programme director and fully disclosed that I'm a college student from Emory who's just interested in seeing what the UW dance programme is like. And she was nice enough to let me take class! I'll be taking them back-to-back on Monday and since I don't have any ballet shoes with me in the US I have to buy them tomorrow.

3. Made Indonesian curry from a packet with Dan a few days ago. Mmmm.

4. Danced on the green lawns of the UW quad on Wednesday while waiting for Dan to get out of class. Because I needed to move, and it was warm and sunny outside. Practised hand stands, barrel turns, axels and cartwheels, and relished the feeling of pretending I was invisible because no one knew who I was.

5. Sat on the garage in the warm sun reading.

6. Exchanged emails with my brother about life and college. They were unusually honest and long emails, and I'm thankful that we are able to communicate in this way.

7. Ate wonderful sashimi as Musashi's in Wallingford. Going to Musashi's and ordering their Chirashi sushi is pretty much a tradition for me and Dan. Yaozhang introduced it to us the first night I landed in Seattle for my first visit and it's become the place we go to for good, relatively cheap sashimi. As a semi-food snob (because I'm too cheap to pay big bucks for really good food, but I can't stand sub-par food), I refuse to eat any sort of sashimi unless it meets a certain standard. So I don't touch sashimi in Atlanta as I fear being disappointed. The sensation of cold, firm, subtly-flavoured sashimi on my tongue after at least three months of abstinence was therefore wonderful.

8. Learning to commit, to love, and to accept unconditionally.

Other news:

1. I am working on a post about education in reference to two articles from The American Scholar: Solitude and Leadership, and The Disadvantages of an Elite Education. It will appear soon.

2. I just received news on what I will be doing in India. I indicated that I'd like to work in a microfinance bank, and the Jodhpur FSD team told me about an organisation that they were trying to connect me with. I guess that didn't work out, because they ended up posting me to Marwar Seva Sanstha (MSS), a women's rights organisation, instead. MSS provides vocational training and general support to equip women and girls. Currently it focuses on migrants and the dalit (lowest caste) populations. Although I'm slightly disappointed that I won't be doing microfinance, I'm excited to see how I can contribute to this organisation. I think FSD and MSS want me to do programme evaluation for them, which is what I indicated I was interested in doing. There are also opportunities to teach English, Art & Craft, and other subjects--like maybe dance :)

3. I finally received my passport and my 6 month entry visa to India!

4. Last Monday I went to Emory's Student Health Clinic to get four vaccinations for my trip to India: two on each arm, one each for polio, tentanus, Hep A, and typhoid. When I return, I'll be getting my last one for Japanese Encephalitis. The injections weren't too bad; I'm not scared of needles and I just looked away as they were being done. I also have prescriptions for Malaria pills and diarrhoea pills. So I'm just about good to go!

Contact

2010-05-01T01:59:00.002-04:00

I have an idea while you wait,
Your presence still crisp in my mind.
When words no longer bring comfort or hope,
We will love with our hands and weight.

We will sense each other in a different way,
Not through letters or raised voices.
There’s nothing left to say
Now that we sense the transience of each moment.

We will play.

Roll towards me, lean against me,
And I will nudge and surprise you
There is a world of possibilities left for us;
There are still many things for us to do.

I will trace the outline of your veins
Under your parchment paper skin;
Feel the strength of your bones,
Press against atrophied muscle.

We will play away the long, sticky days
While each moment passing is instantly gone.
Yet each minute is slow, laboured and drawn.

Perhaps you think this is odd
But it’s the only way I know.

Wait for me to come home.

This is my country!

2010-04-30T04:14:00.003-04:00

Gamet, by Ah Hock and Peng Yu, a contemporary dance company in Singapore. This site-specific work was performed at Raffles Place, in the Central Business District of Singapore. I really like the open, green plots that Aaron Khek performs around; they are located in a little plaza between two office buildings, providing employees with a place to breath and take refuge from the concerns of work. Sort of. It's still hard to rest in that place when everyone is rushing about, even during lunch hour. But the greenery does calm one's spirit slightly.

I first experienced contact improvisation at a workshop conducted by Ah Hock and Peng Yu (also known as Aaron Khek and Ix Wong) when I was 14. I'd locked that experience away in my memory and forgot about it until now. Why did I forget it, when even then I was enthralled by the prospect of moving with another person, the challenge of always being in contact with my partner?

I wonder what things will be like when I return.

Pushing it

2010-04-24T00:15:00.005-04:00

Today was the second day of the Emory Dance Company concert. We've been having a pretty good run so far; people have been really enjoying our piece, and that's encouraging. On Sunday after the previous post about my lunch, something changed about the way I performed the piece. We had technical rehearsal that day so we got to try out our costumes and the lighting man did his lighting design on the piece. As we ran through the piece I suddenly began to see all these moments where I add textures of meaning. Instead of just being nice or timid, I could be mischievous, sly, content, annoyed, upset. And that made things so much more fun! George, the faculty coordinator, and Lindsay, the choreographer, say that Tuesday's technical rehearsal was the day the piece finally came alive for them, but I think it came alive for me on Sunday. It just needed a few days for me to process it, get over my hang-ups, and tell the stage that I was going to dance on it and no one was going to stop me. I finally got to that point on Wednesday.

It helps that the piece's concept is so irresistible. The piece has a storyline, a great score, and movement that is energetic and sharp. Working with F to choreograph her dance made me realise how hard it is to choreograph for other people because everyone moves differently. I think Lindsay did a great job recognising my and Steph's strengths, and channeling our energy to a dance that we enjoyed and thrived on.

Tuesday's tech rehearsal, the piece came alive. Wednesday's run was great; Steph and I really connected when we danced and I felt we were both pushing our limits while performing. That night, I couldn't get to sleep because I was so worried that I would mess up on opening night and not meet George's and Lindsay's elevated expectations. That didn't happen; Thursday night was a lot of fun, partly because of the audience. I could sense that the audience enjoyed the performance, and I fed off that energy. I felt like a wicked little imp as I ran across the stage, pushing, pulling and jumping into Steph. Although I'd had only 5 hours of sleep that night, once I stepped on the stage I felt as if I'd drank three cups of coffee. I loved it!

Tonight the energy on stage was just different. I hope it wasn't noticeable from the audience, but as much as I tried to regain yesterday's magic I couldn't. Maybe I wasn't making eye contact with Steph enough; maybe I wasn't as energetic; maybe it was out of my control. Still, the audience enjoyed our piece, and my friends who came were very generous with their praise. The audience laughed at the right moments and the final bow was, as usual, very gratifying. I enjoyed dancing it, pushing my limits, but something seemed off.

This diminished audience response made me realise, for the first time, the beauty of live performances. Most of the time when I sit in the audience I feel passive; I leave all the performing to the person on the stage. Entertain me! Yet when I am entertained, and I respond by laughing or cheering or staying very very still, I am feeding this response back to the artist, who senses it and feeds off it. And even in this staged performance there is an uncontrollable factor; in this artificial environment there is humanity and understanding.

On rare occasions, when we step outside the black box, our lives are changed. That's when art is powerful. Someone once said that entertainment presents us with what we know; art presents us with the unknown. I hope that our piece, besides entertaining the audience, made the audience think a little more about human relationships.

An Inspired Lunch

2010-04-17T12:38:00.005-04:00

When you're an Asian college student in the US trying to finish up the semester along with the 200 non-transferable dining dollars on her meal plan, you don't have time to go to a grocery store, let alone an Asian one. Unfortunately, I cannot eat bread or pasta every day; I need rice and Asian seasonings. If I can't eat a fully Asian meal, I'll make a Eurasian one. So this is what I put together.

This lunch is inspired by my roommate Kieu-thu, who likes to put everything in a bowl and mix it up.

1. Those things that look like worms in the picture? They're Korean-style anchovies (aka ikan bilis, dear Southeast Asian readers). They are also technically expired (see picture below), but I've been eating them for the past year and I'm perfectly fine. My friend Bona gave them to me to keep for her over the summer and then let me have it once she realised they were expired.

Expiry date is on the reverse of the package: it was sometime in August 2009.

2. Peas and spinach from the salad bar in Cox hall food court. A rather expensive grocery store but it'll do for now.

3. Ham from the Costco in Nashville, TN. We bought two hunks of ham over our camping trip during spring break and left them in Ju Heon's freezer when we left for the camp site. So we've been slowly working through them.

4. Rice, my own, flavoured with Justin's spicy Korean red paste. I guess you could say this meal is my take on his spicy kimchee rice.

A delightful lunch, accompanied by either an apple that was left over from spring break or an orange I grabbed from the SAAC. I haven't decided yet.

I've been depressed about dancing lately and so I went for a swim and delighted in the many other ways I can move. Right now is also the first time I'm listening to Pandora (and music in general) this week and it is very refreshing to dive into the art form of sound.

Pandora was playing Justin Timberlake and Ne-Yo just now. Very uncharacteristic of my recent state of mine, and it's nice to get out of the reflective, butoh-esque rhythm and movement I've been using lately.

Colbie Callait, by the way, did a cover of MJ's "I Want You Back", and I think it's the best thing I've heard from her ever (I'm not really a fan).

Of course, Jason Mraz just came on with his Live on Earth version of The Remedy and blew everyone else out of the water. How is he so secure in his individuality and so un-self-conscious of others? (check out his blog)

Diminishing Marginal Returns

2010-04-10T20:50:00.004-04:00

From OrkDork.com.
http://okdork.com/2005/11/03/easy-way-to-explain-diminishing-marginal-returns/

I think I'm reaching the point of diminishing marginal returns in the semester. This is when the extra utility I'm gaining from learning is not worth the effort, time and thought I'm putting into it. I don't feel like moving anymore; my dance improvisations consist of me being very near to the floor, watching my hand move itself through the air. Drooped over one bent leg trying to balance (which is a difficult task in itself). I want to go to sleep.

Maybe it's all about sleep deprivation and rest. Whatever it is, I'm glad I finally reached this point because sometimes my voracious appetite for learning and experiencing scares me. It feels limitless. Now I know it isn't. I need to ~~learn how to~~ rest and get through these next couple of weeks.

Mirrored

2010-04-08T22:40:00.005-04:00

From www.annmariehughes.net

I was working on the piece for F today and videoed myself doing some movement. Maybe I was out of it today and my body didn't feel like moving, but I didn't like what I saw on the video. What goes on in my head when I dance doesn't translate into what is seen. It's kind of like how everyone hears their speaking/singing voice differently from everyone else. You always imagine you sound/look/act better than you actually do.

I think this is what Lori means when she talks about strengthening the mind-body connection. You can see someone perform a movement, but can you get your body to replicate it? Likewise, you can feel an emotion, but can you convey it to an audience through movement? All of us do that to some extent every day: the way we walk, look, and interact with people reveals to others our state of mind. But actions can be so easily misinterpreted, and the challenge in dance is to be precise in our movements.

It was discouraging seeing myself on film. 10 hours of dancing a week for 16 weeks and this is how I look? I could see so much room for improvement: I am still too flowy, my hands are not used efficiently, my plie could be deeper, my upper body could be better articulated.

And then I reminded myself that I need to stop striving to be better and accept where I am at this moment. I didn't always spend this much time dancing, and I encountered many obstacles that discouraged me from pursuing it further. More importantly, I don't have to be good (or the best, or excellent; these are all relative terms) at something to enjoy it. Most importantly, I don't need this to validate my existence, because I will never be content if I keep clinging to superficial, transient things.

Such vanity--beauty, intelligence, talent, money, popularity. All these things ebb and flow through life, and to put our worth in them is such foolishness.

Because I'm Hungry

2010-04-08T00:39:00.004-04:00

It's a tau sar pao! A red bean paste bun. The smooth, thick, sweet paste--I can feel it on my tongue. The fluffy skin is soft and slightly sticky, neutral flavoured and perfectly complementary.

I miss you, my dear bun.

Facilitating

2010-04-08T00:19:00.008-04:00

I'm currently choreographing a solo for a sophomore, F, who decided to enter a pageant. She saw the Easter piece on Sunday and asked some of us if we were willing to work with her. Fresh from the excitement of the choreographing experience, I agreed. I then realised that I'd have to do this along with all the other gazillion deadlines I have to meet by the end of the semester.

It's not like I could back out, and I really was interested, anyway. F isn't a trained dancer, but she wanted to do a dance for the pageant to worship God. The pageant isn't a Christian pageant, but she still wanted to reach out to people. So--a non-dancer, doing a solo about God in a secular pageant. An interesting, irresistible premise.

F had two songs in mind--Imagine Me and More Than I Can Bear, both by Kirk Franklin. I immediately took a liking to Imagine Me; it was quieter and more lyrical, more suitable for a girl's solo. I could also see a narrative forming during the dance that I think would give it more meaning. After I explained my reasons, she agreed to use that song.

How would we come up with movements that would look good on F despite not being a dancer? We improvised. We talked about the basic concept of the song and brainstormed ideas for the story. It's simple; a timid girl is hiding in her shell and finally breaks out of it with God's help. Then we talked about ways we could depict this with movement. We sketched out a couple of movements and I watched her do it to the music. I also got her to improvise to the music and noted certain interesting movements. Then we clarified the movements and tried to stitch them together with the music.

The more we played around, the more we began to enjoy ourselves. I particularly liked watching F move. She has a very good musical sense and is unafraid to explore her imagination. She follows through on her movements and I think sometimes she gets lost while she improvises and forgets that I'm watching her. It's great to see such authenticity. As we worked through the first verse yesterday, I recalled my dance teacher Lori's words last semester, when she was also the choreographer for my EDC piece: "I see myself more as a facilitator, organising all the things you've created".

Of course, I can't have F do pedestrian-esque stuff for the entire 4 or 5 minutes, and while F enjoyed making up movement, she also asked for more "dancey" stuff. I'll have to make that up tomorrow so we can work on it on Friday. I'm excited!

I think what was most fulfilling for me at the end of that session was when F told me, "this is fun!" I was afraid that our improvisation would be disappointing to her; that she had been expecting me to create great and wonderful moves for her. But she had a very realistic understanding of her physical limitations and she came to me with a humble goal that dovetailed with mine: create a dance that uses her--her strengths and maybe even her weaknesses--to reach others. She genuinely seemed to be having fun, and I encouraged her to work with her ideas, stay with them, and not dismiss them as cliched or "un-dancey" because she's not trained.

I think that F's humility and her willingness to be used will help this piece reach others. I hope it does.

Creating/Fermenting

2010-04-07T23:20:00.004-04:00

I think I'm slowly making a transition from absorbing to creating. I'm accepting my skills, talents and interests; my weaknesses, hang-ups, and pride. I'm making things. And it's fun!

Over the past two weeks I choreographed a dance for Easter Sunday celebration at church. When my friend Philip first asked me to choreograph, I was rather apprehensive because I'd never choreographed before. That wasn't a good reason to decline; also, even though I'd never choreographed formally, I do it all the time. I make up movements when I can't get to sleep, when I'm walking to class, when I listen to a catchy/emo/stirring song. I've been dancing so much this semester it's no surprise that it overflows into the rest of my life. So I agreed.

The task was to choreograph for the chorus of Kutless' "What Faith Can Do". The cast was a mix of dancers from various backgrounds (hip hop, jazz, tricking, and modern) and people who don't have much dance experience. I wanted to make a dance that moved, that involved hands and legs and the body. Most of the dancing I'd seen in church involved more hand motions, which I knew made sense given the space and time constraints, but I couldn't bring myself to choreograph that.

My living room became the rehearsal space as it was about the same size as the stage. I was surprised at how easily movements came to me; I had half the material down within the day Philip asked me to choreograph. The rest came in the next couple of days. I daydreamed on the way to school, mining my repository of jazz and modern moves--Lindsay, the choreographer for my Emory Dance Company (EDC) piece, once commented "we all steal from each other"--and improvised to the song again and again.

Kieu-thu was my model; I taught her the movements and watched her do it. This helped me see if they were difficult for non-dancers. I also threw in some partnering moves since there was a mix of guys and girls in the piece. When I taught the partnering stuff to the dancers, I was surprised at how easily many of them latched on, particularly the boys. I was also very thankful that they were so supporting and willing to move out of their comfort zone. Even the "trained" dancers were new to these type of partner situations.

I was also surprised at how collaborative everyone was. As a dancer in Singapore, I was trained to do what I was told and stand back to let the choreographer tweak and think. Since participating in EDC I've begun to realise that most modern choreographers see choreography as a collaborative process. I didn't think that my friends would be as vocal as they were during rehearsals, though. Their criticism and feedback was hard to take sometimes as I get very attached to my movements. We do this lift here because it's what the music and the previous movement calls for, and my body feels right doing it. My friends, however, spoke up when they felt something wouldn't look good, or that the stage was too small, or a movement was too hard to pick up.

It was a challenge learning to listen to my friends' feedback and either stand my ground or modify the choreography to form a compromise. It was also challenging teaching my friends the movements. In modern, we are given a basic shape to copy but there is leeway on how and when our individual bodies interpret the shape. A lot of times being in sync with other dancers is less important than using movement to interpret a specific point of time in the piece. (Also, personally, I need to be more on the beat when I learn combinations.) While learning the choreography, though, most of the dancers in the Easter piece seemed more concerned about blocking [where they should stand] or where exactly in the music a move should go. I had to stop and think, either to answer their question or dismiss it for later.

I choreographed the chorus of the piece on my own, and collaborated with Jonathan for the bridge. I prefer working alone because collaboration takes a lot of emotional energy out of me. Despite that, I really enjoyed what we produced. Jonathan isn't a trained dancer, but he is a guy, and guys move differently from girls. I didn't want to make an emasculating piece; I wanted the dance to honour the guys as well. I hope it did, at least a little. I came up with a short phrase for the guys and encouraged Jonathan to modify it as he saw fit. I also watched him perform it to see what things he tended to do so I could incorporate that into the choreography. Kieu-thu watched and gave us feedback on what worked, what was realistic, and what was my flight of fancy. In the end, we came up with a bridge that I was very satisfied with.

Our final rehearsal on Saturday was rough. It was then that I saw the challenge of choreographing a piece with a lot of movement. We were actually performing to two songs: one choreographed mainly by Philip and Frances and the other by me (with the rest's help). Despite my lack of emphasis on coordination, I began to realise, as I watched the videos of our rehearsals, that it was necessary to be very conscious of when we should do certain actions. Since we were performing most movements in unison, they had to be done simultaneously, in the same way. Cleaning up was very challenging for me, but luckily Philip and Frances, being part of dance teams, have a lot of experience with this. It also helped to film ourselves dancing so we could each identify our mistakes.

We were still practicing up until the performance; I was surviving on about 3 hours of sleep, having stayed up to finish my multivariable calculus homework. I completely messed up during the second run, but people still seemed appreciative. Most of all, I was really blessed that the dancers stuck with my choreography despite the rough patch the day before. I know how it feels to have to perform a piece that feels awkward on you, and while reflecting on Saturday I realised that may have been what some of my friends felt. Because of that, I was thankful for their grace toward me.

I think I'd like to do this choreographing thing more. Now I know why Lindsay enjoys choreographing!

Seeing the woods

2010-03-27T17:23:00.005-04:00

Today's a beautiful, sunny day, and I remember running through Lullwater and the Druid Hills neighbourhood last spring, captivated by colour and life and light.

I realised that I've been so caught up with the details of the fabric that I missed seeing the fabric itself. To be able to choose is a privilege in itself; why do I worry about what I choose?

Mostly because I grasp these little details too tightly in my hand and forget about the one who has given them to me.

Intellectual Constipation

2010-03-26T12:46:00.005-04:00

Do you ever feel like you need to produce something, and this urge weighs so heavily on your mind that your brain feels twisted into knots inside your scalp?

I noted a few posts ago that I'm innately a "doer", but I think I should clarify that. I am also innately a "reflector", and most of the things I do are investigations: what happens when I roll over my shoulder with my feet up? what's the big deal about microfinance? how effective can nonprofits be?

I get frustrated when I cannot produce anything tangible; when I do not present answers to these questions to others. At the same time I'm afraid of doing that--what if my answers are wrong, or people don't care, or I'm presenting them wrongly? All my skills of analysis don't matter if I can't capture people's attention or produce something with the information.

Hence the concept of intellectual constipation: when one consumes so much knowledge that one needs to let it out but can't find a mechanism to do so.

I need to find some intellectual fibre, that's what I need to do.

Also, I need to remember that it's not the stuff that comes out of me that defines who I am, though it may be very good. God has created me to do good works, and everything useful and precious that I produce is by His grace. I am His workmanship, already prepared to do good works. Sometimes, just being who I am is glorifying to Him.

Time Pie

2010-03-25T01:41:00.005-04:00

A curry tiger pie, photographed by The Food Pornographer. Pies are more of a British food than American. I love the pastry crust. The curry tiger pie has gravy, mashed peas (the green gook), and mashed potatoes on top of a curry meat pie. Sounds like a good mix to me--I love peas, meat, and pastry. Unfortunately, this pie was photographed in Australia, so I won't be able to taste it anytime soon.

For contemporary issues in dance, we did an exercise called the Time Pie that helped us figure out what we spend most of our time on. This is mine:

My present schedule (168 hrs total)
1. Sleep: 33% (56 hrs a week)
2. Meals (including cooking): 12% (20 hrs a week)
3. Personal maintenance (showering, etc): 10% (16 hrs a week)
4. Classes: 11% (18 hrs a week)
5. Extracurriculars (volunteering, dance, church): 6% (10 hrs a week)
6. Work: 2% (4 hrs a week)
7. Commuting: 4% (7 hrs a week)
8. Reflection: 4% (7 hrs a week)
9. Homework and administration: 18% (30 hrs a week)
10. Groceries and chores: minimal
11. Social time: 2% (4 hours)
12. Chilling out: whatever’s left
Total: 102%

So I went a little over the limit. Minor detail.

After sleep, the majority of my time is spent doing homework(!) I defined homework as anything that involves sitting at a desk. In general, anytime I am not engaged in a scheduled activity, I am usually doing homework. So I subtracted off all other activities to find how much time I spend on it. Of course, there are some minimal overlaps with my work [as a resident advisor, much of my job involves answering emails], social life and relaxation time. I know, though, that when I sit at a desk I am usually either studying or working.

I was surprised to realise that I can afford to spend so much time on homework. Often, I feel rushed while I'm doing it, probably because I underestimate the amount of time I have. That's part of the reason for why my weeks are such emotional rollercoasters this semester; I'm alternately stressed and happy [like a sinusoidal curve with time on the x-axis and mood on the y-axis].

I usually get stressed out about completing work that is due on Thursday earlier in the week, and by the time Thursday comes I slow down. My recent lack of sleep (especially on Monday and Wednesday nights because I have to wake up early on Tuesdays and Thursdays) does not help either. Weekends are wonderful relaxing times where I feel I'm getting work done but am not being rushed. Dance class, friends, and the wonderful recent spring weather make me feel happy and thankful to be alive.

A few weeks ago I was beating myself up about not being in a good mood throughout the day, always worrying and stressing out. I was frustrated that my mood was spoiling my experiences, but this compounded my existing frustration and did not help matters at all. So I've decided to just leave it. I can feel busy or rushed; I'm trusting that eventually I will learn how to better manage my feeling pressed for time or the insomnia that plagues me.

I'm discovering that I can actually live on very little sleep.

Thought you might like to know...

2010-03-18T02:53:00.004-04:00

I am going to Jodhpur, India to work with a non-profit for 9 weeks this summer.

Jodhpur is located in the state of Rajasthan, India, on the fringe of the Thar desert. It thus experiences extreme seasonality: in the summer (May-Aug), temperatures rise to a maximum of 42°C. The heat, unlike Singapore, is dry and thus less stifling.

Jodhpur's second largest industry is tourism because of its scenic landscape and monuments.

I obtained a grant from Emory's Center for International Programs Abroad to embark on a programme with the Foundation for Sustainable Development, a US-based NGO that has site teams in Africa, India and South America. They match me with a local NGO depending on my interests and skill sets, as well as that NGO's needs. We're still discussing where I will be placed, but it's probably going to be something related to microfinance and/or women's empowerment.

At a 6.5% real GDP growth rate, India has one of the fastest growing economies in the world. Yet there exists a gap between those who can take advantage of India’s growing opportunities and those who are socioeconomically marginalized. A quarter of India’s population lives below the poverty line, and the legacies of rigid gender and caste systems restrict many women and Harijans (the lowest caste) from gaining education, employment, or financial capital.

In Jodhpur, empowering women, Harijans, and rural populations are the focus of local NGOs, which set up schools, self-help groups, training workshops, microfinance groups, and resource centers for vulnerable populations. The initiatives aim to empower the marginalized by equipping them with skills that they can use to work, learn, and advocate for themselves. In addition, they ensure relevance and sustainability by inviting community feedback and evaluation.

My site coordinator suggested Sambhali Trust, a women and children empowerment group, and Basix, a microfinance group. I haven't looked into either organisation in-depth, but if you're interested you could definitely google them (or just click on the links above). And tell me what you think!

Development is hard, unrewarding work. I enjoyed my work last summer, acting as a "neighbourhood consultant" for a neighbourhood association. But at the end of it all, I didn't see how my work had any impact on the neighbourhood. That was very discouraging. I didn't want to let go of this non-profit/development idea, though, because I believe that we need to help the marginalised and vulnerable. Market forces cannot do all the work.

That's why I decided to apply for the CIPA grant to do this programme. I don't think I knew what I was getting myself into--visa applications, more grant applications, Hindi lessons (hopefully coming soon), vegetarianism--I was just heady with the excitement of going to a new country, being able to say "I went to a less developed country" or "I went abroad during college" (not that I'm not doing that already). I was tempted to turn down the grant when I got it, but the opportunity to learning more about development and be able to design my own project was one I could not let myself pass up.

Who knows what doors, ideas, feelings this may open up for me? Yes, I'm afraid. But that's never a good reason for anything. In contact improvisation there are times when we take the whole weight of our partner. When I feel afraid, I remember God calling me to rest in Him and I remember the sensation of sinking into someone else's body, trusting that they will carry my weight.

P.S. You can read more about FSD's intern abroad programme here.

Checked my mail

2010-03-18T02:24:00.004-04:00

This email is from a man I met at Eagle's Nest, the homeless ministry I've been helping out at since Spring 2008. Both he and I used to be more regular volunteers. The only difference is that he's homeless.

We've had some good conversations, and through my interactions with him and other people at Eagle's Nest, I began to see that people are similar regardless of where or how they live. We all have dreams, hopes, fears, loves. We all need God.

I used to help out at Eagle's Nest's early morning breakfast feeding sessions, but that got too hard to wake up to (and deal with--it breaks my heart to see the people there sometimes). So I moved on to help start up their computer class, and struggled with trying to convince participants to attend and stay consistent.

I've stopped attending Eagle's Nest as regularly because I wanted to concentrate on other activities. Volunteer work of this kind is discouraging; most of the time few people showed up for our computer class and although we met their immediate needs (set up email account, learn to type, obtain library card, find out what to do about identity theft), I always left wondering what would happen to them after they left the class. Would they come back? (Most of the time, no.) Would they use the skills we taught them? (Some, I heard, take computer classes at a jobs resource centre nearby.)

As I've mentioned previously, I am impatient. I want to make my mark on the world. When you are in a university setting, reading books by trailblazers, you sense that you should achieve and alter the status quo as well. What brings me down to earth is the realisation that sometimes, all we can hope for are small changes. And sometimes, we can't even see the changes. We just have to trust that God is using us.

I went down to Eagle's Nest last Saturday to help Pastor Larry, the pastor in charge, design a powerpoint presentation for his new organisation, one that coordinates mission teams to Sudan. That was when I met B, the author of the email above. He gave me a big hearty hug and we exchanged greetings. I was glad to see him; over the summer a disagreement had occurred and while we resolved it, we had also begun visiting Eagle's Nest less frequently (due to other reasons on both our parts).

On the way back that Saturday, I shared with Jamie, my fellow volunteer, that I didn't feel that I was producing anything useful.

"Just think about the look in Pastor Larry's eyes when he thanked you for coming down," Jamie said. "I think our being there encourages him to keep going."

And his (Jamie's, Pastor Larry's, B's) encouragement encourages me to keep encouraging him (all of the above, all at once) in a world where money cannot matter because there is never enough of it.

What you can do with the internet

2010-03-18T00:05:00.006-04:00

I found a bunch of videos I really liked over the internet a while back. They're from a dance project named "Undercurrents and Exchange" by Third Rail Projects. These 5-minute pieces were performed in the World Financial Center in New York from 2-27 February 2009.

Some pieces are like little TV drama episodes, so a story develops each time they are performed. Below are a piece that I liked, about a mermaid caught in the World Financial Center.

Day #1 of "Undercurrents & Exchange" from Third Rail Projects on Vimeo.

Day #12 of "Undercurrents & Exchange" from Third Rail Projects on Vimeo.

Day #16 of "Undercurrents & Exchange" from Third Rail Projects on Vimeo.

These are stand-alone pieces I enjoyed. Some of them develop another story but they're good just on their own.

Day #7 of "Undercurrents & Exchange" from Third Rail Projects on Vimeo.

Great partnering.

Day #5 of "Undercurrents & Exchange" from Third Rail Projects on Vimeo.

Peace. Haha.

Observations and discoveries

2010-03-17T19:40:00.009-04:00

This is what I observe and discover by dancing.

1. When I sit at my desk like a rickshaw puller (see picture below), hunched over instead of leaning back as he is, hugging one knee close, it's always my right knee that I hug. I wonder if it has something to do with my scoliosis--the fact that my spine is curved slightly to the left. In any case, I think everyone's body's two halves move differently. I should switch my knees [hugs left knee instead].

Glad to know the simile holds and rickshaw pullers really do sit like that! (So do normal human beings, of course)

2. When you're stressed, breathe. There are so many parts of my day when I hold my breath! Yesterday was a particularly stressful day, so I tried to sing this song.

3. There's a difference between looking and observing. Observing implies an engaged mind; the brain is taking notes (her hand goes here, and then she places it on her knee) with the intent of learning and remembering. Observing sometimes requires one's full attention, which means--stand still, don't copy the movement. Just watch and remember.

4. I like to jump. I like being lifted in the air. There is something delicious about not having the floor as a boundary--of course, it still is, but you use it your advantage when you push off. I love being picked up and responding to another person's initiation. I love being taken for a ride, being connected to someone's body and feeling the tension between us and still experiencing freedom as I move through the air. Whee!

1:01. I need to get Dan to try contact improv.

5. Dancing is more than just having the correct shapes. It's about moving with intention and authenticity. When I move my leg, is it because I'm scared? Happy? Frustrated? Dance is powerful when it conveys a message to the audience--preferably intentionally.

5. I need to accept that I'm not going to be the best at everything--especially not dance. But that doesn't matter, because God can still use me.

The questions I've been pondering for a while now are:
1. what role should dance play in my life? and
2. how can I use all these little nuggets of information that I'm learning about myself to encourage, equip, strengthen others?

The two questions are linked because I always learn something from any activity I participate in, but I don't want the process to stop there. The purpose of my learning should never me just to enrich myself. Yet there seems to be a wide canyon yawning in front of me that separates myself from the rest of the world, and I wish I knew which is the best way to cross it.

I am impatient, I know. I am innately a "doer". But I think this answer is only one that will come with time.

ice cream

2006-09-27T07:03:00.003-04:00

First, you must choose.
Stare through the clear glass at flavours of different colours
with swirls and chunks of brown and red and beige.

You realise it doesn't really matter now you've decided to have one--
the calories are more or less the same.

You ask to taste that one, and that one, and would keep on going
but stop yourself just in time at two
or else you'd end up tasting all, not getting any,
and pissing off the girl with the scoop.

Very Berry's lighter than Nutella, which you've not tasted in a while
and though you're still feeling quite full from lunch
H and Z are waiting so you should probably just choose.

You always get a cone.
It's funner that way:
It melts itself into the hollow
and peeps up when you think you're done--
"hello, I'm here too!"—
and slides down your tongue.

Outside, the afternoon sun melts it extra fast
and the sweet stickiness smoothens itself
down the dabbled brown...
one lick and it's gone.