Enjoy your Indian “Christmas.” The quotations are not my own but rather those of a friend of mine in a recent Facebook message. I have to agree with that. After all, celebrating Christmas in India is kind of like someone in the US telling you about their pilgrimage to Mecca. We’re all familiar with it, understand it’s a big deal, but don’t quite get the details or the whole picture. In fact, I’ve had Muslim and Hindu students ask me if Santa Claus is actually a real figure that only distributes gifts to American children. I wasn’t sure if I should keep the mystery alive but decided I would just confuse them so I spilled the beans. First time I’ve seen a child told there is no Santa Claus and I haven’t seen them cry.
Anyway, this doesn’t mean that it is impossible to find Christmas here. Alongside of the palm trees and the ever present sunshine (like all Oregonians, I reveled in this for about a week before assimilating to the Indian preference to avoid the sun whenever possible) there are pockets of evergreen. I mean, a small, fake Christmas tree must count, right? And of course most bakeries in town have Santa cut outs in the window and a few of the western-style coffee houses play Christmas carols and offer Christmas cake.
I think that here I should insert a note about Christmas cake. Apparently Christmas cake is a big deal here. All Indians expect me to know how to make it and to offer to make them some myself. I guess this must be a legacy of their British heritage. But they fail to realize Americans aren’t so big on this tradition. I’ve hardly ever eaten Christmas cake before, let alone made it. Something like fruitcake that can possibly survive a nuclear holocaust doesn’t quite appeal to me like a gingerbread house. Yet in India, people travel for miles, regardless of their religious beliefs, to grab a loaf of Christmas cake at Karachi Bakery. They also have never heard of a sugar cookie or a candy cane.
While being home for the holidays is of course atop my list of things I want for Christmas, don’t worry too much. Fist of all, on Christmas Eve day, I am attending a teacher’s picnic at Oceanfront park, wherever and whatever that is… Seeing as we are smack dab in the middle of the country, I’m thinking it can’t be that great. But still, it’s better than being in school. Then, as any good Ex-pat group, we have arranged our own celebration away from home which entails going to a nice classy hotel restaurant and drowning our holiday blues with turkey, all the trimmings, unlimited wine and eggnog. Should make for an interesting IDEX Christmas. Not to mention our haphazard Secret Santa. I can’t wait to see what I get.
But perhaps one of the best Christmas gifts I got was a bit of a reminder of why I’m here. Without waxing too cliché, life is series of ups and downs here. The ups are just as euphoric as the downs are depressing. But one major bright spot in the last few weeks has been the success of my penpal program at school. Shamelessly exploiting my mom’s employment at a local Oregon elementary school means that I have a classroom of fifth graders back home who are exchanging letters with sixth and seventh graders here. We recently received the first batch of letters from the US and the students were so excited. They were pouring over the letters, marveling at the blonde and red hair of most of their penpals, and couldn’t wait to write back. Definitely a major win.
And so, here's my Christmas list this year... hope it makes for good reading:
1. World Peace: Yes the old standby. I've already been cliche so what the hell.
2. A good job that utilizing my skills and passions next year: Be that back in the US or wherever, I'm sure something will turn up.
3. To make the most of my time left in India: I'm already over the halfway point and time is flying by!
4. To never be sick again: Oh India, you've had your fun with me so just leave me alone!
5. A new computer and Iphone for when I get home: Just because I'm in India doesn't mean I've shunned the material world!
6. To figure out who the heck I am/ what I should be doing/ and who I should be doing it with: Job, life... I have no idea what's in store. But if you can't do a little soul searching in India, then where can you?
7. To never take for granted my friends and family again: You don't realize what you have until it's not there anymore.
So I will sign off here and let you all get back to your festive celebrations. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. I hope that the season finds you well! Peace and love, Jenny.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Ridin' Solo
The public bus never really gets the attention it deserves. I mean, how often do you think about it other than “thank God I have my car and I’m not that sucker waiting for a bus out in the rain.” Well in India, as with most things, transportation takes on a life of its own. I’m not going to brag about my ability to barter with auto drivers or the skills I now have in jumping on and off a moving bus or riding one-handed on the back of a scooter. But I am going to talk about what it is like to travel around, day in and day out, in Hyderabad, and most importantly, what it is like on a public bus.
Half of my Indian friends are still completely floored by the idea of me and my American friends actually getting on these things. I mean, they grew up with drivers and have been driving themselves around town just like the rest of us have been since we were teenagers (okay well I never had a driver but you get the picture). They have not even stepped onto a bus themselves. But when they cost about twenty cents to use, don’t require any bargaining, and you more or less know where they will go, it is kind of hard to say no. Although sometimes I wish I did. You see, there is something interesting about the bus system here in the city. It is that buses are as diverse as their drivers, and run the gauntlet from a clunker with a literal hole in the floorboard (yes on a recent trip I had to straddle said hole and hope it wouldn’t get bigger) to the bus I just took to this coffee shop which had air conditioning and a TV screen playing music videos. And it only cost three rupees more. The catch is as you wait at any given bus stop you never know what you will get, or really how crowded it will be.
Getting onto and off of the bus is an art form in itself. Most routes have stops that are marked or if not marked, at least visible by the amount of people congregating to get on them. But the real fun begins when the bus stops. For if you are getting on the bus, you are being pushed by the people behind you who also want to get on, at the same time you are being forced back by the people getting off the bus. I generally just wait until the last possible moment in back and then jump on as it starts to move. Saves my backpack from being squashed in the melee. On the flip side, if you want to get off the bus, you had better force your way through the women to the front and push them, poke them, yell at them, or do whatever, to ensure that you get off in time. It can be a long way between stops.
The bus ticket collector is also an anomaly. They wander up and down the aisle, often tapping, whistling and even pulling braids to get your attention so you can pay the fare. Sometimes if you don’t have change and they don’t have change they will hold up a finger, say “ek moment,” and twenty minutes later, assuming you haven’t already gotten off of the bus, voila, you have your change. They also have an uncanny knack of remembering exactly what stop you paid for, making sure you get off at that stop or else. I may not understand Telugu but I do get it when I am no longer welcome. On really crowded buses I have seen them hanging off the stairs, jumping out to allow passengers on and off and then running and jumping back onto the tiny bottom rung without missing a beat. It takes a certain breed of person to excel at this obviously and I have to admire their stamina and good sense of balance. Walking up and down a moving bus all day yelling at people has to get old.
Drivers tend to be in their own world, sitting up front, shifting with one hand while talking on their cell phone with the other. Shoes are optional as is any peripheral vision. I once was on a bus that somehow managed to be missing all the glass from the windows on the left side which happened to be where I was sitting. It was like riding in a half-convertible bus. Which was nice and breezy and fine until the driver veered left into a group of low-hanging trees. If I hadn’t ducked, I don’t think I would be writing a blog about buses after all.
Buses are not for foreigners. Oh no. I have realized that the reason why I never see foreigners walking on the streets but I see them in restaurants and in bars is because they don’t stoop to public transportation. But if you can get over the stares and learn which end of the bus you belong (men in back, women in front), it is really easy. My friends and I had a laugh the other day when our flatmate, who has taken the same bus to school and back every day for five months and never seen a non-Indian on board, watched a foreign couple get on her bus. And she stared just like everyone else did. I mean, you start to feel possessive about things here and your local bus definitely figures high onto that list. You are the token foreigner on that route thank you very much. You alone know the ins and outs of public transportation in Hyderabad. And you’ll be damned if someone else figures it out.
Half of my Indian friends are still completely floored by the idea of me and my American friends actually getting on these things. I mean, they grew up with drivers and have been driving themselves around town just like the rest of us have been since we were teenagers (okay well I never had a driver but you get the picture). They have not even stepped onto a bus themselves. But when they cost about twenty cents to use, don’t require any bargaining, and you more or less know where they will go, it is kind of hard to say no. Although sometimes I wish I did. You see, there is something interesting about the bus system here in the city. It is that buses are as diverse as their drivers, and run the gauntlet from a clunker with a literal hole in the floorboard (yes on a recent trip I had to straddle said hole and hope it wouldn’t get bigger) to the bus I just took to this coffee shop which had air conditioning and a TV screen playing music videos. And it only cost three rupees more. The catch is as you wait at any given bus stop you never know what you will get, or really how crowded it will be.
Getting onto and off of the bus is an art form in itself. Most routes have stops that are marked or if not marked, at least visible by the amount of people congregating to get on them. But the real fun begins when the bus stops. For if you are getting on the bus, you are being pushed by the people behind you who also want to get on, at the same time you are being forced back by the people getting off the bus. I generally just wait until the last possible moment in back and then jump on as it starts to move. Saves my backpack from being squashed in the melee. On the flip side, if you want to get off the bus, you had better force your way through the women to the front and push them, poke them, yell at them, or do whatever, to ensure that you get off in time. It can be a long way between stops.
The bus ticket collector is also an anomaly. They wander up and down the aisle, often tapping, whistling and even pulling braids to get your attention so you can pay the fare. Sometimes if you don’t have change and they don’t have change they will hold up a finger, say “ek moment,” and twenty minutes later, assuming you haven’t already gotten off of the bus, voila, you have your change. They also have an uncanny knack of remembering exactly what stop you paid for, making sure you get off at that stop or else. I may not understand Telugu but I do get it when I am no longer welcome. On really crowded buses I have seen them hanging off the stairs, jumping out to allow passengers on and off and then running and jumping back onto the tiny bottom rung without missing a beat. It takes a certain breed of person to excel at this obviously and I have to admire their stamina and good sense of balance. Walking up and down a moving bus all day yelling at people has to get old.
Drivers tend to be in their own world, sitting up front, shifting with one hand while talking on their cell phone with the other. Shoes are optional as is any peripheral vision. I once was on a bus that somehow managed to be missing all the glass from the windows on the left side which happened to be where I was sitting. It was like riding in a half-convertible bus. Which was nice and breezy and fine until the driver veered left into a group of low-hanging trees. If I hadn’t ducked, I don’t think I would be writing a blog about buses after all.
Buses are not for foreigners. Oh no. I have realized that the reason why I never see foreigners walking on the streets but I see them in restaurants and in bars is because they don’t stoop to public transportation. But if you can get over the stares and learn which end of the bus you belong (men in back, women in front), it is really easy. My friends and I had a laugh the other day when our flatmate, who has taken the same bus to school and back every day for five months and never seen a non-Indian on board, watched a foreign couple get on her bus. And she stared just like everyone else did. I mean, you start to feel possessive about things here and your local bus definitely figures high onto that list. You are the token foreigner on that route thank you very much. You alone know the ins and outs of public transportation in Hyderabad. And you’ll be damned if someone else figures it out.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Almighty Rupee
Working in the hybrid non-profit/ social business sphere, the dollar (well rupee I should say) is not exactly the motivating factor behind my choice of profession. Hopefully that much is obvious since the stipend I receive here reminds me of how good I had it at my part-time internship last year. Yet it is still a frustrating part of the job. Because, well, if I had unlimited funding, I could do whatever I want in my school and I could also travel, explore, and eat as much amazing food as my heart desires. And I wouldn’t have to waste precious energy worrying about how much I exceed my budget each month because, well, that budget would be a lot bigger. Yet I do have to remind myself that I am doing much better than the average person in India, so my own sob story about money stops here. This is about India’s money.
So back to the “average person” in India. As everyone is aware, India has one of the highest income discrepancies in the world (sadly the US isn’t doing that much better) with 42% of the population making less than $1.25 a day. And although the per capita GDP has skyrocketed to over $3500 per year from about $800 20 years ago, it is important to keep in mind that income inequality has also doubled in twenty years and that this is the average GDP, out of over a billion people. Suffice it to say there are plenty of people making much much less. In fact, the average teacher at my school makes a little over $30-$40 A MONTH. Yes, that’s right, a month. For working six days a week, all day. And yes, things are less expensive here than they are in the west but only marginally so. A liter of milk will still set you back a dollar or so in most convenience stores. In fact, inflation is at a high in India right now, devaluing the rupee and increasing the cost of living.
What am I getting at in this blog then? Well it’s a case of perspective. A case of my reminding myself that I may be hemorrhaging my money on dining out or trips but that I am still able to drop $15 on a nice dinner while this is close to half of most people’s monthly income. The story of poverty in India as I see it is a case of mixed outcomes. The economy grows, the middle class grows, people buy their smartphones and their designer jeans that are at least the same cost, if not more expensive, than those in the United States. But an extraordinary number of people remain left behind. One Australian consultant here shared the staggering statistic with me that there are more people living below the poverty line in only four states in India than the population of ALL of sub-saharan Africa. This is a very sobering thought.
When I said I was coming to India, people were very jealous. After all, we do see the India of stark poverty, on news reports and documentaries, and we can forget the incredible amount of wealth here. But we also see the Bollywood movies where everything is colorful, everyone is happy, and the star couple ends up together, smiling, at the end. So we equate this with a joy for living in India. We say that Indians have it right, valuing family first and being happy with what they have. Unfortunately, the feeling I have picked up most here was aptly described by my friend the other day. It is angst. Angst for something better and something more. Life is incredibly hard here. The day to day monotony overwhelmed by circumstance and hardship. Many people are not happy with what they have but they do not know any differently and feel they cannot change their situation.
And in my current profession, this feeling and these statistics are what keeps us going; the driving force behind social entrepreneurship. History shows that throwing money at the situation is not an answer. Instead people must have ownership in these initiatives to ensure sustainability and the continued success of poverty alleviation programs. That’s what social entrepreneurship and development programs like microfinance are all about. But what I am hoping as well is that India takes a stake in its own development. Before everyone jumps down my throat, I realize this seems hypocritical coming from a citizen of a country which blindly turns an eye to most of its own poor. And I also want to insert a caveat here that I have met an extraordinary amount of Indians who are concerned about the poor, who do support various causes, and who give what they can. Nevertheless, government initiatives to support development are mostly half-hearted, corrupt and do just throw money at the problem. As the recent case of the government shut-down of microfinance in Andhra Pradesh shows, the government is just as interested in making a buck as everyone else and the end result is it undermines the very programs that can help it to succeed.
But the problem, at least from what I have seen here is not a lack of money but a case of where the money is going, which is true in almost all developing countries where it is hidden away. Yet in India this misuse of funds is an open secret. And that has transferred to the individual. What takes precedence is a consumerism to rival that of any American Walmart and a hunt for the one item that will convey status. In India, caste status has given way to economic status. It is a matter of pride, and being confused with someone from the next lower strata is a hurt that one would rather not bear. We from the west know this story well as we participated in it ourselves and continue to. And look where it got us. So, India, learn from our mistakes. There is no massive, easy solution to crippling income disparity or massive levels of poverty. But irresponsible growth isn’t the answer either. You see it every day here – new construction replacing a former makeshift homeless camp, most certainly fueled by bribes to oversight committees and government officials in amounts that would feed and clothe these same homeless for months.
From what I can see, the story of India is a story of money. But money not necessarily well-spent. And it’s complicated. More complicated than I can understand and based on policies and practices that are part of the Indian identity. Yet if India is the country of the future (and I assure you, it most definitely is), it can only succeed by lifting those up who are left behind. The money is there. It’s just not in the right place
So back to the “average person” in India. As everyone is aware, India has one of the highest income discrepancies in the world (sadly the US isn’t doing that much better) with 42% of the population making less than $1.25 a day. And although the per capita GDP has skyrocketed to over $3500 per year from about $800 20 years ago, it is important to keep in mind that income inequality has also doubled in twenty years and that this is the average GDP, out of over a billion people. Suffice it to say there are plenty of people making much much less. In fact, the average teacher at my school makes a little over $30-$40 A MONTH. Yes, that’s right, a month. For working six days a week, all day. And yes, things are less expensive here than they are in the west but only marginally so. A liter of milk will still set you back a dollar or so in most convenience stores. In fact, inflation is at a high in India right now, devaluing the rupee and increasing the cost of living.
What am I getting at in this blog then? Well it’s a case of perspective. A case of my reminding myself that I may be hemorrhaging my money on dining out or trips but that I am still able to drop $15 on a nice dinner while this is close to half of most people’s monthly income. The story of poverty in India as I see it is a case of mixed outcomes. The economy grows, the middle class grows, people buy their smartphones and their designer jeans that are at least the same cost, if not more expensive, than those in the United States. But an extraordinary number of people remain left behind. One Australian consultant here shared the staggering statistic with me that there are more people living below the poverty line in only four states in India than the population of ALL of sub-saharan Africa. This is a very sobering thought.
When I said I was coming to India, people were very jealous. After all, we do see the India of stark poverty, on news reports and documentaries, and we can forget the incredible amount of wealth here. But we also see the Bollywood movies where everything is colorful, everyone is happy, and the star couple ends up together, smiling, at the end. So we equate this with a joy for living in India. We say that Indians have it right, valuing family first and being happy with what they have. Unfortunately, the feeling I have picked up most here was aptly described by my friend the other day. It is angst. Angst for something better and something more. Life is incredibly hard here. The day to day monotony overwhelmed by circumstance and hardship. Many people are not happy with what they have but they do not know any differently and feel they cannot change their situation.
And in my current profession, this feeling and these statistics are what keeps us going; the driving force behind social entrepreneurship. History shows that throwing money at the situation is not an answer. Instead people must have ownership in these initiatives to ensure sustainability and the continued success of poverty alleviation programs. That’s what social entrepreneurship and development programs like microfinance are all about. But what I am hoping as well is that India takes a stake in its own development. Before everyone jumps down my throat, I realize this seems hypocritical coming from a citizen of a country which blindly turns an eye to most of its own poor. And I also want to insert a caveat here that I have met an extraordinary amount of Indians who are concerned about the poor, who do support various causes, and who give what they can. Nevertheless, government initiatives to support development are mostly half-hearted, corrupt and do just throw money at the problem. As the recent case of the government shut-down of microfinance in Andhra Pradesh shows, the government is just as interested in making a buck as everyone else and the end result is it undermines the very programs that can help it to succeed.
But the problem, at least from what I have seen here is not a lack of money but a case of where the money is going, which is true in almost all developing countries where it is hidden away. Yet in India this misuse of funds is an open secret. And that has transferred to the individual. What takes precedence is a consumerism to rival that of any American Walmart and a hunt for the one item that will convey status. In India, caste status has given way to economic status. It is a matter of pride, and being confused with someone from the next lower strata is a hurt that one would rather not bear. We from the west know this story well as we participated in it ourselves and continue to. And look where it got us. So, India, learn from our mistakes. There is no massive, easy solution to crippling income disparity or massive levels of poverty. But irresponsible growth isn’t the answer either. You see it every day here – new construction replacing a former makeshift homeless camp, most certainly fueled by bribes to oversight committees and government officials in amounts that would feed and clothe these same homeless for months.
From what I can see, the story of India is a story of money. But money not necessarily well-spent. And it’s complicated. More complicated than I can understand and based on policies and practices that are part of the Indian identity. Yet if India is the country of the future (and I assure you, it most definitely is), it can only succeed by lifting those up who are left behind. The money is there. It’s just not in the right place
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Marriage on My Mind
Allow me to preface this with two disclaimers right from the start. 1) I stole this blog idea from my flatmate after having a discussion about this very topic. And 2) Don't worry, this blog isn't about MY personal life.
Well now that the air is cleared I can begin. It's wedding season in Hyderabad. Which means not a day goes by without lucky households being decorated in strings of lights, a well-dressed man riding down the street on a white horse (believe me, I've actually seen this), or one invitation to an obscure relative's wedding from a school teacher, school teacher's sister, or school teacher's neighbor's best friend's brother. And whether the wedding is Muslim, Hindu or Christian, there seems to be a certain level of prestige from having a foreigner you may not even personally know come to your wedding.
With this in mind, last Friday I attended my first wedding celebration, accompanying two of my flatmates. Yes the invitation was for the sister's wedding of my flatmate's teacher who I had never met. But no matter. As we'd say here in Hyderabadi English, "wedding invitation is there." So we saree'd up, quite literally, and hopped into an autorickshaw to a promising sounding function hall called "Officer's Mess." Hmmmm. Anyway, we arrived a full hour later than we were advised to, which is to say at 9PM because all weddings take place late in the evening here. And of course, in true Indian fashion, no one was there. Like the servers literally had to turn on the lights and fan for the three of us on the women's side. Whoops, that reminds me. Since it was a Muslim wedding, men and women sat on separate sides of the divider and didn't actually see each other. But that's kind of the point. Because it enables the women to take off their burqas and the fashion show really begins. You see,you'd be surprised by what women wear under their burqas, and how much detail goes into these outfits. For the wedding alone, the teacher from my friend's school dropped 18,000 rupees (roughly $360, or more than 9 times her monthly income give or take a few hundred rupees) and suffered under 30 pounds of embroidery and sequins for her outfit. And everyone was dressed in their best. I was starting to be very happy indeed I had finally gone out and purchased a saree except now I just want a nicer and more expensive one. Just because I'm foreign doesn't mean I don't care...
Eventually the bride showed up and we were ushered into the dining hall for women, where we were bombarded with pounds of food. And since it was a Muslim wedding, there was meat of all types! The prevalence of a Muslim population and their fondness for some good chicken is definitely one of the perks of living in Hyderabad. So we stuffed ourselves happily while chatting with the bride's family and friends, only to realize the bride herself wouldn't eat until around 3AM after all the other guests had eaten. Then we were pushed up on stage to sit with the bride and her family and take pictures. And of course to watch everyone else watching us. We spoke a bit with the bride, who was dressed in a beautiful emerald bride's skirt and top, henna decorating her hands, and jewelery that must have weighed more than she did. She said she was happy and excited but she looked a bit scared. Which brings me to my main point: the topic of arranged marriage.
When foreigners think of India, arranged marriages are usually one of the topics of discussion that spring to mind. How backward can a country be?, we often think. Or, how could any family force their daughters or sons into this? Well, here's the thing. I've always been one of those people who has been appalled by the idea as well. In fact, even now, the very idea of an arranged marriage for myself sends shivers down my spine. But, like most else about this country, you can't paint it with such a fine brush. Life is colored many more shades of gray here than most people realize. So here goes my attempt to explain some of the rationale behind arranged marriages here. Feel free to add in your own two cents worth.
As I've already written, one of my good friends here will most likely have an arranged marriage. But it's more like an arranged dating service, with parents picking out someone, the pair meeting up, then deciding if they want to keep seeing each other and going from there, or deciding to not proceed. Fair enough. Not much different than having your parents say "have you met so-and-so's son? He would be just your type..." However, this is from a rather progressive family. On the other hand, there are marriages where the partners don't really get a chance to meet each other beforehand. Or there are the ones where partners meet in supervised situations and both the potential bride and groom are asked their opinions before the marriage takes place. And there are arrangements of all types in between. Bear in mind too that even for the most westernized families here, the perfect age for marriage is in the early to mid-twenties.
In a culture where tradition has such deep roots, there are many men and women who do not have the opportunity to interact with one another quite so readily as we do. I'm not describing my Indian friends of course who mingle just like any of my American friends do. But I am describing the teachers at my school, the students, and the average person working and living throughout the city. If you're a good, traditional girl from a respectable Muslim or Hindu family, you don't really have many male friends and your dating pool remains small or nonexistent. An arranged marriage is really your only option and you've grown up trusting that your parents can make the right choice for you. Respecting your elders and your family is paramount to Indian society. And also in a country where men outnumber the women, arranged marriages are a means to perserve some order while people are competing for scarce resources. In fact, one businessman here once told us that the best way to frame Indian cultural behavior is by putting it in terms of the centuries of competition its members have faced: for food,land and water initially, and now, for women, train tickets, and autorickshaws.
I'm not anywhere near sold on the arranged marriage idea although I have met a fair share of people who claim true love and great marriages have come of it. However, these same people will cite low divorce rates in India to which I respond that divorce is much more of a taboo here and much more difficult although not unheard of (my schoolowner herself is divorced). And if you read the newspapers here you will see articles every day about a couple committing suicide because their parents won't agree on a marriage. While I couldn't help but feel a bit solemn at the wedding I went to, where the bride was my age and had probably never spent more than a night away from her family in her life, at least I could appreciate some of the sentiment behind it.
Moral of the story? Don't expect me to be looking for an arranged marriage any time soon, but don't expect me to condemn it in no uncertain terms. The most definitive opinion I can present? Ain't no party like an Indian wedding party....
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Turkeying Around
This week I am going to at least attempt to avoid the cliché of blogging about all that I am thankful for. Because truth be told, I have already done that on Facebook. And while I have a lot to be thankful for, at the moment, I am also struggling with not being with my family and friends to celebrate Thanksgiving weekend. Suffice it to say I am certainly NOT thankful for the price of airline tickets or the low number of vacation days I receive here. Going home at all in November or December is unfortunately not an option.
Therefore, I am left to ponder the anomaly of Thanksgiving from an Indian perspective. Trying to explain the holiday to my schoolchildren or the school’s principal has made me realize how crazy of a holiday it is. I mean, for one, there is no religion involved at all, but it is quite different from other national holidays that correspond with an exact event. And the irony, oh the irony. While I was giving a brief background on the pilgrims and Native Americans feasting together, Madam Lohia asked why we celebrate if we just ended up killing all of the Native Americans after such a “peaceful feast.” Yeah. We try to ignore that bit. So then I went on to say how it is really about recognizing the good things you have in your life and exercising gratitude for them. Now this is something most Indians can relate to. I mean, being super family-oriented is a way of life here as is a culture of consumption eerily similar to ours. A person may not be that well-off but they’ll be damned if they don’t have the newest smart phone and take every opportunity to show it off. Of course, I explained that it’s mostly not about material things but non-material things. To which the response was “shouldn’t you be thankful for these every day? Why just one day?”
At this point, I was feeling a little less than enthused about one of my favorite days of the year. It felt kind of like someone pointing out all the grammar mistakes in your just completed thesis or outlining all the reasons why eating cookies can be hazardous for your health. And it was then that I realized, who cares? I mean, there are plenty of holidays and traditions around the world that don’t seem to make much sense at all, especially to the uninitiated. I mean I just saw thousands of elephant god statues submerged in water one month, and the next, families that happily buy their meat from the grocery store 364 days a year were slitting the throats of goats in their front yards. And I mean, think of the running of the bulls in Spain, or, my personal favorite, the Wife-Carrying Festival in Europe. While I am not exactly comparing Thanksgiving to an event where burly beer-bellied men sling their wives over their shoulders and race through mud, I am saying that I don’t get the nuances because I’m observing from the outside, yet that doesn’t make it any less special to the people participating. Besides, Thanksgiving really exists as an excuse to take a breather, be around the people who matter the most to you, and just enjoy the good things in life, for a day. I mean, yes, Christmas is great too, but there’s so much pressure around buying presents, so much commercialization, and maybe not so much gratitude involved.
However, don’t feel too sorry for me, stuck in some far-flung country where Thanksgiving is little more than two unrelated words strung together in most people’s 2nd or 3rd language. Through some connections and the relatively small Ex-pat community here, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving as best we can. This translates into cooking three turkeys (one of which we are attempting to fry – I guess a product of putting ten 20something males in charge of the turkey preparation) and we will have stuffing, pies (I’m praying for pumpkin), potatoes and other necessities. All of this will be cooked in the comfort of the home of one of the Foreign Service Officers we have met here. And football or holiday movies have been promised. I do have to say this is a step up from spending my Thanksgiving in Spain aimlessly wandering the streets for pumpkin pie, but then again, we did have delicious wine and tapas to eat instead. And while the IDEX family is definitely a step up from celebrating with no one, it’s most certainly not my family. Nor will it be my Mom’s stuffing recipe or gravy being used. But permit me the corniness of at least saying I am thankful to have IDEX here and for our large piecemeal celebration, in 85 degree sunshine, deep in the heart of India. Yes it would be 100 times better to be with my family but if being abroad has taught me anything, it’s that you make do with what you have and you create what you don’t. And that’s incredibly rewarding.
Therefore, I am left to ponder the anomaly of Thanksgiving from an Indian perspective. Trying to explain the holiday to my schoolchildren or the school’s principal has made me realize how crazy of a holiday it is. I mean, for one, there is no religion involved at all, but it is quite different from other national holidays that correspond with an exact event. And the irony, oh the irony. While I was giving a brief background on the pilgrims and Native Americans feasting together, Madam Lohia asked why we celebrate if we just ended up killing all of the Native Americans after such a “peaceful feast.” Yeah. We try to ignore that bit. So then I went on to say how it is really about recognizing the good things you have in your life and exercising gratitude for them. Now this is something most Indians can relate to. I mean, being super family-oriented is a way of life here as is a culture of consumption eerily similar to ours. A person may not be that well-off but they’ll be damned if they don’t have the newest smart phone and take every opportunity to show it off. Of course, I explained that it’s mostly not about material things but non-material things. To which the response was “shouldn’t you be thankful for these every day? Why just one day?”
At this point, I was feeling a little less than enthused about one of my favorite days of the year. It felt kind of like someone pointing out all the grammar mistakes in your just completed thesis or outlining all the reasons why eating cookies can be hazardous for your health. And it was then that I realized, who cares? I mean, there are plenty of holidays and traditions around the world that don’t seem to make much sense at all, especially to the uninitiated. I mean I just saw thousands of elephant god statues submerged in water one month, and the next, families that happily buy their meat from the grocery store 364 days a year were slitting the throats of goats in their front yards. And I mean, think of the running of the bulls in Spain, or, my personal favorite, the Wife-Carrying Festival in Europe. While I am not exactly comparing Thanksgiving to an event where burly beer-bellied men sling their wives over their shoulders and race through mud, I am saying that I don’t get the nuances because I’m observing from the outside, yet that doesn’t make it any less special to the people participating. Besides, Thanksgiving really exists as an excuse to take a breather, be around the people who matter the most to you, and just enjoy the good things in life, for a day. I mean, yes, Christmas is great too, but there’s so much pressure around buying presents, so much commercialization, and maybe not so much gratitude involved.
However, don’t feel too sorry for me, stuck in some far-flung country where Thanksgiving is little more than two unrelated words strung together in most people’s 2nd or 3rd language. Through some connections and the relatively small Ex-pat community here, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving as best we can. This translates into cooking three turkeys (one of which we are attempting to fry – I guess a product of putting ten 20something males in charge of the turkey preparation) and we will have stuffing, pies (I’m praying for pumpkin), potatoes and other necessities. All of this will be cooked in the comfort of the home of one of the Foreign Service Officers we have met here. And football or holiday movies have been promised. I do have to say this is a step up from spending my Thanksgiving in Spain aimlessly wandering the streets for pumpkin pie, but then again, we did have delicious wine and tapas to eat instead. And while the IDEX family is definitely a step up from celebrating with no one, it’s most certainly not my family. Nor will it be my Mom’s stuffing recipe or gravy being used. But permit me the corniness of at least saying I am thankful to have IDEX here and for our large piecemeal celebration, in 85 degree sunshine, deep in the heart of India. Yes it would be 100 times better to be with my family but if being abroad has taught me anything, it’s that you make do with what you have and you create what you don’t. And that’s incredibly rewarding.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Revival
Hopefully, by now dear readers, you realize that there really is not a theme for this blog, other than to the extent that I write what is on my mind. So it comes as no surprise that this post is a bit of a jump from the last one. Living in India has brought to the forefront many things that are important to me but it has also pushed a few things to the wayside. And this week has presented several opportunities to remind me of these.
One of these was our tour of Hyderabad's CIIGBC building, the first LEED certified platinum green building outside of the United States. For the unintiated, LEED certification stands for Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design and platinum is the highest rating a building can achieve. In fact, it was such a big deal that the building was inaugurated by the Indian President in 2003 and received a visit from President Bill Clinton. But I digress. We took a tour of this building, which has carbon sensored air conditioning units to track the number of people in the building and adjust the cooling unit accordingly. The roof of the building is also completely covered in grass and plants, and somehow, through a fancy feat of engineering I don't understand, it takes the hot water that drains from the roof and uses the extreme heat of the roof to make the water extremely cold and to help cool the building as well. Plus the carpet comes from recycled coke cans, the toilet is ammonia elimnating so the "water" can be reused, the chairs are made of wood waste, the windows are double-paned with an inert gas to facilitate temperature control and lots of other cool stuff.
The tour made me realize how much I had forgotten about environmental considerations here. I mean, people literally through their trash out the windows of their cars while driving, recycling bottles and other plastics is unheard of, and nighttime "clean up crews" are a joke. I used to care about doing my part but here I've been sucked into a culture of waste for the sake of convenience. I mean, it's way more convenient to just throw my Subway wrapper out the car window than to actually take it to a trash can, and it's allowed. But it's attitudes like this that also scare me a bit. For a country that will soon have the largest population in the world to take such a haphazard attitude towards the environment doesn't seem to bode well for the future. Of course, we Americans are horribly wasteful in our consumption but at least most of us have been trained well to turn off lights when we're not in a room or use the trash can and recycle bottles. So, here's my pledge to try to return to this. For now, India is my adoptive country and I can't help but feel a bit responsible for taking care of it any way I can. And my guilty conscience is starting to weigh on me.
The second thing that happened this week is that we were invited to a dinner at the US Consul General's house. As many of you know, I had foreign service aspirations, going so far as to take the FSOT before this IDEX opportunity presented itself. Being surrounded by Americans who were doing what I had considered my dream job was refreshing. While some were young and on their first post (apparently Hyderabad is considered a 20/30 on hardship postings; Lagos in Nigeria is 25. I wish I would get hardship pay here!), others, including the Consul General, had been all over the world. And all love their jobs. While you have to pay your dues at the beginning, working on visa applications, there is a huge opportunity for advancement and honestly, the perks aren't half bad. Of course, I did ask about the worst part of the job and the answers were inevitably similar to any other employees of the government, but these seemed small in comparison to the benefits.
I left the house determined to take the test again and try my hand at the State Department if possible. I mean, I passed it last time so how hard can a second time be? Let's hope I just didn't jinx myself. I also have realized that I feel a bit more positive towards the possible opportunity to stay and work in India next year as well. And at least now I am feeling much more in tune with myself again. It's been a hard four months and I've had to confront personal and professional challenges that I've never experienced before. But now it's time to take a breath and really start to do things for myself and my personal growth too and return to what is important to me. No more getting lost in my busy schedule or the job. And with that, time to go plan what side dishes to bring to our Thanksgiving feast for next week. Happy Turkey Day in advance!
One of these was our tour of Hyderabad's CIIGBC building, the first LEED certified platinum green building outside of the United States. For the unintiated, LEED certification stands for Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design and platinum is the highest rating a building can achieve. In fact, it was such a big deal that the building was inaugurated by the Indian President in 2003 and received a visit from President Bill Clinton. But I digress. We took a tour of this building, which has carbon sensored air conditioning units to track the number of people in the building and adjust the cooling unit accordingly. The roof of the building is also completely covered in grass and plants, and somehow, through a fancy feat of engineering I don't understand, it takes the hot water that drains from the roof and uses the extreme heat of the roof to make the water extremely cold and to help cool the building as well. Plus the carpet comes from recycled coke cans, the toilet is ammonia elimnating so the "water" can be reused, the chairs are made of wood waste, the windows are double-paned with an inert gas to facilitate temperature control and lots of other cool stuff.
The tour made me realize how much I had forgotten about environmental considerations here. I mean, people literally through their trash out the windows of their cars while driving, recycling bottles and other plastics is unheard of, and nighttime "clean up crews" are a joke. I used to care about doing my part but here I've been sucked into a culture of waste for the sake of convenience. I mean, it's way more convenient to just throw my Subway wrapper out the car window than to actually take it to a trash can, and it's allowed. But it's attitudes like this that also scare me a bit. For a country that will soon have the largest population in the world to take such a haphazard attitude towards the environment doesn't seem to bode well for the future. Of course, we Americans are horribly wasteful in our consumption but at least most of us have been trained well to turn off lights when we're not in a room or use the trash can and recycle bottles. So, here's my pledge to try to return to this. For now, India is my adoptive country and I can't help but feel a bit responsible for taking care of it any way I can. And my guilty conscience is starting to weigh on me.
The second thing that happened this week is that we were invited to a dinner at the US Consul General's house. As many of you know, I had foreign service aspirations, going so far as to take the FSOT before this IDEX opportunity presented itself. Being surrounded by Americans who were doing what I had considered my dream job was refreshing. While some were young and on their first post (apparently Hyderabad is considered a 20/30 on hardship postings; Lagos in Nigeria is 25. I wish I would get hardship pay here!), others, including the Consul General, had been all over the world. And all love their jobs. While you have to pay your dues at the beginning, working on visa applications, there is a huge opportunity for advancement and honestly, the perks aren't half bad. Of course, I did ask about the worst part of the job and the answers were inevitably similar to any other employees of the government, but these seemed small in comparison to the benefits.
I left the house determined to take the test again and try my hand at the State Department if possible. I mean, I passed it last time so how hard can a second time be? Let's hope I just didn't jinx myself. I also have realized that I feel a bit more positive towards the possible opportunity to stay and work in India next year as well. And at least now I am feeling much more in tune with myself again. It's been a hard four months and I've had to confront personal and professional challenges that I've never experienced before. But now it's time to take a breath and really start to do things for myself and my personal growth too and return to what is important to me. No more getting lost in my busy schedule or the job. And with that, time to go plan what side dishes to bring to our Thanksgiving feast for next week. Happy Turkey Day in advance!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Doubts
I have a doubt.
In India, people don’t have questions, they have doubts. For instance, in class, a student will say “Miss, I have a doubt about this problem.” And today, I find this phrase much more apropos than what we would say. Question just doesn’t cut it.
You see, I am enjoying the fellowship, I really am. But the other day it dawned on me that I am lacking a bit of the passion in what I do. It is hard to see the impact you are making and while personally I am learning a lot, I am not feeling much like a change agent. Instead, I feel like many people in development must—like a well-intentioned foreigner who really is only scratching the surface of the world’s poverty, economic inequality, and quality of life problems. So what to do?
And then of course there is the doubt about the future. The all-encompassing question of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” I thought I had this figured out. For all intents and purposes I was going to be the next Muhammad Yunus in microfinance or Jeffrey Sachs in academia, both working to bridge the poverty gap. But now I don’t know how to get to that path. And I question if that is even a path or just a combination of luck, happenstance and some foresight on their parts.
So yes, for the next several months I will be working to rediscover that passion. I know it’s there, I just feel like the noise and craziness of life here has coated it over with a bit of dust. So the real doubt becomes, what do I make of my life from here? It is not too early to be asking this question and as the days seem to slip by without me even realizing it, I am beginning to think now is the time to start deciding. I mean, do I stay in India next year and possible help to manage the IDEX program at a city here? Is this where I can see the true impact of what we’re doing and help to sustain and continue it? Or do I stay here and try to work for an NGO or social enterprise to be as hands on as possible, even if the income I make is less than ideal?
Yet staying in India doesn’t mean things will stay the same. The people that are the most important to me here are all leaving for various locations and life paths. And my friends and family back home will be beyond disappointed in not having me around for another year. Despite my homesickness, especially with the upcoming holidays, going home long term seems too soon. If I go home, I know I will not be able to find something that makes me feel like the change practitioner I want to be, assuming I find any job at all. Only so much can be done from sitting behind a cubicle, even if it is a cubicle at a hard-working organization. And I haven’t even breached on the subject of what to do about graduate school.
The thing about living and working here is it is hard. Harder than anything I will probably ever experience. In order to make it here, I get so caught up in the day to day that I forget to take a step back and look at the whole picture. I need to do this more. So now, it remains to be seen where this fellowship and the future will take me but I just hope I find my calling sooner rather than later. Thanks for lending me an ear and for putting up with an introspective blog that probably bores you. I’m open for suggestions/ life advice/ job offers if you feel so inclined. I promise next time there will be some more fun to be read about.
In India, people don’t have questions, they have doubts. For instance, in class, a student will say “Miss, I have a doubt about this problem.” And today, I find this phrase much more apropos than what we would say. Question just doesn’t cut it.
You see, I am enjoying the fellowship, I really am. But the other day it dawned on me that I am lacking a bit of the passion in what I do. It is hard to see the impact you are making and while personally I am learning a lot, I am not feeling much like a change agent. Instead, I feel like many people in development must—like a well-intentioned foreigner who really is only scratching the surface of the world’s poverty, economic inequality, and quality of life problems. So what to do?
And then of course there is the doubt about the future. The all-encompassing question of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” I thought I had this figured out. For all intents and purposes I was going to be the next Muhammad Yunus in microfinance or Jeffrey Sachs in academia, both working to bridge the poverty gap. But now I don’t know how to get to that path. And I question if that is even a path or just a combination of luck, happenstance and some foresight on their parts.
So yes, for the next several months I will be working to rediscover that passion. I know it’s there, I just feel like the noise and craziness of life here has coated it over with a bit of dust. So the real doubt becomes, what do I make of my life from here? It is not too early to be asking this question and as the days seem to slip by without me even realizing it, I am beginning to think now is the time to start deciding. I mean, do I stay in India next year and possible help to manage the IDEX program at a city here? Is this where I can see the true impact of what we’re doing and help to sustain and continue it? Or do I stay here and try to work for an NGO or social enterprise to be as hands on as possible, even if the income I make is less than ideal?
Yet staying in India doesn’t mean things will stay the same. The people that are the most important to me here are all leaving for various locations and life paths. And my friends and family back home will be beyond disappointed in not having me around for another year. Despite my homesickness, especially with the upcoming holidays, going home long term seems too soon. If I go home, I know I will not be able to find something that makes me feel like the change practitioner I want to be, assuming I find any job at all. Only so much can be done from sitting behind a cubicle, even if it is a cubicle at a hard-working organization. And I haven’t even breached on the subject of what to do about graduate school.
The thing about living and working here is it is hard. Harder than anything I will probably ever experience. In order to make it here, I get so caught up in the day to day that I forget to take a step back and look at the whole picture. I need to do this more. So now, it remains to be seen where this fellowship and the future will take me but I just hope I find my calling sooner rather than later. Thanks for lending me an ear and for putting up with an introspective blog that probably bores you. I’m open for suggestions/ life advice/ job offers if you feel so inclined. I promise next time there will be some more fun to be read about.
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