Re-Assimilation

Summary: Am back in the US now (for the foreseeable future), digesting everything that has happened this past year and (of course), job hunting.

Time can be measured in many ways, from the loads of laundry done to the number of times a gardener has mowed the lawn to the number of episodes of "The Office" watched. Or, it can be measured by the number of Hindi phrases used, the number of Indian culinary experiments embarked upon, or the number of head bobbles seen.

It's been awhile, but I'm back home now, and by home I mean back in LA, with my family, in the house where I grew up. I am not the same person I was a year ago, but neither am I a brand new person. I am a fusion of my experiences, and of my memories. I just need to find a way to put it all into words.

My last few weeks in Lucknow are now quite a blur, filled with last-minute school visits, final restaurant experimentations, friends, and denial. It was my own decision, I bought the plane tickets, and I talked about the imminent departure, but I did not internalize any of it.

I'm still not sure I've internalized it.

I didn't get slammed by the culture shock in the way I half expected to, but I got hit with a lot more. Having grown up in the US, you never truly forget what your home country is like - in that sense, nothing was completely shocking.

Yet in other ways, everything was a little different. The way the streets are laid out, the way skyscrapers tower over you (in NY), the way Starbucks line every block, the way people walk and carry themselves, the way people interact with one another.

And then there's everything that's missing - the familiar green and yellow autorickshaws, the dirt and semi-paved roads, my sabzi wallahs sitting on the side of the road, buffalo milk that comes in plastic bags, the kids that smile and wave at me every morning.

Of course, I also think back to everything I saw and learned at DSH. And I can't help but realize that there's so much more that needs to be done, especially in the field of education. And not just in India, but elsewhere, including the US.

I’m feeling antsy already. Chalo!

Fighting for the Future

Summary: Gender inequality in education is always a hot topic, especially in rural villages. However, abstract conversations are insufficient in preparing you for dealing with the sense of learned helplessness first-hand, as I recently experienced on a trip to Mauthri.

Lately, I’ve been going into the field with Tanuja to talk to the teachers and students about DSH, as part of an effort to build an impact story for DSH. These visits have generally been very uplifting, even when taking the testimonials with a few grains of salt. Once in awhile, though, you encounter a roadblock, and hear things that make your heart sink.

Our latest visit was with Mauthri, an NGO-run center where girls from the village learn and do embroidery as a way to earn some extra money for their families. Their age ranges from 14-18, and they come from such poor backgrounds that in some households, the girls will not get an evening meal if they don’t work in the field. Through working, they earn just enough for food in the morning and in the evening. As such, these girls generally haven’t had formal education; through DSH they get minimal education in English, math, and science while they do their embroidery work.

The following is a profile of one of the girls and what she had to say:

Deepshikha has been doing embroidery at Mauthri for the past five years or so. Earlier, she attended a nearby government school until Class 8, but she cannot appear in school (or at the exams) for Class 9 because she has not received her transfer certificate and mark sheet from Class 8. Until her father takes the time to pick up these forms from her former school, she cannot continue her studies. When asked what she wants to do later with her studies, she responds, “What can I do with this level of study? I’ll try to study until class 12, because the school is just until then. And I’m in a village, where would I go for further studies? There are some girls who leave the village, but I don’t think I can. I don’t even know how to ride a cycle.” She continues with her family background and their education levels: “My father is a graduate in law, my older brother is a graduate and is working in Lucknow, and my younger brother is studying. I am the one sitting around – why does it happen that boys can get educated while girls are left behind?”

Nilu, another girl at Mauthri, shared similar sentiments:

Nilu studies at home and appears for her Class 9 exams, but doesn’t attend school, as (such is the state of the educational system that) her time can be better spent doing embroidery and earning for her family. She helps her younger brothers with their studies, claiming that “they are more intelligent than I am.” When asked about the possibility of pursuing education beyond class 12, she also states that as a female, it would be difficult to leave the village for studies.

When you spend your entire life in the village, it’s easy to confine your worldview to such, abiding by its rules and seeing only the opportunities that lie within. It’s frustrating to hear these girls crush their own dreams, make excuses for themselves, and accept the future imposed upon them by someone else.

It’s frustrating to me because I was lucky – I was born to parents who encouraged my dreams, in a society that respected my desires. I was encouraged to think for myself and push the boundaries every step of the way. And yet even I, with all of my opportunities and resources, still make excuses for (and to) myself, just as the girls do.

Perhaps it’s that I expect these girls to be stronger than I could ever be, fighting the fights I never had to fight. But this is a fight that needs to be fought – if not by them, then by their children. And I’d rather it be now, because I’m sure that when the time comes, their children will have a different battle they’ll need to wage. Perhaps by then, my own children will be fighting with them, for them.

Teacher Trainings, Exposed

Summary: A recent discovery found that teacher trainings are nothing but a ruse that allows government school teachers to skip school and chat with their peers.

Every year, government school teachers are required to attend 20 days of official, government-sponsored training. We just started working with a handful of government schools, so upon hearing that the teachers had been pulled out (without replacements) for 6 days of training, one of our staff members decided to see how these trainings are run.

We entered with low expectations; over the course of this year, my idealism has learned to cower in the face of reality. However, we quickly realized that even our low isn’t low enough. Here’s the low-down of why:

• The trainer herself is just a teacher from one of our DSH spoke schools.
• In the 2.5 hours coworker “X” is present, the trainees (government school teachers) do nothing but gossip and chat with one another. After about an hour, the trainer asks X if he’s ready to give his presentation, assuming that’s the reason he’s in attendance.
• When X asks to see the program outline, trainer says she doesn’t have it and sends him one of the head government officials, who also says she doesn’t have it and sends him to her boss. Her boss, assumed to have the program outline (the veracity of this assumption is moot), is not even on site.

My former self would’ve assumed that this was a one-off situation; I now know better. This is the fourth day of this training, and to still not have the program outline anywhere on site is ridiculous and inexcusable. Never mind the fact that the trainers are likely unqualified to train their peers, and uninterested in doing more than participating in the gossip session.

This is just another example of a mediocre idea (pulling teachers out of schools to ‘train’ them) that fails completely in implementation.

Reminds me of a quote that goes something like this: “Which is the greater human evil – laziness or indifference?” Unfortunately, both are equally detrimental to the effectiveness of the DSH model, and we haven’t yet figured out a way to overcome either of these challenges. I suppose both can be overcome with the appropriate incentive system, though it does make you wonder whether you really want a teacher to have external (as opposed to internal) motivation for teaching.

Rewind: Breaking Out and Re-Entering

Summary: In the spirit of tradition, my family and I took our annual holiday trip. The destination this year was Korea and Taiwan; not too much to report because it was, in short, a smooth trip that was more about the experience than the sights.

Recently (a month ago) came back from a trip to Korea and Taiwan with the family. There was some concern about my return to Lucknow, but all has been sorted out, and I’m glad to be back.

Some quick thoughts and reactions about the trip (plenty more where these came from):

Overall

• Surprisingly not as much culture shock as one might imagine, though I did miss the sight of cows and the sounds of honking Ambassadors. I did not cherish “fitting in” as much as I thought I would, though that could be because I was with family. The impact of “fitting in” is something you recognize only when you no longer do.
• Language makes a place feel either very foreign or very comfortable. Given all the possible ways we can communicate, we do seem to over-rely on verbal language.
• Meeting up in a foreign place without any ability to contact one another can be a fun adventure! (I still think about everything that could’ve gone wrong but didn’t.)

Korea (Seoul)

• Streets were pristine, even sans trash cans.
• Very limited English-speaking ability by the general public; reminded me of some of my initial frustrations in Lucknow. All in all, however, people were very friendly and tried to help. One guy who gave us directions came back to us a minute after he walked off to correct the information he originally provided.
• Females were very fashionable and wore short skirts and leggings even though it was snowing!
  DMZ (De-Militarized Zone, border between North and South Korea) is surprisingly touristy. Also, apparently there were 4 (of an estimated 20) tunnels found, dug by the North for a surprise attack into Seoul. They discovered one of the tunnels by sticking PVC pipes filled with water in the hills; pressure from explosions during tunnel-digging would cause the water to fly out. I thought this to be exceptionally simple and ingenious.
• Restaurants tend to specialize in one item or “type” of food (similar to what one might encounter in Lucknow’s Chowk), unlike the all-encompassing menus to meet the demands of modern society (e.g., Royal Cafe's Indo-Chinental menu).

Taiwan (Taipei, Kaohsiung)

• I saw some similarities with Indian food that I never noticed before, such as paan, paratha, chiki, and chai.
• There was one time we asked for directions to the nearby metro station and the guy offered to give us a lift. We took it – it was a strange, heartwarming encounter.
• People kept pinpointing us as Hong Kong-ese (based on our Mandarin accents), not just Chinese. Such a refined distinction felt strange, though I guess being “Chinese” is a touchy subject out there.
• New Year celebration at Taipei 101 was surprisingly “clean,” and very well-organized. A free concert with some great stars was involved, and people were sober and just having a good (not “crazy”) time. Much calmer than expected. Getting home was a bit difficult, as they set up some serious crowd-control measures (e.g., restricting entrance to subway stations to ensure the safety of folks ‘down under’).

All in all, it was a good, low-key trip. Makes me think about the “East Asian” (or, more generally, “Asian”) categorization – while it is a Western construct, it’s somewhat appropriate as there were noticeable cultural similarities (perhaps a product of historical invasions and colonization). At the same time, there are also major differences between the cultures, and the distinct national personas get lost in the grouping.

I usually self-identify as Chinese (when the American element is recognized and understood); should I instead be responding with “Asian” or “East Asian” until further questioning, or perhaps jumping to “Hong Kong-ese” before broadening to “Chinese” when people ask where Hong Kong is?

Rewind: A Rajasthani Reunion

Summary: There’s nothing like meeting up with old friends and making new ones. It doesn’t matter what you do (or don’t do) together; I found that during Jackie and Jeremy’s recent trip to India.

Imagine the warzone also known as the Jaipur train station. People running into each other from all directions. Unidentifiable sounds, each louder than the next. And, amidst the chaos and mayhem, a weary, dirt-ridden videshi survivor emerges, oblivious to everything around her. Her few hairs are frazzled. She wears two packs – one on the front and one on the back – to shield her body from foreign contact. Her head emerges like a turtle’s, eyes barely able to see over the front pack.

Upon seeing her, one doesn’t know whether to pity her, to help her, or to hug her. Jackie, in her characteristic inability to decide, settles for all three, and I take it. And so the adventure begins.

We spend the rest of the day in the van, taking a 3-hour detour to visit a village Mayank works with before reaching his ancestral home. (Check out the organization he founded, Greenlight Planet, competitor to Stanford alumni's D.light for providing a safe, affordable alternative to kerosene lamps.) Village visits always make me happy, because folks are so warm and friendly. They invited us to stay the night, which I found to be a tempting offer given the prospect of the nighttime village-road driving that lay ahead.

We finally reach the haveli at night. To give you a sense of the history and character of this place, the haveli has been passed down through Mayank’s family for 8 or 9 generations. None of his family lives in the house anymore, but a ‘skeleton staff’ maintains it and the properties nearby. After an amazing traditional Rajasthani meal, we set about exploring the different levels of the house, finally settling on the second floor by a fire, gazing at the stars.

Back in the day, Mayank’s family basically ran the village; one can think of them as feudal lords. As such, they set up a trust to help those in need. The trust has since manifested in social services such as a health clinic, a school, and a computer training center. Originally planning to leave by 11 am, we finally hit the road at 2 pm, after a tour of the village and the family properties. (Indian time.)

Enter Mandawa Palace. I don’t know how so many people find things “off the beaten path,” but to my knowledge, this place was at least a 4-hour drive from the nearest city, and it was flooded by European tourists. Tourists sun bathing by the pool, unnecessarily showing way too much skin.

By the time we reached Jaipur at night, we were all wiped, testy, and nauseated. My proudest achievement of the trip was the next 40 hours – Jackie, Jeremy, and I didn’t leave the hotel at all. In fact, we only left the room four times, for food. (We considered room service, but thought that might be a little excessive.) Recovery is hard work – not only were we recovering from the car rides, but also from sleep deprivation, weak immune systems, and Delhi Bellies. In retrospect, I wish I’d bugged the room, because it was one great conversation!

In my mind, our trip ended there, because everything else is a blur. In fact, those 40 hours themselves were a blur, and I’m no longer sure it happened. Perhaps it was all a dream, a dream from which I awoke with a smile.

Happy New Year!

Nava saal mubarak ho! Wishing you all the best in this new year.

A lot has happened in the past few weeks, and it’ll take awhile for me to catch up on blogging about everything. In the meantime, you can follow some of the adventure via pictures here.

Also, as an update, the clock is ticking on my time in Lucknow.

My Calcutta Shaadi (Marriage)

Summary: Having recently attended a friend’s wedding in Calcutta, I now have a greater understanding of Indian weddings. While the execution tends to differ by region, the specific couple, and the couple’s families, the consistent theme still seems to be food.

I made a bold claim in my last post – namely, that I was starting to understand this wedding business. What I really meant was I was starting to understand how weddings in Lucknow work. I just returned from a trip to Calcutta where I partook in festivities for a friend’s Gujarati wedding, and it was a bit different. For example:

• The sangeet was not ladies only, and consisted of organized performances and choreographed dances by both the bride’s and groom’s party. (Attendees were also from both parties.)
  
• The baraat (procession) occurred in the afternoon, and was followed immediately by the wedding ceremony, which includes exchanging garlands, pooja, and walking around a fire seven times.
  
• The bride and groom stood and smiled for pictures during the reception, greeting and interacting with the guests (versus looking somber and acting passively while everyone else moved around them).
  
• Through all of this, the bride and groom had physical contact (e.g., they performed a dance number together).

Part of this might be because the bride and groom had known each other previously, so this wasn’t a completely arranged marriage in the traditional sense.

Goodness there are a lot of functions for an Indian wedding! I attended probably only half of them, but that was still four different functions. The first night was the sangeet, which included choreographed dances. The second night was another dinner, and the third day was the marriage function, followed by the reception after a costume change (or, as my friend calls it, a “recovery period”).

Since we were from the groom’s side, we participated in the baraat (music and dance procession) in the streets. Our friend the groom sat in a chariot in the back with a few others (I believe one is his brother-in-law) while we helped him celebrate this glorious day by dancing our way to the venue.

When we reached the venue, the bride emerged, wearing a beautiful sari and who knows how many pounds of gold on her. She was covered in one thing or another (bangles, mahendi, makeup, gold, etc.) from head to toe; oh, she looked stunning. They exchanged garlands (each had to shy away the first time or two, before allowing him/herself to be “caught”), and, after a few rituals, the bride retreated to change saris. At that point, the bride’s ‘mother’ steps in for some fun; her task is to pinch the groom’s nose. (I’d explain further, but I myself don’t understand.)

The rest of the ceremony involved other ritual and pooja, etc. We (my friends from America and I) were given front row seats, as our hosts kicked out others to make sure we were sitting close to the events and comfortably. (Oh, it was an awkward situation!) Food (appetizers) was of course served to us, and plenty of pictures were taken of us.

Mind you, not a minute during this entire ceremony was there silence. Little attention was paid to the bride and groom; most of the hustle and bustle was about food and discussions among guests. It’s as if the bride and groom were doing their thing “on stage” just in case you wanted to watch.

This was, of course, followed by food, after which we left to prepare ourselves for the reception (read: more food) to follow a few hours later. The reception essentially involved a quick interaction and picture with the bride and groom on stage, and food.

The theme of the wedding was: food.

It’s strange. At American weddings, the attention is all on the bride and groom. In this case, the bride and groom seemed peripheral to the events; it was as if they were part of a force bigger than each of them, and they had no choice but to comply to what was requested of them. It really is a celebration not of the couple, but of the families and their friends. The bride and groom just happened to be the casualties of this union.

The Brass Band

Summary: Attendance at another wedding adds yet a different perspective and provides a better understanding of this wedding business.

I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of this wedding business. Unlike weddings in the U.S., celebrations and functions differ depending on whether you know the bride or groom. With the exception of the actual marriage, one would normally attend events hosted by the side you know.

As a refresher of events attended thus far:

• Event 1: Tilak hosted by the groom’s family, attended by the grooms’ acquaintances. Elizabeth and I were pulled onto the dance floor in front of an audience of a couple hundred, plus 30 men + cameras in close vicinity.
  
• Event 2: Ladies’ sangeet hosted by the bride.
  
• Event 3: Marriage, from the bride’s side. We paid the bride a visit in her bridal room and left shortly after the groom arrived.

Now we can add to this list events 4 and 5. Event 4 is a marriage, invited by the groom. Event 5 is a sangeet, hosted by the groom’s family (though unlike the bride’s ladies’ sangeet from earlier, this sangeet occurred after the wedding).

We arrived a little late to the marriage, but early enough to participate in the procession to the venue. In this procession (parade), the groom sits in the car while his family and closest 100+ friends walk behind a vehicle that’s blasting brass band music through megaphones. After a few steps of walking, the vehicle stops and everyone dances in the streets. And, in case you’re wondering, yes, it does clog up the streets a little bit.

Having reached the venue, the groom is carried to the threshold from the car, where he proceeds to engage in a series of ceremonial activities and pooja (prayer). While he is doing so, my landlords and I sit inside the venue, enjoying the appetizers / chaat being served to us. About 45 minutes later, we migrate downstairs for the dinner (buffet style, as always) before heading back upstairs to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom sitting on the couch on stage while others shift behind them, posing for pictures.

This is longer than we stayed at the other marriage; I finally saw the bride and groom together. But where’s the actual wedding ceremony?

Two days later was the ladies’ sangeet. This function has its roots in the time when women didn’t dance (or even attend) the marriage; they needed another venue to celebrate. This sangeet involved a central “stage” where various friends and family members danced and performed. (This is also the event where the bride showcases her talents to her new family.) Although I stayed only for an hour at the sangeet, I was pulled onto stage to perform (of course), and did my bit for the cameras before running away as far as I could.

After all, as a guest, you have to make your presence worthwhile. And now they have me caught on tape, though I have a hunch you won’t find it on YouTube anytime soon.

The Chinese Invasion

Summary: The Asian Table Tennis Championships was recently held in Lucknow , and I was a faithful supporter. During this weeklong event, I managed to walk across the floor during opening ceremonies and meander into the players’ practice arena. No one even attempted to stop me either time.

A few weeks ago, Lucknow, for the first time in history, hosted an international event – the Asian Table Tennis Championships. Now, I’ve never seen a table tennis match live before, but I’m in Lucknow, and if you throw me a bone, I’ll bite. Aside from this being a fun pastime and the chance to experience the most diversity Lucknow has ever seen, other critical pros of this event was that (1) it was in my neighborhood, and (2) it was free.

After seeing a wildcard match preceding the opening ceremonies, I was hooked. My attendance record was impeccable; for that week, I scheduled my other events around table tennis. (One evening, I left work at 5 pm, attended a post-wedding ladies’ sangeet until 6:30, stopped over at table tennis until 7:30, and headed over to a birthday dinner at 8.)

The Chinese ended up sweeping most of the medals (the men and women’s singles and the men’s doubles championships consisted only of Chinese players). Furthermore, turns out that the Singapore (and probably also Hong Kong) team was formed by ex-Chinese players. My friend and I deliberately sat behind the Hong Kong team one day so I might be able to sneak in a groupie Cantonese conversation with them; imagine my disappointment when I heard them all speaking Mandarin!

Regardless, I had a lot of fun there every day; when I wasn’t joined by a friend, I made one. There are, however, two events that summarize the haphazardness of the event, keeping in mind that this is an international championship event.

Firstly: The low-energy opening ceremonies consisted of a walk around the gymnasium by the players, a few speeches, and a kathak performance. When the players were lined up in the center of the floor, my friend and I realized that from where we were sitting, we wouldn’t be able to see the performance. The only way to reach the opposite side was to walk across the floor where the players were all lined up. This being an Indian event, we decided to just casually walk around the divider next to the players; as I walked past the Hong Kong team in the middle of the opening ceremony, I wished them luck (in Cantonese).

In what other major international sporting event would you be able to casually walk past the players in an opening ceremony? No one even tried to stop us; I probably could’ve stood there talking to the Hong Kong team for another five minutes without anyone battering an eyelash.

Secondly: During a match, my friend Elias and I decided to search for food. We followed signs that led to another gymnasium in the back; still searching, we walked past some security guards carrying big rifles, through a few switchbacks and official-looking people, and into the players’ practice court, which consisted of about fifteen tables arranged in a grid. Writing about this still boggles my mind. There were three Japanese players practicing at a table ten feet from us. I even picked up and handed them their ball twice. For over half an hour, Elias and I stood there, watching them, gaping at them, and laughing at the ridiculousness of Indian security measures. In this time, he considered asking to join their game, then reconsidered, and reconsidered again. I actually think they might have said yes, too.

It’s events like these that make you realize how big a role your own fear often plays in limiting your experience. Had we been deterred by the entrance to the players’ gymnasium or the sight of guards, we never would have seen the practice arena. Asking for forgiveness, not permission, certainly can allow one to accomplish more sometimes. Only I never did have to ask for forgiveness in this case.

Perhaps these security breaches are acceptable for an inaugural attempt at hosting such an affair; on the whole, however, rules and restrictions are quite arbitrary in Lucknow. While I was able to carry a big backpack cum laptop into these supposedly restricted areas without even a bag check, I am reminded of an episode where my boss literally had to fight to bring a camera into the movie theaters. I guess you can count on folks to catch things when it counts.