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.

Gems of Lucknow

Summary: In many ways, living in Lucknow is like living in history, with many old, historical buildings that few people pay attention to, and even fewer know about. But if you take the time to look around when you walk, meander through less common streets, you’ll find something that just amazes you because of its simple, quiet presence. And, if you stay and listen long enough, it just might tell you a story.

You never know what you’ll find when you wander the streets of Lucknow. A few Sundays back, my friend Will and I spontaneously decided to search for a eunuch’s tomb, which he had read about in a newspaper. So we set out on our treasure hunt, and started by trying to locate the general colony. The folks we asked included baristas at Barista, a local travel agent, and Google (courtesy of a friend). About 30 minutes into our search for fool’s gold, we decided to delay our search until further information can be found.

It was at this time, standing on the main street in Hazratganj (the “downtown” of Lucknow), that I saw an architecturally fascinating structure beyond small arched alleyway. We walked through the alley, which opened up to an imambara.

But Lucknow is full of such gems and surprises; there’s so much history embedded into the nooks and crannies of everyday life, though much of it is poorly maintained and documented, and generally withering.

Of course, when I tried to tell my coworkers about it the next day, they immediately tried to convince me that I was wrong, and that I must have been talking about a more famous imambara in a nearby area. It was only after hard proof (a picture on my camera of the sign that said “Imambara Waqf Sibtainabad. Mubarak, Hazratganj, LKO” that they relented, claiming that my imprecise description of the location threw them off.

You may not be aware of this, but it is a fact. As a foreigner, I must accept that I know nothing, even when I know that I know.

A Time for Thanks

The world is far from perfect, but there’s still a lot to be grateful for. These past 9+ months in Lucknow have shed light on many of life’s dichotomies and injustices, and the irony of being grateful for what you have is the often accompanying sense of guilt and sadness for those who lack those exact things.

This year, I also feel the tension between appreciating what I have in Lucknow and acknowledging the things I took for granted back in the States. There is, of course, also a sense of gratitude for the basics of life (e.g., food, shelter, health, family, friends, etc.) that is much stronger this year.

Other things I am grateful for that stand out this year:

• Knowing that my friends and family love me, despite the physical distance and sometimes sporadic communications
  
• A worldview that I can shape my own future
  
• A family who valued education and teachers who taught me how to analyze and think for myself
  
• The freedom to choose, whether it be about my job, my marriage, or my dinner
  
• A sense of self-worth and identity as a female that is independent from my relationship to other members of society
  
• The kindness of strangers, whether it be trainmates or villagers
  
• Patience, friendliness, and hospitality demonstrated by so many I’ve encountered here in Lucknow
  
• Living in a place where I feel safe
  
• Platonic physical contact between males and females
  
• Modern real-time communication technologies such as Skype and Gchat

If I were back in the States, I would advocate a big kumbaya hugfest right about now. I think it’s about time teleportation were invented, if only so I could hunt down those who just squirmed at the thought of a hugfest.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Baby Steps

Summary: “Every journey begins with a single step.” In a recent visit to some of the newer DSH spoke schools, I saw uncomfortable and clumsy this first step can be. I also saw, once again, the potential that lies in the DSH program.

In the beginning of this academic year, DSH launched in eleven government schools as part of an evaluation study. These schools have come with their fair share of baggage and problems, though one of the biggest barriers to regular usage is lack of electricity.

One of the lead researchers from the University of Washington recently visited Lucknow to check in with the schools; I tagged along on six of these visits. Of those six schools, we were only able to observe the teacher take a DSH class in two of them; in one other the teacher taught on her own without the system, and the rest had one excuse or another.

These two visits were very interesting to me, because my previous field visits had been to schools that were more or less familiar with the equipment and concept of DSH. It was fascinating to see the teachers struggle with using the system, because it brings another sense of realness to the work.


Take, for example, Teacher A. Teacher A is a class three English teacher, but her command of the English language is poor at best. In a “pre-test” visit to the school (before DSH was installed), I had the pleasure of watching this teacher teach the poem, “Rain Rain Go Away.” She sat in her chair at the front of a classroom of children sitting on floormats and read the poem timidly, the children repeating line by line. Then, she called individual students to the front of the classroom to recite the poem; she nudged them along if they were stuck and sent them back to their seat if they were absolutely clueless. The entire class was very low energy and uninspiring.

This time around, she was teaching students the letters “P” and “Q.” Despite her efforts, she was clumsy in both her use of technology and style of mediation. Instead of pressing the “Pause” button on the remote, she pressed “Open/Close” which interestingly achieved the same goal. In her mediation, she let the DVD run through the entire letter P and halfway through Q before finally pausing the DVD, at which point she tried to recite the previous 5 minutes word for word.* As a result, she left out certain vocabulary words and forgot lines to the song.

I found such clumsiness very amusing and endearing; she is exactly the type of teacher DSH wants to work with. Although she lacks subject matter knowledge, she is open minded and has a positive attitude. In this one visit, I saw early signs of improvement. Her English is improving, and her students are more engaged.

Granted, she still has a long way to go, the point is, she’s going.


* For teachers unfamiliar with the DSH system and activity-based learning, we tell them to mimic the DVD teacher, verbatim, as the first step. Though this sounds simple, it has tremendous impact, especially for teachers teaching English. As they adjust to this new way of teaching, they can start expanding on the material in the DVD and even incorporating their own activities. In the beginning though, having DSH is like having a little birdie whisper specific lines and instructions into your ear.

Western Classical Music in Lucknow

Summary: Western classical music is a rare occurrence in Lucknow, and I had the pleasure of partaking in the festivities. There was, of course, an Indian flavor to the night (and it wasn't just the hors d'oeuvres of gobi and chicken tikka).

Last night, I had the honor of attending a Western classical (chamber) music performance by musicians from Europe, courtesy of my boss. Held in the Taj Hotel, this was a classy event attended by many famous faces in Lucknow. And me. (Look carefully.)

This is the first time any event like this has been held in Lucknow. The musicians played pieces by Schubert and Brahms, plus a medley encore. It was a stunning performance that transformed me to another place altogether – a place devoid of honking, temples, fireworks, and words. The music cut through all of the barriers in language and elicited in me feelings of serenity and utter calmness.

In spite of this, there were two things that made this a very Indian/Lucknow experience. The first is the back story behind the upright piano. Apparently the truck transporting the grand piano broke down, and they had no way of getting the piano to Lucknow. At the eleventh hour, a man offered up his brand new standing piano for use. Such is the story of misfortunes and accompanying generosity that pervade Indian society. Murphy’s Law is nowhere truer than in India; because this is so, there are usually people on standby that offer to help to alleviate the situation (whether solicited or not).

To me, the second uniquely Indian aspect was the unrelenting paparazzi. The first piece was over halfway through before the photographers with their loud, professional cameras took a break from their snapping. A viola player joined for the second piece, and he was much less tolerant than the others. His angry glaring and scowling did not deter the photographer one bit. In response to the musician’s physical “no more” finger wag, the photographer turned his attention and loud snapping to the audience. But even that was only a temporary distraction, as the photographer was snapping at the stage again in five minutes.

These quirks make even a “Western” experience in Lucknow interesting, and add a unique charm to the city.

A Jenma-Din [Birthday] Party

Summary: Reflections on a recent desi birthday party focus on (1) the formality of the setup, (2) the lack of pre-determined children’s games, and (3) the process of cutting and eating the cake.

My neighbor’s son recently celebrated his 10th (?) birthday, and I was invited to the celebrations. Instead of going out to Chuck E. Cheese (or the equivalent), they organized a catering service. This is because the equivalent of Chuck E. Cheese hardly exists in Lucknow. And apparently when catering service is ordered here in India, the restaurant actually sends guys (yes, usually males) to your location with raw ingredients, and the preparation and cooking is done on site.

Cooking in our driveway aside, the birthday party was a “big” event. Diwali lights were strung, fancy cloth-covered banquet chairs were brought in, and spotlights were kept outside. Women donned beautiful, sparkling saris and lots of makeup, while I entered make-up free and in my cotton FabIndia kurta.

There was a lot of mingling; the invited guests seemed to reflect the parents’ social circle just as much as it reflected the child’s. I quickly found myself connecting with the children, and was drawn into the kids’ self-organized activities. Instead of running around, jumping around in a bouncy house, or playing in a ball pit (none of which were available), these kids entertained themselves with a series of games, from “link the songs” to “telephone.” Even at a young age, there was a clear gender divide; teams were split by sex and clearly delineated by physical space.

I forget that things here happen in reverse order (relative to what I know). Instead of play, food, play, cake, the order that emerged was play, cake, food. It’s as if the food is the reward for sticking around, after which everyone is free to head his/her separate way.

I also particularly appreciate the cake cutting and eating process, something I first experienced in Tamil Nadu when one of my favorite kids picked up a slice of cake with his hand and fed me. On this day, the birthday boy engaged in a mutual cake-feeding process (not too unlike that which occurs at Western weddings) with various members of his family. To me, this tradition is simply another manifestation of the fundamental underlying sense of interconnectedness and the strength of familial bonds prevalent in Indian culture.

After the birthday boy completed this cake exchange ceremony, cake was shared with the rest of the partygoers on a communal plate. Individuals picked off a small slice from the plate with their fingers, and enjoyed it as such (without napkins). While I realize this tradition is unrelated to environmental concerns, let’s think about how many paper plates and plastic utensils are saved in this way (at 1+ billion birthdays in India per year)!

Some might call that an unintended consequence.

Nipped in the Bud

Summary: A new partnership between DSH and district-wide teacher training colleges presents an opportunity for DSH to improve the quality (and type) of training teachers get even before they enter the classroom for the first time.

Imagine a factory that manufactures teachers and places them in schools. At the government school level, these are called teacher training colleges, or DIETs (the District Institute of Education and Teaching).

Current DSH efforts focus on working with teachers who have already been placed (and theoretically trained). However, so long as the manufacturing facility remains unchanged, teachers will continue to be inadequately trained, and the need for interventions like DSH will remain. And many nonprofits would prefer to run themselves out of business, meaning solve the problem they set out to solve so that they become redundant.

Now, being adequately trained does not directly correlate with more training. Currently, teachers in the field are required to have at least 20 days of in service training per year, and trainings often occur while school is in session. These trainings are not only ineffective, but are also actually detrimental, taking teachers out of the classroom without providing a viable substitute.

To improve the quality of training these teachers get even before they first set foot into the classroom, DSH is intervening in pre-service trainings through a recent partnership with DIETs in twelve districts. Through this program, lecturers at these DIETs will use DSH videos to demonstrate effective teaching practices in an actual classroom setting. Furthermore, the teachers-to-be can use the lessons to improve their own subject matter knowledge (especially English).

This program presents a fundamentally different way of using DSH lessons. Instead of mediating the video, lecturers will lead a discussion analyzing the lesson from different pedagogical perspectives. In this way, both lecturers (many of whom have little or no actual teaching experience) and teachers-to-be will benefit.

I truly appreciate the versatility of our content and the noble goal of this initiative. However, my observations in the field have also told me that knowledge and ability of teachers is only half the battle; the rest lies in motivation, or lack thereof.

I am hopeful, if skeptical, about our current ability to influence the latter. Two observations from the DSH-led two-day training held for selected lecturers inform my opinion: (1) The first day, scheduled to begin at 10 am, did not commence until well past 11 am, and (2) The best-ranked session of the entire training was a singing energizing activity.

A Right Turn and Then Some

Summary: A weekend of new experiences included a friendly game of cricket and an exploration of the city on bicycle.

For those of you who have always told me that I will never become a professional cricket player, I am here to prove you right. This past weekend, I played a semi-organized game of cricket for the first time, with a bunch of other equally clueless Americans and a handful of local kids. The chosen field was in a relatively quiet neighborhood, and the boundary wall was high enough to prevent an otherwise inevitable growing crowd of curious observers.

This was, in short, the perfect introduction to cricket. Both my throwing and hitting form was a bit off, but it was nonetheless loads of fun.

My “new adventure” bug wasn’t so easily quenched. Given that cricket occurred at 10 am and took place in a semi-familiar area of town, I took the opportunity to go on a bicycle joy ride around town (never before had I left my neighborhood area of Gomti Nagar). I followed unfamiliar major roads just to end up in another (different) familiar area, from which I followed my directional instinct that was to lead me back home.

As I biked toward what I thought was Gomti Nagar, I suddenly saw a sign for Clark’s hotel. To my knowledge, there was only one Clark’s hotel, and that one existed on the far side of Hazratganj, the original familiar territory. Sure enough, this was the same one; as I biked through Hazratganj again, I racked my head trying to figure out how I managed to bike away from home.

A quick consultation with Google Maps upon reaching home clarified the situation; a right turn that took me in the wrong direction, and a left turn that took me back in a right one.

I maintain that had Lucknow been developed on a grid system, the turns I made would have taken me home. My fatal mistake was forgetting that I was in India, where urban planning doesn’t exist and things are never as you expect.

Maternity Leave and Don’t Come Back

Summary: Maternity and child-care leave benefits are examples of the way the UP government squanders money and encourages teacher apathy.

The outrageousness continues. Not only are government school teachers paid a ridiculous sum (Rs. 22,000 per month, vs. the Rs. 1500 per month some other teachers get) for not doing much, but they’re also given outrageous fringe benefits.

In a recent visit to one of our village schools, Randy asked about the prolonged absence of one of the teachers, which resulted in the following discovery: In addition to six months of maternity leave, a teacher is given two years’ paid leave for child-raising. This teacher has had two children, and hence gets five years off, with pay; this figure amounts to Rs. 1.3 million (about US $30,000).

I sure hope there’s a maximum number of years a teacher can take off on this program, because this program is a triple-whammy; it is (1) encouraging folks to have more children, (2) incentivizing teachers to stay away from their jobs, and (3) understaffing schools because of the exorbitant amount being paid out to teachers on leave.

Might I be bold enough to suggest to the government that there might be a better use of those resources? With Rs. 13 lakhs (Rs. 1.3 M), DSH can reach over twenty schools and 2000 students.

Diwali: Christmas, Meet Fourth of July

Summary: In Northern India, Diwali carries with it the significance of Christmas and the fireworks of the Fourth of July. Deciding to experience Diwali in the most authentic way possible, I spent the evening with my landlords, which consisted of a mix of pooja, fireworks, food, and house visits.

Diwali and Holi are the two biggest festivals across India, particularly in the North. Both are celebrated with lots of color and fanfare; Holi by day, and Diwali by night (+ 7 months). Holi is the Festival of Color, and Diwali is the Festival of Lights.

For me, Diwali is best characterized as a fusion of Christmas and Fourth of July. With the religious significance of Christmas (Lord Raama returns to his kingdom, having triumphed over the evil Ravana), Diwali is celebrated with lights, family and friends, food, and gifts. And, like the Fourth of July, fireworks are at the heart of celebratory activities. Bottle rockets, fountains, firecrackers, you name it. And they’re burned not only the day of Diwali, but in the week leading up to it and for some time after, explosions ringing sporadically from evening onward. You can literally hear Diwali coming.

On the night of Diwali, the entire neighborhood comes alive with personal fireworks. The fireworks actually also ignite a number of interesting conversations about noise and pollution levels and fears of terrorism. (Am I buying fireworks or other explosives?) My landlords invited me to celebrate with them, and we spent the evening doing pooja, enjoying the artificially lit up sky and making house visits. Good times were had by all.

My landlords were bold enough to leave me alone with the apartment for the next two days, while they and the other tenant family visited their relatives. Granted, they were only put at ease after they personally saw that I knew how to lock and unlock the gate, and how to use a padlock. (They had some serious doubts before they saw with their own eyes that I knew how to turn a key; they also wanted me to skip work on Monday so I could housesit for them.)

So, what does a single girl in Lucknow do when given such a long leash? Nothing, because let’s face it, we’re still in Lucknow. Lucky for them, my landlords came back and their house hadn’t been burnt down (which would, admittedly, have created quite a quandary since it’s made of brick and concrete).

Another Side of Agra and Delhi

Summary: Xi and I played tourist for the weekend in Agra and Delhi; though I had been to both cities previously, we explored places I had never seen before, all of which were absolutely delightful and pleasantly surprising.

This past weekend, my friend Xi and I played tourist in Agra and Delhi. As I had been to both places before, Xi was gracious enough to adjust her program to places I hadn’t yet seen. Some highlights from the trip:

Agra Cantonment Police Station: Our first destination was the Taj Mahal, and we caught an autorickshaw from the Agra Cantonment Train Station. A policeman hops into the front even before we pull out of the parking lot; I initially assume he’s just catching a free ride, but a heated argument between him and the driver hints otherwise. The bits of conversation I catch (“I picked her up from the Agra Fort station,” and “She speaks some Hindi”) aren’t enough to help me understand the nature of the dispute. We slowly turn out of the train station into a small road, and into a police station courtyard. The driver stops the autorickshaw, gets out, and continues arguing with what has now become three policemen. Only after one of the policemen confirms the autowallah’s story with us do they let us go, with smiles on their faces. Turns out they thought the driver was ripping us off, and were asking for baksheesh (a bribe) of 200 Rs., not knowing we were only paying 50 Rs. for the ride. Yet another example of justice gone wrong.

Fatehpur Sikri: A former capital during Mughal emperor Akbar’s reign in the late 16th century, before the capital was moved to Lahore. A mere 26 miles from the mayhem of Agra, Fatehpur Sikir is quite a gem. It’s not only a nice escape from the crowds and touts in Agra, but the walled palace complex itself is rather well-maintained and quite astonishing. The palace itself was in better condition than Delhi’s Red Fort, and the nearby masjid was larger and more breathtaking than the more popular Jama Masjid (also in Delhi).


The Apartment (at the Singapore High Commission): See previous post.

Imperial Hotel, Delhi: We stopped here in the morning to pick up one of Xi’s new acquaintance-friends. Easily the nicest hotel I have ever seen, the Imperial feels like an estate; I almost expected a stable in the back. The interior was beautiful, stunning, spacious, classy, and elegant. Think Titanic meets Pride and Prejudice.

Jama Masjid Minaret, Delhi: Never in my previous visits have I climbed the minaret at Jama Masjid; this time, we were lucky enough to have a male accompany us (females are not allowed up without a male). The spiral staircase to the top was extremely narrow; each time we encountered someone heading down, bags had to be dropped and both parties had to flatten against the wall. The top wasn’t any more spacious (of the 5’-radius circle, only 60% was ground one can stand on), but it provided a nice view of the expansive metropolitan city that is Delhi.

Akshardham, Delhi: An exquisite new Hindu temple complex completed in 2005, carved from red sandstone. As we walked through the complex, stripped of all our non-monetary belongings, we mused about the Disneyland / theme park ambience and debated whether or not the fact that the temple is only five years old detracts from the significance of the intricately carved figures.

All in all, it was a great weekend with good company, interesting conversation, and new experiences.

It also made me realize just how little of Lucknow I’ve actually explored.

The Country Bumpkin Meets the High Life

Summary: Sometimes, you don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s gone. Other times, you don’t realize what you’ve missed until you get it back.

The past eight months in the heart of the cow belt has turned me into a country bumpkin; this past weekend, I finally saw myself for what I’ve become.

Xi, a friend from Monitor, was recently sent to Mumbai for a project, and we arranged for a fun-filled weekend in Agra and Delhi. She has a friend working for the Singapore High Commission in Delhi, who was nice enough to let us both stay with him. Preliminary email exchanges foreshadowed what was to come – there was talk about his two spare bedrooms, playing pool and foosball in his apartment, and cars and drivers. Reading those emails in our humble office, I found myself feeling a little uncomfortable, and it wasn’t (entirely) because I was sitting on a plastic patio chair.

Delhi itself felt deceptively new for the country bumpkin. The train station, NZM, had a 24-hour Vegas-like café with music next door. There were still many lights and cars (and people!) out and about at 10:30 pm. It was like being in a dream; everything I used to know but no longer remembered.

Then there was the Apartment. When I first stepped into said Apartment at 11:32 pm on Saturday, October 10, 2009, I felt like I entered a parallel universe. Seventeen seconds later, I took my first breath in this foreign place, and commenced the exploration process. There were many things that “first” caught my eye – the spaciousness, the cleanliness, the pool table, the big-screen LCD television, the cleanliness, the couch, the brightness, the white walls, the shiny floor, and, did I mention the cleanliness? (He is from Singapore, after all.) Now, unless you’ve actually experienced life here in Lucknow, it’s hard for me to explain exactly why I was so struck by each and every one of those items listed.

After almost an hour of jaw-dropping awe, I made it into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. As some background information, I’m lucky enough to have a shower at home, though poor water pressure sometimes forces me to surrender to the buckets. In order to maximize enjoyment from the shower, however, I have to time it very precisely, given that I rely on the sun to heat my water.

So I step into his shower underneath the raindrop shower head, and I turn the hot water on. The water starts falling on me, and washes away any remaining sanity left on me. I laugh. Not just any laugh, but the guttural laugh of a madwoman who has lost her last screw. And I can’t stop laughing. The more the water falls, the harder I laugh.

I finally pause long enough to see the shower settings (because yes, there were settings), and, like any good explorer, I test them all. There’s the stylish removable showerhead spray, the lateral jacuzzi-massage jet spray, and the regular spigot. I tried them all, in every possible combination.

As I stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom onto the tile floor, I finally remembered what it feels like to be clean. To feel like I am at home.