Playing telephone

"Most of what is done and not done in Indian society - and especially what is said and not said - comes down to the need to save face."

- Craig Storti, Speaking of India

Mr. Storti wrote those words to prepare Western businesspeople for communicating with their Indian counterparts. But it applies equally well to everyday interactions - like, say, oh I don't know, just off the top of my head - asking for directions. My group and I spent the majority of this weekend at the mercy of our new neighbors in Vile Parle and around Mumbai- most of whom confidently gave us directions, despite having no idea whatsoever where it was we were talking about.

Where is the 9 to 9 grocery?
Go straight and make a left.

Hanuman Road?
Keep going straight.

Subhash Road in Vile Parle?
Straight.

Asking for directions here is like playing telephone with a GPS system. You ask the first person, who gives you the wrong directions - then the next who gives you the wrong directions - then the next - aaand the next. In the end, you either give up or the gods smile on you and, somewhere in the web of faulty turns and half muttered instructions, you magically end up where you're supposed to be. I want to be clear that people aren't trying to get us lost or deceive us. In many cases, they're just trying to be helpful. The word "no" is considered to be quite extreme. I'm learning that the absence of "yes" - anywhere from silence to "we'll see" to "it is possible" - just means flat out "nope."

The most fun we've had has been in cabs. I think cab drivers are on to the game, so they'll ask directions - follow them for about 50 yards - then ask the next person. Cabs are relatively cheap here, so it doesn't hurt quite as much as it would at home for drivers to triangulate themselves to your address through directions ping pong. My two favorite taxi encounters so far:

On our way to Fab India on Saturday (admittedly, an expat haven - like an Indian Anthropologie), the driver stopped for directions several times, and finally got out and jogged around a corner - maybe to find a friend? In the meantime, a rather large truck approaching from our left couldn't get by us and the driver just lays into the horn. After a few minutes, some passersby decided to intervene and REACHED INTO THE CAB to shift it into neutral so someone could push us out of the way. I yelled "hey, um, hi?!" from the backseat while Jessi, one of my travel companions, sort of shrugged from the front seat and said something like "hey, man, they've gotta do what they've gotta do." I aspire to achieve such zen-like acceptance. Just as they were shifting us into neutral, the driver came running around the corner and hopped back in. Saved.

We got into a cab to head home tonight after an evening in Bandra. After we got a funny look after stating the name of our neighborhood "Vile Parle East," I tried some landmarks. "Garware (pronounced Gahr-wahr-ay) House?" "Hong Kong Bank?" OK, off we go. This man had nooo idea where we were talking about. After we reached the edge of our neighborhood, he pulled up to a very sad looking building and confidently declared "Garware House!" To which I replied: "Garware House??? Nahin! Nahin. Nahin Garware House" in my baby Hindi. Which literally means "Garware House??? No! No. No Garware House" and in my heart meant "You and I both know that is not the fucking Garware House, buddy. But nice try." I'm still working on my Hindi.

Tomorrow, off to Pune for the day! It's a 2 hour drive and with any luck and some directions, we'll make it there by dinner.

WTF, Bharatanatyam, and Elephanta Caves

After a late night out with my classmates the other weekend (I'm a little behind on blogs....), I dragged myself out of bed at 8 AM to begin a day of sightseeing. I didn't take any pictures that night, but hopefully will get some from others. Accompanied by a Mumbaiker who works with our professor, we went to a bar named WTF where they played American hip hop. Yes, please. I learned a few things: (1) a bunch of gori walking into a bar will cause a minor event; (2) being a gori does not get you a drink any faster; (3) I can withstand 168° without fainting; and (4) if it starts monsoon-ing right after last call and the crowd tries to get back inside, management will lock the gates (the downpour actually felt pretty amazing after dancing our faces off). Afterwards, we took autorickshaws to the Novotel hotel on Juhu Beach, where we relaxed on couches in an outdoor lounge on the beach. The Arabian Sea is not particularly beautiful, but we couldn't see it anyway and the breeze was gorgeous.

Remarkably, I got up on time the next morning to board the bus to see a Bharata Natyam performance at the Bharat College of Fine Arts & Culture. The dancing by gurus and their students was stunning.

The dance is phenomenal - marrying narrative from ancient texts, story telling, spirituality and movement. I can't possibly do it justice here, so I found some videos that I thought were pretty good:

• An 80s style educational video (http://vimeo.com/4545464). Learning and nostalgia!
• A collection of five videos showing various dances: http://www.indiavideo.org/bharatanatyam/

After the performance, we filed onto the bus towards the Gateway of India in Colaba to get a boat to Gharapuri Island, the site of the Elephanta Caves. Here are some shots as we pulled way from shore into Mumbai Harbor:

The caves are home to high relief carvings of various deities, created sometime between the 5th and 8th centuries. So, you know - old. After a 30 minute ride across the harbor we were ready to see some old rocks! On the downside, the price of entrance for foreigners was 25 times that for Indians. At least in this case, there was a sign to let us know exactly how much we were getting screwed. With street vendors, one is never quite sure by what percentage one is getting fleeced.

I can also personally attest to the warning about monkeys. Spotting the Mazza in my hand (my new favorite Coca Cola brand mango juice), a monkey growled at me. Did you know that monkeys growl? I didn't. This little guy (not the growler) looks so innocent, doesn't he? - gazing into the distance with hipster-like ennui.

The island residents make much of their living from the tourism centered around the caves. The 200 steps leading up to the caves are lined by tchotchke vendors selling their wares. Island residents serve as guides. Tiny old ladies carrying water jars on their heads invite you to take a photo with them with a water jar on your head. Capitalism is alive and well on Gharapuri Island, my friends!

Our guide led us through the caves, explaining which deities were which and the significance of the scenes depicted. I will probably get some of this wrong, so kids, I emphasize that this blog is not a scholarly source.

Lord Shiva depicted as a trinity (sound familiar?):

A lingam, a representation of Shiva and male energy (uh-doy)

Shiva depicted as Natarja, the lord of the dance - for fun next to a photo from the Bharata Natyam performance with the male dancer striking a sort of similar pose.

Also for fun, me as a dilettante yogi, ohm-ing in an ancient meditation room where real yogis practiced thousands of years ago. Now that I'm at one with the divine, feel free to pass along any of your cosmic petitions. I'll talk to the big guy(s).

Thane

Our bus crawled its way out of Mumbai’s congested roads on the way to Thane. It didn’t take long for the scenery outside our windows to become lush and green. We were all weary from gray, dank Mumbai and longing for fresh air. We bumped along the main road north, passing people hunched over in their rice paddies and tilling the soil with oxen drawn plows. On our way, Neelam Kshirsagar gave us an overview of her organization –Impact India – and their programs – the Lifeline Express ("the world's first hospital on a train") and the Community Health Initiative (CHI).

With the Lifeline Express stationed in Orissa, hearing about the "magic train" had to suffice for this trip. Usually I'm wary of projects that rely on a tremendous amount of volunteer support. Even though volunteering is noble and makes a difference, it rarely gets so the root cause of why the volunteering is needed in the first place. Impact India addresses this issue by providing training to health workers and NGOs, and ensure that local government and providers follow up with Lifeline patients. It was reassuring to see such a comprehensive, thoughtful approach.

Our first stop was a CHI-supported residential school for girls, where we were greeted with smiles and curiosity.

Among CHI’s interventions, the appointment of school health monitors is particularly ingenious. Chosen by their peers, the monitors are tasked with identifying emergent health issues among fellow students. These school leaders sang us a song (occasion #935 on this trip that I wish I knew Hindi) and gave us roses to welcome us.

When the pomp and circumstance was done with, the girls got down to work and began their periodic check of the heights and weights of fellow students. They were take charge and methodical, taking their responsibility seriously but good naturedly. Seeing their determination made it all the more frustrating when we heard from our guide that college for these girls is an "impossible dream." As women who have been told all our lives that the sky is the limit, many of us were deeply disturbed by that thought. We had some interesting conversations around the idea of social change and asking "what's enough?" Is it enough to raise the baseline of a generation - get them healthy and a basic education - giving their children a better shot at attaining more? It seems more realistic but insufficient.

Afterwards we were invited to help hand out Vitamin A supplements. It was fun to jump in but felt a little trivial. Throughout the trip, I think many of us have struggled with a feeling of being poverty voyeurs who drop into a community and leave shortly thereafter. We’ve had many reminders on this trip that we are getting immeasurably more from the people we meet than we’re able to give. On the other hand, I can’t think of another way to get such a comprehensive view of the work NGOs are doing here in India.

Next we were greeted by the clinic's nurse who was conducting a training for young mothers on exclusive breastfeeding. The girls formed a line and handed us flowers - so welcoming! After we entered the clinic, a nurse dressed in a gleaming white sari applied the kumkum in between our eyebrows. At first I felt a bit foolish about being received with such ceremony and kindness for just showing up - but reflecting on it a bit more, maybe (for now) it's enough to show up, ask questions and learn.

We headed down the road to the government's local clinic where we spoke with the doctors stationed there. The head doctor, soft-spoken and earnest, showed us around the modest clinic. The biggest problem doesn't seem to be lack of supply of medical services/supplies as one might expect, but lack of demand. The Warli who live in the region often see traditional healers and prefer to give birth in their homes. This is a good example of a common theme on our trip here - need does not mean demand. One of the many a-ha moments I've had on this trip is that perhaps I need to take a good social marketing class...

Our final stop was another school, where Impact's Lifeline Express Mobile unit was stationed. The children at this school, who also greeted us with smiles and a song or two, had never seen foreigners and asked us why our skin was so white. I was grateful when Dr. Vyas told them that many people in the US try to tan their skin to get darker. Light skin is a premium here - I've seen a ton of skin lightening commercials by American companies like Vaseline. Strongly worded letters to said companies are forthcoming.

For good measure, here are some more pictures of adorable children. I hope that at the least, our visit brought them some excitement, joy, and curiosity about the outside world.

At the margins

The organizations and people we've met with over the past three days here in Mumbai have all been so different: sex workers who have formed an organization to deliver health messages and empower other women in their profession, slum dwellers who are the force behind Mumbai's informal recycling industry, and indigenous Warli living in the rural Thane district. The thread that connects them all, however, is that they all live their lives at the margins of society. Sex work, though pervasive, is largely hidden and rarely discussed. The humming, small-scale recycling industry in Dharavi generates over a billion dollars a year, but is unregulated, allowing companies to both dump their waste and buy recycled materials under the table. In rural society, where the caste system is still going strong, the Warli and other scheduled tribes exist even outside that system with lower health, education and incomes than the rest of India. Below are some of my thoughts from Aastha and Dharavi - will post about the Warli tomorrow!

Aastha Paarivar

On Tuesday, we met with Kranti Mahila Sanstha, a community-based organization working under Aastha Paarivar (AP). Aaastha Paarivar is an umbrella organization run for and by sex workers that works "to address their common issues and needs such as health, human rights, crisis intervention, legal literacy, literacy and support their children." Since our class is entirely public health students except for me, we were asked to provide a brief training on menstruation, menopause and breast cancer. This was really new territory for me, since I'm usually providing training to a bunch of my colleagues on equally important topics like how to produce proposal documents or paint a wall beige. The conversation progressed and led to a demonstration on how to use a female condom. Here are some of the women in my group presenting with a fellow student, Angela, posing as a cervix as public health students do.

We had a brief discussion on each topic (I led a portion on breast cancer) and had some Q&A. We got some good questions like how can you tell you have something that's on the inside by checking your outside, or why it matters if their mother or sister has had breast cancer. Once we were done, our hosts wanted to present the training they provide to other women in the trade. Here are some pictures of one of the women making a presentation on how HIV/AIDS spreads. I was struck by the simplicity and effectiveness of the materials, designed to explain the topic with pictures for women who aren't able to read. We could also sense the pride the women felt in being able to deliver such important information to others in their community.

I learned a lot that surprised me - like the fact that the women commute up to 90 minutes each way to work every day or that some had married their clients. Some said that they'd like to do something else, but that they wouldn't be able to support their families as they do now. One woman noted that her daughter had just finished her bachelor's degree and another was working at a bank. Many noted that their children were unaware of their profession.

After the presentations, we asked if they had any questions for us and naturally, they wanted to know why most of us weren't married. We assured them our mothers wanted to know why too.

Dharavi

In Dharavi, a sprawling city within a city, I kept on thinking about rural India. The poverty and lack of opportunity in rural communities drives migrants to Mumbai and other cities, sending urban populations skyrocketing. The result is slums like Govandi and Dharavi and the makeshift shelters that line the streets and alleyways.

Dharavi is an enormous slum - the 2nd largest in Asia and home to 1.5 million people- made famous by Danny Boyle's film Slumdog Millionaire. Accompanied by labor lawyer Vinod Shetty who runs the Dharavi Project, our group toured Dharavi's industrial section. Yes, you read that right. Industrial. The humming, small-scale recycling industry in Dharavi generates over a billion dollars a year. Passing through winding streets and alleys, I felt as though we were walking through an enormous open air factory. Each cramped room housed a different process - people sorting plastic, deconstructing shoes, and reassembling cardboard boxes:

The place is a living lesson in microeconomics. Many people start off in lower end jobs – perhaps resizing cardboard boxes or disassembling electronics. Some move up, eventually owning their own operations, employing others and perhaps even moving out of Dharavi. At first glance it seems like an ingenious, bottom-up model for income generation and business development. And in many ways it is. But the industry here, along with the housing, is unregulated. Without land tenure for residents, companies can dump their waste without fear of regulation or consequences. Many companies also buy recycled materials from Dharavi under the table. I was reminded of Hernando de Soto Polar's work on land tenure and the importance of titling. Without formal government recognition, it becomes easy to ignore or abuse people who are officially invisible.

This place and these people are the backbone of the city’s economy, creating value while ensuring that Mumbaikers aren’t totally overtaken by their own trash. Yet, its very existence is a menace to a Mumbai trying to position itself as a global modern city. The land Dharavi is built on is prime land and real estate developers are eager to put up more high rises. Government has begun to slowly chip away at Dharavi’s foundation. Citing the need to create a buffer between the slum and water pipes to Mumbai, around 500 residences built around the pipes were recently razed to the ground. Ironically, razing these hybrid factory-residences also caused massive spillage of a variety of chemicals – the fumes of which you can now smell from where the photo below was taken.

The government’s plan for relocating Dharavi residents has been met with resistance. One problem, noted by Mr. Shetty, was that the plan would place people in multi-rise apartment buildings (which struck me as really interesting since we’re moving away from the development of such “projects” in the US). Multi-story apartment buildings would disrupt and perhaps destroy the network of businesses people have created while interrupting operations. Thus far, the government’s plan has been unacceptable to the people it ostensibly seeks to help. At the same time, can the government continue to allow people to live in the conditions they do? As has become the norm on our travels here, there are no easy answers.

Waste

After a few days of nervous waiting and a trip to a laptop shop, I'm back online. Hello! I'm writing from the lobby of our hotel in Andheri East where my classmates and I will stay until departing for Delhi on the 9th.

After a few days of leisure and sightseeing, our class excursion yesterday was shocking and difficult. We received a briefing at the offices of Americares India, an organization that provides free medical care, responds in disasters such as floods and bombings, and builds the capacity of healthcare professionals in disaster response. After some brief Q&A in their offices, we accompanied one of their field teams to a slum in Andheri. Here's a photo of the mobile health van we accompanied to the Govandi slum:

The slum lies at the edge of Deonar, a mountainous heap where all of Mumbai's trash is dumped. To put that in perspective, Mumbai is India's most populous city and the world's 6th most populous. According to an article I read online, this slum is home to the lowest Human Development Index in India and has overtaken Dharavi (made famous in Slumdog Millionaire) in size. I couldn't get a shot of the dump itself that did any justice to its size, but here's a photo of a fleet of garbage trucks at the base of the hill. The child in the foreground is searching for material to recycle and sell:

As I stepped off the bus, I inhaled and my stomach turned as the stench of garbage, shit and animals stung my nostrils. I had to pause and physically collect myself, willing myself not to gag. Followed by curious stares, we entered the slum and met up with Americares staff, who were setting up an intake station in an empty concrete stall. Even though we're students and here to learn, I was nagged by a feeling that we were poverty tourists. After snapping some photos and spending a few hours, we'd be on our van back to a parallel universe where this place and these people are invisible.

At the intake station, patients lined up and one by one. Staff recorded their chief complaints and vitals like blood pressure and weight. What you can't see in the picture below is that there's absolutely no privacy. One of our professors observed that the line of women would lean in as each patient spoke with intake staff. Considering the fact that they were surrounded by their neighbors, we thought it was likely that the women might censor themselves when reporting their medical concerns.

After handing women their prescription, staff took a photo of each patient holding it up with their name just below their face. Later in the office they'll align medical records with photos for more complete patient files. With their prescription, women met with a doctor in the Americares van and received medicines. This was a bit more private than intake, and I hope they felt more free to discuss any issues they may have held back on earlier.

After a few hours it was time to go. During the bus ride to dinner, my stomach was tight. More than sad, I felt angry. With so many NGOs working here, where is the impact? How can so many people, like the trash they live alongside, be discarded? Society's detritus. I'm still processing the experience and what I saw, and I don't think pictures or this post come close to doing it justice. Some more photos below might begin to paint the picture.

Thanks for reading and until next time,

C

Buh bohs

My beloved Dell laptop, Magnolia, has fallen ill with the dreaded bluescreen virus. Truth be known I've just named her. I'm holding on to the foolish hope that anthropomorphizing her will make it easier for the computer gods to identify her (and associate your rain dance chants of "Magnoliaaaaa!" to the universe with the right laptop. Thanks for doing that. You look silly.)

I'm about to call a laptop repair outfit here. If this is the universe testing my problem solving abilities in a foreign land, bring it on you crusty old sonofabitch. I'm independent, smart and a former Girl Scout. I've got this.

p.s. Mom and Dad - please send a new laptop to YWCA Mumbai. Love you guys!

Day 1 and Hearing "No"

Namaste from Mumbai my little samosas!

I'm writing to you from my room at the YWCA International Guesthouse in "Fort," a neighborhood with some lovely old buildings that I hope to get a better look at tomorrow. My room is no frills but spic and span. As I opened the door to a gleaming white bathroom, I channeled my mother with a faint but audible sigh of "oh thank God."

It just occurred to me that this is the perfect place to spend a few days before I meet up with the rest of my classmates for our course on social enterprise. For one, the Mumbai chapter of the YWCA (the Young Women's Christian Association) seems to have created an income generating arm in this guesthouse. I need to learn more, but I suspect that the guesthouse provides a sustainable funding stream for the YWCA to carry out its social programs for women and girls. Secondly, the first YWCA in England was created to house Florence Nightingale's army of nurses in transit to and from the Crimean War. As I've learned in reading for my class, Florence was a tough bird and grandmama social entrepreneur who transformed the nursing industry. A very auspicious place to begin!

Other than general dampness from the monsoon rains and finding symbolism in my 20' x 10' room, my first day has been all about challenging my American notion that the customer is always right. So far, today's theme seems to be that the customer is probably wrong and/or doesn't quite know what she's talking about.

I landed at around 4 AM and after a long line for a prepaid taxi from the airport, made my way here by about 7. Check-in wasn't until 12:30 but I was told a room could be available by 11. I'd been hoping to skate in despite the later check-in (I've always thought of check-in times as general guidelines - the way drivers here think of traffic signals), but figured no bigs. While the thought of sweating it out in a room for four hours didn't sound heavenly, the lounge was equipped with chairs and I was equipped with something to put in them as well as a book to read. The "no" stung a bit, but you know, I get it. Maybe they were still making my bathroom sparkle like John Edwards' teeth. And after all, check-in time is check-in time. And then:

Cara: Is there a dining room?

Reception: Yes but it is for guests only. You may have your complimentary tea in the lounge. (**note dear reader, he had just handed me back my Visa card after charging me the Rs 6204 for my two night stay. )

Cara: Oh OK.

::whimper - shuffles back to lounge::

At home and with a circadian rhythm undisrupted by jetlag, I most definitely would have put up a fight. But my head hurt and the thought of additional talking made it hurt more.

Later that day...something like this...

Cara: Oh hello this is Cara Hayes- my internet password doesn't seem to be working.

:: we double check the numbers - still no dice::

Reception Person 2: OK please come down and get another number.

....

Cara: Hello I'm here for my new internet password.

Reception Person 2: You need to bring down your computer so I can check the password (Read: Hey dumbass, since you can't use your pointer fingers to hit numbers sequentially I'll have to do it for you).

....

Cara: Oh, OK. I'll just go back upstairs then. ::pause. whimper. shuffle back upstairs.::

For the record, he couldn't get the number to work either. Victory! (?)

Still later... goes a little somethin' like this...

Cara: Hello. I'd like a taxi to Leopold's please.

Reception 3: It's just a five minute walk around the corner. Just walk.

Cara: Oh, OK. ::pause. whimper. open umbrella. ponder fat drops of monsoon rain. shuffle out the door::

I was on my way to meet Krista, a friend from grad school who I was lucky to overlap with for one night here. After some fantastic conversation and paneer tikka masala at Leopold Cafe, we decided to get some ice cream.

Cara: We'd like some ice cream please.

Waiter: In this weather? (editor's note - hot, sticky and tropical) No. Bad for your throat. Have some cake.

I think my first (three) diet coke(s) in 24 hours gave me my mojo back, for I did not whimper nor did I shuffle. I politely responded that we really did want some ice cream please.

Per my development theory all-time-fave Amartya Sen in The Argumentative Indian, I think I may have just spent my entire day witnessing the cultural bedrock of Indian democracy. I am honored.

Tomorrow, I will sightsee 'til my heart's content and I expect to experience the best of the city. In my head, I walk out the door and it will go something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zy9eftbGs0U.