Rajasthan or Bust (Mike and Len’s Barmer Schedule)

below is an email from Mark, fellow volunteer based in Barmer, Rajasthan. Mike and I are planning to visit him before his trip back to Canada in February. It made me smile this morning that i could not resist posting the email here. With his permission.

your dream vaction awaits you!

Rajasthan or Bust
Mike and Len’s Barmer Schedule

Arrive Saturday morning by train around 10 am, Barmer is the last stop on the run so you don’t have to worry about missing it. If for some reason the train does go on, you will end up in Pakistan . In any case you should have your passport with you.

ó Picked up by Mark and all take a tempo (auto-rickshaw) to Mark ’s house
ó Settle in and breakfast number one of oats with fresh fruit, coffee, tea or juice
ó Alternative breakfast number two is eggs with brown toast

ó Nice walk through back streets of beautiful Barmer to main market road and up to lower mandir
ó Shopping along way if needed

ó Walk down to SURE office to meet the staff
ó Chai will be served at some point
ó Then off to Brahmin Lodge for lunch

ó Walk or tempo back to Mark ’s for rest
ó Engage kids on street as necessary

ó Evening will be a walk to dosa/pizza restaurant for supper
ó And then return home for evening rest

ó Awake Sunday morning to same left over breakfast from previous day
ó Take a long walk up to the Shiv Mandir (the high one)
ó This will take about an hour to get there, some time up top and an hour back
for chai break at Kalinga Hotel

ó Then a look around at textile stores for famous Barmer prints
ó Pick up snacks long the way for return train ride

ó Return to Mark ’s house for rest
ó Pick up bags and go to train station around 6:00pm
ó Train will be at platform
ó Leave Barmer at 6:30pm Sunday
ó Arrive Delhi Cannt the next morning around 9 or 9:30am

Re the trains: 3AC and sleeper are almost the same except the sleeper class is about 300 rupees each way and the 3AC is about 800 rupees. You get sheets, pillow and blankets in 3AC but not in sleeper so bring something to keep warm with if you take this option. There is no food service on the train but sometimes you can buy from local entrepreneurs selling all sorts of fried foods and chai on the train. So bring some food and water and toilet paper for the toilets. Station stops are usually 5 minutes only except for Jaipur and Jodhpur . Jodhpur is often a couple of hours as the train switches cars, but you will not notice this as you will probably be asleep at 3 to 5 am.

Let me know which class you will be traveling on so I can try to wait in the right place for you.

It's Christmas almost all over the world

December 25 is an official holiday because in spite of India being dominated by Hinduism, a large chunk of the population is Christians, larger than entire Philippine population even.

I find some commercial establishments gearing up for Christmas, putting up trimmings in their stores, a life-size dancing Santa Claus doll at one Archie's branch, snowflakes made of polystyrene decorating the glass door of my favorite coffee shop. During lunch today I saw an emaciated Indian wearing Santa costume walk by, made me think even Santa Claus didn't escape the economic depression. Other than that, there's not much raving about Christmas I can observe here. No Christmas trees, no carols, no star-shaped lanterns, no last-minute shopping for gifts, no parties, no queso-de-bola (edam), no chestnuts roasting in an open fire, no Adelina's ham which I am craving for as I write this.

I am not a big fan of Christmas. If not for tradition and it being a time of the year when my family makes sure we get together and exchanging gifts with them and friends is most fun, I would consider it like any other official holiday, just like the way it is being considered here in Delhi. And for this reason that I should be feeling at ease. But there is something about being away from my family and friends that makes me miss Christmas now and actually wish I could celebrate it somehow.

I miss home and I miss my family on this day, in a few hours it will be Christmas, in a fewer hours, it will be Christmas in the Philippines and my family will partake of traditional Noche Buena (Christmas Eve dinner)and open presents. Two of us won't be there, I and my dad who passed away just two months ago.

I have not firmed up any plan for tomorrow, Mike is Jewish and does not traditionally celebrate Christmas, we have two American guests who also do no celebrate Christmas, i am atheist.. I am thinking now, it is not really about Christmas, it's about being in another place and culture on a day that is special to my culture, missing a tradition I have grown up with that is making me start to cry....

And just about when the first tear drop is about to fall, a colleague comes to my cabin, gives me samosa and chai. I get up from my seat and go around to ask to what do i owe the pleasure of unexpectedly getting samosa and chai, one colleague said the Admin officer ordered it distributed to everyone.... he doesn't know why, but i'm guessing it's because it's Christmas. :-)

Dance with Umesh

< World Disability Day Celebration

When: 4 December 2010

Where: Dili Haat Pitampura New Delhi

The event didn’t draw as much crowd as we wanted. Primarily because (I think) the venue is off course of many commuters and is not yet as popular as the other Dili Haat. Secondarily, the majority of Indian society is still apathetic to issue of disability. If the information I got was reliable there was a paid ad that came out in a major daily to invite the public to join the disabled people in commemorating World Disability Day. But only those who are already aware of the issue and/or families with at least one disabled member came.

The National Trust (NT) and ARUNIM staff, together with unnamed volunteers, put up banners and drawings and pictures about disability that transformed Dili Haat into an effervescent and festive place. They were meant to raise awareness and knowledge of the wider public about disability in India, unfortunately aside from the already ‘convinced’, there was le­ss than 20 shops open with occasional or accidental shoppers and young lovers in no-longer-odd-these-days public display of affection.

Later that day was a program at the outdoor amphitheater, the celebration would be graced by the State Minister Shri Napoleon, expected to arrive at 5 pm. Let me just click the fast forward button to when the minister arrived. He was impressed with the displays of information and campaign materials but was dismayed to see a small crowd, less than 30 by the time he arrived (most of the PWDs have left by 5 pm). It was disappointing, but looking at it in a positive way I think the Minister will work harder to help the disability movement to get more attention, priority and support from government and public. With two disabled sons, he assured the crowd that the disabled people could always count on his support. In solidarity with the occasion, he rendered a Tamil song.

And now back to the scene before he came. While the small crowd waited, Indian and American music were played on very loud speakers. People with intellectual developmental disabilities went on stage and danced, or moved to the beat of “All is Well” and “We will Rock you”. It was charming to see autistic children, teenagers with mental retardation, adults with multiple disability along with their parents or caregivers shaking their bodies, stamping their feet, swaying their hands, bobbing their heads; often off beat but they were dancing just the same.

The thrill was contagious, not long after, everyone was going up the stage including the chairs of NT and ARUNIM. Mike moved his body in spite of the beat and was having fun. I, with confessed two left feet and lacking rhythm, was compelled to go up on the stage, summoned the intrepid spirit of the VSO volunteer in me and did try to shake my body. Just 2 minutes up on the stage and my nerve weakened, subdued by debilitating inhibitions that only ‘normal’ people could have

Among the audience were young male adults with crutches or on wheelchairs huddled with one another as they marveled at those on the stage. I could understand that dancing wasn’t for them. I presumed they were proud enough to see one of their wheelchair-bound pals on the stage emceeing the program, and perhaps occasionally mentioned their names.

Towards the evening the crowd thinned even more, the one-day party animals have left, the Minister had sung and bade goodbye. The loud music came back on, only there was no one left to dance. Or so I thought. These young male adults with the aid of their crutches clambered up the stage and displayed their Bollywood dancing prowess. One guy, asked me to dance with him; he, Umesh, who could not even get up and needed my help so he could raise his wheelchair on the platform. I shook my head almost fiercely and hollered, my voice competing with the loud music, “No, no, no. I can’t dance. I have two left feet,” with my thumbs pointing down at my legs.

He laughed at me and pointed to his legs. I may have two left feet but both are functional, while he’s got two disobedient and lazy legs. He offered his hands for me to grab and said, “Just dance, just dance, come, come”. With cheering from his friends and from Mike, I took his hand and he escorted me to the center stage. He caused all his able body parts to move with the music. He raised his arms sideward, palms down and pushed his shoulder left, right, left, right. He wriggled his neck front, back, front, back. I copied all his body movements and soon I thought I was really dancing. He was singing and smiling at me, and every time I felt like giving up he would exaggerate his moves to encourage me to go on. And I did go on.

When the music died, he thanked me. But it was I who needed to thank him for I did something that I had always thought I couldn’t do even with my full mental faculty and physical capacity. Yet, here was this man, here were the men and women, whose physical or cerebral conditions limited their ability to perform things ‘normal’ people could do , who did not allow their disabilities to impede them from and have the courage to do things only ‘normal’ people can do and enjoy, even if they had to do it differently.

NT promotes inclusion of disabled people in all aspects of society, with focus not on their disabilities but on “discoverabilities”. At the end of the day, the disabled people also helped me discover my abilities.

a different kind of diya for diwali

Diwali is a five-day festival for Hindus, Jains and Sikhs, and each has their own story to tell how it began. But since my experience was limited I can only speak of the Hindu version.

Diwali is the time of the year when Hindus light diyas (clay lamps) and firecrackers. It's a tradition that was carried on from the day the mythical Lord Rama returned to Kosala kingdom, along with wife Sita and brother Lakshmani, after 14 years of banishment and having successfully defeated the demon-king Ravana. The people of Ayodha, the capital of Kosala, welcomed the trio with joyous celebration, they illuminated the kingdom with diyas and also burst firecrackers.

Diwali does not happen same time each year, the date is calculated according to the moon. This year it fell on November 5, the moon was not visible in the sky. That night we (Michael, fellow volunteer, and his visiting American friends) joined our landlord's family in their commemoration. After the traditional puja, rangolis, kumkum, incense, lighting of candles and all we went to another building the family owns, located a few blocks away. Amidst the explosions, we entered alleys to go to the building, skillfully evaded lit firecrackers and reached there with all our limbs still intact.

It wasn't just the firecrackers we tried to elude, in spite of diyas in every house we passed the streets were dark. We had to tread carefully, almost as if we were watching out for landmines. The landlord's daughter warned us about accidentally stepping on diyas laid on the streets. These are supposedly cursed diyas; people who believe in black magic and who have family members who have been sick, or been into series of unfortunate events go out on a moonless night to plant this trap. The belief is that the diya is placed there with an intent to pass on the illness or the misfortunes to any one who steps on it. Makes sense to me that they do this when the moon is out. Those people lit the diyas, the flame would eventually die but the curse remains. With the Diwali's raucous celebration you could easily ignore the ground you are walking on.

Along the way, we did pass by a 2 women boldly lighting a diya in the middle of the street. At the time, I thought it was very devout of them to spread whatever health and prosperity the diyas bring. Strange that people knew what evil it could bring to them but no one stopped the women.


Photos from top to bottom: 1) diyas, 2) rangoli, 3) landlord's family preparing for the puja, 4) landlord's daughter applying kumkum on mike's forehead, 5) fireworks, 6) cursed diyas. (Photos by Mike and Len)

ruminating in delhi

(I’ve moved to Delhi last week of October and will be here for 9 months or so for my new assignment under disability programme area)

A few meters away, across the street from where I live, right behind the bus stand, there’s a fenced lot where a group of migrant/homeless people live along with a number of cows; big and small, young and old, people and cows. The fence is made of hurricane wire that from where I stood this morning I didn’t have to crane my neck to see the tents where their meager belongings are stashed, and watch them as they did their morning rituals. There was a mother sitting on the bare ground, her legs outstretched, a naked baby on her lap and right beside her was a steel bucket. She was bathing her baby not only in full view of passersby but in what to me was a chilly morning. Standing around her were 3 or 4 women wrapping their saris around their waists. The men were gathered in a stall with canvas roof, they seemed engaged in animated discussion while smoking bidis (leaf-rolled cigarette made of coarse,uncured tobacco). It was the start of their day. I didn’t look long enough. If I did, perhaps I would see makeshift stoves and even find out what they’d have for breakfast other than the stares from the commuters as they waited for the bus.

Yes, I could ogle and be awed by their courage to flee their native places and try to survive, or be disheartened by the sight of their homelessness, of their lack of privacy as they do their own thing. I wondered, it may have been their choice to make that piece of land their temporary home in order to earn a living, but was it also a choice to become a showcase of poverty? They were fully aware of the eyes gazing at them; the wide smiles on the faces of the women as they gazed back impressed me that they took pleasure in being a menagerie. But it is what they really wanted? Or they just accepted their predicament? Deprivation of privacy, the price they paid for a survival.

As the women covered themselves with sari I felt like I was stripping them of their dignity if I took a minute longer to stare at them. I find it dreadful enough that they don’t have proper shelters where they can feel secure and protected. It is more appalling for me that these women cannot even have their privacy. Homelessness is no longer a phenomenon in New Delhi, I see them here everyday. I cannot do anything about it. The least I could do is not to deprive them of their personal space. I looked away, but I didn’t know if looking away meant indifference to their plight.

"sharing skills, changing lives"

(another post i was not able to publish earlier, was written some time in January 2010. i have now joined another organization, but i am carrying with me fond memories of the former organization)

I came to India with passion and commitment seven months ago (July 2010). Two months in my placement as M&E Advisor and I could feel the passion slowly petering out and started to think that the only life changing here was mine. Why not? For two months all I did in my organization was to read documents and harass people with my incessant questioning to serve my selfish purpose of understanding the organization, their system and ways of working. That was not easy. Back in my country I didn’t like drawing attention to myself but here, with people always on the go I had to watch out for perfect timing to grab attention and be attended to. I constantly observed people and anyone who made a mistake of looking away from their computer monitor would be interrogated by me regarding their projects.

So okay, I did manage to do a few things other than read and talk which gave me an illusion that I was useful to my organization, that all the hard work of making people sat down with me and told me what they thought I could do for the organization paid off. I was happy to be asked to make a presentation about management information system (MIS), although the most I could actually do was the Powerpoint slides and didn’t get to present it myself. One or two people here came to learn of mind mapping technique which I used when I presented my proposed plan on how to accomplish my placement objectives.

When I had meetings with group of people it was not easy to keep them still and focused, even if I incarcerated them in conference room. Next thing I knew I was conducting meetings on exact spots where I bumped into them, within earshot of everybody. It actually served my purpose because those I peppered with question at most time needed to consult others as well to provide me answers.

My preliminary review took place exactly four months and a day after I joined my organization. Before that I had to fill up a review form, some kind of self-assessment. I was lackadaisical answering the questionnaire. I could not feel that I have done anything at all. One question I remember was “What personal lessons have you learnt?’. What could be the best answer? “I learned that there’s so much more to learn”, but I decided it was too self-serving and too obvious that I didn’t learn anything. But I have mentioned early on that my life is being changed by this volunteer work and certainly I, must have gained something from this experience. The best I could come up with was: I learned that people here can accept me by just being me. I don’t need to try to be an Indian, it’s more about being true to one’s self and being sincere; be humble to admit that I don’t know many things; that it’s okay to ask. I also learned to be assertive without being pushy.

I was just so glad that there was no question on what skills have I shared so far or I would have just packed my things (made sure the friendly pressure cooker is tucked in my suitcase) and voluntarily deported myself back to Manila.

Came the actual review day. The people I worked closely with in the past months were all seated around an oval glass table in the conference room (and yes, their number dwindled at every tick of the clock). My line manager began with, ”she’s on the right track...” and then enumerated the tasks I did based on the (no) progress report that I submitted to him. If the rest of those who were present had read my report I reckoned the review would be drab, unless there was a plan to drop a bomb later and say having me as volunteer was a futile exercise and a waste of resources.

I waited and waited but did not hear any explosive remark that would crush me into pieces out of debasement. Each of them shared about their encounters with me, and humbled as I already was, I was even more humbled by what they said during the review. While I counted my concrete output (which was minimal at the time) they took stock of my ways of working that influenced theirs. The rest of the review made me dizzy with modest euphoria and felt my passion drawing back to life.

“She asks questions that make us think and look at the organization in a holistic manner.” I didn’t know that my snooping actually had positive effect on them. One of my goals in my placement is for them to look beyond their projects and see the bigger picture. I felt that because they are so bent on accomplishing each of their tasks they become project-focused and tend to forget their higher purpose.

I learned to KISS (keep it short and simple) whenever I talked to the people in my organization because everyone seemed to be occupied that there is a shortage of attention span. When they mentioned that “She listens…” what immediately came to mind was that listening is a least-developed skill here but greatly appreciated when someone can actually stop and listen when they are saying something.

“She advises..” I kinda like the idea that I am constantly referred to as the advisor because it gives them the power to decide on matters and therefore have a sense of ownership of whatever process we are going through.

“She interacts with everyone..” I talked to everyone, including the watchman who only comes to work every afternoon and leaves in the morning (and whose name only few people are aware of). Everyday, I patted someone’s shoulder or asked how they felt in a particular day. In a hierarchical organization and a state where the caste system is still strongly practiced I suppose this is a big deal to them, albeit any manifestation of caste difference is absent in my organization.

Throughout the four months prior to my preliminary review I constantly complained to myself that my time and their resources are being wasted because I kept track of concrete outputs. It never occurred to me that when they said I made a ‘good start’ they were referring to what they felt about my being in the organization.

My role here is to develop an M&E system that will help determine how their various projects are contributing to the attainment of their goals, and veer away from donor-driven monitoring and evaluation. My best bet is that when I leave next year, they will have the system that they want and use it for another one or two years. But because of pressure from many donor agencies and other factors beyond the purview of my assignment they will likely revert to the old system. Yet I am pretty much assured that even after I am gone they will retain some values and attitudes that they have learned, not from our planned activities but from our daily encounters. As for me, I am learning to stretch my patience, appreciate more cultural differences and be comfortable with slow but steady progress. I also learned how to hand-wash clothes properly.

A day before I wrote this I had a meeting with 6 of my colleagues, some of them tried to talk at the same time but no one left before the two-hour meeting was officially adjourned. :-)

Breaking language barrier

written some time in December 2009 and came out in Volunteers' newsletter in India

Half-heartedly I set off to Kerala one November evening. Never mind if it’s one state many volunteers want to visit, and in the cultural capital, Thrisur, at that. I’ve just been to another state a week ago to visit a state level network (SLN) of people living with HIV (PLHIVs) and observed their programs. Travelling again so soon, on a night train, to observe activities of yet another SLN was the last thing I wanted to do. One, despite being in 3AC coach I spend most of the night just tossing and turning in my bunk. Two, the programs in every state and district are similar in nature. Three, the activities that I observed were in local languages. But the people in INP+ (the NGO where I’m placed as volunteer) guaranteed that I was not going to be a mere observer this time but would conduct orientation to district level network (DLN), as part of the leadership and management workshop. So off alone I went.

The train arrived in Thrisur railway station at 4:45 the following morning. Tired and half-asleep I got on a rickshaw, 5 minutes later I was looking at the façade of the shabby Elite Hotel. The equally tired and half-asleep front-desk officer roomed me in with someone named Rada I assumed was a participant. I knew immediately that there was a mistake; I was told beforehand I would share a room, but with the resource person from INP+. I decided not to protest and just settle it later. All I wanted was to lay my weary body in bed and take the longest nap possible before the session started at 9:30 that same morning.

My roomie was a Malayalee woman, about 50 years old, and spoke only Malayalam. She struck a conversation with me, cogitated who walked in and interrupted her sleep. By this time I was already cranky as I had repeatedly said “INP+” to assure her I came from a kindred organization. I motioned her to go to sleep, that I wanted to sleep too but she just went on. Of the many words she uttered I could only understand two. Did I speak Hindi? “No Hindi, only English”. I suspected that because of my physical features, I was mistaken again for a Northeast Indian and therefore should be able to speak little Hindi at least. Then she asked “Positive?” I answered in the negative which prompted her to talk more. I wondered if it would have assuaged her doubts if I said I was positive with HIV like her.

Finally, at almost 6 am, she spared me quiet time. I instantly drifted off to slumber only to be roused by knocks at the door at little past 7 am. Rada was up, had taken a shower and was putting on her sari, but still could not speak English. She beckoned me to get up and have breakfast.

Breakfast was served at the conference hall. I walked into a roomful of PLHIVs. Everyone looked at me with perplexed faces. I introduced myself as someone from INP+ but that didn’t take away the bafflement. I was famished but coyness preceded my desire to partake of the morning meal so I stepped outside and waited for Reshana, the coordinator. Finally she arrived and I was able to take my repast. Though I positioned myself in the farthest nook I could feel occasional glances towards my direction.

My task that day was to orient the DLNs on computerized management information system (CMIS). I was briefed again who were the participants. They are new board members. All of them have the virus. Some of them have low levels of education, others have reached 10^th standard plus one (finished high school and one year in college). Most of them do not speak English. Majority is computer illiterate. No computers in DLN offices. I knew some of these facts beforehand but Reshana qualified ‘new’ which meant they didn’t know anything about their roles and certainly not know what is MIS at all.

I prepared a technical presentation; with this kind of participants there was no way they could understand what I was to talk about, much less appreciate. I was slated to present in the morning but requested Reshana to reschedule me later in the day as I had to revise my presentation to fit their need. It took two cups of coffee.

The workshop started an hour late. I had the opportunity to be introduced as a volunteer in INP+, not Indian, not positive, to about 30 men and women with HIV, of various ages, the youngest present being 5 years old.

I realized I wasn’t wearing my wristwatch. Rada had the key to our room. I approached her during tea break, talked and motioned that I needed it. There must be another meaning in Kerala when you make a semi-fist with index finger and thumb extended a little and act like unlocking a door, for it took her a minute and interpretations from the other PLHIVs to understand what I was telling her. After the brief charade, I got the key and then my watch. I decided to just keep the key in my pocket.

I went back to Rada and told her the key was in my pocket if she needed it. Again, she could not understand. So I pointed to the key and asked what they call it in Malayalam – takol. I told her it would be in my pocket fingering the back pocket of my jeans, which she said is the keshayil. Glad to make progress, I told her, ‘The takol is in my keshayil.”

The other PLHIVs, by this time no longer puzzled who this stranger was, watched us with amusement and took notice of my earnestness to learn their language to be able to communicate. Joseph, a SLN officer who could speak English well, taught me to complete the sentence in Malayalam, but insisted that I also taught them Filipino. So I wrote it on the board and that broke the ice.

The key is in my pocket.

Takol enti keshayil annu. (Malayalam)

Ang susi ay nasa aking bulsa.

When I did my presentation, Reshana acted as my interpreter. I deliberately shortened and simplified my sentences so she would not be lost in her translation. I was lost in hers though. I sensed she told them more than I did, but it was alright. My apprehension was that they would not get the one joke I said to keep them awake. Luckily, they did after the translation. Call that delayed gratification.

After my presentation the PLHIVs were more at ease with me and I with them. They spent most of their breaks gathering around me teaching me Malayalam and me teaching them English. I could absorb only so much that I requested they taught me just ten words a day. The language lesson was ended with Rada cupping my face between her hands and said “Ninte mukham sundaram aanu.” It was later translated to English for me, “Your face is beautiful” Another delayed gratification. J