As many of you know, since my arrival in Hyderabad there as been consistent political/social unrest in and around the city. The 'agitation' is a political dispute grounded in the desire for certain fractions of the society wanting to create separate states within Andhra Pradesh. The official word is "bandh" stemming from the Hindu word for 'closed'. Basically, they shut down the city through their civil unrest.
These agitations are non-violent. The purpose is not to instill fear in the populace rather it is to create leverage within the existing government in the hopes that they will capitulate and create these separate states.
Prior to these experiences I had never had the opportunity to witness and be (sort of) part of a social/civil movement. But, as this situation has unfolded and continued my understanding and appreciation for such movements has grown.
The power of such movements is in their ability to stop the running of day to day life. As I read and hear about the reign of terror in Pakistan I am beginning to realize the vital difference between these two types of disobedience. Here in Hyderabad I feel no fear and therefore I don't necessarily mind supporting the actions of these groups. Furthermore, the government here can safely (from a political standpoint) also support them - they are not killing civilians!
These types of civil disobedience demand dialogue because they strike at the heart of what makes any country or city work: the day to day commerce and operations. Here, now, I am feeling the frustration of never being able to go to work; of canceling meetings, having to leave early or not coming in at all. I can't do my job! But I don't feel fear. Rather, I am annoyed and want the issue resolved. I want resolution so that I and everyone else can continue our day to day lives.
I wouldn't feel this way if I was worried about my local market being bombed or my life being taken from me or the lives of my friends and loved ones. In this situation, I would feel rage and desire revenge (lets be honest!).
And here I have an AH-HA moment (in the words of the Acumen Fund): It is not the challenging of authority or status quo which is the problem (I never thought it was, go for it!); rather, it is the way in which you go about it. Blatant disregard for human life - this is wrong - this strikes not at what makes a city work but at a very primal, gutteral instict: Survival. And, I challenge you all to think of a time when the fear for your SURVIVAL has ever made you desire resolution. Instead, when you worry about surviving your response is to FIGHT BACK it is animalistic and immediate. And when someone takes from you something you love - the response is the same - to fight. Instead of encouraging resolution or change these types of action seem to encourage just the opposite: a desperate clinging to of the way things were, of a given belief system and way of life because anything is better then the way things are going to be or are.
Even worse, when you start a fight based on violence you legitimize any violence inflicted upon you by your opposition. Ergo the phrase: violence begits violence.
Civil disobendience inspires almost exactly the opposite. As the daily mechanisms of the city fall apart resolution becomes urgent and necessary and valid. As a citizen I am not fearful and my safety has not been threatened so I do not resent creating a resolution, I appreciate it and perhaps see it as my government doing its job: managing the society. Furthermore, I would see any violence inflicted upon these separatists as unfounded, illegitimate and wrong. Here, the only solution is resolution.
So, as I sit here today with the city shut down around me I realize that inside all this chaos is certain opportunity - at the very least, to learn and hopefully/potentially to affect change.
I certainly do not know the solution to the troubles of Pakistan or Afghanistan or any other such situation. But what I believe is that dialogue and communication seem to be of the utmost importance in situations like these. I also know that as the violence continues we are all pushing ourselves further away from every reaching any sort of basic undertstanding of each other and the world around us. We are polarizing an issue which needs exactly the opposite. Only through understanding is empathy formed. And, what we really really need is some empathy.
So, I sit back and ask perhaps the most important question: What is desired by these militant groups - really, what is the aim? I am sure the answer is not simple and may never be but what I want and need to believe is that all of us, being human, value life and its dignity and see some sanctity in both. If not, what is holding us together as the world unites us?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Christmas In India + Photos
Merry Christmas everyone and I hope you are all enjoying your holidays and the time off of work. My Christmas was rather uneventful but I guess that is to be expected when most people do not celebrate :(.
If nothing else, it serves as a reminder of how important family is and how much you miss them when you don't have the option of being part of the celebration. Tomorrow is back to work for me and for lack of having anything better to put up I have posted some pictures which you might enjoy. Everyone loves pictures - right!
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This is Dr. Rama Devi and her moped. She and I drive around on this moped when we go to visit different hospital locations. Dr. Rama is also giving me a crash course in OB care and what causes fetal distress, c-sections and poor clinical outcomes. I feel like I am in medical school when I am with her!
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These are the two baby goats right by my office. They are pretty darn cute!
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This is an up close shot of one of them.
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This is me and Jane. Jane is from Canada and has lived in Hyderabad for 7 years. She has been a good friend to me here.
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From left to right is Padma (head of HR at LifeSpring); Doctor Vasenta Theodore (Head Doctor at LifeSpring) and Doctor Rama Devi (Head of Quality Control at LifeSpring). This is Christmas Eve and we are all at a gathering at Dr. Vasenta house. These three ladies are some of my favorites!
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This is Sam and he is the son of Dr. Theodore (pictures above). As is typical for Indian families Sam lives with his wife and his mother as well as many other extended family members in the same home or unit of homes. The party was at their house and we were on the roof (you can see the fire in the background).
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This is me and Dr. Vasenta - Dr. V is who performed the C-section I witnessed. She has been very good to me during my time at LifeSpring. Still working on seeing the natural birth but I am sure that day will come.
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From Left to Right is Padma (pictures above); Priya (the wife of the CEO of LifeSpring) and Sam's wife. The Sari Sam's wife is wearing is the type worn only during the holidays since it silk with a great deal of hand work. Beautiful!
If nothing else, it serves as a reminder of how important family is and how much you miss them when you don't have the option of being part of the celebration. Tomorrow is back to work for me and for lack of having anything better to put up I have posted some pictures which you might enjoy. Everyone loves pictures - right!
.jpg)
This is Dr. Rama Devi and her moped. She and I drive around on this moped when we go to visit different hospital locations. Dr. Rama is also giving me a crash course in OB care and what causes fetal distress, c-sections and poor clinical outcomes. I feel like I am in medical school when I am with her!.jpg)
These are the two baby goats right by my office. They are pretty darn cute!.jpg)
This is an up close shot of one of them..jpg)
This is me and Jane. Jane is from Canada and has lived in Hyderabad for 7 years. She has been a good friend to me here..jpg)
From left to right is Padma (head of HR at LifeSpring); Doctor Vasenta Theodore (Head Doctor at LifeSpring) and Doctor Rama Devi (Head of Quality Control at LifeSpring). This is Christmas Eve and we are all at a gathering at Dr. Vasenta house. These three ladies are some of my favorites!.jpg)
This is Sam and he is the son of Dr. Theodore (pictures above). As is typical for Indian families Sam lives with his wife and his mother as well as many other extended family members in the same home or unit of homes. The party was at their house and we were on the roof (you can see the fire in the background)..jpg)
This is me and Dr. Vasenta - Dr. V is who performed the C-section I witnessed. She has been very good to me during my time at LifeSpring. Still working on seeing the natural birth but I am sure that day will come..jpg)
From Left to Right is Padma (pictures above); Priya (the wife of the CEO of LifeSpring) and Sam's wife. The Sari Sam's wife is wearing is the type worn only during the holidays since it silk with a great deal of hand work. Beautiful!So, there is a bit about my holidays. Nothing too special but perhaps gives you an idea of what my day to day looks like!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Meghan
Monday, December 21, 2009
Ugh...
So, I must say with all honesty that although I am doing my best to keep my head up and my heart in check the homesickness is still blighting my body to a certain extent.
Lately, each day has been a bit of a roller coaster of emotions ranging from apathy to anger to love. My rickshaw driver, who had been such a life saver to me and eliminated part of my life which was very aggrevating (nogotiating with rickshaw drivers) has gone completely AWOL and today showed up at my door demanding money. I asked him where he had been for the last week and he told me he had been too sick to call (and also apparently too sick to even tell his sister who is our maid that he was sick). However, he was apparently NOT too sick to walk to my apartment and demand money. As you might have guessed, this did not go over well. I told him that if he could manage to get to my apartment tomorrow I would pay him then.
I have decided to buy a moped. The rickshaw drivers and me are like oil and water - perhaps both of us are a bit too unwilling to let go of our money :). I guess, if nothing else I have to admire their gumption. Honestly, anyone who can out-stubborn me deserves a medal. They are little shits! If only we could create some sort of team - they drive one hell of a bargain.
Then there are the moments like last night where the rickshaw driver taking me home got lost and what should have taken about a half-hour took 1.5 hours. At first I was angry (rickshaws have that effect on me!) and then, eventually, I just started to laugh and the driver just turned to me and threw his hands in the air and we just both laughed together. Of course, he then proceded to demand way more money than he deserved and I gave him the money on the meter and walked away...but we HAD our laugh!
More than anything, I keep reminding myself that the world is not centered around me. Rather, the world is how I choose to perceive it and as long as I can control my perceptions and remind myself that what is happening is largely not about me...I will be okay. After all, it is these very experiences which will allow me to see the world through a new lens - one which is about being a minority in a country where the rules of engagement are so very different then what I understand and appreciate. But, good lord, this is so very hard.
There are those moments of increadible lightness when I see an infant laying in the dirt by the side of the road while its mother is begging at my feet and I know, with infinite certainty that these experiences will change my life forever. That my perceptions of need and dignity and sanctity of life will forever shift to include the realities of these people - and appreciate my own much more.
If nothing else, life is about experience. It is only through experience that we can grow and understand and realize that the world is spinning vastly outside of our control - that the very most we can do is hold onto what we value and integrate that into what we see. My greatest success will be to learn through these experiences rather than to conquer them.
So, perhaps what I am struggling with the very most is this element of surrender. Of understanding that in order to survive I will have to recognize that India is not about me; rather, it is about how I perceive it, how I sift through the daily barrage of experiences and sensations and disappointments. I am learning but perhaps not as gracefully as I would like.
At the end of the day I remind myself that I chose this: the struggle and the bliss. And I also remind myself that by choosing this some part of me, conscious or not, knows what is best for me, what will bring me closer to the type of person I imagine myself to be.
I am moving closer to consciousness as we speak.
Rickshaw drivers beware!
Lately, each day has been a bit of a roller coaster of emotions ranging from apathy to anger to love. My rickshaw driver, who had been such a life saver to me and eliminated part of my life which was very aggrevating (nogotiating with rickshaw drivers) has gone completely AWOL and today showed up at my door demanding money. I asked him where he had been for the last week and he told me he had been too sick to call (and also apparently too sick to even tell his sister who is our maid that he was sick). However, he was apparently NOT too sick to walk to my apartment and demand money. As you might have guessed, this did not go over well. I told him that if he could manage to get to my apartment tomorrow I would pay him then.
I have decided to buy a moped. The rickshaw drivers and me are like oil and water - perhaps both of us are a bit too unwilling to let go of our money :). I guess, if nothing else I have to admire their gumption. Honestly, anyone who can out-stubborn me deserves a medal. They are little shits! If only we could create some sort of team - they drive one hell of a bargain.
Then there are the moments like last night where the rickshaw driver taking me home got lost and what should have taken about a half-hour took 1.5 hours. At first I was angry (rickshaws have that effect on me!) and then, eventually, I just started to laugh and the driver just turned to me and threw his hands in the air and we just both laughed together. Of course, he then proceded to demand way more money than he deserved and I gave him the money on the meter and walked away...but we HAD our laugh!
More than anything, I keep reminding myself that the world is not centered around me. Rather, the world is how I choose to perceive it and as long as I can control my perceptions and remind myself that what is happening is largely not about me...I will be okay. After all, it is these very experiences which will allow me to see the world through a new lens - one which is about being a minority in a country where the rules of engagement are so very different then what I understand and appreciate. But, good lord, this is so very hard.
There are those moments of increadible lightness when I see an infant laying in the dirt by the side of the road while its mother is begging at my feet and I know, with infinite certainty that these experiences will change my life forever. That my perceptions of need and dignity and sanctity of life will forever shift to include the realities of these people - and appreciate my own much more.
If nothing else, life is about experience. It is only through experience that we can grow and understand and realize that the world is spinning vastly outside of our control - that the very most we can do is hold onto what we value and integrate that into what we see. My greatest success will be to learn through these experiences rather than to conquer them.
So, perhaps what I am struggling with the very most is this element of surrender. Of understanding that in order to survive I will have to recognize that India is not about me; rather, it is about how I perceive it, how I sift through the daily barrage of experiences and sensations and disappointments. I am learning but perhaps not as gracefully as I would like.
At the end of the day I remind myself that I chose this: the struggle and the bliss. And I also remind myself that by choosing this some part of me, conscious or not, knows what is best for me, what will bring me closer to the type of person I imagine myself to be.
I am moving closer to consciousness as we speak.
Rickshaw drivers beware!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sensational
So, I have been inspired to write this blog for a number of reasons.
I believe I have done a rather good job of describing to you the sights of India and providing some of them in pictures. What I realize I have failed in giving you is all of the other sensory experiences which are India.
Let it be said that India is a full time sensory assault. And, when I say assault, I mean ASSAULT.
Lets begin with the smells: The broad overview is that India is a melting pot of development, affluence, poverty and agrarianism. The sheer number of animals (large and small) running freely about India is actually quite endearing (at least for me). For instance, there is a herd (6-8) of water buffalo which wonder about Chilkalguda (the area where my office is located). Outside my office there are also several goats and one family in particular which is a Mom with two twin kids. They are really cute! There are also goats tied up to each random tree and every once in a while you one goes missing (or you find it hanging at the local butcher shop). Lets not forget the somewhat rarer dairy (Holstein) cow as well as the cats, dogs, chickens and sheep. These animals typically act as scavengers and feast on the local piles of garbage or whatever else might serve as food. Such a pretty picture...right.
Well...now imagine what this might smell like.
They are EATING PILES OF GARBAGE. They are openly defecating and roaming around the city at will. Goats smell! They smell badly. Cows are large and produce a great deal of.....you know what. Chickens are dirty and Indian poverty chickens are even dirtier.
India smells...and most of the time it smells badly. My ride to work is a hero's journey ranging from gasping on the fumes of carbon monoxide & dioxide to choking on the stench of open human and animal defecation. Sometimes the smell of goat is so strong you can feel it resting on your tongue - you may as well have licked it.
This is all mixed with local venders who fry food from dawn to dusk. And lets not forget the butcher shops where meat hangs out in the open all day in 80 degree heat.
And then there is the random stench of burning trash, burning land and burning coal or wood.
Heat augments smell. I am sorry India, but you smell!
There is the random reprieve of incense. I have come to believe that incense was created for the sole purpose of masking the intense smells of India! And sometimes it works but even this seems overpowering. There are days I am walking up the stairs to my apartment and am nearly bowled over by the wafting of incense fumigating the apartment building.
India doesn't do smells in moderation. You are either choking on shit or choking on sandalwood.
Now that I have given you the abbreviated rundown of the smells lets move onto sounds.
India is loud and cacophonous. Horns are sounding all day and all night: seriously. India is a place where honking is not only welcome but encouraged. The traffic is so bad and so erratic and the drivers so bold that honking is basically saying: "I am here, I will try not to hit you if you try not to hit me." Somehow it works...with the random love tap in between. There is no standardization of horns. For instance, my rickshaw driver (who has become increasingly wayward) has a blow horn on his rickshaw. Basically, he squeezes it with his right hand while he drives with his left. The buses have the worst horns by far. Horns which make me cover my ears and shudder as they pass me in my little rickshaw. Sounds which make your ears bleed. India is full of loud, intimidating, constant, brash and brutish sounds.
The call to prayer is the incense of India's world of sound. Each day (5 times daily) the world of India is quieted and then uplifted by the (Muslim) call to prayer. I can't really describe this sound but it is a loud, hollow horn which sounds distant and spiritual. I like it very much.
Indian's are also people of song and music. You will often hear sellers singing the song of their sales and an eerie, hollow voice.
So, all in all the sights and sounds of India are like the rest of it: incongruous, unforgiving and unforgettable.
Hope this helps to complete the picture.
I believe I have done a rather good job of describing to you the sights of India and providing some of them in pictures. What I realize I have failed in giving you is all of the other sensory experiences which are India.
Let it be said that India is a full time sensory assault. And, when I say assault, I mean ASSAULT.
Lets begin with the smells: The broad overview is that India is a melting pot of development, affluence, poverty and agrarianism. The sheer number of animals (large and small) running freely about India is actually quite endearing (at least for me). For instance, there is a herd (6-8) of water buffalo which wonder about Chilkalguda (the area where my office is located). Outside my office there are also several goats and one family in particular which is a Mom with two twin kids. They are really cute! There are also goats tied up to each random tree and every once in a while you one goes missing (or you find it hanging at the local butcher shop). Lets not forget the somewhat rarer dairy (Holstein) cow as well as the cats, dogs, chickens and sheep. These animals typically act as scavengers and feast on the local piles of garbage or whatever else might serve as food. Such a pretty picture...right.
Well...now imagine what this might smell like.
They are EATING PILES OF GARBAGE. They are openly defecating and roaming around the city at will. Goats smell! They smell badly. Cows are large and produce a great deal of.....you know what. Chickens are dirty and Indian poverty chickens are even dirtier.
India smells...and most of the time it smells badly. My ride to work is a hero's journey ranging from gasping on the fumes of carbon monoxide & dioxide to choking on the stench of open human and animal defecation. Sometimes the smell of goat is so strong you can feel it resting on your tongue - you may as well have licked it.
This is all mixed with local venders who fry food from dawn to dusk. And lets not forget the butcher shops where meat hangs out in the open all day in 80 degree heat.
And then there is the random stench of burning trash, burning land and burning coal or wood.
Heat augments smell. I am sorry India, but you smell!
There is the random reprieve of incense. I have come to believe that incense was created for the sole purpose of masking the intense smells of India! And sometimes it works but even this seems overpowering. There are days I am walking up the stairs to my apartment and am nearly bowled over by the wafting of incense fumigating the apartment building.
India doesn't do smells in moderation. You are either choking on shit or choking on sandalwood.
Now that I have given you the abbreviated rundown of the smells lets move onto sounds.
India is loud and cacophonous. Horns are sounding all day and all night: seriously. India is a place where honking is not only welcome but encouraged. The traffic is so bad and so erratic and the drivers so bold that honking is basically saying: "I am here, I will try not to hit you if you try not to hit me." Somehow it works...with the random love tap in between. There is no standardization of horns. For instance, my rickshaw driver (who has become increasingly wayward) has a blow horn on his rickshaw. Basically, he squeezes it with his right hand while he drives with his left. The buses have the worst horns by far. Horns which make me cover my ears and shudder as they pass me in my little rickshaw. Sounds which make your ears bleed. India is full of loud, intimidating, constant, brash and brutish sounds.
The call to prayer is the incense of India's world of sound. Each day (5 times daily) the world of India is quieted and then uplifted by the (Muslim) call to prayer. I can't really describe this sound but it is a loud, hollow horn which sounds distant and spiritual. I like it very much.
Indian's are also people of song and music. You will often hear sellers singing the song of their sales and an eerie, hollow voice.
So, all in all the sights and sounds of India are like the rest of it: incongruous, unforgiving and unforgettable.
Hope this helps to complete the picture.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
My Choice
Despite how much you are prepared for it or how much you know it is going to happen; despite all the internal coaching and self-talk, there is nothing which will ever prepare you for feeling homesick. I have been rather quite lately because I have been homesick and then I decided perhaps I should just write about it since it is all I really think about and then I started thinking about it some more and realized I had to write.
Homesickness always strikes about 3.5 weeks in...when everything is no longer bright and shiney and the fact that you can't drink tap water suddenly drives you insane and you become angry at your boyfriend because he doesn't seem to be emailing enough (how dare he ever not be thinking of you!) and you refuse to answer calls because it just seems like too much work - and really who wants to hear your dithering anyway. You feel left-out, forgotten and suddenly VERY FAR from home. Lets just say it doesn't always bring out the best in people. The best you can really do is take it, put it outside yourself, acknowledge it and let it go. The holidays don't help either. Breathe.
Tonight, I began to think of my homesickness in a bit of a different light. It sort of all began when one of my fellow fellow's mentioned that he had a friend coming into town. When he said this, I felt jealous...he always has friends coming into town! (but it also made me reflect). He and I come from extremely different backgrounds. He has spent nearly his entire life traveling, he speaks three languages and perhaps (dare I put words in his mouth) his greatest fear is staying any one place too long. I, on the other hand come from pretty much one place. Most of my entire family comes from that one place and most of them do not possess passports (but some are working on it!). Perhaps my greatest fear is getting stuck.
He has friends visiting because his friends are from all around the world. They all own passports and probably have had to have them refilled more than once. These people are likely not just traveling for work - they are traveling because it is part of their culture, their identity.
I will never have this reality. I will never have a revolving door of visitors. My people, as part of their culture and identity, stay put.
Viewed through this lens, my choice to do this, to travel this far is much different then my friend's choice. This is not a judgement but a realization that people have tried to point out to me before and I have just never fully appreciated.
As I have been writing this blog I have been continually thrilled and honored by the enthusiasm with which people have read it. The responses have been a huge part of me keeping it up. What I have come to believe is that part of my journey is sharing this experience with all the people in my life who will never, ever see India. It is bringing something to their doorstep in a way which works inside their culture. I believe it is also a way of making the world a little smaller and allowing people the opportunity to have understanding and empathy for something which is so outside their own reality yet coming in the words and voice of someone who understands them. It is also allowing that brave someone the opportunity to visit..if they want. And, I am honored for that opportunity.
My choice, coming from a culture where leaving home is not extremely common and where many have lived in the same state or within the same two hour distance their entire life, is to be the one to leave. It is a choice which has not been easy and which has involved both sacrifice and risk, but I wouldn't change it for the world.
So, I will remain homesick and I will envy my friend who has an eternal list of visitors but I will also keep writing because I know people are reading.
And, of course, I will secretly hope that one or all of you will decide to visit.
Homesickness always strikes about 3.5 weeks in...when everything is no longer bright and shiney and the fact that you can't drink tap water suddenly drives you insane and you become angry at your boyfriend because he doesn't seem to be emailing enough (how dare he ever not be thinking of you!) and you refuse to answer calls because it just seems like too much work - and really who wants to hear your dithering anyway. You feel left-out, forgotten and suddenly VERY FAR from home. Lets just say it doesn't always bring out the best in people. The best you can really do is take it, put it outside yourself, acknowledge it and let it go. The holidays don't help either. Breathe.
Tonight, I began to think of my homesickness in a bit of a different light. It sort of all began when one of my fellow fellow's mentioned that he had a friend coming into town. When he said this, I felt jealous...he always has friends coming into town! (but it also made me reflect). He and I come from extremely different backgrounds. He has spent nearly his entire life traveling, he speaks three languages and perhaps (dare I put words in his mouth) his greatest fear is staying any one place too long. I, on the other hand come from pretty much one place. Most of my entire family comes from that one place and most of them do not possess passports (but some are working on it!). Perhaps my greatest fear is getting stuck.
He has friends visiting because his friends are from all around the world. They all own passports and probably have had to have them refilled more than once. These people are likely not just traveling for work - they are traveling because it is part of their culture, their identity.
I will never have this reality. I will never have a revolving door of visitors. My people, as part of their culture and identity, stay put.
Viewed through this lens, my choice to do this, to travel this far is much different then my friend's choice. This is not a judgement but a realization that people have tried to point out to me before and I have just never fully appreciated.
As I have been writing this blog I have been continually thrilled and honored by the enthusiasm with which people have read it. The responses have been a huge part of me keeping it up. What I have come to believe is that part of my journey is sharing this experience with all the people in my life who will never, ever see India. It is bringing something to their doorstep in a way which works inside their culture. I believe it is also a way of making the world a little smaller and allowing people the opportunity to have understanding and empathy for something which is so outside their own reality yet coming in the words and voice of someone who understands them. It is also allowing that brave someone the opportunity to visit..if they want. And, I am honored for that opportunity.
My choice, coming from a culture where leaving home is not extremely common and where many have lived in the same state or within the same two hour distance their entire life, is to be the one to leave. It is a choice which has not been easy and which has involved both sacrifice and risk, but I wouldn't change it for the world.
So, I will remain homesick and I will envy my friend who has an eternal list of visitors but I will also keep writing because I know people are reading.
And, of course, I will secretly hope that one or all of you will decide to visit.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Ugly
As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, one of the best things about working at LifeSpring is the fact that whenever you are feeling a bit down you can go two floors down and check in on the clients (mothers and babies) of the hospital.
On Saturday as I was trying to leave the hospital (due to the political agitation) I had the wonderful opportunity to see the mother and child of whom I witnessed the C-section. The mother was there for a post-surgical check up.
An older woman, who I would soon learn was the mother's mother immediately handed the newborn to me. She looked so much better and was beautiful in every sense of the word. She now has a full head of hair. Perhaps the most interesting or amazing thing about her was the way she slept...with such intention. Having never been around a newborn, I have never realized how intently they sleep...as if this is her only job on earth - to sleep. Her little hands were clenched in tight fists and as I looked at her I couldn't help but sort of fall in love with the little thing. She was spectacular.
I turned to the mother, "she is beautiful."
The mother solemnly replied, "she is?"
"Yes, she is looking so healthy and happy," I said.
The mother then looked at me and said, "No one has come to see her - my husband and his family refuse to see her because they are angry and upset she is a girl."
To this point, I simply did not know how to reply. What do you say? All I could think was here is a perfect little human being who is, thus far, unmarked by life...but is she really?
Coming from the Western world, I once again was forced to swallow the reality of my luxuries. In India, the male child is still out rightly favored. He eats before the female child, he goes to school before the female child and he is valued more than the female child - end of story. This gender bias is a major catalyst to mal-nutrition issues as well as many others. In India, it is illegal (atleast on paper) to have any test performed which identifies the sex of the child because of the ever existing risk of female infanticide.
And these thoughts don't even touch on the way it must feel to the mother of the child who is a female herself and THE MOTHER OF THE CHILD.
As I am holding this baby all I can think is how ridiculous this whole notion is and all I can wonder at is how this still exists eventhough I fully understand why it exists and the history behind these types of cultural bias.
I continue to hold the child and just say "she is happy and healthy and that is what matter." But now I sort of feel like a fraud because, clearly, this is not all that matters. In fact, what matters most is that she is a girl.
The mother slowly dabs away of couple of tears and remains eerily quiet. She is neither disagreeing or agreeing with me. She is just there - she is just stuck here a week after major surgery with an infant no one feels is good enough.
"Is this your first baby?"
"Yes."
"Will you have another?"
"I don't' know," she shrugs as she looks away from me.
And as she looks away she puts her hand on top of mine and I turn to her and say, "It will be okay."
And, honestly, from that moment forward I have been thinking on that coy little phrase: "it will be okay." Here I am, white, educated, free and female. Who am I to say this. In reality, it might very well not be okay. It is not okay now, in this moment. This mother has been abandoned, thus far, by the father of her child. She has been made to feel inadequate, unworthy and shamed. This child, so small I am holding her in the palm of my hand, has hardly began life and yet she has already been condemned to a certain reality: FEMALE.
I don't know why I said "it will be okay." The more I think on it, the more I begin to believe that I likely said it more for myself than for this mother.
On Saturday as I was trying to leave the hospital (due to the political agitation) I had the wonderful opportunity to see the mother and child of whom I witnessed the C-section. The mother was there for a post-surgical check up.
An older woman, who I would soon learn was the mother's mother immediately handed the newborn to me. She looked so much better and was beautiful in every sense of the word. She now has a full head of hair. Perhaps the most interesting or amazing thing about her was the way she slept...with such intention. Having never been around a newborn, I have never realized how intently they sleep...as if this is her only job on earth - to sleep. Her little hands were clenched in tight fists and as I looked at her I couldn't help but sort of fall in love with the little thing. She was spectacular.
I turned to the mother, "she is beautiful."
The mother solemnly replied, "she is?"
"Yes, she is looking so healthy and happy," I said.
The mother then looked at me and said, "No one has come to see her - my husband and his family refuse to see her because they are angry and upset she is a girl."
To this point, I simply did not know how to reply. What do you say? All I could think was here is a perfect little human being who is, thus far, unmarked by life...but is she really?
Coming from the Western world, I once again was forced to swallow the reality of my luxuries. In India, the male child is still out rightly favored. He eats before the female child, he goes to school before the female child and he is valued more than the female child - end of story. This gender bias is a major catalyst to mal-nutrition issues as well as many others. In India, it is illegal (atleast on paper) to have any test performed which identifies the sex of the child because of the ever existing risk of female infanticide.
And these thoughts don't even touch on the way it must feel to the mother of the child who is a female herself and THE MOTHER OF THE CHILD.
As I am holding this baby all I can think is how ridiculous this whole notion is and all I can wonder at is how this still exists eventhough I fully understand why it exists and the history behind these types of cultural bias.
I continue to hold the child and just say "she is happy and healthy and that is what matter." But now I sort of feel like a fraud because, clearly, this is not all that matters. In fact, what matters most is that she is a girl.
The mother slowly dabs away of couple of tears and remains eerily quiet. She is neither disagreeing or agreeing with me. She is just there - she is just stuck here a week after major surgery with an infant no one feels is good enough.
"Is this your first baby?"
"Yes."
"Will you have another?"
"I don't' know," she shrugs as she looks away from me.
And as she looks away she puts her hand on top of mine and I turn to her and say, "It will be okay."
And, honestly, from that moment forward I have been thinking on that coy little phrase: "it will be okay." Here I am, white, educated, free and female. Who am I to say this. In reality, it might very well not be okay. It is not okay now, in this moment. This mother has been abandoned, thus far, by the father of her child. She has been made to feel inadequate, unworthy and shamed. This child, so small I am holding her in the palm of my hand, has hardly began life and yet she has already been condemned to a certain reality: FEMALE.
I don't know why I said "it will be okay." The more I think on it, the more I begin to believe that I likely said it more for myself than for this mother.
Bandh
Sorry for the delay in posting the past five days have been filled with many new experiences so I have quite a lot to write about but no time to write. Here I am at last!
Saturday, December 5th was a bit of a scary day. What started off as a normal working day led to an evacuation of my office at about 4 PM. There was rioting in the city, buildings had been burned and there was SOME violence targeted toward white people (or so I was told). Most of the agitation had happened near where I am living so the roads getting home were completely blocked. My rickshaw driver was trying to pick me up but everyone at my office was worried about my safety riding home in a rickshaw.
In the end, I was taken home in the back of an ambulance (got to play a basic game of hide the white girl).
The riots are politically funded and rooted in the desire of some of the populace wanting two separate states formed out of the single existing state Andhra Pradesh. The chief of the separation party began fasting last week and was admitted to ICU on Saturday, feuling the initial riots, he remains in ICU with a worsening condition and has refused to take any sort of nourishing fluids, etc.
This article gives a brief synopsis of what is going on and the fact that the violence, rioting and agitation is supposed to continue: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/TRS-chiefs-condition-worsens-turmoil-in-Andhra/articleshow/5317745.cms
This leads us to the word Bandh: A Bandh is originally a Hindi word meaning 'closed' and essentially means that the city is expected to close-down tomorrow...it is essentially a lock-down. We were on a 48+ Bandh from Saturday - Monday of this week and are now having another tomorrow.
Bandhs, in a nutshell, suck. Nothing is open, there is nothing to do, and people are encouraged to not go anywhere. BORING.
So, all in all this has been a real experience in what it is like to live in a culture where things are slightly unstable. That being said things are really not that bad - more of a nuicance than anything. My thoughts are more with my friends who are currently placed in Lahore, Pakistan where the bombings of Moon Market have recently shaken a previously rather secure area. If you say any prayers, pray for them and their safety.
Meghan
Saturday, December 5th was a bit of a scary day. What started off as a normal working day led to an evacuation of my office at about 4 PM. There was rioting in the city, buildings had been burned and there was SOME violence targeted toward white people (or so I was told). Most of the agitation had happened near where I am living so the roads getting home were completely blocked. My rickshaw driver was trying to pick me up but everyone at my office was worried about my safety riding home in a rickshaw.
In the end, I was taken home in the back of an ambulance (got to play a basic game of hide the white girl).
The riots are politically funded and rooted in the desire of some of the populace wanting two separate states formed out of the single existing state Andhra Pradesh. The chief of the separation party began fasting last week and was admitted to ICU on Saturday, feuling the initial riots, he remains in ICU with a worsening condition and has refused to take any sort of nourishing fluids, etc.
This article gives a brief synopsis of what is going on and the fact that the violence, rioting and agitation is supposed to continue: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/TRS-chiefs-condition-worsens-turmoil-in-Andhra/articleshow/5317745.cms
This leads us to the word Bandh: A Bandh is originally a Hindi word meaning 'closed' and essentially means that the city is expected to close-down tomorrow...it is essentially a lock-down. We were on a 48+ Bandh from Saturday - Monday of this week and are now having another tomorrow.
Bandhs, in a nutshell, suck. Nothing is open, there is nothing to do, and people are encouraged to not go anywhere. BORING.
So, all in all this has been a real experience in what it is like to live in a culture where things are slightly unstable. That being said things are really not that bad - more of a nuicance than anything. My thoughts are more with my friends who are currently placed in Lahore, Pakistan where the bombings of Moon Market have recently shaken a previously rather secure area. If you say any prayers, pray for them and their safety.
Meghan
Friday, December 4, 2009
More Photos: Bathroom and Rickshaw - Gonna try for the video as well!!
I put this photo in because it should be noted that 1) This man is probably committing some sort of unspoken crime given that he only has 2 people on is motorcycle. Typically there are 4-5 on one motorcycle or moped. I will try to get a photo of that. 2) One of the craziest thing about India is that almost no one wears a helmet. You see all the time whole families on a motorcyle in the middle of horrible traffic with LITTLE children sitting on their laps and infront of them with no protection of anykind. I am just waiting for the day I see my first horrific accident. Honestly, it is crazy. I took this photos on my way to work.
This is my rickshaw and rickshaw driver Chanti. He was very excited to have his picture taken. I sit in the backseat. The vehicle is very small (I am probably taller than it!). If we get in an accident I am totally screwed. Say prayers for Chanti and I. We have lots of traveling ahead of us.
This is my bathroom...note the US toilet. The thing used to spray off your 'regions' is hanging on the wall next to the toilet. Showers are not separate in India so it is located between the toilet and the sink. The floor just gets soaked and dries during the day. The red and white bucket on the floor slightly hidden by the sink is filled with water that I use to rinse out my hair since the water pressure is not strong enough. Get ready for when you visit. It is like camping!A couple of other notes...
1) Another crazy thing aout India is that a sacred symbol here is the swastika...yes the one bastardized by Hitler. It is really interesting because you see it on graves and on bumper stickers and as a symbol in many places. It takes a little adjustment to get used to seeing swastikas everywhere. They date back to the Neolithic period and are a very popular symbol in many eastern religions.
2) One of the best things about working at LifeSpring is that when you are feeling a little down or just need a break from stuff I can walk down 2 floors and visit the BABIES. No, I am not baby crazy but it is pretty great. I mean, honestly.
Photos: My House
So...the internet connections here are very bad. I couldn't upload the videos so am trying pictures. They will likely take the next 2 hours to get onto the site but I guess that is fine since I am at work and can just let it keeeeeeep loading.
It should be noted that I pay less than $200/month for this apartment. There are 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. Go India!! Feel the rub NYers.
Cross your fingers.
Me, Myself and I
So..the good news is my camera is back up and working. In fact, it is what has inspired this blog!
I thought it was high time that you got a picture of my roommate, a couple videos of where I am living and some photos of the ever-impressive clothing. So..attached you will find it all!
I am doing very well. Work is proving to be very demanding but in a good way. I am pulling a six day work week at about 10 hours/day. I am currently involved in four different projects:
1) Customer coversion from prospects to out patient (OP) customers (coming to the clinic for prenatal check-up, etc) and from OP customers to In patient (IP) customers (actually having their baby at the clinic). With a little luck tomorrow I will get to witness my first natural child birth (cross your fingers). The female head doctor at the clinic where I am placed loves me and is always trying to get me into surgeries which is super fantastic.
2 & 3) My second and third project is first working with the NHS to develop a clinical scorecard and second doing this for a developing country hospital (which is qutie challenging - there is zero data and no benchmarks).
4) My four project is working with the IHI (Institute for Health Improvements working out of Boston/Harvard University) to look into perinatal care and the effects of oxytocin on fetal duress. This is quite interesting.
My days range from doing hard-core data analysis of our existing customer base to speaking with the clinical staff about defining key performance indicators for the hospital and its expansions.
My overarching job falls under the label of "business intelligence" (pretty fancy!) but my day to day is very varied.
I am having a great time getting to know my associates and am learning a lot through teaching.
I am very proud of myself for negotiating with a local rickshaw driver who I am paying monthly to drive me to and from work. This elliminates the hassle of haggling every day and provides positive incentives to him to get me there as fast and efficiently as possible. I will get a picture of him and his rickshaw tomorrow. He sings while he drives me! He also has the same friend with him every morning which is pretty neat. The friend practices something called Sabarimala . Actually you see them all over Hyderabad. They wear only black and go only barefoot. They spend 40 days obstaining from all pleasures which includes taking cold showers every day - I say this because I TAKE a cold shower every day (does this mean I am half of one of them). I would go barefoot if it brought me even closer! hehe
In this blog I also want to say Happy Birthday to Chris. I love you honey! He turns VERY ELDERLY on Sunday.
Next week all of the fellows stationed in India are meeting in Hyderabad at the Acumen Fund country office for debriefing, etc. I am very excited to see familiar faces and just catch up with them all.
Enjoy the pictures and videos.
Scatter Joy!
Meghan
I thought it was high time that you got a picture of my roommate, a couple videos of where I am living and some photos of the ever-impressive clothing. So..attached you will find it all!
I am doing very well. Work is proving to be very demanding but in a good way. I am pulling a six day work week at about 10 hours/day. I am currently involved in four different projects:
1) Customer coversion from prospects to out patient (OP) customers (coming to the clinic for prenatal check-up, etc) and from OP customers to In patient (IP) customers (actually having their baby at the clinic). With a little luck tomorrow I will get to witness my first natural child birth (cross your fingers). The female head doctor at the clinic where I am placed loves me and is always trying to get me into surgeries which is super fantastic.
2 & 3) My second and third project is first working with the NHS to develop a clinical scorecard and second doing this for a developing country hospital (which is qutie challenging - there is zero data and no benchmarks).
4) My four project is working with the IHI (Institute for Health Improvements working out of Boston/Harvard University) to look into perinatal care and the effects of oxytocin on fetal duress. This is quite interesting.
My days range from doing hard-core data analysis of our existing customer base to speaking with the clinical staff about defining key performance indicators for the hospital and its expansions.
My overarching job falls under the label of "business intelligence" (pretty fancy!) but my day to day is very varied.
I am having a great time getting to know my associates and am learning a lot through teaching.
I am very proud of myself for negotiating with a local rickshaw driver who I am paying monthly to drive me to and from work. This elliminates the hassle of haggling every day and provides positive incentives to him to get me there as fast and efficiently as possible. I will get a picture of him and his rickshaw tomorrow. He sings while he drives me! He also has the same friend with him every morning which is pretty neat. The friend practices something called Sabarimala . Actually you see them all over Hyderabad. They wear only black and go only barefoot. They spend 40 days obstaining from all pleasures which includes taking cold showers every day - I say this because I TAKE a cold shower every day (does this mean I am half of one of them). I would go barefoot if it brought me even closer! hehe
In this blog I also want to say Happy Birthday to Chris. I love you honey! He turns VERY ELDERLY on Sunday.
Next week all of the fellows stationed in India are meeting in Hyderabad at the Acumen Fund country office for debriefing, etc. I am very excited to see familiar faces and just catch up with them all.
Enjoy the pictures and videos.
Scatter Joy!
Meghan
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
This Will Move You.
Hello Everyone,
So, I am hoping that some or most of you can take the time to view the video link below.
The link is of a presentation the Acumen Fund Fellows Class of 2010 (my class) had to give the night before we all flew out to our designated investments.
I am in it and looking pretty fugly if I must say so myself. I swear I didn't put on 20 pounds!
Nonetheless, the video is a great way to witness the diversity of my cohort as well as get an idea of what being an Acumen Fund Fellow is all about.
I think you will all enjoy it.
The lady at the beginning is Blair Miller and she manages the program. She is grrreat!
On a final note, it is so wonderful reading people's comments and knowing you are enjoying this. I would like to ask you all, as readers, what questions you might have that perhaps I could answer. It is so interesting to see what sparks people's attention! So...please tell me what you would like to hear!
Enjoy the video. I am positive you will find it moving.
http://fora.tv/2009/11/17/Acumen_Fund_The_Talent_Gap_A_Leadership_Opportunity#Presentation_of_the_2010_Acumen_Fund_Fellows
So, I am hoping that some or most of you can take the time to view the video link below.
The link is of a presentation the Acumen Fund Fellows Class of 2010 (my class) had to give the night before we all flew out to our designated investments.
I am in it and looking pretty fugly if I must say so myself. I swear I didn't put on 20 pounds!
Nonetheless, the video is a great way to witness the diversity of my cohort as well as get an idea of what being an Acumen Fund Fellow is all about.
I think you will all enjoy it.
The lady at the beginning is Blair Miller and she manages the program. She is grrreat!
On a final note, it is so wonderful reading people's comments and knowing you are enjoying this. I would like to ask you all, as readers, what questions you might have that perhaps I could answer. It is so interesting to see what sparks people's attention! So...please tell me what you would like to hear!
Enjoy the video. I am positive you will find it moving.
http://fora.tv/2009/11/17/Acumen_Fund_The_Talent_Gap_A_Leadership_Opportunity#Presentation_of_the_2010_Acumen_Fund_Fellows
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Back To Basics
So, there is not a whole lot to write about these past couple of days since I have been pretty much just working...so nothing too exciting. However, I realized that I have not answered some basic questions which perhaps I took for granted since I am living it:
1) Clothing
A couple of points to make on this. So, most Westerners associate the sari as the main dress for women in India. The truth is, the Sari is typically worn by married women only and it is also shows much more skin then I ever thought. The Sari is exactly 3 meters of cloth -the most beautiful cloth on the planet I might add. To wear the sari you must be able to wrap this 3 meters of cloth around you body from toe to shoulder with nothing but tucks and fold. Honestly, simply impossible for someone who is about 6 feet. The only other component to the Sari is a tiny little top. The top covers only the bra and typically has cap sleeves (For the boys reading this that means sleeves which go just over your shoulder) So...the sari actually leaves most of the torso bare. Interesting given the the culture is conservative. I would feel very uncomfortable working while wearing something which exposed my entire toros (with just one broad band of fabric stretching from the waist to the shoulder diagonally).
What do I wear...the Kaftan. The kaftan is nothing close to the sari. It is the ugly step child of the sari...the sari's armpit. I am guessing most know what a kaftan is but it is an over-shirt which drops down to your knees for the purpose of covering your bum. The 'shirt' has large slits which go up both sides to about the waistline. This allows for a lot of air-flow and breathing ability. Typically, the kaftan has 3/4 length or long sleeves and is very conservative in nature. It is rather shapeless but I must say it is extremely comfortable. I now have five. The prints are nothing as wonderful as the sari's (remember, the armpit) but some are pretty nice. The kaftan is paired with a pair of Indian leggings. The leggings are cotton and also extremely comfortable. However, they are rather bizarre. They are very roomy on top and sort of sag around the crotch/thigh area but are very tight at from the knee down. All Indian pants are tight at the bottom because the streets are so dirty - you do not want anything dragging. period.
They are so long (yes, even on me) that they bunch a lot at the ankles, which is the style. When you look at them when they are not being worn they look like clown pants. I have one cream pair and one black pair and five kaftans...is that too much information.
The final note about Indian clothing is that it is, by far, the most comfortable clothing I have worn. I might not be singing this tune when I have to wear pants and long sleeves in 110 degree heat but for now it is working just fine.
Men here wear western clothing. In fact, they dress just like men in America. As a Western woman I could wear Western clothing but it would lead to much more leering and staring in general. Also, my clients are very poor and traditional and I think wearing clothing familiar to them and their culture helps to bridge the gap.
2) The Food
In general, everywhere in the world consumes less food than America. The portion sizes are smaller, the availability is less. Hyderabad actually has quite a few American chains. The most popular, by far, is Subway...which is great for me since I don't eat fast food. Otherwise, there is a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables. Bread is not a part of the Indian diet. The main carbohydrate is rice. The other carb is chapati which is a tortilla of sorts made of whole grains and typically spinach mixed in. The chapati is the Indian tortilla.
Hyderabad is famous for 2 dishes: kebabs (goat, lamb or chicken, cow be sacred! Yummy). The other is Biryani which is a jasmine rice dish mixed with lamb or goat and lots of spices. I had homemade briyani last week and it was superb.
Eggs are also very popular in Hyderabad. This makes me happy because they are one of my favorite foods!
Most days I eat fruit, rice and eggs. My diet is mostly vegetarian here with the random kebab mixed in.
Things I miss: nachos, mexican food, cheese, grapes, hummus (I can't find hummus! who thought) champagne and steak and of course the random box of mac n cheese. I think that about covers my diet outside India. They DO have tofu here.
Hint, hint to those who visit..champagne please!
Okay, that is all for now.
1) Clothing
A couple of points to make on this. So, most Westerners associate the sari as the main dress for women in India. The truth is, the Sari is typically worn by married women only and it is also shows much more skin then I ever thought. The Sari is exactly 3 meters of cloth -the most beautiful cloth on the planet I might add. To wear the sari you must be able to wrap this 3 meters of cloth around you body from toe to shoulder with nothing but tucks and fold. Honestly, simply impossible for someone who is about 6 feet. The only other component to the Sari is a tiny little top. The top covers only the bra and typically has cap sleeves (For the boys reading this that means sleeves which go just over your shoulder) So...the sari actually leaves most of the torso bare. Interesting given the the culture is conservative. I would feel very uncomfortable working while wearing something which exposed my entire toros (with just one broad band of fabric stretching from the waist to the shoulder diagonally).
What do I wear...the Kaftan. The kaftan is nothing close to the sari. It is the ugly step child of the sari...the sari's armpit. I am guessing most know what a kaftan is but it is an over-shirt which drops down to your knees for the purpose of covering your bum. The 'shirt' has large slits which go up both sides to about the waistline. This allows for a lot of air-flow and breathing ability. Typically, the kaftan has 3/4 length or long sleeves and is very conservative in nature. It is rather shapeless but I must say it is extremely comfortable. I now have five. The prints are nothing as wonderful as the sari's (remember, the armpit) but some are pretty nice. The kaftan is paired with a pair of Indian leggings. The leggings are cotton and also extremely comfortable. However, they are rather bizarre. They are very roomy on top and sort of sag around the crotch/thigh area but are very tight at from the knee down. All Indian pants are tight at the bottom because the streets are so dirty - you do not want anything dragging. period.
They are so long (yes, even on me) that they bunch a lot at the ankles, which is the style. When you look at them when they are not being worn they look like clown pants. I have one cream pair and one black pair and five kaftans...is that too much information.
The final note about Indian clothing is that it is, by far, the most comfortable clothing I have worn. I might not be singing this tune when I have to wear pants and long sleeves in 110 degree heat but for now it is working just fine.
Men here wear western clothing. In fact, they dress just like men in America. As a Western woman I could wear Western clothing but it would lead to much more leering and staring in general. Also, my clients are very poor and traditional and I think wearing clothing familiar to them and their culture helps to bridge the gap.
2) The Food
In general, everywhere in the world consumes less food than America. The portion sizes are smaller, the availability is less. Hyderabad actually has quite a few American chains. The most popular, by far, is Subway...which is great for me since I don't eat fast food. Otherwise, there is a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables. Bread is not a part of the Indian diet. The main carbohydrate is rice. The other carb is chapati which is a tortilla of sorts made of whole grains and typically spinach mixed in. The chapati is the Indian tortilla.
Hyderabad is famous for 2 dishes: kebabs (goat, lamb or chicken, cow be sacred! Yummy). The other is Biryani which is a jasmine rice dish mixed with lamb or goat and lots of spices. I had homemade briyani last week and it was superb.
Eggs are also very popular in Hyderabad. This makes me happy because they are one of my favorite foods!
Most days I eat fruit, rice and eggs. My diet is mostly vegetarian here with the random kebab mixed in.
Things I miss: nachos, mexican food, cheese, grapes, hummus (I can't find hummus! who thought) champagne and steak and of course the random box of mac n cheese. I think that about covers my diet outside India. They DO have tofu here.
Hint, hint to those who visit..champagne please!
Okay, that is all for now.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Discrimination
I have grown up with the luxury of never having been discriminated against for the color of my skin, my sexual orientation or religious views, etc. The only sense in which I am a minority is that I am a woman and I have personally felt that this has not been a huge (if any) hinderance to me. (I know that this paragraph alone might cause great debate but I urge you to keep reading and get into semantics later.)
It was not until I reached India that I gained any appreciation for what it might be like to be discriminated against for the color of your skin. Here, the way I am treated by a large percentage of the population is largely dictated by the fact that I am white. Because I am white the immediate assumptions are I am: 1) rich (which I am not), 2) naive (which I might be) and 3) to be taken advantage of (which infuriates me).
In the past week I have been closely examining myself and my own emotions in relation to the (different) way in which I am treated. Perhaps the worst thing about India, or the thing I loathe most, is the fact that I can't get an honest deal on anything...ever. The minute I am seen is the minute the price shoots up by 5 or 10 times the amount it would be for anyone born here. I go to join a gym and the price is 5,500 Rs per month (about 110US$). I have my roommate who is Telugu call them and she gets a price of 1,300 Rs (about 20 US$). I try to buy food at the market and one cucumber costs $2. Someone else goes out and gets it for 25 cents. The examples are limitless but the point is not really in the examples.
The point is that I am beginning to understand how and why something like discrimination breeds anger and frustration and eventually rage. Why...because these things make me angry and frustrated. I am angry that false assumptions are being made about me (and my wealth, etc) and frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to find someone who will give me an honest answer to anything and I fell rage toward myself for feeling these things as well as toward the people who are doing them.
Then I find myself thinking back and imagining what it must have been like to have been African-American during Jim Crow laws or even now. Or how it must have felt to be Japanese-American after the bombing at Pearl Harbor when the internment camps were formed. The examples are likely endless but the feelings of helplessness are the same.
I feel helpless and exhausted by this experience which repeats itself everyday and which will continue to repeat itself everyday while I am here. Perhaps the saving grace is that I, unlike others, have individuals like my roommate who are willing to negotiate gym fees for me. These people become guardian angels as they allow you to navigate this culture. These are the people which allow you to love the culture despite the fact that you can't get a fair shake.
It was not until I reached India that I gained any appreciation for what it might be like to be discriminated against for the color of your skin. Here, the way I am treated by a large percentage of the population is largely dictated by the fact that I am white. Because I am white the immediate assumptions are I am: 1) rich (which I am not), 2) naive (which I might be) and 3) to be taken advantage of (which infuriates me).
In the past week I have been closely examining myself and my own emotions in relation to the (different) way in which I am treated. Perhaps the worst thing about India, or the thing I loathe most, is the fact that I can't get an honest deal on anything...ever. The minute I am seen is the minute the price shoots up by 5 or 10 times the amount it would be for anyone born here. I go to join a gym and the price is 5,500 Rs per month (about 110US$). I have my roommate who is Telugu call them and she gets a price of 1,300 Rs (about 20 US$). I try to buy food at the market and one cucumber costs $2. Someone else goes out and gets it for 25 cents. The examples are limitless but the point is not really in the examples.
The point is that I am beginning to understand how and why something like discrimination breeds anger and frustration and eventually rage. Why...because these things make me angry and frustrated. I am angry that false assumptions are being made about me (and my wealth, etc) and frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to find someone who will give me an honest answer to anything and I fell rage toward myself for feeling these things as well as toward the people who are doing them.
Then I find myself thinking back and imagining what it must have been like to have been African-American during Jim Crow laws or even now. Or how it must have felt to be Japanese-American after the bombing at Pearl Harbor when the internment camps were formed. The examples are likely endless but the feelings of helplessness are the same.
I feel helpless and exhausted by this experience which repeats itself everyday and which will continue to repeat itself everyday while I am here. Perhaps the saving grace is that I, unlike others, have individuals like my roommate who are willing to negotiate gym fees for me. These people become guardian angels as they allow you to navigate this culture. These are the people which allow you to love the culture despite the fact that you can't get a fair shake.
C-Section, I Saw
Hello Everyone, sorry for the delay in postings here but just got a little busy and a little sick. I figure the cold is to be expected when you travel half-way around the world.
On Wednesday night, November 25th I witnessed my first Cesarean section (c-section) and thus live birth. I don't think I am going to do this one justice by words but I am going to give it a try.
To begin, the whole experience was a weird combination of beauty and gore. I don't know how many of you out there have had the opportunity to witness a surgery first hand...for me, this surgery was my first. Let me begin by saying that for any who's major reference is Grey's Anatomy or ER or some other 'doctor' show...you haven't seen anything. Those shows do not, in the the least, prepare you for what real surgery looks like.
A couple of other thoughts before I go into some detail:
1) Witnessing a c-section is the best medicine for convincing someone that a c-section is not a good idea. The procedure is incredibly invasive.
2) It would be my guess that witnessing a c-section (or perhaps any surgery) is also a great way to argue the detriments of obesity. In this particular surgery they had to cut through quite a bit of fat...and it makes a big difference.
"Have you ever seen a surgery before?" the doctor asked me.
"No."
"Do you think you are going to faint?"
"No" I reply, confident that I can handle anything...how bad can it really be - right?
The particular patient had a lung infection so it was too dangerous to put her under general anesthesia. The whole evening began at 10:15 PM with a spinal tap which, already, made me squirm. Watching someone who is seemingly awake have a 2 inch needle bore into their spinal cord is no easy thing. All you can think is: "Are they feeling any of this? They can't be, they would be screaming."
The moment I was least prepared for was the initial cut, I don't know if anyone who is virgin to the operating room could ever be prepared for this. The scalpel hits the skin and slices through it like butter (or ripe melon), and you realize how animal we all are underneath that skin. How all the moving parts are just that..moving parts. The first 4 inches or so are fat...yellowish with tints of pink and coagulated together. It takes several long slices to hit the first layer of muscle. Here, the surgeon slows for a bit and cuts a bit more carefully and the muscle gives way to more muscle. As the opening gains depth clamps are added to stop the bleeding. Her stomach is now a gaping hole. It takes what seems like about 6 inches before they hit any organs. Now, the cutting is slow and purposeful.
The slice in the uterus is about 8 inches long. The surgeon reaches in with her gloved hand and the doctor standing at the head of the women begins pushing down hard on her stomach from the top. The push and pull continues for about a minute.
And then, the doctor's hand emerges slowly with the infant. The baby is received by a nurse who brings it immediately to a pediatrician in the room next door.
The next hour I spend between watching the baby, who is in duress and watching the surgeon close up the mother.
It was not really until witnessing this surgery and the birth that I fully understood the magic or miracle behind child birth (the thing everyone talks about). It is not just the size of the newborn, in fact, I don't know how much of it has anything to do with the size of the newborn. What it is about is this feeling of endless hope and potential. As you look down at this tiny shriveled little thing all you can think is how much life they have ahead of them and how much they could do with that life...and you can't really think about anything else. It is joy and hope. That is what I felt. You begin to understand the celebration of life.
Back in the operating room the placenta has been removed as one large slab of bloody goo. The uterus has been pulled outside the body cavity and is laying on the women's stomach as the stitch shut the 8 inch opening.
The pediatrician is with the baby who is not breathing well. He has tubes going down the baby's nose attempting to suction out mucus from the lungs and allow for more crying and better breathing. The baby is tiny 2.25 kilos..about 5 lbs.
When I get back to the operating room the doctor is putting in the second set of stitches at the muscle layer over the uterus. The final set of stitches is the top layer or initial incision.
I go back to see the baby and it now has an oxygen mask on. The pediatrician informs me that the baby's lungs are in duress because the mother didn't have enough fluid in her uterus.
He lets me touch the baby now. I reach out and put my finger on the palm of its little hands. She seems so fragile and vulnerable. Her eyes are shut and when I touch her hand and stroke her arm she seems slightly soothed. Her skin is soft and brand-new. Her hands are still wrinkled from the watery world from which she just emerged. She is pretty damn cool!
The night ends as abruptly as it began and I am left sitting at the hospital trying to digest what I just witnessed. I call my sister and try to put into words what I just saw. How gruesome the surgery was paired with how beautiful the baby is.
I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to have seen this. I am now committed to witnessing a natural birth as well...which I have been told is actually much more difficult to witness.
All in all, an experience I wouldn't trade in for the world. It is my intention that I will have many more to come during my year here.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.
On Wednesday night, November 25th I witnessed my first Cesarean section (c-section) and thus live birth. I don't think I am going to do this one justice by words but I am going to give it a try.
To begin, the whole experience was a weird combination of beauty and gore. I don't know how many of you out there have had the opportunity to witness a surgery first hand...for me, this surgery was my first. Let me begin by saying that for any who's major reference is Grey's Anatomy or ER or some other 'doctor' show...you haven't seen anything. Those shows do not, in the the least, prepare you for what real surgery looks like.
A couple of other thoughts before I go into some detail:
1) Witnessing a c-section is the best medicine for convincing someone that a c-section is not a good idea. The procedure is incredibly invasive.
2) It would be my guess that witnessing a c-section (or perhaps any surgery) is also a great way to argue the detriments of obesity. In this particular surgery they had to cut through quite a bit of fat...and it makes a big difference.
"Have you ever seen a surgery before?" the doctor asked me.
"No."
"Do you think you are going to faint?"
"No" I reply, confident that I can handle anything...how bad can it really be - right?
The particular patient had a lung infection so it was too dangerous to put her under general anesthesia. The whole evening began at 10:15 PM with a spinal tap which, already, made me squirm. Watching someone who is seemingly awake have a 2 inch needle bore into their spinal cord is no easy thing. All you can think is: "Are they feeling any of this? They can't be, they would be screaming."
The moment I was least prepared for was the initial cut, I don't know if anyone who is virgin to the operating room could ever be prepared for this. The scalpel hits the skin and slices through it like butter (or ripe melon), and you realize how animal we all are underneath that skin. How all the moving parts are just that..moving parts. The first 4 inches or so are fat...yellowish with tints of pink and coagulated together. It takes several long slices to hit the first layer of muscle. Here, the surgeon slows for a bit and cuts a bit more carefully and the muscle gives way to more muscle. As the opening gains depth clamps are added to stop the bleeding. Her stomach is now a gaping hole. It takes what seems like about 6 inches before they hit any organs. Now, the cutting is slow and purposeful.
The slice in the uterus is about 8 inches long. The surgeon reaches in with her gloved hand and the doctor standing at the head of the women begins pushing down hard on her stomach from the top. The push and pull continues for about a minute.
And then, the doctor's hand emerges slowly with the infant. The baby is received by a nurse who brings it immediately to a pediatrician in the room next door.
The next hour I spend between watching the baby, who is in duress and watching the surgeon close up the mother.
It was not really until witnessing this surgery and the birth that I fully understood the magic or miracle behind child birth (the thing everyone talks about). It is not just the size of the newborn, in fact, I don't know how much of it has anything to do with the size of the newborn. What it is about is this feeling of endless hope and potential. As you look down at this tiny shriveled little thing all you can think is how much life they have ahead of them and how much they could do with that life...and you can't really think about anything else. It is joy and hope. That is what I felt. You begin to understand the celebration of life.
Back in the operating room the placenta has been removed as one large slab of bloody goo. The uterus has been pulled outside the body cavity and is laying on the women's stomach as the stitch shut the 8 inch opening.
The pediatrician is with the baby who is not breathing well. He has tubes going down the baby's nose attempting to suction out mucus from the lungs and allow for more crying and better breathing. The baby is tiny 2.25 kilos..about 5 lbs.
When I get back to the operating room the doctor is putting in the second set of stitches at the muscle layer over the uterus. The final set of stitches is the top layer or initial incision.
I go back to see the baby and it now has an oxygen mask on. The pediatrician informs me that the baby's lungs are in duress because the mother didn't have enough fluid in her uterus.
He lets me touch the baby now. I reach out and put my finger on the palm of its little hands. She seems so fragile and vulnerable. Her eyes are shut and when I touch her hand and stroke her arm she seems slightly soothed. Her skin is soft and brand-new. Her hands are still wrinkled from the watery world from which she just emerged. She is pretty damn cool!
The night ends as abruptly as it began and I am left sitting at the hospital trying to digest what I just witnessed. I call my sister and try to put into words what I just saw. How gruesome the surgery was paired with how beautiful the baby is.
I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to have seen this. I am now committed to witnessing a natural birth as well...which I have been told is actually much more difficult to witness.
All in all, an experience I wouldn't trade in for the world. It is my intention that I will have many more to come during my year here.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Missing Photos from Field Visit and a bit more
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
Holidays are always a bit tough when you are abroad - particularly when they come so shortly after you have left. However, I did go a Thanksgiving party here which was pretty amazing. Now, it is Friday morning and I am getting ready to head back to work!
I have much to write about but will have to be doing it over the weekend since I don't have time now.
For now....some nice pretty pictues.
To follow: my first ever c-section and birth, my day at a public hospital, general thoughts.
Keep Reading.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Photos & Video for Last Post..
For some reasont things did not show up with the last post. Here are the photos, etc I wanted to add.
My camera is dead...the battery is out. I have called in for back-ups. If anyone has a camera they want to send to India let me know. Things be super expensive here. Bummer!!
LifeSpring Hospitals: Why I'm Here
Some of you may be uncertain why I am suddenly writing a blog from India. The reason I am here is to work for LifeSpring Hospitals which is a chain of maternal and child health clinics in India www.lifespringhospitals.com The reason I am at LifeSpring is because I was awarded a fellowship through the Acumen Fund www.acumenfund.org
A quick education: India's healthcare situation lags behind other countries that have experienced similar economic expansion and GDP growth, namely the group of countries with the fastest growing developing economies, known as BRIC (Brazil, Russia, Inda, China). The poor situation is reflected on all health indicators from immunization among 1 year olds to high disease prevalence. India suffers from a crippling shortage in the healthcare workforce, a growing social inequality and a country-wide infant mortality rate of 57 deaths per 1000 live births. India has the highest IMR (infant mortality) and MMR (maternal mortality) among BRIC countries (2008 data).
LifeSpring's Role
LifeSpring Hospitals has developed a business which serves only poor women and their children. The model is proving to be not only sustainable but scalable. In 2010 LifeSpring plans to build 9 hospitals (with my help!). The hospitals are small (25-30) beds. In a country where maternal and child health is a massive issue LifeSpring Hospitals is providing one working solution.
Alright...enough with the plug.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about LifeSpring is their approach to marketing. Here, pregnant women are considered customers and not patients (pregnancy is not a disease!). Today, I spent time in the field with the Outreach Workers (on the ground marketers) for LifeSpring. The experience was rewarding and intense.
To begin I have never felt more tall, white or LARGE in general. (see photos of nurses with me today as well as video of them refusing to do the nod!)
The customers of LifeSpring are poor. They are not the poorest of India but near the bottom. Seeing where they live was eye-opening and educational. In these parts of India it was very clear that white people are seldom seen. From the start I had children and families following me through the dilapidated neighborhoods. Everyone was extremely curious about my presence and what I was doing. Children came up to me to touch me and stand in lines to introduce themselves.
The native language here is Telugu and few understand Hindi at all. Communication was pretty much non-existent. That being said, it was very clear everyone was basically saying: “come over here and meet the white lady.”
The children were beautiful, shy and curious. The women were cautious and luminous. (see photos)
The households here are not ruled by the young pregnant woman, but by the older woman of the household (typically the mother-in-law). Imagine that! These women were the gatekeepers.
What we did was essentially sell maternal and child health care door to door. I know this sounds crazy (and it was!). The fact that this is possible gives you an idea of the sheer number of pregnant woman in India.
What is important is that without a service like LifeSpring these women are forced to go to government hospitals where care is poor, not free (although promised this way) and without dignity. LifeSpring is offering them a choice and these women are listening.
Today I learned a lot about dignity and how it is maintained in the settings which seem hopeless. The areas we serve have no running water, animals running rampant and garbage laying in the streets. Despite the dirt and poverty what I did find was a beauty and dignity: the henna hands and painted toe-nails of even the youngest girls. The ever-lasting brilliant colors of India – The way women sat together braiding one another’s hair into ropes of ebony.
Most interesting to me was the way they were all finger painting their houses and ‘sidewalks’…this is difficult to describe. When you go to these homes you realize that they are all decorated with red, white and blue designs around the doorways, bases and entrances to the homes. This is done by the people who live there. They essentially paint it on by wetting colored powders and finger-painting (see photo). The beauty and uniqueness of each home does not go un-noticed.
I also saw dignity in the way they swept the paths between the homes. Despite the relative squalor the street was clean.
What I do know is that being pregnant in these settings cannot be easy, but somehow these women make it seem that way.
On a lighter note - I got serious hazing because I had been dating someone for 3 years and not married them. These ladies think I am incompetent as a woman. I was also offered a child by one of the women in the village.
A quick education: India's healthcare situation lags behind other countries that have experienced similar economic expansion and GDP growth, namely the group of countries with the fastest growing developing economies, known as BRIC (Brazil, Russia, Inda, China). The poor situation is reflected on all health indicators from immunization among 1 year olds to high disease prevalence. India suffers from a crippling shortage in the healthcare workforce, a growing social inequality and a country-wide infant mortality rate of 57 deaths per 1000 live births. India has the highest IMR (infant mortality) and MMR (maternal mortality) among BRIC countries (2008 data).
LifeSpring's Role
LifeSpring Hospitals has developed a business which serves only poor women and their children. The model is proving to be not only sustainable but scalable. In 2010 LifeSpring plans to build 9 hospitals (with my help!). The hospitals are small (25-30) beds. In a country where maternal and child health is a massive issue LifeSpring Hospitals is providing one working solution.
Alright...enough with the plug.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about LifeSpring is their approach to marketing. Here, pregnant women are considered customers and not patients (pregnancy is not a disease!). Today, I spent time in the field with the Outreach Workers (on the ground marketers) for LifeSpring. The experience was rewarding and intense.
To begin I have never felt more tall, white or LARGE in general. (see photos of nurses with me today as well as video of them refusing to do the nod!)
The customers of LifeSpring are poor. They are not the poorest of India but near the bottom. Seeing where they live was eye-opening and educational. In these parts of India it was very clear that white people are seldom seen. From the start I had children and families following me through the dilapidated neighborhoods. Everyone was extremely curious about my presence and what I was doing. Children came up to me to touch me and stand in lines to introduce themselves.
The native language here is Telugu and few understand Hindi at all. Communication was pretty much non-existent. That being said, it was very clear everyone was basically saying: “come over here and meet the white lady.”
The children were beautiful, shy and curious. The women were cautious and luminous. (see photos)
The households here are not ruled by the young pregnant woman, but by the older woman of the household (typically the mother-in-law). Imagine that! These women were the gatekeepers.
What we did was essentially sell maternal and child health care door to door. I know this sounds crazy (and it was!). The fact that this is possible gives you an idea of the sheer number of pregnant woman in India.
What is important is that without a service like LifeSpring these women are forced to go to government hospitals where care is poor, not free (although promised this way) and without dignity. LifeSpring is offering them a choice and these women are listening.
Today I learned a lot about dignity and how it is maintained in the settings which seem hopeless. The areas we serve have no running water, animals running rampant and garbage laying in the streets. Despite the dirt and poverty what I did find was a beauty and dignity: the henna hands and painted toe-nails of even the youngest girls. The ever-lasting brilliant colors of India – The way women sat together braiding one another’s hair into ropes of ebony.
Most interesting to me was the way they were all finger painting their houses and ‘sidewalks’…this is difficult to describe. When you go to these homes you realize that they are all decorated with red, white and blue designs around the doorways, bases and entrances to the homes. This is done by the people who live there. They essentially paint it on by wetting colored powders and finger-painting (see photo). The beauty and uniqueness of each home does not go un-noticed.
I also saw dignity in the way they swept the paths between the homes. Despite the relative squalor the street was clean.
What I do know is that being pregnant in these settings cannot be easy, but somehow these women make it seem that way.
On a lighter note - I got serious hazing because I had been dating someone for 3 years and not married them. These ladies think I am incompetent as a woman. I was also offered a child by one of the women in the village.
Cat's Got My Tongue
So, a quick post before I get into a longer, more serious one. It should be known that I am getting some serious push-back on the issue of the large cats...it seems particularly from Hyderabadies. For this reason, I am making it my mission to get a video of the thing. I maintain that it was XXL.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Believe It or Not, Nov. 23, 2009
Things to know and master about India: Lessons from my first 3 days.
1) Always carry a roll of toilet paper or package of baby wipes in your purse/on your person – at all times. In India you can not assume there will be toilet paper. The typical Indian toilet is something you squat over not sit on and the floors are often wet and dirty. The traditional way of cleaning yourself after using the toilet is to spray yourself down with water from a hose on the wall. The idea is not a bad one but it leaves you with the issue of having a very wet nether region….hmmmm. Please see video of toilet - I thought it was a picture but apparently I was too jet lagged and took a video instead.
2) Get used to cold showers – I have yet to take a warm one! I believe this is likely due to the fact that right now it is WINTER in India and the average temp is about 70 degrees. Come February the temps should jump to about 100 and saturated. I think a cold shower will feel good then.
3) Master the NOD. If you have ever read Shantaram or know anything about Indian culture you have likely been informed about the infamous Indian head wag/nod. Please see attached video which provides a classic example. The head wag/nod is actually far more difficult than it appears. It involves a certain relaxation of the neck which I have yet to master. You will not be seeing a video of me doing the nod until I have mastered it.
4) The cats here are HUGE. I am not kidding. Today, I saw one for the first time. It was across the street prowling on the roof tops and from across the street I thought it was a panther of some sort. HUGE. These are the house cats in India…I am second guessing my thoughts on getting a cat. But, pretty cool when you think about it!
5) Barter, barter, barter: When you are white every price shoots up by about 20 rupees. Walk away from the rickshaw…walk away from the rickshaw. Someone else is always waiting.
6) Surrender your personal space – there is none in India. Period.
7) Cross the road with confidence. Breath and tell yourself that they will not hit you (they shouldn’t –right!). Put your hand out in a sign to STOP and they usually do…but prepare yourself for the last second swerve.
8) Don’t wear shorts.
9) Learn to eat with your hands - its fun!
10) Let go of the NYC black….colors are beautiful.
1) Always carry a roll of toilet paper or package of baby wipes in your purse/on your person – at all times. In India you can not assume there will be toilet paper. The typical Indian toilet is something you squat over not sit on and the floors are often wet and dirty. The traditional way of cleaning yourself after using the toilet is to spray yourself down with water from a hose on the wall. The idea is not a bad one but it leaves you with the issue of having a very wet nether region….hmmmm. Please see video of toilet - I thought it was a picture but apparently I was too jet lagged and took a video instead.
2) Get used to cold showers – I have yet to take a warm one! I believe this is likely due to the fact that right now it is WINTER in India and the average temp is about 70 degrees. Come February the temps should jump to about 100 and saturated. I think a cold shower will feel good then.
3) Master the NOD. If you have ever read Shantaram or know anything about Indian culture you have likely been informed about the infamous Indian head wag/nod. Please see attached video which provides a classic example. The head wag/nod is actually far more difficult than it appears. It involves a certain relaxation of the neck which I have yet to master. You will not be seeing a video of me doing the nod until I have mastered it.
4) The cats here are HUGE. I am not kidding. Today, I saw one for the first time. It was across the street prowling on the roof tops and from across the street I thought it was a panther of some sort. HUGE. These are the house cats in India…I am second guessing my thoughts on getting a cat. But, pretty cool when you think about it!
5) Barter, barter, barter: When you are white every price shoots up by about 20 rupees. Walk away from the rickshaw…walk away from the rickshaw. Someone else is always waiting.
6) Surrender your personal space – there is none in India. Period.
7) Cross the road with confidence. Breath and tell yourself that they will not hit you (they shouldn’t –right!). Put your hand out in a sign to STOP and they usually do…but prepare yourself for the last second swerve.
8) Don’t wear shorts.
9) Learn to eat with your hands - its fun!
10) Let go of the NYC black….colors are beautiful.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Burden
Saturday, November 21st, 2009 – Posting Two
In America I grew up working poor. In India, it seems, I will live a life which is somewhat privileged. I find myself struggling with my class identity and personal judgments and fears around being privileged as well as the sheer poverty of India.
Of all the amazing training I received, no one prepared me for the shame I feel of being white and privileged in a city and country where poverty is very real, very sobering and very aggressive.
During my adventures yesterday we stopped late at night to try to get food. The minute we stepped out of the car begging women circled us - trapping us against the car itself.
It never ceases to amaze me how universal suffering and helplessness are. This language has no barriers.
They are pulling at my sleeves and pleading , open-handed, 5 – 10 all around me. Some are missing teeth while others are blind and their closeness is suffocating and intimidating.
In India, begging is often a profession and rigged game. Many times, giving these women money means you are putting money into the hands of someone who is paying them to beg and then taking most of the money for themselves. The rumors and stories surrounding this ‘profession’ are endless (think Slumdog Millionaire).
I make the mistake of giving one of them a one rupee coin (50 rupees equals 1 dollar). My shame has become visceral. Eight pairs of hands thrust at my face, demanding equality. Is there dignity here?
Now, on the verge of tears and completely overwhelmed I crawl back into the car – escaping the reality outside.
In the next moments the police arrive with whistles and a paddy wagon to clear the beggars from this street and corner. I witness this through the tinted glass of the rental car.
I look out as this part of India looks in. I am blessed to be here.
In America I grew up working poor. In India, it seems, I will live a life which is somewhat privileged. I find myself struggling with my class identity and personal judgments and fears around being privileged as well as the sheer poverty of India.
Of all the amazing training I received, no one prepared me for the shame I feel of being white and privileged in a city and country where poverty is very real, very sobering and very aggressive.
During my adventures yesterday we stopped late at night to try to get food. The minute we stepped out of the car begging women circled us - trapping us against the car itself.
It never ceases to amaze me how universal suffering and helplessness are. This language has no barriers.
They are pulling at my sleeves and pleading , open-handed, 5 – 10 all around me. Some are missing teeth while others are blind and their closeness is suffocating and intimidating.
In India, begging is often a profession and rigged game. Many times, giving these women money means you are putting money into the hands of someone who is paying them to beg and then taking most of the money for themselves. The rumors and stories surrounding this ‘profession’ are endless (think Slumdog Millionaire).
I make the mistake of giving one of them a one rupee coin (50 rupees equals 1 dollar). My shame has become visceral. Eight pairs of hands thrust at my face, demanding equality. Is there dignity here?
Now, on the verge of tears and completely overwhelmed I crawl back into the car – escaping the reality outside.
In the next moments the police arrive with whistles and a paddy wagon to clear the beggars from this street and corner. I witness this through the tinted glass of the rental car.
I look out as this part of India looks in. I am blessed to be here.
Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
Saturday, November 21, 2009 – Posting 1
Today was my first full day in Hyderabad, India and I think I might have spent it doing some of the most random things possible.
Today was my first full day in Hyderabad, India and I think I might have spent it doing some of the most random things possible.
Two Words: Snow World.
Yes, as it turns out there is a Snow World in Hyderabad. Where Indians and Expats (well actually just me and 4 others) alike gather to play in artificial snow generated by machines which likely use more power than half of Hyderabad combined.
I can only describe it as slightly ridiculous and I have pictures to prove it.
I could not help smile at the irony of Ms. Wisconsin playing in snow in India on her first day in the country…how did this happen. Not just snow but a slide and rock climbing wall inside the winter wonderland. I think only the pictures can do this justice – they will be attached.
My ticket to snow world was a package deal in which I also gained entry into a mirror maze, rainforest walk and haunted house.
Snow world was followed by a 2 hour drive into the middle of nowhere in bumper to bumper traffic to go go-carting and play laser tag. Seems very American to me!
By the end of all this I had been up from about 5 AM – midnight. I crawled into bed exhausted and wondering at the many commonalities I have already witnessed – sometimes the world feels so small.
How Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
November 20th 2009
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
How Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
November 20th 2009
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
First Impressions Matter Most
November 19th, 2009
India is chaos and beauty all rolled up into one festive, unruly and unforgiving ball of spice.
India offers no remorse or apologies.
Poverty is butted up right against polish here: Slums on the painted tip toes of mansions. Oxen line the roads while limos take expats to the Google headquarters.
People are everywhere, traffic is manic and the sound of horns, hammering, screaming and talking never stop…EVER.
It is also beautiful. The spirit of the people is captured in their colors. The city is blooming. Saris decorate the rubble and women workers dot the road-side in greens, indigos and bright yellow. Even the poorest are vibrantly dressed.
The slums are unnerving and vast. Blue tarps dot hillsides where strip-mining rules. The city moves seamlessly from slum to shops to wealth to slums. It is an endless cycle of random plots. Men are standing welding in the streets as cars weave around them. People crush rocks and sell anything imaginable.
The place is bubbling with entrepreneurs and determination. It seems to be growing and developing far too quickly for any sort of over-sight to take place. The randomness of it all is uncanny.
I am exhausted and hungry but strangely awake.
I am missing my family and the normalness of home but appreciating that this is all part of the process.
India is chaos and beauty all rolled up into one festive, unruly and unforgiving ball of spice.
India offers no remorse or apologies.
Poverty is butted up right against polish here: Slums on the painted tip toes of mansions. Oxen line the roads while limos take expats to the Google headquarters.
People are everywhere, traffic is manic and the sound of horns, hammering, screaming and talking never stop…EVER.
It is also beautiful. The spirit of the people is captured in their colors. The city is blooming. Saris decorate the rubble and women workers dot the road-side in greens, indigos and bright yellow. Even the poorest are vibrantly dressed.
The slums are unnerving and vast. Blue tarps dot hillsides where strip-mining rules. The city moves seamlessly from slum to shops to wealth to slums. It is an endless cycle of random plots. Men are standing welding in the streets as cars weave around them. People crush rocks and sell anything imaginable.
The place is bubbling with entrepreneurs and determination. It seems to be growing and developing far too quickly for any sort of over-sight to take place. The randomness of it all is uncanny.
I am exhausted and hungry but strangely awake.
I am missing my family and the normalness of home but appreciating that this is all part of the process.
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