Hot, Steamy...

Sex.

Have any of you noticed the lengths people go to in the name of sex? Not all people, but a lot. More every day. It's frightening.

I think it all starts out pretty innocently. Sex feels good, afterall. Maybe people don't want to feel alone. I didn't. Is it that people are mistaking sex for love? Or is it that people are falling in love with sex itself -instead of the people they have sex with? It used to be seen as an act of love.

It seems like sex is more frequently being used a weapon now. Not limited to rape. For example, "Whoa, (he/she) is so hot! I'm SO gonna bang that!" Even the word bang is a word of violence. I'm not the first to make this observation. Now, though, it's becoming more difficult to ignore. People are more interested in fucking, screwing, banging... but could care less about getting to know their partner. Loving them.

Shut up, kid. Stop your emo, judgy, puritanesque bullshit. Right? I'm sure that's what some of you are thinking. My point isn't to pass judgment. Just take a moment to think about this for a while. I'm a little lost myself on this issue. Help, maybe?

Hold my hand. Walk with me. See?

The Parks Tour

Squirrels, pigeons, rats. The homeless, the athletes, the musicians. Cracked cement, dirty patches of grass, benches.



How do you know a homeless person when you see them? You really don't. You can assume based on appearance. You can assume based on the piles of clothing and other items that the homeless are known for carrying around with them. You can assume based on (lack of) cleanliness, stature, or any of a variety of other indicators. The only real way to know, though, is to ask.


Then there remains the question of what homeless means. The saying -"A home is where the heart is" comes to mind. In that case, where is my heart? My heart lives all over the place. With family, with friends, with an ex lover, with fields of study and activities I enjoy, places I love -all over the place. If I had a permanent address my heart is not likely to reside there. So how displaced does that bring me from the homeless? No, I don't sleep outside swaddled in carboard and newspapers -but I do depend on the kindness -or sympathy- of others. Whether for work, for food, or whatever else, I am not self sufficient.

But then who is? Corporate executives depend on others, so do doctors, religious leaders, politicians... everybody. They're all valued, though -whether or not they have a permenant residence. You don't ask your physician where they go home to at the end of the day. You might ask where they went to school or about their training. You never ask questions of religious leaders -they're holy... or existing outside critique in most cases. Where they live, though, does not matter.

My family and friends don't seem too concerned with where I stay. Aside from making sure I'm safe and away from physical or legal trouble, they don't worry that I don't have a home persé. They just want to know what I do, what I am contributing. Do I have health insurance (yet), am I going back to school -this is what they care about.

The only thing that separates me from the term homeless is that there are still people that think I have value. That people -friends or family- believe what I have to offer is worth keeping me around for. This is the tragedy of the people that sleep outside in the cardboard and newspapers. That out of all the people they grew up around and all the people that got to know them, none value them enough to take care of them when they cannot take care of themselves. Or equally as tragic: that some people just need way more than even the people that love them can offer them. So am I homeless?

A thousand words each:

I am lost.

The NYU students are out in full force today. Most of them just moved back to town. Classes are just starting for the semester. Washington Square Park is the perfect place for me right now. It has no connection to the things I don't enjoy remembering. It seems like everyone here is either a hipster or a tourist. I feel like I fit in. Not because I'm a hipster or a tourist, but because like them i am also running from something. Or a lot of things.

There are little birds under the bench I am sitting on. If they're waiting for crumbs they're wasting their time. I have no food. I lost my appetite when my ex dumped me. We were together for four years. It happened two Saturdays ago. We went to a club together and he met a guy. He left me for him that night. A dinner guest recently asked him why he didn't transfer to a job location closer to where we lived. He said it was a loyalty thing.

I'm staring at my bruised fingernail as I write. I slammed it in my car door a few months ago. I remember that it hurt badly but I don't remember what it felt like. The car is destroyed now. A few weeks after a tree fell on it while I was sleeping. Termites. Karma can be a bitch.

A few feet away from me a girl is playing a cover to a love song. It's the same song that close friends of mine played at their wedding. I tried to model my failed relationship after their very successful one. I called my ex babe because I liked how genuine and sweet it sounded when they said it to each other. I loved him.

I'm not a smoker, but there is a pack of cigarettes in my bag. Marlboro Lights. I bought them because they're the kind my father smokes when he doesn't know how to cope with bad news. Right now I am struggling to cope. I don't like how they taste or make me smell, but they are good at keeping me from crying. I wonder if this is why my father smokes. I don't want to remember what this feels like.

Last Minute Reflections

I carry with me a small journal. My intentions were to fill it with life-changing accounts and adventures and other unbelievable experiences from this journey. Now I'm at the last leg of my journey and barely a quarter is used. This is not to say that there have been few things to write about or that I couldn’t think of anything to put down through the course of my time through Rajasthan and Gujarat. It's that this trip has been so busy and exhausting that I couldn’t find much time to write –either in the notebook or this blog. So instead I have been using the journal as a notepad. There are addresses, phone numbers, Hindi and Gujarati phrases, recipes, pressed flowers, a peacock feather or two, some notes about things I should write about when I get the chance, interesting or funny quotes from signs I’ve encountered along the way… The list goes on. But there are no journal entries.
It has been a little over a month away from home and I’ve decided it’s time for me to go back. There is so much to experience in India and in the rest of the world but at this point in my life I need to focus on academic work so the next time I land somewhere amazing I’ll be better prepared to work for the better good. And on the selfish side of things I miss my family and loved-ones. It’s an understatement to say that I’m in over my head here. As the poetry of Kabir and verse of the Bhagavad Gita only barely scratch the surface of the beauty of this country the images from the movie, Slumdog Millionaire don’t begin to describe the hardships. It seems like everything here is done to the extreme. Opulence, squalor. Obesity, emaciation. Fragrance, stench. Words are ill equipped to convey the ways in which Indian life differs from the life I’m used to living in New York. And as I’m sitting here ready to leave for home I know that I would if given the change return in a heartbeat. I, along with my friends from the Group Study Exchange that brought me here have often wondered how it is and why any of us could be as fortunate as we are. Fortunate to be here in India, fortunate to have met so many amazing people along the way, fortunate to be able to return to the Hudson Valley once it’s all over.
The organization that sent me here, The Rotary International, perplexes me. At times it seems clear to me that every member of the organization is a living saint. Their motto is "Service above self." And so many members often seem selfless and wise beyond explanation. The Rotary engages in projects that provides clean water to communities where the water is so polluted. They set up schools where children would never otherwise learn to read. They set up free heart, and eye clinics. They work tirelessly to put an end to polio through vaccinating children free of cost. And many other projects too. But some are more interested in helping people than others. At times Rotary members seem like pseudophilanthropic missionaries of idealistic western naiveté. From what I have seen, many of them spend so much more time socializing, taking photos of each other, and spending money to pat each other on the back than they do actually performing service above self. But I have only a small picture of the grand scheme of things. Their goals are spelled out in something they call the “Four Way Test.”-Is it the truth? –Is it fair to all concerned? –Will it build good will and better friendships? and –Will it be beneficial to all concerned? are the questions they ask themselves. Many Rotarians that I’ve encountered have a hard time remembering all four. Again, though, this is by and large –a wonderful group of people. My official capacity here is to work as a cultural ambassador between nations, teach my contemporaries what I can about my line of work in the Hudson Valley, and learn from them about the same work in the cities and towns I visit. It is true that I have learned a lot and even taught some too.
I hope I have done something to promote diplomatic and cultural exchange in a war-torn world. But I would be lying if I wrote that I felt like I have gained a better understanding of the world we live in.I have had so many life-changing experiences while over here that I don’t know who I am any more. My goals in life have shifted. My perception of the world around me has been blurred. The scenes around me are often reminiscent of scenes from a Star Wars movie. Large and unusual animals everywhere, unfamiliar languages in the background, incomprehensible music on the radios, completely different perceptions of personal space… and still the people here are so much like us. There are the people that do what they can to make a living. People that worry about what others think about them. People that fear about the future. People that pray for the end to suffering. People that don’t understand why the people in other countries are so uncivilized.
Because I grew up alongside and have become close with many Indian-Americans I have allowed myself to walk into this experience thinking that I knew what I was in for. At best I was better prepared to understand some customs and I had a handle on a few key phrases that proved useful throughout the travels. I knew what food I liked and didn’t like. I could get out of sticky situations by dazzling people with my faux knowledge of Bollywood songs. I am not an expert on Indian culture, languages, history, religions, or anything. In fact, my eyes have also opened to the fact that I am not an expert in any topic. And I doubt I’ll ever be. There’s just too much to learn.
And I want to end with a happy note. A few nights ago I went to see a movie in Ahmedabad -the largest city of Gujarat. While there I lost my cell phone. A man named Hardik Pathak found my phone, and cared enough to try to call somebody to locate me and return it to me. When that didn't work -he found my email address so he could return my phone to me. Pretty awesome, eh?

Khana खाना

Food is a huge part of traveling and experiencing new cultures. As an anthropologist, it's no small wonder that up until now I haven't commented at all about the food. Questions like -How is it? -What's it like? -Is it spicy? -Do you like it? -Are you having any meat? -Are you shitting your brains out? keep surfacing. Well there's a lot to be said here, and today you're getting your answers. Strangely, they can be translated into many other aspects of my experiences here in Northwest India. The first is the only universal: Nothing is ever simple. NEVER. If you don't understand what I mean by this, you will soon enough.

One of the first things I noticed when we were picked up from the airport in Jaipur (after the shock of seeing the roaming cows and pigs through the streets everywhere) were the fruit and vegetable carts. Many Indian families we've come in contact start their meals with what they call salad. This is to say they cut up carrots, radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, and serve them on a dish with lemon or lime. For contrast to those of my friends here in India, at home in the U.S.A. we also start our meals off with salad often enough -but for us the salad is made up mostly of lettuce, then we add the carrots, radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, and croutons. We also dress the salad with a chutney-like sauce based either of oil & vinegar, or a creamy yogurt-like dressing. Also, The carrots here come in many varieties. Unlike the U.S., where our carrots are typically orange, the usual carrot here is bright red. There are also black and white carrots. I have not yet seen an orange carrot here, but I'm told they exist. So that's just the first course.

In the state of Rajasthan, as well as Gujarat (both in the Northwest of India) meat-eaters exist, but are not very common. As such, the staple of our diet here consits of a bread, usually chapati (an unlevened wheatflour soft bread) and subjee, hindi for vegetables. We eat with our hands here -only the right hand for sanatary reasons. Red pepper, fennel, cardamom, turmeric, and other masalas, or spices, are added to nearly every dish. The food is spicy, but about on par with hot buffalo wings, nothing over the top. Rice with raisons, cashews, butter, and some spices called biriani is served last, then come a variety of sweets.

We are served tea prepared with a variety of spices (chai) at various times of day. Chai is a huge part of Indian culture and is consumed throughout the day for social purposes and bonding. Sweets and desserts are not lacking here. From gulab jamun to jalaybee, the Indians know how to make a good dessert. Packaged candies, on the other hand, are something of a mystery to me over here. There's a mango candy, for example, made primarily of dried mango (Aplam Chaplam -on the left), which looks and tastes like kitty litter. It's just flat out horrible. And yet you can't stop yourself from trying it. "Mouth freshners" are used here in place of mints or gum, and can be seen everywhere. The can range from a bunch of fennel seeds, to a horrible mix of God knows what.

We all brought small packaged candies to hand out to children while we're over here. My choice -even though I was advised not to by Brendan (yes, I know I should listen to you more) was mint lifesavers. So I'm not surprised that I was wrong to bring lifesavers. But I am surprised at why I was wrong though. Let me explain why: Every meal has spices. It's not overbearing for me, but it's something to note. -Breakfast too. So the answer to why the people don't like the mint lifesavers is that they're too spicy. I don't understand. Nothing is ever simple here.

We Didn't Start the Fire

This post has taken me a few days to compose if for no other reason than we have been so overwhelmingly busy, then because internet access is slightly (much) more difficult to come by than I had hoped it might be. I started this post on what was here the fifth of January. It’s also difficult to get used to not talking to the people I know and love every day and all day in the age of cell phones and wi-fi communication. In other words –even though it’s only been a little over a week, I miss my family and friends a lot right now. In any case, please know that I’m doing my best to keep in touch as often as possible. I’ve even visited an STD (I don’t know what it stands for, but it’s basically a place where you pay to make non-local calls) to try to get in touch with my people, but the phone service wasn’t working at the moment.

The past few days have been a whirlwind. No, more like a typhoon. It’s completely fair and accurate to say that I’ve done more in the past week than I have in the past year. And those of you that know me know that I’m a pretty active person. The adventure starts off at a large conference hall in downtown Jaipur for a large Rotary International Annual District Conference. I know it doesn’t sound that interesting, but throw over a thousand people in there and have me give a presentation in front of them then things start to get interesting. For better or for worse, I decided it might be nice to mix some Hindi into my introduction just to get their attention. To me this meant: “I enjoy your culture and am trying my best to communicate with you.” To them it meant: “I am completely fluent in Hindi and want to practice it with EVERY one of you.” It’s alright, though, because it helped me make a lot of friends that I might not have met otherwise. Oh, and just a heads up –mentioning that you worked in sexual assault and HIV prevention for some reason tends to be a conversation killer over here. On the other hand –it’s part of why I was sent over here so I’m doing the best I can to spread the good word anyway.

After the presentation my GSE team members and I had the opportunity to visit the former palace of the Maharaja where a Rotarian friend of our team leader has a jewelry shop. After showing us around the palace, we attended a polo game where the younger brother of the current maharaja was sitting only a few rows ahead of us. It was a really cool experience –and one of the few times in my life I can honestly say that I enjoyed watching a sport. Polo is an intense game. And better yet, during what seemed to be the half-time there was an Indian bag-pipe squad. It was one of the many moments on this trip during which I was reminded of how ridiculously privileged I am.

The next day we visited palaces. Lots of them. The tours went at such a fast pace (we saw three HUGE palaces in one day) that I couldn’t tell you much about who lived in which, when, or why and how they stopped living there. What I can tell you is that the royalty of Rajasthan knew how to live it up. I’ve seen palaces and castles throughout Europe and the mansions and estates of the U.S., but they don’t even come close to the flamboyant opulence of the Rajasthanis. Oh, and a side note: Elephants everywhere!

Now the downside. But first let me preface this with a quick side note. There are those that might read this who might not be happy with me sharing images of a poor, or dirty India. What I am sharing with you is a reflection of what I encounter here. It is not meant to offend or caste judgment on anyone, but instead to open channels of communication cross-cultural exchange. So you know that when I share the good point s about my experiences, you know that I’m not sugar-coating anything, and that I’m telling you the truth. For example –Indian hosts treat their guests like gods.

It was expected that we would encounter poverty while over here. In fact, I was counting on it. I work in public health outreach and am always interested to learn more ab out different approaches to social problems. Here, though, there are some very clear gaps which need addressing. Beggers, for example. There are beggers here just as in any country –including the U.S.. Here, however, children are often used (enslaved is probably a better term here) to solicit money from passers go by. The money rarely goes toward feeding these children, but instead to a ring-leader. A picture says a thousand words, so here it is. And to be frank, this is not an uncommon sight. What’s worse, this goes on in plain view. The police, the city at large, everybody sees this happening right in front of them. I don’t have the answer to this problem, but ignoring boils down to cooperating. I know of only one organization that directly fights this issue. It’s called ECPAT (Ending Child Prostitution And Trafficking), please at least look them up. And Dan –if you’re reading this, could you please send me Guy’s contact information?

Oh, and in case any of you were wondering if I got sick yet, we’ve all taken turns worshipping the porcelain gods by now. All of us except Andy, our team leader. I’m starting to wonder if he’s just full of shit (in which case it might do him good) or if his intestines are just made of steel. But the rest of us –we’re going to have t-shirts made that read, “I crapped myself at the Taj Mahal.” Oh, speaking of which… WE FINALLY SAY THE TAJ MAHAL! It’s not called a wonder of the world for no reason. Agra, the city in which the Taj resides, on the other hand, is nothing short of the most poverty stricken slum I’ve ever seen in my life. The smog is so bad that you only barely see an outline of the Taj Mahal behind us in the photo. Still being there was an honor in itself.

I’m losing track of time here really quickly. To be honest –even when told what the date is I don’t know how long I’ve been here because I lost or gained a day in transit. We’re always in transit for this trip, though. It was five hour trip to and from Agra from Jaipur. Our next stop is a city called Udaipur, then we’ll go somewhere called Mt. Abu to rest for a day before returning to the insanity (both good and bad) of Group Study Exchange. I’m just crossing my fingers that there’s internet access there so I can finally be in touch with people, write emails, post this blog, and maybe if I’m über-lucky, make an internet call or two.

School of Hard Knocks

(My first host family)

New Years Eve was nothing like what we’re used to in the states. After a busy day at the bazaar, my teammates and I heard some music and one or two fireworks outside. We assumed it must have been New Years celebrations, so we went outside to join in on the fun, but it turns out that –no, it had nothing to do with New Years at all. We ended up crashing a wedding reception! But we were more than welcomed, and even had our photos taken with the bride and groom. The brother of the groom took us all around and introduced us to his family as if we ourselves were invited all along. It was a wonderful experience. I think Steve even got part of it on youtube. If you’re friends with him on facebook I’m sure he’s got a link to it.
On New Years day we left the International school where we have been staying since our arrival to stay with our host families. It was sad to leave Mrs. Seth (pronounced "Seet") as she has been beyond hospitable to us. My host family is small -made up of Praveen Verma, who works in awnings, his wife (a banker), and his son Harshil. Also living with them is their servant, Gopal. Most people I meet seem to be surprised of my age. Either they learned of my work and expected me to be older –or they saw a photo of me and expected me to be younger. While it causes no problems at all, it sometimes leaves me a little lacking in the conversation department. Either way they’re very friendly and accomidating. They had a building party at which we played a game similar to bingo called Hausi. I have no idea what the rules were nor how to play –but somehow I won (Haha Brendan! I actually won a game!)… then again it’s altogether possible that they were just being nice and hospitable. Either way I won Rs. 50. J
When I arrived at their house Harshil was kind enough to drive me around his neighborhood as well as show me to a huge temple where there were actual cobras outside. After that we went to a local hooka bar where he and his friends hang out. It was great fun, but to be honest the most exciting part for me were the drives around town where I saw the oxen, camels, horses, and mules sharing the same roads with the all the bicycles, scooters, motorcycles, motorickshaws, trucks, and every other mode of transport you could imagine. It really is a different world over here.
To be fair, though, I want to clear up a point I made before. While it is true that there is more extreme poverty here than we are accustomed to, there is also very obvious progress going on everywhere you look. The very organization that sent me here –The Rotary International, for example, focuses not only on the elimination of polio, but also sponsors girls from rural villages to attend schools, pays for their books, housing, and other needs. This doesn’t sound like much, but it means the difference between poverty, illiteracy, and subservience and a future of self-empowerment and promise. There are also people building everywhere you look. Skyscrapers are going up, sewers are being dug, trees are being planted. There is no ignoring it –India is modernizing.
But there are also many differences which many westerners (including myself) are simply not used to. Having servants and drivers, for example, takes much getting used to. Gopal, the servant of the family I am currently staying with, does most of the domestic work around the house. He’s treated well, though –as a member of the family. And it should also be pointed out that without the custom of employing servants, many many more people would be homeless and without a means to provide for themselves.
Today -2 Jan., I had my first day of vocational exchange organized by the Rotary. After a wonderful breakfast by Gopal and a quick Hindi reading lesson from the newspaper, I was off to start what would be one of the most memorable days of my life. A professor from the University of Rajasthan was kind enough to escort me around the city starting with the Rajasthani Network of Positive People (RNP+) –an advocacy organization that provides counseling and links HIV positive people with services that will improve their lives. I was able to meet with their founder and president, then visit one of their 25 centers located throughout the state of Rajasthan.
Next on the agenda I was brought to the SMS Hospital –the largest hospital in the state, in which the ART (anti retro-viral treatment) is administered. Narendra, of RNP+ (also a student of anthropology), was kind enough to donate his day to escorting me around the clinics, introducing me to the many counselors, advocates, physicians, and so on that work in HIV education/prevention, intervention, and service provision. We even visited the medical school where much of the testing and labwork takes place.
The next part of my day was the most touching. Much like in the U.S., HIV disproportionately affects underserved populations. One particular target population –called the “bridge population” here in India, includes both migrant workers and truck drivers. Narendra took me to visit a woman who lost her husband –a late truck driver- to the AIDS virus. She too is HIV positive. Though she has three sons, only one of them is HIV positive thanks in no small part to the preventative measures of NGO’s like RNP+ and the Rotary International. RNP+ steps in to ensure that she has a way to stay healthy and provide for herself and her family in the wake of losing her husband through vocational education and health education. With permission, I am posting the photo we took together to show how well she’s doing and to emphasize the importance of supporting non-profits.