Active Stretching

It is a sad evening. It's 11pm at night and I should be packing my bags to leave my host family's home tomorrow morning, but packing up would mean I'm leaving. We still have a few more days, and a huge farewell dinner to look forward to, but the program is winding down.

The last week has been a good stretch for the head and the heart. The highlights:

Garment workers union interaction: Leadership from one of the major garment workers unions in Bangalore came and shared their experiences of organizing labor, working a difficult job in difficult conditions, and generally complicating our ideas of what it means to be an American consumer. They adamantly stated that our protests to shut down shops with poor conditions is not what they want. When the orders stop coming in, they lose their livelihoods. They want better conditions and better pay. 

Mysore/Mahila Samakhya: We took an overnight trip to Mysore and arrived in time to see the palace lights in the evening. After wandering the grounds for a while, we headed to a late-night viewing of Bollywood's number one film of the moment Chennai Express. If I closed my critical mind and tried not to think about race and gender politics (to name the most glaringly egregious representations), it was a fun movie. But still really stupid. The next day with met with Mahila Samakhya, a group that helps organize dalit women in communities around Karnataka. Their work includes educational programs around literacy, financial management, health, legal rights, and education. They do incredible work and function with the philosophy that the women in the communities they serve are the ones who should lead and guide themselves toward justice. 

Lesbit/Payana: Yesterday we had interactions with two different groups who work around LGBT rights. They both emerged from the same organization, and both have very different philosophies of how to do their work. Talking about these issues, it quickly became clear that a western context and vocabulary do not easily align with an Indian context, vocabulary, and history. It was a nice reminder that, "oh yeah, we're not the center of the universe," (even though we kind of are). Did I mention that this work is complicated? Lesbit focuses on issues that surround women, and actively avoid the "NGO-ization" of their organization, while Payana is fully NGO-ized. (There are seeds of entire theses here.) The work these groups excites me because they push the idea of what it means to be Indian. They are working to bring these populations into the mainstream and fight for the rights that all individuals are promised under Indian law.

Indian Media: Today we met with an independent documentary filmmaker who brought some of his work to share with us. He began with his observations of how the media's representation of Indians has changed as the social, cultural, economic, and political landscape of the country has changed. He laments the homogenization of the ideal human being -- fair-skinned, unrealistically skinny or muscular depending on the gender, of a certain socio-economic status, a consumer. As he shared pieces of his films with us I was impressed with how critical he is about what it means to document and represent another person's experience. He takes the responsibility extremely seriously, and he believes that no matter how conscientious he is, there is always some amount of exploitation that takes place in documenting the lives of under-represented people. These are definitely issues that are on my mind as I write a blog about my time in India, and publicly display the photos I take while I'm here. 

It was a long day with lots of thinking, so it was nice to be able to lighten the mood slightly with a surprise gift for the students. We had tote bags made for all of them. The screen printed design is a thali, which is a large steel platter loaded with smaller steel sides. These are eaten with chapati and rice. It's a nice metaphor for our group. We're lots of different flavors all coming together to make one, delicious meal. 

 

When you're head and your heart are feeling a little stretched (maybe on the verge of being strained), there's nothing like some chaat. (I know that this picture is blurry, but the lovely chaat wallah took it for us. He was shy about using the camera, but Anu coaxed him into it, so when the shot came out blurry, we told him it looked fantastic. And it does.)

Family Outing

I come from a pretty spectacular family, and being away from them for a month is hard after a while. Little did I know, there's a spectacular Indian version of my family right here in Bangalore. Obviously, they are far more nuanced and complex than a doppelganger of my family in Seattle, but there were familiar moments and personalities that made me feel right at home. Add their warm, welcoming hospitality, and it made for a wonderful family outing.

Thirteen of us packed into a van with exactly 13 passenger seats, and headed out to the Shivanasamudra waterfalls outside the city. What a raucous ride! There was plenty of teasing and laughter, along with a rousing game of 20 questions. My team won by a landslide. This is the family of my host mother, who is one of seven children. The daughters of this family are lovingly (and teasingly) referred to as the SIs, which stands for "Sisters Incorrigible." It's a well-earned title. 

The waterfalls were stunning. We saw two different sets of falls, hiked down to the edge of the water to watch people riding in boats, splashing along the shore, and having their snacks stolen by monkeys. There were monkeys everywhere! Big and small, dominant and skittish, crafty and fascinating. I could watch monkeys all day.

My family in Seattle loves food, and food definitely characterized this outing. When I was told we were having a picnic, I pictured some sandwiches, chips, and fruit, simple and quick. This is not what I got. It was an all out affair that compiled the culinary skills of multiple sisters, nieces, and sisters-in-law, and resulted in a feast.

After a long day of viewing nature at its finest, we took the long van ride home. To entertain themselves on the way home there was more teasing and laughing (a consistent soundtrack for this family) and singing! The flexibility and vocal acrobatics of this family are incredible. It made for a nice distraction from the evening traffic. 

Thank you to my Seattle family for bringing me so much joy, laughter, music, and silliness, and thank you to my Bangalore family for welcoming me into your fold. There's nothing like a home away from home.

So Nice to Chaat With You

Coffee shops are nice, but there is nothing like a chat over chaat. This afternoon Brandon, Anu, and I met on Club Road and stood under an awning while the persistent Bangalorean rain splattered the streets. But we were dry and comfortable, snacking on treats at one of the city's ubiquitous chaat stands. 

First, tell a nice gentleman what you would like to order, and pay. He will give you a receipt which you take to the food counter. If there is a crowd, you may get to experience the excitement of an Indian queue. If you are meek and mild, and prone to patiently stand in orderly lines, you may never eat your chaat. It takes a good amount of hustle and muscle to make sure you get your receipt noticed and your order filled. The food counter wallahs will make your order and pass it to you when it's ready. (None of these pictures are mine, I was too busy eating to take photos.)

One of my favorite chaats is dahi puri. It consists of thin, crispy puffs of fried dough with holes poked in the top. These holes turn the puffs into the perfect vessel for all kinds of spicy, salty, sweet, crunchy, yogurty delights. Today I had dahi aloopuri, which adds potato to the filling.

Another chaat fave is bhel puri. Little puffed rice tidbits are mixed with spices, sauces, fresh cilantro, chiles, and all sorts of deliciousness. (I may be a bit vague in these descriptions since I'm unable identify each of the dozens of ingredients.)

Ahh, Gobi Manchurian, you are my favorite manifestation of Indo-Chinese food. See, what you do is you take some cauliflower, dip it in a batter and fry it up nice and crunchy. Then you douse the lot with a sweet, spicy, salty coating, toss in a few garnishes like cilantro, onion, or bell pepper if you're feeling fancy, and serve it up nice and hot. This is not something you'll find in a chaat stand. I'm just moving on to describing foods I love and will miss dearly when I leave.

And now the sweets category. I have now sampled Mysore Pak from four different locations, and can definitively say that not all Mysore Paks are created equally. I can also definitively say that ghee (butter) plus sugar equals a timeless source of gustatory happiness. I'm sure there is more than just butter and sugar in these delectable cubes, but those are the two outstanding flavors to me. 

With all this intake of deliciousness, there's a good chance one's belly will encounter some troubling moments. I have been lucky so far this trip and my discomfort has been mild. At the end of every good South Indian meal comes the mosaru anna -- curd rice. The curd is homemade, and it lends its creamy tartness to the plain, white rice. Bad belly? Mosaru anna is your answer. It can be fancified with fruit, spices, and herbs, but I like it plain. And it most definitely tastes better when eaten with your hands.

Horticultural Holiday

Hooray for a rest day. It was an intense week that kept us hard at work all through the weekend. Originally we were scheduled to keep powering through until the Independence holiday on the 15th, but any power reserves were beginning to fizzle. And so an unscheduled, and much-needed day off was ordered. Before we allowed students to leave for the evening yesterday, Anu made them sign a pact which read:

I promise and pledge to rest my body, mind, and spirit on our day off tomorrow, Monday. I promise and pledge to either: 
1) take a long afternoon nap
2) read for fun followed by a nap
3) take a long walk followed by a nap

Although I didn't sign the document, to maintain integrity as part of the leadership team of this program, I too followed through with the promise and pledge.

After resting and reading all morning, followed by a nap, Lalitha Auntie and I went to Lalbagh Park to see the flower show which happens every year around Independence Day. Looking around at the magnificent colors and arrangements, I thought a little bit about how to make the flowers into some sort of metaphor for blah blah blah. But you know what, sometimes flowers are just pretty.

 The Crystal Palace is modeled after the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park.

 I'm standing in front of a house boat made of flowers.

 This Indian flag is made entirely out of grains of rice.

 Some of these marigolds were the size of my fist. 

Bump and Jostle

Yesterday Brandon and I took a rickshaw back to our host family's home in Vijayanagar, and as we chatted about the program and students, our vehicle suddenly came to a screeching halt. Despite the screech, we still ended up bumping the car in front of us. There were no injuries, and both vehicles were undamaged, but my calm confidence in our driver was shaken.

This moment got me thinking about all of the other bumps and jostles I've experienced since coming to Bangalore. For the past two days we've been working with Dr. Radha, a Theater of the Oppressed facilitator. After spending days and days in our heads, Theater of the Oppressed work gives us the opportunity to use our entire bodies to express and process all the activity of our heads and hearts. While so many of my bumps and jostles have been very physical, they are not divorced from my thoughts and emotions.

Bump #1: Back of the bus head smash
By the time I got onto the hi-fi, A/C bus our class rode to Coorg, the only seats left were in the very last row. Seats located behind the back wheels of the bus are subject to the whims of the smooth and intensely bouncy shocks of the the massive vehicle. The shocks translated every speed bump, pothole, and pavement fissure into an amusement ride. While going over particularly rough terrain, I began to film the bounce with my camera, expecting the rolling ups and downs to subside as they had each time so far. But instead of diminishing, the bounce became more violent and BAM! My skull and the ceiling collided, the impact driving the air conditioning unit above my head into the ceiling. It hurt! I kept rubbing the spot, surprised there was no blood. Even now, two days later, there is a tender knob on the top of my head.

Sometimes bumps and jostles are sudden and violent, leaving me bruised and shaken. My immediate response was to take a couple of deep breaths and move on. It wasn't until later in the day, that I realized how upsetting the head bump was. Many of the ideas and issues our NGO partners expose me to are jarring and difficult to take in. As with my head bump, sometimes I take a few deep breaths and move on to the next big idea or issue. Often, it isn't until later that I find myself surprised at how shaken I am by what I've learned.  

Bump #2: Rickshaw kerfuffle
Up until our rickshaw rear ended the car in front of it, I thought nothing of my own safety (or that of the drivers and pedestrians around me). Sure, we were going a little faster than most rides, but I was engaged in conversation, the night air was cool and refreshing, and I was happy to be on the way home. The rickshaw bump was minor, but it jarred me back into awareness of my vulnerability. During the rest of the ride, I still conversed with Brandon, but a portion of my brain was on high alert.

Sometimes a bumps and jostles are reminders. Hey! Wake up! Look around you! With so much stimuli to take in, it's easy to get lodged in my own brain. There are moments when I need a small (but serious) bump to remind me to get out of my head. What questions should I be asking? Who should I be talking to? How do I put myself in context? How are others' experiences different than mine? What details am I missing?

Bump #3: Follow your mother like a baby penguin 
One of our Theater of the Oppressed games involved two partners. One partner was the mother penguin who made a specific sound over and over again, guiding the baby with her voice. The other partner was the baby penguin who walked the room with her eyes closed, following the sound of her mother. As I walked with closed eyes, following my mother penguin, I occasionally bumped into other mothers and babies. The bumps were gentle and friendly, like soft, wordless hellos. Bump, hello! Shuffle, shuffle, bump, hello!

Sometimes bumps and jostles allow for surprising connections. Moving through a huge city like Bangalore, I regularly meet new people, fall into surprising conversations, and experience the joy of pursuing unplanned adventures. Each encounter is a friendly bump. Hey! I'm so glad I ran into you!

History collides with the present, language jostles with meaning, identities nudge and shove each other (often within the same person), development smashes into livelihoods, cultures elbow each other, we bump and push, sometimes painfully, sometimes joyfully, always with impact.

 

Days One Through Oh My Goodness It's Already Been Two Weeks!

Sometimes, blogging is impractical. Sometimes, one's mind is so full that any attempt to blog would only result in a messy brain explosion, translated ungracefully into digital drivel. And so my first blog post comes halfway through our program.

To organize my thoughts and prevent digital drivel, for this initial post I will give a list of highlights from the trip so far:

- visiting an illegal dump that was shut down, but is still causing lasting health and environmental damage (distressing, disgusting, but fascinating and thought-provoking)

- touring an Ayurvedic medicinal garden

- taking a walking tour of Bangalore (Did you know Winston Churchill lived here?)

- seeing the play "How To Skin a Giraffe," presented in 6 different languages

- watching the film "Ship of Theseus," which links the lives of three different people who received organs from the same donor

- attending a panel on women and violence, where one speaker was a white man who dressed up as Gandhi and compared ideal relationships with women to chocolate milkshakes, "thick and rich" (I'm overcome with incredulity even recalling this event.)

- going to a concert that showcased classical Indian music from around the country (the singer performed in at least 7 different languages!)

- seeing a one-woman show that re-interprets Hindu mythology from the women's perspectives

- visiting a farming community where one of our NGO facilitators grew up

This list highlights what I've done so far, but it fails to reveal the connections between people that lend meaning to all of this action. When I think about everything I've experienced in the past two weeks, and what moments have been the most meaningful to me, a very different list begins to emerge:

- receiving a bracelet with a bell on it as a friendly gift from a bookstore employee

- sitting on a flight of stairs and chatting with three Muslim girls about their plans for Eid, and taking turns drawing pictures in my notebook

- having one of our NGO facilitators tell me that my parents are welcome to come to India, and should come stay in his village

- standing next to a rickshaw driver who asked to see my tattoos, curious about what they were

- eating homemade South Indian food with just right amount of spice, lovingly made by my host mother

- listening to my host father tell stories from the Mahabharata

- sitting on the floor and visiting at the home of a women's rights activist whose intelligence and ferocity I have admired for years

- exchanging a few words with the same bookseller I've seen at my favorite bookstore, every time I've come to Bangalore

- discussing the power of theater with a Theater of the Oppressed workshop facilitator while running errands

- jostling next to Anu and Brandon with deep love and comfortable affection as we rickshaw our way across the city

The first list satisfies my desire to accumulate experiences and pursue new adventures, while the second list goes a level deeper, satisfying my need to connect and make meaning from those adventures. 

New Lenses

A lot has happened since my first trip to India in 2009. I've lived in Hawaii, run a few ultra relays around the U.S., gone back to school (again), moved into my own house, and found my dream job as an 8th grade teacher. Throughout the past four years, the themes of pedagogy, social justice, and adventure have guided my decisions, and led to opportunities and experiences that still make me shake my head with grateful disbelief. 

Once again I have the opportunity to travel to Bangalore with Dr. Anu Taranath and her students from the University of Washington. As a class we spent Spring Quarter reading beautiful literature and challenging theory, and exploring ideas of travel, identity, post-colonialism, ethnography, gender, resources -- by the end of the quarter, it seemed like we'd covered everything and nothing. And now, we're ready to travel, right? 

This year I am going into this trip not only as an assistant, but as an educator. The way I think about teaching and learning has changed since 2009. I have a classroom to come back to in September, and as I learn as a student, I am simultaneously filtering this knowledge through the lens of a teacher. Even working with the UW students in the spring, I found many links between Dr. Taranath's university-level pedagogy, and the pedagogy that happens in my 8th grade classroom every day. This is the type of continuing education I dream about.

I am excited to go on this exact same, entirely different trip to Bangalore. 

-Amy

This is a list of the books we read in our pre-departure class during spring quarter. I highly recommend Story-Wallah, edited by Shyam Selvadurai. It has the absolute BEST introduction to a book I have ever read. It's worth checking out just for the experience of that intro. Of course, the short stories are magnificent too.

• Story-Wallah:Short Fiction From South Asian Writers ed. Shyam Selvadurai
• Why Loiter: Women & Risk on Mumbai Streets by Shilpa Phadke, Sameera Khan, and Shilpa Ranade
• Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route by Saidiya Hartman
• Beginning Postcolonialism: by John McLeod
• Cast Me Out If You Will: Stories and Memoir by Lalithambika Antherjanam